Shannen Camp - The Breakup Artist

“I’m Amelia,” I said automatically, only to instantly realize I’d used my full name-my real, full name-and that was something I never did with my projects. It only complicated things if they had any valuable information on me. I smiled broadly to cover up my self-loathing and tried to move on from that small mistake, hoping that by some miracle he hadn’t heard my name.

“Well, Amelia, what can I do for you?” This boy seemed to be brimming with confidence, which was always dangerous. I normally worked with boys who were easy to woo and, therefore, easy to break up with for their girlfriends. This boy, however, didn’t seem to want to make my life easy. He had also said my name, turning my panic level up a notch. I tried to remember my usual story. Why had I always found an excuse to talk to these boys? Oh right. Fear-of-being-alone-syndrome.

“Well, I’m friends with your girlfriend, Claire, and she’s sick today so I wanted to know if I could sit with you.” I repeated the words as if I was reading them from a book, but I added my innocent smile, keeping my fingers crossed that I was convincing.

“You’re friends with Claire?” he asked, sounding completely unconvinced.

“Yes?” Why had I just answered his question like a question? This was going horribly wrong. He smirked at this, keeping his eyes trained on me.

“Why haven’t I ever seen you hanging around with her during school? I mean, if you have no one to sit with when she’s sick, then wouldn’t that mean you normally sat with her during break and lunch?” This boy was smart and persistent, I’d give him that. But I wasn’t about to let him get the best of me. His questions were just making me angry now, and I refused to give a refund for the first time in my entire career.

“I actually just moved here from Pennsylvania,” I said confidently, remembering that Claire had mentioned being born there. Granted, I knew nothing about the state, but I was counting on this being enough information for him. “We grew up together and my parents just decided to move out to California for work so Claire convinced them to let me come to Thousand Oaks High rather than being homeschooled.” Had I given too much information? That was the downfall of lying; you always try to overcompensate for lack of truth with way too much fiction.

“Where in Pennsylvania are you from?” he asked nonchalantly. What was he, a detective? “My family travels back that way a lot so maybe I’ve been to your hometown.” It was now official. I hated this boy. He was snoopy and relentless, and my whole career was about to be exposed.

“Lancaster,” I said automatically, naming the only city in Pennsylvania that I knew of. Incidentally, I had family living in Lancaster, California, only an hour from where I was standing at that very moment. Maybe after this boy ruined my career I’d go live with them and break hearts in the high desert.

“Lancaster?” he repeated slowly. “Isn’t that where the Amish live?” Dang. I knew there was a reason I’d heard of that city before. I nodded my head deliberately and let my eyes stay locked on his, refusing to back down.

“Other people live there too,” I said with finality. I’d already wasted five of my ten minutes trying to convince this boy I was actually Claire’s friend. I might have to keep her sick for another day to get rid of this one. A new determination to rid myself of this pest firmly in place, I cleared my throat and got back to business. “So is it all right if I sit down, now that we’ve gone over my personal history?” The boy laughed softly and nodded his head. Finally, something was going my way. I sat next to him and was hit with an overwhelmingly wonderful scent. It had to be his cologne or shampoo or something, but whatever it was, it was unearthly.

“You smell really good,” I said instantly, to which he raised an eyebrow. It was a perfectly normal response to a perfectly abnormal statement. I really had no idea what had made me say it and, looking back on it, that would have been a wonderful time to bow out gracefully and just forfeit this entire job. “Never mind,” I mumbled, knowing there was no way to talk myself out of that one. No matter what stupid thing came out of my mouth next, at least I knew there were only five minutes left in the break.

“So, Amelia, where do you live?” This David seemed to say my name every time he spoke, as if just waiting for me to snap at him for having memorized it so quickly. And why on earth did he need to know where I lived?

“Excuse me?” I asked in what I hoped was a casual manner.

“You said you just moved here. Where did you move? Are you close to Claire?” Now that he had explained himself I guessed that it was a pretty reasonable question. It only presented one problem-I had no idea where Claire lived, so I couldn’t make up an address near her. I only had one choice.

“I live about ten minutes south of the school, near the city library.” My lack of a filter was simply stunning. Not only had I told this boy my real name, but I had given him a general idea of where I actually lived. This was not good for business at all, and something had to be done.

“Well, I need to get going,” I finally said through gritted teeth. “Can’t miss English… I’ll see you at lunch.” And with that I got up and quickly made my way to Mrs. Sanders’ class. At least there I’d have two hours to pull myself together so I could finish the job without any more blunders.

Today, much to my relief, we were watching a movie about a book we’d just read. Thank goodness for burned-out high school teachers who would rather check their email while we watched a movie instead of actually teaching us something. Mrs. Sanders definitely looked exhausted, and there was a little rumor flitting around the school that she had recently taken to drinking large quantities of alcohol in her living room while trying to grade papers. This rumor probably wasn’t true, since I didn’t know a single person who would want to spend their Friday night hiding out in a teacher’s living room, but it definitely made for interesting gossip. At least, it was good gossip for people who actually had friends to gossip with. I waved away my pang of self-pity and took a deep breath, preparing myself to dive headfirst into my newly developed problem named David while the rest of the class pretended to watch the reenactment of a classic novel.

All right, so, David knew my name and sort of knew where I lived. No big deal, I could always get rid of him quickly and just never answer my door again. This boy wouldn’t pose a threat to my business or me because I wouldn’t let him. Besides, he probably just liked me and wanted to get to know me more. I’d broken up with enough guys for enough girls to know how their minds worked. All I had to do was tell him his girlfriend wanted to break up with him. It wasn’t that hard, just a few simple words, to be exact. And who cares if I don’t do it gently and he gets his heart broken? Well… I suppose I did, and Claire did. The only reason I even have a job is so that boys don’t get hurt by the breakup or at least don’t feel like it was their girlfriend’s fault. So just ending it without somehow making it seem all right was out of the question.

I tapped my thumb impatiently against the desk, causing a few people to turn and throw me dirty looks. I gave them a too-bright smile and continued tapping away, un-phased by their unvoiced threats. Besides, none of these people knew who I was anyway, and by next week I’d probably have a different hair color and personality. They probably just wondered why they kept getting a new student every week who sat in the same place in their English class.

When the bell finally rang for lunch, I had no real plan and absolutely no idea what I was doing. I bought a bag of chips and a bottle of water so that, if need be, I could stuff my face when David asked difficult questions, which I assumed he inevitably would. Seeing David, I sat down next to him, allowing myself to actually look at him and size up his threat level. David was definitely good looking; there was no denying that fact. Even someone like me who never noticed that kind of thing could tell that he would be the type of boy girls fell in love with and swore their favorite songs described perfectly. Today his shaggy blond hair hung in his eyes. He would absently run his fingers through it to get it out of the way, doing it all with a small crooked smile. He was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt, despite the day’s perfect weather.