Shannen Camp - The Breakup Artist

“Oh, is it?” was all I said. “I just found it in some music store and thought I’d try it. They’re not bad.” (Word to the wise, having everything in common with a boy you like-or one you’re pretending to like-is never good. Play hard to get.)

“Not bad?” he repeated, disbelief lining his words. “They’re amazing!”

“I guess I just haven’t gotten to that part yet,” I said with a smirk. “You’ll have to show me what’s so good about them at lunch.” And with that, I snatched the CD and walked to my first class of the day: psychology.

In high school, everything is carefully monitored. Or at least, it is when you have teachers who care. I was a good student (having no social life will do that to you) so my teachers usually paid attention to me. At the beginning of every new school year, I’d get one of those overly concerned teachers who would talk to the counseling office and set up an appointment for me. They always seemed to think that my constantly changing style and hair colors were signs of instability. They thought I had some tragic past that wasn’t showing up in my school files, and they got worried. Though I loved that my teachers cared enough to worry, I still wished they’d just put a note in my file saying, “Amelia Marie Bedford. Age 16. Prone to change everything on a weekly basis.”

Today, however, my psychology teacher Miss Tess just said, “New hair color again, Amelia?” as I walked into the room. I nodded with a thin-lipped smile and took my seat near the door. This class was arranged in a circle, rather than rows, so that everyone was equal or something to that effect. Psychology was another one of those subjects that fascinated me even if I wasn’t amazing at it. Just because I get good grades doesn’t mean I’m just naturally amazing at any subject. I actually have to work really hard to understand things, but I always ended up putting in enough effort to get A’s.

Class went by slowly until Miss Tess (she insisted that we call her by her first name because “last names make people seem old”) popped in a video about a child raised in the wild by animals. I took this opportunity to formulate my plan of attack for my other three clients, since James seemed to be pretty much in the bag. After my performance this morning, he should be wondering how he could feel attracted to another girl if he was so in love with Nat. Then he would start to wonder if he and Nat should really be together. After that I’d just work some magic and break the news to him that Nat wanted out (in much nicer terms of course) and he’d feel, suddenly, like that was probably for the best. Then came the tricky part: I’d have to agree to go on a date with him so that he could really feel like he was making a good move forward in his life. This was only difficult because right after that date, I’d disappear from the boy’s radar. The disappearing wasn’t so hard-the hard part was the fact that I was the one breaking their hearts rather than their deadbeat girlfriends, who were really the source of their pain. But I have accepted my lot as a scapegoat, and by the next week I would look so different that he wouldn’t recognize me even if I passed him in the hallway.

After two hours of psychology we had a ten-minute break, which I usually used to get to my next class. But, as previously stated, today I was Mari, not Amelia, and so I returned to the staircase. James sat there expectantly, constantly glancing over his shoulder until he spotted me. I put on the alluring smile once more and made my way over to him. His friends whispered something to him, and they all broke out into grins. Boys could be so predictable sometimes. When I sat down, James asked me an obvious question, one that I was actually surprised he had missed upon our first meeting.

“So, um, what’s your name?”

“I’m Mari,” I answered with a smile.

“And you’re friends with Nat?” I kept the smile in place, sensing that we were treading on delicate ground now that we were discussing reality.

“Yeah, Nat and I have been friends for a while. Hasn’t she mentioned me?” He shook his head, and I instantly relaxed. We were back to nonverbal responses, which meant that my carefully practiced inflections of charming innocence had worked. I pulled out my cell phone with perfect grace and checked the time. We still had five minutes until we had to be in class but I was quickly growing bored with the conversation and showing that would mean certain death for my carefully laid out plan. So I opted for the easy way out.

“Well, I’m gonna grab something from the vending machine and head to class. I’ll see you at lunch, James.” I walked away, feeling that I had fulfilled my break time duty. Besides, using his name made the short conversation feel much more intimate and substantial. I rewarded myself for a job well done by grabbing a fruit snack out of the machine before retreating to English.

In English we were analyzing a book I’d already read three times. It was all about anarchy brought about by a terrible disaster, leaving children stranded on an island. There wasn’t much for me to contribute to the conversation, so I pulled out my other three fact sheets and studied my upcoming projects. If I could get James out of the way without a date, I could start work on the others by tomorrow. This wasn’t the ideal situation obviously since the actual date really solidified the end of the relationship, but I’d just have to work around that. The first paper read:

Name-Corey

Age-16

POI-Music, parties, fashion

Deadline-Two weeks before prom

I wasn’t quite sure what it was about these girls, but apparently prom was something that reminded you just how much you wanted a date-not a boyfriend. I checked this boy’s POI (points of interest) once more and sighed deeply. I always required at least three subjects in that category. The ones this girl had provided were so general that this Corey could have been any boy in the school. I glanced at the attached picture, hoping to glean some information from there, but was sorely disappointed. I’d have to call and force some more information out of this girl or I’d have to give a refund, which I’ve never done.

Shaking my head I pulled up the next file.

Name-David

Age-17

POI-Books, Photography, Culture

Deadline-Two weeks before prom

Culture? One of his interests was culture? What did that even mean? He liked having culture, or learning about culture, or experiencing other cultures? I considered calling this one also but figured that the other two interests were a strong enough foundation.

Finally I pulled out the third paper, which read:

Name-Taylor

Age-18

POI-Skateboarding, Shoes, Art

Deadline-One week before prom

My clients were obviously getting lazy. Shoes are not an interest. Shoes are things you put on your feet or spend too much money on. People aren’t really interested in shoes. I shook my head at the challenge that faced me and put my fact sheets carefully back into my manila folder marked “work.”

By lunch I was in full Mari mind-set, ready to work my magic quickly, carefully, and efficiently. I sat down on the now familiar bench and talked about music with James. Halfway through the forty-minute lunch period I decided to drop the bomb, hoping I could get out of this one without an actual date.

“So James, I have to tell you something kind of important.” I bit my lip yet again, in the way that said I was worried about something, while still being cute enough to distract him from exactly what my words meant. He smiled and nodded at me, obviously allowing his mind to rest on a completely different track. “Nat and I have been hanging out a lot lately and, um… she’s been telling me she’s not sure she wants to be in a serious relationship with anyone right now…” I let my words trail off naturally to make it seem like I was scared to go on. He cocked his head at me, obviously not expecting what I had just said.