The Revenge Artist - Philip Siegel Page 0,24

pat down his hair before leaving the house.

Huxley needed someone like Steve to keep her grounded, be her support. He made her learn to laugh when she got too serious. And sure, for their entire relationship, their romantic gestures were over-the-top and fueled my Break-Up Artist fire, but in some weird way, I miss that Huxley. It was the devil I knew.

“Maria,” Wade calls out to the cashier, who doesn’t like being called out. “Do you think you guys should open up another register?” He gestures to the growing line behind him.

“Thanks,” I tell him.

As Maria rings me up, I hear Wade chatting up his cashier. He seems to know them beyond the nametag. “My dad’s against getting me a credit card since I maxed out my last three. So for my birthday this year, he gave me a stack of these babies.” I peer over at the Fairfax gift cards reflecting the fluorescent lights.

Maria gives me my receipt, and I make one last attempt at eye contact with Huxley. She fiddles with her keys in her hand, turning them over the outsized, sparkly key chain. I haven’t given up yet. We went years without talking, and our brief reconciliation was a highlight for me last year. It’s harder to get a taste of something and then have it pulled from me than it is to never taste it at all.

“Can we drop the silent treatment, Huxley?” I blurt out, fueled by frustration with childish games. “I’m sorry for what I did last year, but I got you and Steve back together. It’s not my fault he messed that all up.”

She narrows her eyes my way, making me second-guess my impulsive gust of honesty. Maybe I shouldn’t have woken the sleeping bear. “Rebecca, save your apologies for someone who cares. I’m not ignoring you. I just don’t care about you anymore. You’re an extra in the background, not a recurring character.” She takes three deliberate steps in my direction. “You’re nothing to me. Just a fly on my windshield.”

And then she’s back with Wade, and I’m on the outside. Outside the outside. My heart plummets to my shoes. That was colder than cold. I suspected she was mad at me, but to hear her say that, her voice so steadied…well, there’s no coming back from that. The sliding doors open automatically for me, giving me a sign that it’s time to go.

I kick past a crush of yellow and red leaves. All thoughts about Huxley vanish, and my heart nearly stops when I get to my car. It seems I’m not going home alone.

A teddy bear sits on the hood.

Dark eyes stare back at me with a bighearted smile that in any other context would seem sweet. I scan my surroundings, but nary a soul walks through the parking lot.

I pick up the plush bear. It clutches a pink, stuffed football covered with hearts between his furry paws. Tucked behind my window wiper is a note.

I’ve watched you from afar, always wondering what you’re thinking. I love that you’re always thinking. Soon you can know the truth. Soon you can lift the mask.

My pulse quickens until it’s about to break the sound barrier. This must be the same person who gave me the candy hearts. It has to be. I’m not the type of the girl to have two secret admirers. While most people would be gushing over a stuffed animal and romantically ambiguous note, I can’t stop wondering how my secret admirer figured out I was at Fairfax. Does the search for love come with a tracking device?

I grip the bear by its soft neck and stare into its eyes for an answer. So I have a secret admirer. A very crafty secret admirer who’s been inside my locker and on my car. This needs to end immediately.

My sister steps out of her walk-in closet (still jealous of that) wearing a cute skirt-and-sweater combo. A nice mix of classy and cleavage. She stares at herself in the mirror in disgust.

“I look like I’m going square dancing.”

And another outfit is down for the count.

In an hour and forty-seven minutes, Diane is meeting Desmond, Mr. Perfect Match, for their first date. She left work early to prepare. She’s been kicking butt at her advertising job. Today her bosses called her in and relayed a gushing email from the client about Diane’s work on a recent campaign.

“They see a promotion in the very near future,” Diane told me while trying on a