Philip Siegel - The Break-Up Artist

The next day in Ms. Hardwick’s class, a group of girls, including Ms. Hardwick, gather around Huxley’s desk. They wouldn’t be callous enough to be talking about me, right? Ms. Hardwick’s still a teacher. I keep my nose in my textbook and eavesdrop.

“It was so sweet,” Huxley says. “He left a note in my locker saying ‘Let’s work things out. Meet me in the TV studio at lunch.’ And when I got there, he had re-created the scene of our first kiss. And I fell in love with him all over again.”

The girls aww; some lean their heads on each other’s shoulders. I remember wanting to bang my head into my desk after hearing and seeing all of Huxley’s and Steve’s sweeping fauxmantic gestures before. And now I created one. Life has a weird sense of humor.

“So is Steve still going to Chandler?” Ms. Hardwick asks.

“He is,” Huxley says. The murmuring between girls doesn’t faze Huxley one bit. “We’re going to try the long-distance thing and see how it goes. Steve is an amazing athlete, and he needs to be on the field.”

“Texas isn’t that far,” some girl says. “If any couple can make it, it’s you two.”

“We’ll have to see. If we’re meant to be together, then we will be together,” Huxley says. Calmness coats her voice; she’s just telling it like it is. “But I think we’ll make it.”

“Time to start class,” Ms. Hardwick says. “Everyone back to your seats.”

The crowd disperses, and I get a direct view of Huxley. I try to make eye contact with her. She doesn’t look my way. She keeps her focus on Ms. Hardwick. I can’t tell if it’s a guise or her true feelings. Maybe she thinks our friendship was really a fake this whole time. I guess from her perspective, that’s how it seems. I hope someday after graduation, when the chains of Ashland’s social structure are lifted, when she and Steve are planning their immaculate wedding, we can meet up for coffee and laugh about this.

Until then, I turn around before I’m caught openly staring.

I face a cafeteria chock-full of sideways glances and cupped whispers. I’ve never been on the other side of it, the subject of the gossip, and I feel like a circus performer in front of a perpetually bored audience. They want more. They want the story to keep moving, to get worse. I hope for my sake that it doesn’t.

I grip my tray, which is merely a prop. Past the scowls and stares and spotlight, I see one open chair.

“Is it okay if I sit here?”

Fred stares at me, and I feel myself shriveling up. But then he breaks into a smile, and I’ve never been so happy to see those straight white teeth. He removes his stack of comic books from the seat.

“Thanks,” I say.

“We’ll bill you at the end of the week,” Fred says.

It’s nice to be able to joke with somebody.

“I’m so sorry, about what I said to you. You were just trying to help.”

“Hey, I’m obsessed with comics and I have little-to-no muscle mass. I’m used to insults. Besides, I figured you were in an in-too-deep situation, and I was right.”

The first trace of my appetite returns. There are some decent people at this school.

“It’ll get better,” Fred says. “Some girl will get alcohol poisoning at the prom, and you’ll be a distant memory.”

“A girl can dream.”

I officially hate this. Why can’t people move on? I don’t want to suffer through hate stares the rest of my high-school career. I hope they reach a breaking point before I do.

Fred’s attention catches on something behind me. I turn to see Derek trudging through the double doors looking chewed up and spat out. He’s scratching his five-o’clock shadow, and his clothes desperately need to be ironed. I have to look away. He’s destroyed, and I operated the bulldozer.

“I did that,” I say in disgust.

“No, you didn’t.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“Nope,” Fred says. “It turns out Derek didn’t get into Princeton early decision in December. He got wait-listed, and his official rejection came while you were out.” Fred finishes off his second slice of pepperoni pizza. “I guess they only let one kid in per high school. So, good for Bethann.”

It really shouldn’t, but watching Derek’s misery gives me the warm and fuzzies.

“I’m still an awful person.”

“Kinda,” Fred says.

I guess I was asking for that.

“But not really,” he finishes. He gulps down the rest of his Sprite.

“I am. I break up innocent couples.”

“Why aren’t Bari and Derek back together? They know you broke them up. They know it was all lies. But they’re not dating.”

