The Revenge Artist - Philip Siegel Page 0,51

there be a whole army out there dedicated to this mission?

Judy, my little Break-Up Artist wannabe, walks alongside me once I get into the hall, making this officially the crappiest day of the year thus far.

“Any luck cracking the case of Bari and Jay?” she asks, chipper as a spring morning.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no.”

“Maybe I can help.”

Doubtful, I think. If I can’t find this Revenge Artist, then Judy won’t know where to start. “I’m in the business of helping couples, not breaking them up.”

“I know that. But maybe I can help. Pro bono, of course.” She shrugs her shoulders and is all too eager. With my clients unhappy and my friends not doing much better, I’m not in the mood to deal with this social barnacle. Especially when I only have one cup of coffee in me.

“No, thanks.”

“Why not? I think you need some assistance.”

“And what makes you think you would be of any help?” The words fly out of me. “Just because you’re calling yourself a break-up artist and ripping me off doesn’t mean you have any clue what you’re doing.”

“I don’t want to be breaking up couples. I’d rather be helping them like you, but I can’t compete with your business.”

“Capitalism is a bitch.” I walk faster. So does she.

“Then why don’t you help me?” she nearly yells at me. Not the reaction I was expecting.

“I don’t have time to hold your hand.”

“Look, I want to learn from the best. Yeah, that’s right. I called you the best. But you’ve never taken a second to teach me or help me or offer any real advice. I thought trying to take over your Break-Up Artist legacy would get your attention. I thought we could work together.”

“Maybe you should join a club or something.” I try to keep walking, but Judy stops me in a curious display of arm strength.

“I don’t really fit in with any club or clique here. I thought you would understand, of all people,” she says. “I’m good, okay? Not as good as you, but I can be.”

I see freshman-me reflected in her face for a second, but then I realize it’s Judy. I don’t have time to be anyone’s mentor.

“Judy, I don’t need any help. I work alone, as you can imagine.”

“Well, guess what? Next year, you’re gone, and it’s just going to be me. You have a chance to pass something down. Maybe if you weren’t such a control freak, you’d realize what an opportunity that is.” Judy stalks off in a huff.

***

I race out the door when my next class ends and head to Val’s locker. It’s lunch, so maybe I can catch her before she absconds to wherever she’s been eating lunch. Or studying with her so-called study group. There’s someone out to get me, someone dangerous. I need her on my side.

She averts her eyes once she sees me.

“Hi. Can we talk? I’m sorry.” It all tumbles out, half stream of consciousness, half because we have a really short lunch period.

“I should get to lunch.” Val tries to reach behind me to her locker, and I move out of the way. I know Val needs time to cool down, but it’s been a few days. She should be room temperature by now.

“Can we talk? Actually, you know what? I’m going to talk. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about saying I Love You right away. Truth is, it freaked me out, and I was still adjusting to it, and I didn’t want you to make a big deal out of it.” I suck in a deep breath and slyly check the time on my phone. “Forgiven?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask Melanie?”

“Hey, Val—” A scrawny freshman guy stops in his tracks and turns white as we both turn around. He’s definitely not one of the handful of freshmen whose names I know.

“Homework, right?” she asks him with a firm tone that’s very un-Val. He nods yes slowly, the ultimate deer in the headlights. “We only have to answer the first five questions.”

“Oh, okay.” He acknowledges me with a smile and shoves his hands deep into his pockets. He has spiky hair and a skinny frame, and I wonder if he’s one of those genius prodigies who skipped a few grades. I spot a test sticking out of his book with a very distinctive sticker.

“Nice try,” I read off the sticker.

The kid shoves the test into the crack of his textbook. “Mr. Yamimoto puts these stickers