Page 74 of The Breakup Artists

I shake my head as I cross my lawn.

As I enter my kitchen, I feel a compulsion to glance back through the window at Tiny, who’s now talking to Bentley in his yard. While I can’t hear what they’re saying, Tiny’s arms are crossed and she’s wicked uncomfortable. Bentley hardly looks at her.

Something about it makes me uneasy. It’s not that I care if they’re awkward, but what would they even have to be awkward about?

35

valentine

Bentley doesn’t look at me as I enter his yard. He just lifts weights and stares at the water.

“Hey, you,” I say, an unsettled feeling disturbing the fries I scarfed earlier.

“I don’t need help with the twins,” he says, matter-of-factly. “So you can go back to hanging out with August.”

Gut punch.“You heard that?”

“Yup.”

Guilt grips my already uneasy stomach. Every explanation I can think of is lame. So I just stand there, arms crossed, like they might somehow shield me from my own carelessness.

“I do want to hang out with you, you know,” I say.

“It’s cool. I have to work out anyway.”

“So you’re mad?” I say even though he’s acting calmer than I’ve ever seen him.

“Not mad.”

“You won’t even look at me.” I push the flyaways from my ponytail off my forehead.

Now he does make eye contact, and his hurt-puppy-dog look makes things so much worse. “Look, Valentine. I like you. You know that. And I want to spend time with you. God, you can’t even imagine how much. But not when you’re lying because you’re embarrassed to hang out with me. We literally made that honesty pact yesterday.”

“With you, yeah... but not with August,” I say, and as that crap rationalization leaves my mouth, I realize how awful it sounds. “Not that I think it’s okay to lie to August. It’s just... complicated.”

He puts his weights down, rubbing a towel over his face. “It’s your decision.”

“What’s my decision?”

“All of it.” He throws the towel over his shoulder.

When I don’t respond, he sighs and heads for his door.

I want to run after him and apologize, tell him I was a total inconsiderate jerk, but instead I just stare as he walks away, conflicted. I could take the easy out, let him walk away and be done with it. Right? Right. So then why am I standing in his lawn stressing?

I turn around and head back to my house, trying to push our conversation from my mind. But my brain flat-out refuses.

Now inside where no one can see me, I press my fingers into my temples and fall back against the closed door. It’s a grade-A awful situation, of which I can only see one way out—one very annoying way that requires admitting to August that I lied.

36

valentine

Fancy cars are parked on both sides of the prim and proper street. And while Justin’s house isn’t as giant as Ella’s, it’s still obscene compared to what normal people live in—one of those three-story brick federal numbers with black shutters you imagine some important senator living in and drinking brandy with his pinkie in the air.

“This case is wild,” I whisper to August as we walk toward Justin’s front door. “I knew this town was posh, but it’s like they exclusively live in party scenes plucked from eighties movies. All crazy, no consequence. I’m thinking of it as a staycation from our normal lives.”

August shrugs. “Not my thing.”