“My parents had a really crappy divorce, like of War of the Roses magnitude,” he says. I don’t get the reference, as usual, but I stay quiet.

“I could hear the yelling from the driveway. I would be woken up at night by glass breaking. It was noise all the time.” He fingers his hemp necklace. “So to drown it out, I would put on my headphones, pop a movie into my computer and escape. I was at the library every day checking out DVDs. The classics, and plenty of romantic ones so that I wouldn’t turn into a total cynic. And I just became a movie buff by osmosis.”

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” All those times I’ve seen him in the hall and talked to him, he never gave a hint of coming from that kind of home. I wonder what other hardships my other classmates keep to themselves. I will never complain about my parents again.

“I survived.”

He downplays it and shrugs off the attention, like people who’ve had real problems do.

“I can’t even imagine.” I sit down next to him.

“Yes, you can,” he says.

“What?”

He runs his hand through his black hair, scratching at his neck. Up close, his hair isn’t really a puff, but rather a dense, intricate network of shiny strands.

“What was it like, with your sister, after...”

My chest clenches. I forgot I told him about Diane. I brace myself for the onslaught of memories flying at me. “It wasn’t pretty.” I try to laugh it off, but my acting won’t be winning any awards soon either.

“You can tell me.” He puts his hand on my knee. His eyes widen with his plea. “Please.”

I want to resist. Why dredge up the past? But then I look into his eyes. There’s no hidden agenda, no curiosity for gossip behind them. He cares. The sound of Diane’s screaming overtakes my ears.

“It was awful.” My voice is barely above a whisper. “My mom and I were helping Diane into her dress when he called. She looked so beautiful. I was so excited, maybe even more than she was. Her friends did that ‘oooh’ thing as Diane was on the phone with him. The phone slipped out of her hand and made this clank sound on the floor. Her face just went blank, and she said, ‘The wedding’s off.’” My hands tremble and I shake them to make it stop. Ezra grips my knee tighter.

“She walked into my mom’s alteration room and just stared at herself in the mirror for like ten minutes. She didn’t say anything, just stared. Then she locked us out and started crying. But it was a screaming crying.” I cover my ears, the sound throbbing inside my head. “My mom banged on the door, begging Diane to open up. Then she sank to the floor and started crying, too. It was like an epidemic. I’d never heard anyone scream like that.” My voice gets wobbly, but I hold back tears. “And he has no idea what he caused. He probably doesn’t even care.”

Ezra wraps me in a hug. His wool sweater cushions my face. “I’m sorry.”

It’s such a generic statement, but what other wisdom could he provide? It works. His body is so warm and comfortable. I could stay here awhile, but I pull myself away.

“Wow. How did this happen?” I say of our Lifetime moment.

“You’re just so easy to talk to,” he says.

“You, too.”

Ezra looks directly into my eyes, like he did while ice-skating. Again, I feel exposed. It’s only eye contact, but it’s like looking directly at the sun.

My phone rings, echoing through the gym. I am compelled to answer it.

“Rebecca, amazing news! I just received a text from Steve’s friend Colin. He’s gorgeous, and he actually wants to go on a date with you. I showed him your picture yesterday, and he said you looked beautiful. I told him you would go to dinner with him on Friday. I figured you didn’t have any plans this weekend.”

“That sounds great.”

“You’ll have to muster up more excitement than that on the date. Colin is a catch, and I think you two are going to hit it off.”

“Thank you, Huxley.”

Ezra puts on his jacket, turning his back to me. Huxley’s talking loud enough for him to hear. I stare into my lap while Huxley gives me the details.

“Rebecca Williamson, enjoy your last days of singledom, if there’s anything to enjoy about them.” Huxley hangs up.

I contemplate what to say to Ezra, but when I look up, the gym door swings closed.

* * *

When I get home, I beeline to my bedroom. Diane asks how my day was, but I just nod and continue up the stairs.

Focus, Becca. Save your crummy-friend anxiety for later.

I go online, create a new email address and type away. I glimpse my costume peeking out from under my bed. I’m not Huxley’s BFF. I’m the Break-Up Artist. If I never tried out for SDA, Huxley would still be treating me like junk.

And Val. Ezra and I had a serious talk. That’s what friends do. They talk. And put their hands on each other’s lower back while talking. It’s completely, Switzerland-style, 110 percent platonic.

