Page 96 of The Breakup Artists

“Text me if you need any ideas,” I say.

And while she doesn’t say she’s going to, she doesn’t say she’s not. We say a fast goodbye, and I fall down on my bed next to Swee, grinning like an absolute fool.

47

valentine

Whether it irks me or not, speaking to Ella did the trick—August is out of bed and acting not only like himself but kinda like the August from before Des passed. He’s going to an art store tomorrow, and not just any art store: the special one he used to go to with Des on his birthday. I swing my legs in small circles above the water at the edge of the dock, the hem of my flowered dress fluttering on my thighs in the salty breeze. August leans back, his hands on the sun-warmed wood, squinting toward the horizon in the bright afternoon sun.

“Interesting,” he says after I fully brief him on the conversation I had at the party with Leah about Amber and Justin’s flirting.

“I had a lot of time to think while we weren’t talking,” I say. “And well, I came up with a plan B, one I thought might work even with our case in ruins.”

August rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry ’bout that, Tiny. I really never meant to put our case in jeopardy. It’s actually the last thing I’d want to do.”

I swish the water with one of my feet, sending glimmering droplets into the air like daytime fireflies. “Oh, I know, Holden McLover. I’m not saying it to make you feel guilty. I’m saying it because I’m a phoenix who rises from the ashes and saves us even when it looks like all hope is lost.”

August chuckles. “If the world had your confidence, Tiny, it’d be a better place.”

I grin at him and flick my hair over my shoulder dramatically. “Wouldn’t it, though?”

“So what’s this earth-shattering plan B? Does it have something to do with outing Amber and Justin?”

“Abso-friggin-lutely,” I reply, energized by his belief in me. “Look, we know Ella’s having doubts about her relationship. We get this right and we have a shot at a fast breakup, which we desperately need at this point. We’re running out of time.”

“What do you need me to do?” he says before he’s even heard the plan.

I put my notebook down in my lap and look at him. “Actually, it’s what I need to do. I thought about sending you in as lead, but if it doesn’t land for some reason, it’ll be right on the heels of your altercation with Justin.”

“True,” he says. “Tell me the plan.”

So I do, and we spend the next few hours tweaking the strategy, arguing over details, and then eating way too much Indian food at my house. My parents are a little short with each other during dinner, almost like they’re in a fight and trying hard not to give it away. I nudge August under the table to see if he’s noticing that they’re being weird, but he doesn’t seem to understand. Maybe it’s just stress over Dad’s company party? They have been working extra hard lately.

When August returns to his house, I text Bentley.

Me

Up for coming over?

He replies immediately, saying,Always, which is one of the things I really enjoy about Bentley. He doesn’t try to be cool by making me wait; he’s enthusiastic.

My parents are already in their room having movie night in bed, and so I send them a quick text telling them Bentley’s on his way. Then I grab my favorite pair of cutoff jean shorts and my comfy white sweatshirt and change out of my swimming clothes. And even though I’m fast, Bentley taps on my bedroom door as I pull my sweatshirt down over my stomach.

“Hey there,” he says, and the hello kiss he gives me zings all the way to my toes.

I move toward my open bedroom door. That’s another thing I really like about Bentley. When I asked him why he never closes it, he laughed and said he always wants that to be my choice, that he never wants me to feel pressured.

“How were the twins today?” I ask as the door shuts with a satisfying click. It’s the first day this week I haven’t played with them. In a weird way they remind me of August and me; they’re annoyingly in sync most of the time but also fight like it’s an Olympic sport.

“Same. Hilarious. Beast-like. You know,” he says and sits down on the end of my bed. “How was August?”

“Actually surprisingly good,” I say, standing in front of his knees. “But then again, he got a text from a girl he likes, so.”

Bentley reaches out and interlaces his fingers with mine, pulling me a couple of inches closer. He raises an eyebrow. “Augustlikessomeone? How’d that happen? I don’t think I’ve even seen him talk to anyone besides you in years.”

“So... how are you with secrets?” I start, figuring now is as good a time as any.

“Excellent,” he says, eyeing me curiously. “Whatcha got?”