are broken up,” I said shakily, finding that this confrontation was taking a lot of the fight out of me. I suspected that it had something to do with the fact that I didn’t have an identity that day. I wasn’t Lia the super cheerleader, or Mari the independent punk chick. I was Amelia Marie Bedford, sixteen-year-old breakup artist and personality-less high school student.
“Yeah, I wanted you to break up with him for me. Not the other way around! What am I supposed to do now? It looks like he dumped me!” she screeched. We were now attracting some attention, which was something I strictly avoided doing when I was off the clock.
“Why does that matter? You got what you wanted. You and David are broken up and you can get what’s-his-name to ask you to the prom.”
“It’s my reputation, Amelia,” she spat. “I know you don’t have one, but I can’t go around having people break up with me. It doesn’t sit well with my image. You need to fix this.”
“Fix this?” I repeated incredulously. “How am I supposed to do that?”
“Make it look like I broke up with him,” she answered simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Why don’t you do that yourself? Just tell your friends that’s what happened.” I had no idea where any of this was going, but I knew I didn’t like it.
“I paid you to save my reputation!”
“No, you paid me to avoid an awkward situation for yourself,” I quickly corrected her. I may have suddenly turned spineless, but I wasn’t about to give back the fifty dollars she’d given me just because she had a bruised ego.
“Whatever. You need to get David to go out with me again so I can break up with him properly and publicly, or I’m taking my money back.” Her threat was loud and clear, and all I could do was nod silently. She turned to walk away but called over her shoulder, “And you should fix whatever you did to your hair. You look like Lexi Monroe.”
That school day went by in a haze of commotion. My mind was completely wrapped around my current problem and I didn’t pay attention to a single word out of my teachers’ mouths. My stomach was all tied up in knots over the prospect of A) getting David to ask Claire back out, B) getting her to break up with him publicly so I wouldn’t have to give the money back, and C) possibly sabotaging any chance I had with David. Though, all things considered, I’d say that would be the best part of this whole plan. I couldn’t risk having a crush on a boy. Besides, what boy would ever be okay with his girlfriend flirting with a new guy every day?
I wasn’t at all surprised to find that my mother was having another “client dinner” this Friday, so I ate some cold macaroni and cheese straight out of the fridge without even heating it up. I finished up my homework for the weekend and tried to watch reruns of old black-and-white TV shows until I fell asleep. As it turned out, however, even Lucy’s antics couldn’t soothe me, so I ended up going online to try to cyber stalk David. I needed some information on this boy, and I already had his name, which meant I should be able to find some sort of online profile for him. Everyone seems to have their own website now, which makes things infinitely easier for me when a client doesn’t give me enough information about their dear boyfriends.
I went to a search engine and typed in “David Fields” in an attempt to locate my burden’s website. I found many photography websites and even an interesting blog or two, but nothing from this boy at school. Now things were really getting weird. As I’ve previously stated, everyone has a website. Everyone. To find someone without some sort of online profile is like finding someone who doesn’t exist . . . at least in high school.
I considered calling Claire up just to confirm that I had the right last name, but I had a violent flashback to our last conversation and decided against it. Now all that was left to
“Yeah, I wanted you to break up with him for me. Not the other way around! What am I supposed to do now? It looks like he dumped me!” she screeched. We were now attracting some attention, which was something I strictly avoided doing when I was off the clock.
“Why does that matter? You got what you wanted. You and David are broken up and you can get what’s-his-name to ask you to the prom.”
“It’s my reputation, Amelia,” she spat. “I know you don’t have one, but I can’t go around having people break up with me. It doesn’t sit well with my image. You need to fix this.”
“Fix this?” I repeated incredulously. “How am I supposed to do that?”
“Make it look like I broke up with him,” she answered simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Why don’t you do that yourself? Just tell your friends that’s what happened.” I had no idea where any of this was going, but I knew I didn’t like it.
“I paid you to save my reputation!”
“No, you paid me to avoid an awkward situation for yourself,” I quickly corrected her. I may have suddenly turned spineless, but I wasn’t about to give back the fifty dollars she’d given me just because she had a bruised ego.
“Whatever. You need to get David to go out with me again so I can break up with him properly and publicly, or I’m taking my money back.” Her threat was loud and clear, and all I could do was nod silently. She turned to walk away but called over her shoulder, “And you should fix whatever you did to your hair. You look like Lexi Monroe.”
That school day went by in a haze of commotion. My mind was completely wrapped around my current problem and I didn’t pay attention to a single word out of my teachers’ mouths. My stomach was all tied up in knots over the prospect of A) getting David to ask Claire back out, B) getting her to break up with him publicly so I wouldn’t have to give the money back, and C) possibly sabotaging any chance I had with David. Though, all things considered, I’d say that would be the best part of this whole plan. I couldn’t risk having a crush on a boy. Besides, what boy would ever be okay with his girlfriend flirting with a new guy every day?
I wasn’t at all surprised to find that my mother was having another “client dinner” this Friday, so I ate some cold macaroni and cheese straight out of the fridge without even heating it up. I finished up my homework for the weekend and tried to watch reruns of old black-and-white TV shows until I fell asleep. As it turned out, however, even Lucy’s antics couldn’t soothe me, so I ended up going online to try to cyber stalk David. I needed some information on this boy, and I already had his name, which meant I should be able to find some sort of online profile for him. Everyone seems to have their own website now, which makes things infinitely easier for me when a client doesn’t give me enough information about their dear boyfriends.
I went to a search engine and typed in “David Fields” in an attempt to locate my burden’s website. I found many photography websites and even an interesting blog or two, but nothing from this boy at school. Now things were really getting weird. As I’ve previously stated, everyone has a website. Everyone. To find someone without some sort of online profile is like finding someone who doesn’t exist . . . at least in high school.
I considered calling Claire up just to confirm that I had the right last name, but I had a violent flashback to our last conversation and decided against it. Now all that was left to
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