Page 43 of The Breakup Artists

Justin and Tiny hoot as they both make their first basket. Amber, however, keeps glancing our way. And I get the sense that if I don’t act fast, Amber will walk over here, negating the opportunity Tiny so artfully gave me.

“Will you do me a favor?” I say, looking out at the carnival. “Tell Mia to text me when she’s done being macho.”

Ella follows my gaze into the crowd. “You’re not staying?”

“I’m gonna check out the Ferris wheel,” I say and walk away. This is how I do my job. I don’t tell people what to do—I give them choices and let them decide for themselves.

I only make it three stalls down before she calls, “Wait up,” falling in step with me. “Care if I join?”

“Not at all.”

For a couple of seconds, we walk side by side through the noisy carnival, my hands in my jeans pockets and hers pulling her long hair into a ponytail. Her coconut shampoo once again wafts in my direction, reminding me of the beach—suntan lotion and sun-warmed skin.

“Can I ask you something?” I say.

“Depends.”

“Where are you going to college?”

She half laughs. “That’s your big question? What am I doing with my future?”

“I mean, yeah,” I say as we join the line for the Ferris wheel. “I just noticed how serious you are about your blog and wondered.”

She’s close enough that I spot a handful of freckles on her upper left cheekbone—as though a star constellation embossed itself there.

“I want to be a travel journalist. Badly,” she says.

“Travel journalism...” I consider it even though I already knew this about her. “An international school then?”

She presses her lips together, and her shoulders tug slightly inward. “Funny... that used to be the goal.”

“Used to?”

She hesitates. “I got into London School of Economics. They have one of the best programs in the world. But I just don’t want to be that far from home, ya know?” She says this like she wants my agreement, needs it maybe.

“You want to stay near your family?” I ask even though I know that’s not the reason.

“Are you kidding? My parents would be overjoyed if I went to London.” She pauses. “And the Shakespeare. Oh my god. I’d be at the Globe like every week.”

While I’m all set to continue my college questions, she’s caught my attention, and I take a quick detour. “You like theater?”

“Love,” she says. “I know everyone says they love Shakespeare, that I’m not winning any originality awards, but I really do.Romeo and Julietis the most perfect love story ever. In all its iterations. Even bad high school renditions where you know the actors have no idea what they’re saying. My favorite, though, is that stunning Leonardo DiCaprio movie.”

This subject is one I feel pretty strongly about, and I, August, can’t resist telling her what I actually think. “I absolutely agree with you about Shakespeare. I mean, the guy added more than two hundred words to the English language. But I’m not totally convinced aboutRomeo and Juliet. They both die at the end.”

She shakes her head like I’ve got it all wrong, and her ponytail swishes with the movement. “The story is about two people who love each other so much that they literally cannot exist in a world without one another. It’s beautiful.”

In a way I envy her and Tiny and the way they see the world with so much possible love in it. “So if London has one of the best journalism programsandShakespeare, how come you’re not going?”

She dips her head and rubs her arm. “It’s just that Justin and I decided to go to Boston University so that he can intern with his dad’s company during his junior and senior year.”

I give her a questioning look.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That look definitely wasn’t nothing. You were judging me,” she says.