Page 4 of The Breakup Artists

Tiny shrugs. “Sorry, it’s movie night,” she calls across the short stretch of water.

Bentley shakes his head. He knows all about movie night; he even came to a few when we were in middle school and repeatedly pointed out that we don’t watch the movies so much as talk at the screen and quote our favorite lines in sync with the actors. “Tell me you’re not really going to spend thefirstFriday nightof summer watching old movies you’ve seen a million times when you could be cannonballing off the dock into a narwhal?” He motions toward a box of inflatable animal-shaped tubes.

Tiny lifts her hands as though it’s an immovable fact. “Yup. But thanks for inviting us.”

Us. This is what it means to have a best friend: there’s no flaunting that she was invited and I wasn’t—everyone knows Valentine is a hundred times cooler than me anyway—and there’s no subtle regret that she’s missing out.

Tiny turns from Bentley without a second thought. “Also, can we pause a second and talk about how much money her parents offered us?” she says. “This job isthe rest of what we needfor the first year of Berkeley tuition.” She looks at me to join in on her enthusiasm.

Berkeley’s business program is THE dream. But her comment on tuition isn’t about her—her parents can and will pay—it’s about me. And right now, the last thing I want to tell her is that I used my entire savings to help my mom with bills this past year. But it’s fine; I don’t have to. This job should get me back on track before tuition is due.

“We’ve only got four short weeks to break them up, August,” she continues like maybe I don’t understand what a big deal this is.

While I’m with Tiny on the good-news part, to me it all sounds like pressure. Not to mention we only get paid if we complete the job. “It’s nuts,” I say.

“Not that we’re doing this for the money, but man, is it a perk,” she adds even though she doesn’t need to—we would never take a case without merit.

There are rules (documented in one of Tiny’s lists). Rules we argued over when we first started this business two years ago, trying to ensure that we wouldn’t wind up working for friends who were doing it for selfish reasons, for parents who were trying to control their kids, or worse, for anyone who was a discriminating jerk. The idea isn’t to manipulate people into breaking up but to expose what’s really there, lay bare the truth and let them do the rest.

HOW TO CHOOSE A CASE:

1) Clients fill out an electronic form detailing why they need our service

2) Interview the ones whose concerns make the cut

3) Do independent research to confirm relationships are harmful

4) Choose the most urgent or time sensitive relationship

And with Ella, it’s number four. The decisions Ella makes in these next few weeks will change her life.

“What do you want your name to be for this one?” Tiny asks, bringing the conversation back to strategy.

While I dislike the social-assessment part of this job, it’s fun creating a new identity—and strangely liberating. “Holden,” I say with a grin.

She smirks. “Pretentious much?”

“Totally. And if her town is like ours, then I’ll just be another rich summer tourist with a boat and a heart of gold.”

Tiny laughs. “That’s actually kind of perfect. Must get your genius from me.”

“What about your name?”

“Mia,” she says without needing to think about it, “same as always.” She pauses to read over some scribbled notes. “Well then,Holden, I say we try thePretty in Pinkstrategy to start, and let you swoop in as the sweet preppy hero.”

“I mean... thatshouldwork—” I start.

“Oh, it’ll work,” Tiny says, cutting me off.

“It’s weird how you struggle with confidence. You should really work on that. Maybe commune with a narwhal while cannonballing with a shirtless dude.”

She puts her notebook down on the dock and looks up at me innocently, not that I buy it. I know she’s plotting. Half a second later she makes her move—a shove. But I’m ready, and the instant her hand hits my shoulder, I grab her wrist, pulling her off the dock with me.

She yelps in surprise as she hits the cool water and goes under. But the moment she resurfaces, she’s laughing again.

She wipes water off her face. “You suck, August.”

I push back my dripping hair. “You mean Holden?”