Page 14 of The Breakup Artists

“A scene fromWhen Harry Met Sally?” Amber offers, and I’m doubly glad Tiny isn’t in hearing range. I want to be Ella’s friend, nothing more. And I’m specifically not trying to set myself up as a rival to her boyfriend.

Leah nods, finding the whole thing amusing. “Actually, yeah, exactly like that.”

“That is not...No,” Ella says emphatically, and I want to echo her.

“I bet Justin would find this interesting,” Amber adds with a mischievous smirk.

“What would I find interesting?” Justin says from behind me, indicating Amber saw him and her comment was a power play.

Justin joins the group wearing a white T-shirt, basketball shorts, and a cocky expression.

“This,” Ella says, a little flustered, waving her hand in my direction, “is the guy who dumped his coffee all over me this morning.”

“No shit,” he says and laughs, but Ella gives him a look. “Oh, wait, sorry. Not funny. We hate him?”

She shrugs, soaking up the fact that he immediately took her side. “A little.”

“Sorry, man, we hate you a little,” Justin says in a friendly way. He’s a bro’s bro, but at least he doesn’t try to fist-bump me. It’s obvious by the way they all look at him that they adore him. Plus, there’s something oddly familiar about his whole shtick.

As if Tiny could sense that I need her, she appears next to me. “I see you’ve met my cousin,” she says to Justin.

“Your cousin?” Justin repeats with another laugh. “Man, small world. Like, crazy small.” He visibly winces, shifting his attention to Ella. “Babe, I may have inadvertently invited Mia”—he gestures at Tiny—“and public enemy number one to our party tomorrow.” He wraps his arm around Ella’s waist and she leans into him. “Are you mad? Say the word and we’ll just cancel the party straight up.”

She shrugs, more for show than anything. “Nah. Not a big deal.”

“That’s my girl,” Justin says and kisses her head.

And I have to hand it to the guy: he’s annoyingly charismatic.

Ella looks at him like he’s the best thing ever, and something about her expression makes my stomach drop. Suddenly I know why he seems so familiar—he reminds me of someone I once knew, someone I despise more than anyone on this whole goddamn planet—Des’s last boyfriend.Kyle.I glance at Tiny, and by the way she searches my face, I can tell she sees it, too—that Justin appears too perfect, that Ella appears too smitten. I look away, uneasy, my heart punching my rib cage. And for the first time since we started this business, my confidence wavers, not only in this case but also in my ability to approach it objectively.

6

valentine

The cool water sparkles like a blaring invitation. I wipe my forehead with the back of my wrist, glancing momentarily up at the gorgeous blue sky from where I sit at my and August’s favorite place on the dock—the one we’ve nicknamed our “office.” We’ve planned all our best stuff from this location, including the not-so-inspired idea of digging an underground tunnel from his house to mine when we were nine, before we hit a pipe and nearly gave my dad a heart attack, that is. I kick at the water with bare toes and stare jealously at Bentley and his little brother and sister, who have been competing for best dive, farthest jump, and biggest splash for the past twenty minutes. But I’m already in my party-ready clothes, and I don’t have time for a swim.

Also, I don’t want to go back in my house. My parents are in there, cooking and dancing. While that’s not super unusual, they seem to have kicked up their romance as of late. I’m happy for them, but I just don’t need to witness it.

Instead, I flip through Ella’s and Justin’s social media profiles. Usually this is the bit I look forward to most, the angling for clues and sussing out information that the parents don’t know. But right now, Justin is making my stomach drop in a bad way. I knew I was missing something important, but I didn’t imagine in a million years that it’d be his eerie similarities with Kyle, who luckily has been away at college and has yet to return, even during summer breaks. It’s not that Justin looks like him, ’cause he doesn’t; it’s the way he captivates an audience. It’s the sense that he’s selling you something too good to be true.

Bentley pops out of the water near my feet, and I’m so startled I nearly drop my phone on his head. He grins.

“Well played, Bentley,” I say, placing my phone face down on the wood in case he splashes me.

He crosses his wet arms and leans on the dock, resting his chin on them, but he doesn’t reply.

After a long second I laugh. “Are you going to say something?”

He shakes his head, sending a couple of water droplets into the air.

“So you’re just going to lounge there silently?” I ask, and when he nods, I add, “Suit yourself.” I pick my phone back up, but it’s impossible to concentrate with him staring. “Okay. I’ll bite. What’s with the silent routine?”

He shrugs.

“Please tell me you didn’t google reverse psychology,” I say, but he only shrugs again. “Oh my god. I swear if I wasn’t worried about falling in the water, I’d push you.”

I place my hands on the wood on either side of my knees, and my pinkie grazes his elbow. We both notice. And for whatever reason, the silence makes it seem like a big deal. He smiles mischievously.