I dribble down the court and pull to a stop at the three-point line. With one smooth motion, I toss the ball, feeling its rough, rubbery surface roll off my fingers as it launches into a perfect arc. Whoosh. Nothing but net. I smile.

It’s six o’clock on Thursday morning, and the only people at school right now besides me are the swim team. I decided to come in early and take some reps since I couldn’t sleep. I grab the ball and line up on the foul line to practice some free throws. Let’s see if I can hit ten out of ten this morning.

My dad used to be a Wizard. Not a Gandalf-Dumbledore kind of wizard, though that would have been cool. He was a backup forward on the Washington Wizards, until about halfway through his second season, at the age of twenty-four, he tore a ligament in his knee. That ended his NBA career, and over the next three years, he got his real estate license, married my mom, and had me. Apparently, Mom had a tough pregnancy and an even tougher labor, so that was the end of the baby-making.

I sometimes wonder if they’d gone on to have a son whether Dad would have bothered to teach me how to play. Maybe he would have focused on my brother and left me to more girly pursuits. That usually makes me glad I’m an only child.

My phone buzzes as I make seven out of seven, and I jog over to the bleachers to pick it up. It’s Abigail, my assistant.

 

Abi: We need to talk.

 

I shake my head. Abi’s great at her job. In fact, there would be no Boyfriend Whisperer Enterprises if it weren’t for her, but she can be a pain in my butt. I hit reply.

 

Lexi: Third-period lunch. F Hall janitor’s closet.

 

Chris was right last night about one thing. I’m no expert on girls. All my friends are guys and have been since I was little. Which—at least compared to most of my classmates—makes me an expert on guys. Which is how I became the Boyfriend Whisperer.

I head back to the free throw line, but Abi’s text has shaken me out of my zone, and I miss shot number eight.

I grab the rebound off the backboard and tear down to the other end of the court, zagging and twirling past my imaginary opponents on the way to a perfect layup … except the ball jams between the rim and the backboard. Stuck in limbo. Zero points. Just like my love life.

 

 

Abi is waiting for me when I slip into the closet. She’s standing next to a collection of mops and brooms, and I swear she’s so skinny she blends right in. She starts complaining without so much as a hello. “I can’t do this anymore, Lexi. It’s too much. I have no social life to speak of, I was late for cheer practice twice last week, and I totally failed my French mid-term.”

I give her what I hope is a sympathetic smile. “Abi, Abi, Abi. I told you we’d be crazy for a while. We just need to get through Valentine’s and then—”

“And then what? And then we’re coming up on prom season and then summer of love and then back-to-school and homecoming and the holidays and before you know it we’re back to freaking Valentine’s!” She says all this in one breath, her eyes widening with every word until she looks like an anime version of a Barbie doll.

I drape my arm around her shoulders. “Breathe. It’ll be okay, I promise. Think of all the money we’re bringing in. You’ll be able to buy half of Sephora at this rate.”

Abi is about as different from me as a girl can get. While my makeup repertoire consists of a single stick of clear lip-gloss, her supply could fill the F Hall janitor’s closet to overflowing.

“I know.” Impossibly, her eyes widen even more. “Did you know O.P.I. came out with a super-sparkly iris nail polish last month? It’ll go great with my—” She shakes her head. “Wait. That’s not the point. I mean, it is the point. The money’s awesome. But … something has to give. Before I crack.”

Crack? As in, talk? Everyone knows Abi works for the Boyfriend Whisperer. They just don’t know it’s me. “Abi, you promised. You cannot tell anyone.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t mean like that. I mean I’m about to lose my mind. I should warn you, though. Certain girls are getting curious. Beyond curious. Like, invasive.”

“Invasive how?”

“Yesterday I was messaging Libby, trying to find something to do this weekend, when all of a sudden I got this eerie feeling someone was watching me. I turned to find Michelle leaning over my shoulder reading every word. As if I really needed her to know I’m dateless. I’m sure she went and blabbed to half the cheer squad about what a loser I am.”

Abi’s voice breaks, and I can’t help but feel bad. She does deal with a lot of crap. I squeeze her shoulder. “First of all, you broke up with him. Which makes you a strong girl who knows what she wants and deserves in life, not a loser. Second of all … never, ever message or text me in public, okay? And delete all traces immediately.”

She nods. “I know, I know.”

“Abi.” I grab her arms and stare straight into her eyes. “I need you. You are the public face of Boyfriend Whisperer Enterprises. Those girls are just jealous because you know something they don’t.”

She manages a small smile. “True. And trust me, I’ll never tell.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. I need her silence.