Shannen Camp - The Breakup Artist

“Here’s the bad part,” I went on with a pout. “I think it’s all my fault. I mean, she and I have just been having so much fun having girl time, and I think it made her realize she doesn’t really want to be tied down.” I let my brows come together in a line, fake worry crossing my features. “I don’t see why else she’d ever break up with someone as amazing as you.” I placed my hand over his with these last words and looked up at him under my eyelashes once more. He simply looked at me for a moment, and I was beginning to wonder if he was smarter than he looked. Maybe he hadn’t bought my story and was about to reveal me for what I was. But, as always, the boy simply nodded, looked appropriately sad for a moment, and then lapsed back into our old conversation, claiming he wanted to take his mind off of it.

I had done it once again. I knew from experience he wasn’t really sad. Instead, he was just relieved that he wouldn’t have to break up with Nat because he’d discovered that she had a hot friend. He’d inevitably try to catch up with me after school to ask me out on a date, but with my tight schedule I couldn’t afford the time to let him down gently, so I gave him the cushion for the blow during lunch: lots of flirt-filled conversation and a quick, promising peck on the cheek as I scurried off to my last class of the day.

James didn’t manage to catch me after school because I faked a migraine during biology and bolted for my car fifteen minutes before the last bell rang. I unclipped the little plastic bow barrettes from my hair as I drove, fluffing it out with my hands as much as the wax in it would allow. Some fashion choices just puzzled me.

As a reward for a job well done, I stopped off at a convenience store and bought a cherry slushee, feeling that my many hours as Mari had taken the energy right out of me. Some sugar in my blood was just what I needed.

I returned home to put together my outfit for the next day. Though I still had about two weeks until most of my assignments were due, I thought it might be fun to try to knock out two in one day. It would be beating my personal record, and I always loved a challenge. This didn’t mean that I could get lazy in my work. I’d still have to go on a date with at least one of them. I’d just have to figure out which one was likely to reject the idea that his girlfriend was breaking up with him. From what my clients had told me, Taylor was my boy. Corey was flaky and would most likely be happy to be out of a relationship. Taylor, on the other hand, would need some extra convincing. So I’d simply take him on a date, flirt a little, and make it look like we’re getting really cozy in the restaurant when his girlfriend would conveniently walk in and think something horrible was going on. These situations always proved to be awkward, and I asked my clients not to cause too much of a scene or else the restaurant owners would start recognizing me as the girl who always comes in with a different boy and gets into fights. I always insisted to the boy that I drive my own car to the restaurant because I had some vital and terribly boring thing to do after the date. That way I’d have an easy escape when his soon-to-be ex-girlfriend confronted him.

Still, getting rid of two boys in one day would be a challenge. With versatility being the key, I scanned my closet to find the perfect outfit. It had to be different enough from “Mari” to keep James away while being “punk” enough to attract my next two victims.

I pulled out the files for Taylor and Corey once more, just to refresh my memory on exactly what I was going for. For Taylor I found a pair of shoes stuffed behind heaps of clothes in my closet. They were some expensive brand I’d never heard of that still managed to look well worn and inexpensive. The black tennis shoes had dashes of color in them in the most unexpected places, making them an instant hit with someone whose girlfriend would say “shoes” was one of his interests. For Corey I simply found some of my stylish clothes-the kind that only a stylish person would know were “stylish.” To everyone else I would just look like I’d gotten dressed with either too much confidence or not enough light in my room.

With my sudden burst of efficiency, I found myself almost wishing that more girls were in the “breaking up” mood. If I was this on-schedule with all of my clients, I could easily double my income. These ambitious thoughts played around in my mind while I pulled my homework out of my backpack-my real homework that is, not my job-related homework, which was infinitely more fun but much less helpful when it came to getting good grades. I finished off my English and history papers in only two hours, leaving me with a few pages of assigned problems in my math book and some reading for biology. I slowly and painfully made my way through the math problems, consulting my calculator and the answers in the back of the book regularly. If my teacher didn’t require that I show my work, I could have just copied the answers from the back, though I’m sure that would have been morally wrong somehow.

The two hours it took me to do my English and history proved to be a blessing compared to the time it was taking me to get through math, though with my completely empty social calendar, the only other thing I’d be doing if I didn’t have homework was painting. Painting was the only real “me” thing that I had. When you live a life that revolves around being other people, it’s rare to find something that’s unique to you. Painting was that thing. The odd thing about my love of painting, though, was that I couldn’t draw a decent picture if my life depended on it, and yet, I could paint pretty well. I’d always thought that the two skills went hand in hand, so maybe I was just some mutation to that rule.

Forcing myself to ignore my sudden longing to paint, I muscled through the rest of my math problems and quickly read about photosynthesis in my biology book. Mrs. Mathers had painted a rather amusing mental picture about the process by saying that if we were like plants, then at random intervals during the school day everyone would go outside, take off all their clothes, and just lie around drinking up the sunlight. Wouldn’t that make lunch period more interesting? My biology teacher always had a way of putting things into terms we could understand. That’s probably why I loved her class so much, even if I was terrible at science. She also had a tendency to pull out her old acoustic guitar and teach us songs to help us remember formulas and scientific processes. As ridiculous as this idea seemed to me at first, I had to admit it worked like a charm every time. This meant, of course, that I spent many of my science tests humming to myself, much to the annoyance of everyone around me.

I didn’t have any psychology homework that night because Miss Tess didn’t believe in homework. She said that learning should be done at school and home was for enjoying life. I would pay big money for all of my teachers to have that particular mind-set. With my load of homework finished after just a few short hours, I had some time on my hands until dinner. I decided to pull out David’s file to see if there was any way to work him into my plan for tomorrow as well, but quickly thought better of it and just resorted to looking his POIs over. He didn’t seem like he’d be a particularly difficult target. Aside from his rather cryptic interest in “culture,” I could probably just whip out my Nikon and woo him by lunch. He’d have to wait a few days though while I worked my magic on the other two boys.

I settled on the decision to simply finish the other two off by tomorrow and quickly check David out from afar, simply to secure my prey before moving in for the kill the day after tomorrow. Placing the papers gently back into their manila folder, I pulled out my sleek (now pink) cell phone and popped off the cover, opting for the yellow one for tomorrow. I quickly dialed the number on James’s file to let Nat know I had done the job quickly and efficiently. If I didn’t call, I’d have a curious and possibly angry customer on my hands.