angel of high school flings? I’d had enough of this boy.
“Yeah, David, thanks for the infomercial, but I don’t have to listen to this.” I began walking away when he yelled out to me again.
“I don’t want things to get messy. If you’ll just stop this, I won’t bother you anymore. But if you take on more clients I’ll be forced to interject. Today was nothing,” he added as an afterthought. I turned around and walked back to him, not quite ready to give up the fight yet.
“Why do you care so much? None of this has anything to do with you. I don’t understand why you’re making this into such a big deal. It’s just high school.” I stared at him, waiting for an answer because frankly, I was curious to know why a career choice that had nothing to do with him would be so offensive.
“Honestly?” he asked.
“Obviously,” I answered snidely.
“I’d started hearing about you from friends. They had all been in the same situation and didn’t realize until later that they had been dumped by proxy.” He gave me a reproachful look here but I said nothing, so he went on. “Once I realized that all of these different people were talking about the same girl, I decided to track you down. At first I was offended for my friends that they hadn’t been given an explanation for the relationship termination from the horse’s mouth, but after I watched you for a while I became… fascinated.”
His brows came together in a hard line and the same look of confusion that I’d seen on the doorstep returned. I gave a small shiver as flashbacks of Saturday night’s little scene replayed in my mind. Yet again, I had to remind myself to focus.
“Why would someone dedicate their time in high school to doing the one thing people in high school are desperate to avoid? And then I thought that surely you were doing it for some outrageous price.” I looked down at this, feeling a bit guilty that he knew I had been paid to break up with him. It must have been an awkward thing to find out.
“But fifty dollars, Amelia?” He sounded almost disappointed. “If you’re going to be such a sleaze bag, at least charge more.”
Whoa, I must have missed something in that conversation. I tried to quickly replay everything he’d just said but couldn’t seem to find where he suddenly thought I was the one being ripped off.
“I thought you didn’t like how I made money,” I hurriedly pointed out.
“I don’t like it or condone it in any way, but if you’re going to sell your soul, at least make sure the devil isn’t ripping you off.” He said this all so matter-of-factly that I was beginning to wonder if he was actually a breakup artist also and he was just trying to scare me out of his territory. It wasn’t so hard to believe.
“Anyway, we’re digressing. What I’m trying to say is that I want to help you,” he concluded, as if that statement made all the sense in the world.
“By destroying my one way of paying for college?” I asked sarcastically.
“Not your business. I want to burn your business to the ground. And I will. I want to help
I let out a deep sigh of annoyance. So that’s where this was going. He figured that I must be some poor, emotionally scarred girl who was so messed up inside that the only way she could comfort herself was by ruining other people’s relationships. That had to make perfect sense, right? Because who would actually do my line of work if they weren’t some kind of sadist?
“This has nothing to do with my parents,” I said darkly, implying that he should simply drop it before I shoved my granola bar down his throat. He nodded his head slowly in a superior way that made me sick. He thought he’d really hit something now. I wondered secretly if he had some sort of timer going so that he could charge me by the minute for this psychology session. “My home life, like my job, is none of your business. So back off.” I glared at him, my blue eyes burning holes into his green ones for as long as I could without blinking. He went longer. Of course. Anything that could possibly be annoying, this boy could do.
“Amelia, I want to help you get over whatever it is,” he began, before I silenced him with a raise of my hand.
“I’m not a news story, David. I’m really sorry you need fuel for your writing, but it’s not me.” And with that I left for class, even though I still had a good ten minutes before the bell rang. I must admit though, the look of shock on his face as I walked away actually made the whole argument worth it. I had no idea why he was so surprised by my words, but honestly, right at that moment, I didn’t care.
I knew David would probably try to follow me to class so I went the one place I could-the girl’s bathroom. Once I was locked safely in a stall, I sat on the tank of the toilet and let my forehead rest on my knees as a hot tear slid down my cheek.
I’d been asked by many school counselors how I felt about my father disappearing. Obviously it wasn’t a big deal to me, but none of them seemed to believe that. They always told me it had to have some sort of deep psychological impact on my life that would manifest itself unconsciously in my actions, and I always waved away their suspicions with a laugh. Yet here David was, making-what I’m sure he thought-was a pretty obvious connection. A girl who ends relationships as a job must have divorced parents who don’t have enough time to pay attention to her. This was simply a way of getting some attention. At least that’s what he thought.
Of course I’d never ruled out the possibility that my odd choice in hobbies could have something to do with my father walking out on us, but it wasn’t like I felt like a neglected child. I was fiercely independent and didn’t need anyone else in my life telling me what I should do. It wasn’t a hard concept to figure out, and yet people were always trying to analyze me and tell me how I felt. Shouldn’t I know how I feel better than a complete stranger? There’s nothing I hate more than people who think they know me because of one short interaction. In reality, there isn’t a “me” to know. There’s always only what the clients needed, and there’s nothing more to my story.
Biology was the same as it ever was. We learned about things that were interesting but difficult to understand, which meant that half of the class was snoring within the first five minutes of lecture. I tapped my foot nervously all through the genetic code as my teacher pointed to different graphs and illustrations. I couldn’t seem to focus all of my nervous energy. David had made it pretty clear that he planned on ruining my career if I kept taking on clients. That was a frightening prospect after the little demonstration of his effectiveness with Blane, though the fact that everything seemed to work out fine with Blane did give me some hope. The breakup actually seemed to go better after David’s interference. Not only was I able to lure Blane away from Lexi, but I didn’t have to worry about him pursuing me now that he thought I had a boyfriend. If it weren’t for David’s stubborn insistence that I was a horrible person for breaking people up, we could’ve started a pretty effective business together.
I stored that thought away for later consideration, even though it was a moot point. What I really needed to focus on right now was how to get David off my back. I refused to transfer my business to another school just because of some irksome boy. No, this simply had to be handled delicately. Luckily for me I had finished up all of my clients, so I didn’t need to worry about the threat too much for now. I’d just have to be worried once Valentine’s Day rolled around, or, more specifically, the day after Valentine’s Day.
Amazingly enough we hadn’t been given any biology homework, and so, with my spirits slightly higher, I made my way to my locker to drop off my book. I figured David would be off ruining someone else’s life with his self- righteous psychobabble, so I didn’t need to worry about him popping out of any corners. This didn’t stop paranoid thoughts from creeping into my mind, though. If it weren’t for the long brown hair and obviously feminine figure looming near my locker, I would have run in the other direction, swearing it was David.
I approached cautiously, fully aware that this was probably a potential client, which meant that my new little stalker wouldn’t be happy. I looked over my shoulder self-consciously, as if expecting to see him standing there, but there were no bright green eyes in the swarm of students rushing to get home and away from the watchful gaze of teachers. I approached the brunette, noting with a touch of annoyance that I’d be dying my hair for the third time in only three weeks.
“Hi,” I said, forcing an anxious smile onto my face. The girl smiled back sweetly, her green eyes instantly
