Page 49 of The Breakup Artists

I suppress the urge to push him with both hands. “What am I supposed to say to that?”

“Tell me that I have to hand wash your Jeep or something, and then you’ll forgive me.”

I huff, not ready to give up my exasperated tone. “Let’s just forget the penance part and skip forward. I forgive you.”

“Then you’ll go on another date with me?”

I stare at Bentley, his faded Superman shirt and plaid pants making him look way too innocent. I stand there for a good five seconds, but he doesn’t back down and he doesn’t say he’s kidding. “Don’t you think we should call it quits while we’re ahead?”

“We’re not ahead.”

I rub my eye, thinking of a million reasons why this is a bad idea. But instead, I say, “Do you promise not to insult my best friend?”

“I do.”

“And do you promise not to BS me with one-liners?”

“Cross my heart.” He makes the motion on his chest.

“Fine. I’ll go on another date with you.”

A grin lights up his face so completely that I have to tighten my jaw to keep from smiling back.

“Tomorrow?” he asks. “For the date, I mean.”

My eyes widen; he’s totally incorrigible. “You’re serious?”

“Valentine, I’ve been waiting for three and a half years for you to say yes to me. I’m not missing a day.”

And suddenly my frustration is replaced with a fuzzy feeling that I also can’t define. I pull my bathrobe tighter even though I’m not cold. “Oh,” I stumble. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeats, once again grinning.

I shake my head. “Now go to bed, Bentley Cavendish,” I say, but we both linger a second before we walk our separate ways.

27

valentine

August and I sit at the picnic table in his backyard, surrounded by a giant spread of breakfast food courtesy of my mom, who has been weirdly hovering since we had that spat the other day.

I sip my fresh-squeezed orange juice, and it makes my mouth tingle from the sour-sweet. “Have you noticed anything strange about my parents lately?”

August looks up from his breakfast sandwich. “Strange how?”

“I don’t know, like too lovey?” I say, hoping he’ll just know what I mean.

“You’re worried your parents are too much in love?”

I roll my eyes and place my elbows on the picnic table. “They’re just... off. And the other day they were fighting. But they didn’t want me to know.”

“I’m not following,” he says in his stupidly practical voice. “Are they too happy or not enough?”

“Both?” I say, knowing it sounds silly, but it’s true.

“I haven’t noticed anything.”

“Yeah, maybe it’s nothing,” I agree, redirecting my attention to my notebook. “Anyway... Justin, eh? A rare douche if I ever saw one. And Sharky is like his main cheerleader. She practically farts Justin glitter.”