“Because... I don’t know.” He has a good point. Derek shuffles past Bari’s table without any acknowledgment of his ex-girlfriend. Bari doesn’t even pretend to eat. She spins the straw inside her Diet Coke, matching Derek’s gloominess sigh for sigh. Why aren’t they sitting together? A girl like Bari savors moments like this, when she can be a support system for her former boyfriend.

“If they really were in love, then why didn’t they patch things up? Huxley and Steve did.”

Ashland’s golden couple is back to finishing each other’s sentences and meals. It’s weird watching their table now knowing what actually goes on there, which is nothing spectacular. The same conversations and dull jokes.

And now that I think about it, my break-up methods weren’t that genius. If these couples were meant to be together, then their relationships wouldn’t have crumbled because of a flimsy text message or faked wedding binder.

I feel a weight lift off my shoulders. I don’t consider myself the most awful person at Ashland anymore. I didn’t destroy young love; I just sped up the inevitable.

But then I glance a few tables over at Calista, sitting with some girls but uninterested in what they’re saying. She seems just as miserable as Bari.

“You’re not all bad,” Fred says.

I’m not all good either.

“Thanks.” I smile for the first time today. My cheeks are sore from the constant stoicism.

“You’re actually kind of cool.” Fred scratches his eyebrow. “And I was thinking, maybe we could hang out, outside of school.”

My reverie stops. I suddenly get nervous. This conversation just took a severe left turn, and it’s flooding my mind with a million scenarios.

“Like a date?”

“That’s one interpretation.” Fred’s cheeks bunch up when he grins. His eyes gleam in the fluorescent light.

“With me?”

He nods yes.

“Okay.” I play it cool even though my arms and fingers tingle like I slept on them all night. I stand up. “I’m going to get some chips. I’m feeling hungry again.”

Fred’s grin follows me all the way to the cashier line. Melinda Jankowski taps me on the shoulder, engaging me in conversation for the first time since middle school.

“Thank you,” she whispers to me.

“For what?”

“You broke up my friend Katie’s relationship last year. I wondered what made Charles dump her so abruptly. Now I know.”

I cringe at the memory of impersonating Katie Derrickson on a blog about dealing with your boyfriend’s impotency. Not one of my classiest moves, but it did the trick.

“You’re welcome?” I say, unaware I had fans.

“He was such a jerk. He was telling Katie lies about us so she would stop being our friend. What a toxic pig. We were all beyond happy when they broke up,” Melinda says. “So thank you, seriously.”

I step up to the cashier and unfurl the two dollars in my fist.

“Actually, I got it.” Melinda reaches across me and hands the cashier money.

“Thanks,” I say, dumbstruck. The cashier has to remind me to take my food. “I wish everyone felt like this.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” Melinda says. She pays for her meal. We walk back into the main room together. “But you do have a few supporters.”

But there’s one supporter I’m still missing, the one who’s always supported me. I walk back into the expanse of the cafeteria. Val and Ezra are tucked in their corner table. They’ve probably forgotten I exist. She catches me gawking, and I scurry back to my nerds. Are we destined to be the next Bari and Calista? Is this how it ends?

I throw my chips on the table. Appetite lost.

No.

A feeling of determination and hope surges through me.

No.

Some relationships were made to be broken, but not all.

“What is it?” Fred asks.

I take out my Plumful lipstick and apply a fresh coat over my lips. “I have one last couple I need to destroy.”

I’m surprised Starlight Cruises hasn’t been sued for false advertising. This is the Hudson River, the border between New York City and New Jersey. There is no starlight. But I suppose Smog-Refracting-Light Cruises doesn’t have the same ring.

Passengers board the dinner cruise. It’s mostly sweet old couples who still wear suits and dresses for a night out. I park on the street and avoid the line of cars waiting for valet. I don’t have time, and I can park my own car for free, thank you very much. Also, I need some walking time to psych myself up. I was doing faux Lamaze breathing on the car ride over.

Luckily, I’m not alone. My accomplices park behind me, and the three of us stroll up to the loading dock. I’ve never performed a scheme like this. I’ve never been out in the open. It’s always letters and texts and pictures and whisper campaigns. But this time, it has to be me.

Val sits alone on a bench checking her phone, the cruise ship behind her making her look minuscule. She has on a simple black dress—no blazer tonight. She stands up as soon as she sees us.