Allison Diepen - The Oracle Of Dating

“Morning, honey.” Mom kisses him on the lips. Then she comes over to me and kisses the top of my head. “Morning, sweetie.”

Breakfast is a mostly silent thing. And that’s fine, because Mom and I are not morning people, and the Swede is not one for light conversation. So as we eat, we read. Mom is reading the Methodist Church Observer, the Swede is reading Theology Today, and I am reading Teen People.

I’m seeing all these articles with gorgeous, airbrushed girls, and I say to Mom, “I’m an eight out of ten, right? Looks-wise?”

“You’re the same as I was at your age.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s a good thing.”

“Uh …” Can’t she just be like other moms and tell me what I want to hear?

“You really shouldn’t spend your time thinking about these things. Don’t try to conform to a media-created rating scale.”

See what I mean? A simple question becomes a sermon. I’m not saying she doesn’t have a point, but can’t she humor me?

Maybe I’m wrong about living in a reality show. Maybe I’m living in a sitcom. The audience is laughing, but I’m not getting paid.

NOW, I DON’t want to give the impression that the Oracle of Dating is getting hundreds of phone calls, instant messages and e-mails a week. My average is two contacts per night.

The Web site color scheme is pink and blue, symbolizing guys and girls. Instead of headings at the top, Tracey created bubbles, which include: About the Oracle; Contact the Oracle; Blog; Links. In the center of the homepage is a large box for a blog that I can update myself. I also post a Q and A of the week, and allow readers to comment.

I like my Web site to be as interactive as possible, so I put up a new poll once a week. This week’s is, If you were stranded on a desert island with one celebrity hottie, who would it be? Next week’s will be, What’s your all-time favorite romantic movie? Other times I create a quiz to test my readers’ knowledge of relationships. Widgets of all kinds can be found for free, so polls and quizzes are easy to do. The key is to have a site that people will keep coming back to. Static content won’t do. The average reader visits the site several times before asking me a question, so I need to keep them returning.

If I’m online, the Oracle icon will be lit up. Customers wanting to instant message me can click on the icon and five dollars will be deducted from their PayPal account for the first twenty minutes. At first I’d thought using PayPal would be too complicated, but Tracey said it’s just a matter of putting the payment button on my page and allowing PayPal to take a small percentage off each transaction. I figured it was worth it, not only because it’s easy, but because several customers had stiffed me through the mail.

The worst is when these random guys call to ask “sexual questions.” Usually that’s just a cover for something else. So one night I ask, “Why don’t you call one of those 1-900 sex lines?” And the guy replies, “‘Cause they’re a helluva lot more expensive. Anyway, you sound young. I like that.”

I slam down the phone and write down his number for the list of psycho-perverts whose calls I have to block.

When the phone rings again, it’s just after nine p.m.

I answer, “The Oracle.”

“Okay, so I have this question.”

“First, is there a name I can call you? It doesn’t have to be your real name. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” I check my PayPal account and see that the payment’s been received.

“Call me Melanie.”

“All right, Melanie. Go ahead with your question.”

“There’s this boy I like. His family is friends with my family. We even live on the same street. We used to hang out together all the time. But he hasn’t paid me any attention in the past few months. He really hurt me.”

“How old are you, Melanie?”

“Fourteen.”

I get this type of call a lot. Girls often find their guy friends drifting away when they enter their teenage years. There’s really no way to prevent it.

“The truth is, at your age, guys usually like to spend most of their time with other guys.”

“But what about me?”

“I’m not saying he doesn’t like you anymore. He might be going through puberty as we speak, and he could be uncomfortable around girls.”

“He talks to girls, just not me. He’s starting to hang around with the popular crowd now—all the kids he used to hate.”

“It sounds like he’s trying to adjust socially. I know this is sad for you, but he needs to find himself.”

“How do I get him back?”

“Are you willing to do whatever it takes?”

“Yeah, anything.”

I play a few notes on the xylophone. “The Oracle believes that you’ll have to wait, Melanie. Give him time with these other friends. Don’t guilt-trip him. Hopefully he’ll realize what a great friend you are and come back to you.”

“How long will it take?”

“It could be months, or years. But once he’s more comfortable with his place in the world, he’ll probably wonder what happened to your friendship. And Melanie, I think this is for the best. So give him time … and the Oracle has a good instinct that he will come around.”

“Okay, I’ll try to be patient. But it’s hard.”

“The Oracle never said life was easy.”

“I understand. Thanks, Oracle.”

“You’re welcome, Melanie.”

ART CLASS. Have this cool young teacher, Ms. Gerstad, who wears a skirt over her jeans—totally cool but I’d never have the nerve to go that hippy. Gerstad lives the artsy life and isn’t shy to tell us about it. She spends every Wednesday night watching or performing in the Poetry Slam at the Nuyorican Café in the East Village. The rest of her time is divided between vegan cafés and anarchist bookstores.

Today she tells us that our First Marking Period project is to draw people. Great. I’d prefer to splash paint all over the page like a kindergartener and call it abstract art. I only took this class because I need an art credit and both drama and dance conflicted with my schedule.

She gives us some magazines to inspire us, though tracing, unfortunately, is forbidden. Then she reminds us that we’ll be able to see examples of portraiture a week from Friday on our field trip to the Museum of Modern Art. She seems to think viewing the works of the greats will inspire us. I wonder how she’ll react if I pull a Picasso and draw people’s arms sticking out of their heads.

“Who did you choose?” It’s Lauren, my art-class friend, looking over my shoulder. “I’m doing Jessica Biel.”

I bet lots of people are doing Jessica Biel. Her face and figure are total perfection and her teeth would make a cosmetic dentist proud.

But perfection is no fun. Not for me, anyway.

“Got any other magazines at your table?” I ask her. “I just have Cosmo and Elle.”

“Sure, come see.”

I go to her table, which today she’s sharing with Jared Stewart. He doesn’t look up, he’s working too hard. His sleeves are rolled up and I notice veins bulging in his forearms as he sketches. I look a little closer. His sketch is amazing. He’s drawing an old man sitting on a stoop in Latin America. The picture is from the National Geographic open in front of him.

“Uh, sorry, can I see that magazine?” I ask.

He looks up. “Yeah.” He rips out the picture he’s working on and hands me the magazine.

I flip through it with Lauren. In the corner of my vision, I see that his hand is now poised above the sketch like he doesn’t know what to do next. His brows are frowning, his mouth tight, and his hand’s gripping the pencil as if he’s about to strike the page. A tortured artist, I can’t help but think. A hot, deliciously tortured artist. Then I give my head a shake, berate myself silently and focus back on the task at hand.