this probably would have sounded like an odd response to her question, but I had grown good at reading people and knowing when they were coming to me for a job—that, and there was the small fact that I had no friends and no one knew who I was. The cheerleader’s face lit up considerably at my words; she apparently hadn’t been convinced that I actually existed and was relieved to find that there really was someone who would save her from social awkwardness.
“Yeah, I need you to break up with my boyfriend Blane for me.” She handed over some information on the boy, and I dug my normal required fact sheet from my locker and gave it to her in turn.
“I need you to fill that out and give it to me tomorrow, along with a picture of the boy and your phone number so I can call you for any further information I need,” I said mechanically. The cheerleader gave me an odd look at this statement but didn’t say anything and simply took the paper.
“Um, Blane likes blondes . . . is that a problem?”
I laughed at this statement and shook my head.
“I’ll change it tonight. You do know I’m charging fifty, since it’s so close to prom, right?” She simply nodded and handed over a wad of cash. I counted it quickly and stuck out my hand. She shook it with a smile and the deal was made.
I didn’t spot David at all that day, which worried me beyond all belief. If I couldn’t find him by tomorrow, then there was actually a chance that this boy would somehow show up on my doorstep on Saturday. Even without knowing my address, I wouldn’t put it past him to mysteriously know exactly where I lived without having to ask anyone. This fact was unsettling and the burning blonde color stripper in my hair didn’t help to ease my discomfort. I always hated having to go from black to blonde overnight. It sometimes left my hair with an orange-ish tint that took a while to cover up. Tonight though, the fates smiled on me, and my hair turned a prissy platinum blonde without leaving me bald.
I removed the black nail polish and replaced it with bright pink, which meant I had to walk around my room with those uncomfortable foam toe separators on my feet while spreading my fingers like some sort of flying squirrel trying to take off. I skimmed through my extensive wardrobe and picked out a white pleated skirt that cut off several inches above my knee and a bubblegum pink tank top. I threw some hot pink stiletto heels into the mix and was done with my work assignment for that night.
Lexi Monroe, which turned out to be the cheerleader’s name (though I would have been just fine calling her cheerleader), had managed to send a picture of her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend from her phone to my email address. I hadn’t given her my email address, but since it was simply my full name, I guess it wasn’t that hard to figure it out. Her resourcefulness did surprise me, though. So, with her picture and fact sheet to guide me, I figured I could start this project tomorrow, even though I usually avoided working on a Friday, since it could sometimes run over into my uneventful weekends. This was my exception. I had to get back on my game or I was doomed. All right, so maybe I wasn’t doomed, but I was definitely in danger of losing my self-confidence.
I glanced at the fact sheet before me and tried to think of my plan of attack.
Name—Blane
Age—18
POI—Football, Parties, Cars
Deadline—Tuesday
Though the deadline was slightly shocking, his POIs were almost laughably predictable. It was like a jock stereotype straight out of a movie. I looked them over one more time to make sure I hadn’t invented them simply by expecting them to be there, and sure enough, there they were in all of their unsubstantial glory. Then again, I suppose someone without an original thought in her head doesn’t have much room to make fun of the interests of others.
I shook my head, figuring I could lure this one away simply by bending over in front of him in
“Yeah, I need you to break up with my boyfriend Blane for me.” She handed over some information on the boy, and I dug my normal required fact sheet from my locker and gave it to her in turn.
“I need you to fill that out and give it to me tomorrow, along with a picture of the boy and your phone number so I can call you for any further information I need,” I said mechanically. The cheerleader gave me an odd look at this statement but didn’t say anything and simply took the paper.
“Um, Blane likes blondes . . . is that a problem?”
I laughed at this statement and shook my head.
“I’ll change it tonight. You do know I’m charging fifty, since it’s so close to prom, right?” She simply nodded and handed over a wad of cash. I counted it quickly and stuck out my hand. She shook it with a smile and the deal was made.
I didn’t spot David at all that day, which worried me beyond all belief. If I couldn’t find him by tomorrow, then there was actually a chance that this boy would somehow show up on my doorstep on Saturday. Even without knowing my address, I wouldn’t put it past him to mysteriously know exactly where I lived without having to ask anyone. This fact was unsettling and the burning blonde color stripper in my hair didn’t help to ease my discomfort. I always hated having to go from black to blonde overnight. It sometimes left my hair with an orange-ish tint that took a while to cover up. Tonight though, the fates smiled on me, and my hair turned a prissy platinum blonde without leaving me bald.
I removed the black nail polish and replaced it with bright pink, which meant I had to walk around my room with those uncomfortable foam toe separators on my feet while spreading my fingers like some sort of flying squirrel trying to take off. I skimmed through my extensive wardrobe and picked out a white pleated skirt that cut off several inches above my knee and a bubblegum pink tank top. I threw some hot pink stiletto heels into the mix and was done with my work assignment for that night.
Lexi Monroe, which turned out to be the cheerleader’s name (though I would have been just fine calling her cheerleader), had managed to send a picture of her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend from her phone to my email address. I hadn’t given her my email address, but since it was simply my full name, I guess it wasn’t that hard to figure it out. Her resourcefulness did surprise me, though. So, with her picture and fact sheet to guide me, I figured I could start this project tomorrow, even though I usually avoided working on a Friday, since it could sometimes run over into my uneventful weekends. This was my exception. I had to get back on my game or I was doomed. All right, so maybe I wasn’t doomed, but I was definitely in danger of losing my self-confidence.
I glanced at the fact sheet before me and tried to think of my plan of attack.
Name—Blane
Age—18
POI—Football, Parties, Cars
Deadline—Tuesday
Though the deadline was slightly shocking, his POIs were almost laughably predictable. It was like a jock stereotype straight out of a movie. I looked them over one more time to make sure I hadn’t invented them simply by expecting them to be there, and sure enough, there they were in all of their unsubstantial glory. Then again, I suppose someone without an original thought in her head doesn’t have much room to make fun of the interests of others.
I shook my head, figuring I could lure this one away simply by bending over in front of him in
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