I reread and tweak the email about fifty times until it’s perfect.


To: AddisonG48

From: StevesDirtyLittleSecret

Subject: I know what Steve did last weekend.


Fun fact: Huxley found a condom wrapper and Angela Bentley’s lipstick in Steve’s car. (Ladybug’s her color, if you were wondering.) I guess old flames die hard. I doubt Huxley has mentioned this to anyone, but as one of her closest, dearest friends, I’m sure you’ll know how to handle this. I know you only want the best for her.

It warms my heart knowing she has a friend like you.

24

According to the website HuxleyandSteveCountdown [dot] com, Huxley and Steve have three-to-one odds to break up in the next month, seven-to-one odds to break up in the next week, and twelve-to-one odds that they’ve already broken up but are keeping it a secret. The site has become an obsession at Ashland, with anonymous posts speculating about their demise.

“Don’t people have anything better to do with their time?” Huxley asks me on the phone.

I multitask between playing the friend role and getting ready. I pose in front of my mirror wearing a cerulean one-shoulder dress that falls just above my knees. Who knew I could put myself together so well? “Just ignore it. They’re all jealous that their lives aren’t as interesting as yours.”

“Why are people cheering for the destruction of my relationship?”

“Because you’re popular and they’re ugly.” I hook in dangly earrings. “Why are you letting it bother you?”

“I’m not,” she says, but I sense hesitation in her voice. The gossip and rumors have infiltrated her mind. “Steve told me nothing’s going on with Angela. He says that stuff in his car was planted.”

“You should believe him. He wouldn’t lie to you.” I paint my lips with my Plumful lipstick.

“You’re right.” She tries to mask her worry and play it off like it’s a stupid joke. I can’t give her peace of mind, not if I want my plan to succeed. But when I think about it, I don’t have peace of mind to give. I don’t know if I buy the coincidence that Steve randomly bumped into Angela at the skating rink. Sure, lots of kids’ birthday parties take place there, but it seems too convenient.

“Do you know why he and Angela broke up in the first place?” I ask. “Do you really think it was distance?”

“Steve says things just didn’t work out. But that’s guys. No specifics.” I’m surprised he gave her that much explanation. “Do you think Steve’s cheating?” Huxley asks me quietly, and I can only imagine how tough that was for her to say out loud.

“I don’t think so.” I don’t sound convincing. I fan my hair out. It falls down my face in waves. Another great trick Huxley taught me. “Do you?”

“No. Are you excited?”

“Yeah, I guess.” I looked up Colin Baker on Facebook, and he is good-looking. Tall, athletic, smart, full brown hair, wire-frame glasses and a killer smile. Guys like this shouldn’t statistically exist. They shouldn’t be single ever. And they shouldn’t be interested in me.

My phone buzzes with a text from Val. You busy tonight?

And then my stomach squeezes into a tight ball.

I spent Friday dodging Val in school. When she came up to me after Latin, I bolted for SDA practice, where I avoided Ezra’s stare. But halfway through my routine, I realized that nothing had actually happened. We had one semiserious conversation where we got a little emotional, and we were tired. It was a long day. No big deal. It passed. There’s nothing more to read into it. He’s dating my best friend, and they’re happy.

Happyish.

Still, to be sure, I didn’t talk to him after practice.

“So where is Colin taking you?” Huxley asks.

“Windows on the Water.” The restaurant is perched on stilts on the Hudson River overlooking the New York skyline. I checked out their menu online and gulped when I saw the prices.

“That will be so romantic.” Huxley sighs heavily. “The beginning of a relationship is always the most exciting. I remember when Steve and I got together. There was a party at Travis Weber’s. Steve and I sat on one of those wicker porch benches outside, drinking Coke. He gave me his jacket to make sure I stayed warm. ‘Bittersweet Symphony’ was playing inside the house. We were talking about the differences between our school and his old school. You know, that mindless chatter that neither person cares about because you know you’re going to kiss any second. And then a travel-sized bottle of mouthwash fell out of his pocket.”

“Real suave, Steve.”

“Then there was a century-long awkward moment, and it hit me. I am going to get kissed. My life is going to change. I picked it up and asked, ‘So what’s this for?’ Then he kissed me, and I just knew.”