Dear Jolene:

Thank you for entrusting Boyfriend Whisper Enterprises with your matchmaking needs. If you follow my instructions precisely, you are guaranteed to secure a date with Brendon McDonough within three weeks or your money back. Your first set of instructions is as follows:

 

Step One: At tomorrow’s Anti-Bullying Assembly, sit one row ahead of Brendon, and two or three seats away from him.

 

Step Two: Five minutes after the assembly begins, catch his eye and yawn, roll your eyes, or otherwise express your boredom.

 

Step Three: Text him the following quiz questions. (Use extreme caution and do not allow faculty to catch you doing this.)

Madden or Mortal Kombat?

Angry Birds or Plants vs. Zombies?

Anthrax or Mastodon?

Fight Club or Unforgiven?

Adidas or Coogi?

Jalapeños or Black Olives?

 

Step Four: Give him a smile or thumbs-up after each answer (regardless of the answer).

 

Step Five: Resume your normal activities. Do not initiate contact with Brendon for the next several days. Additional instructions will be sent at that time.

 

Good luck, and remember, with Boyfriend Whisperer Enterprises, “Love is but a whisper away.”

 

Sincerely,

The Boyfriend Whisperer

www.boyfriendwhispererenterprises.com

 

I grin as I hit “send” and save the email into its case folder. This is my favorite part of the job. The research portion is tedious and lonely and—like last night—sometimes freaking freezing. But seeing my data gel into a plan makes all those hours spent sleuthing worthwhile. Tomorrow during assembly, Brendon McDonough will marvel at Jolene’s cool taste in music and movies and apps and even pizza toppings. And within a few weeks, he’ll ask her out. Guaranteed.

 

 

Chris sets his tray down across from mine. It’s grilled cheese day, and he’s bought five of them. Boy can eat. He’s six-foot-three and presumably still growing. Lately, I’ve noticed his forearms are growing nicely, too. His sleeves are pushed up, and I have to force myself not to stare.

“Did you hear the news?”

He asks this just as I bite into my apple, so I can’t help but answer with my mouth full. “What news?”

“Supposedly Duke and UNC will be at the tournament next weekend. Along with UVA and Maryland.”

“That’s awesome.” I swallow and flash him a smile. “Bet you’re on their short list.”

Chris shrugs and stuffs half a sandwich into his mouth. Literally half a sandwich. “I dunno.”

“Are you kidding me? A junior averaging fourteen points a game? They’ll be watching you.”

He pops open a soda and takes a long swig. When he sets it down, I can see the worry in his eyes. He focuses his attention on the second half of his sandwich as though it’s a fascinating culinary delicacy. Fromage Grillé du Cafétéria.

“Come on, Chris, you know—”

“Forget it. Sorry I brought it up.”

Fine. I take another bite of my apple. Chris is totally college b-ball material, but the Grand View boy’s team is so lame, scouts haven’t noticed him yet. In fact, unlike most schools, the attention for the past couple of years has been on our girl’s team. And well, specifically, on me. I’ve had scouts calling since I was a freshman, and as soon as I became a junior this year, the scholarship offers began to roll in.

Come to think of it, I don’t want to talk about it either.

Fortunately, Massey arrives at that moment. He sets his tray down and swipes Chris across the back of his head. “What happened to you the other night? I thought we were supposed to play Call of Duty?”

“Dude. Watch it.” Chris pushes Massey’s arm away, which sends him reeling into the table.

“Hey, you two.” I grab our sodas so they don’t spill. “Knock it off or I’ll report you to Principal Cho. Grand View has a zero-tolerance policy toward violence.”

Massey laughs. “Someone paid attention in assembly.”

I did. Sort of. When I wasn’t watching the Jolene and Brendon Show, which seemed to go according to plan.

Massey sits down. “Seriously, man, where were you? We were about to storm Istanbul.”

Chris grunts. “I stopped for pizza and ended up hanging with Lexi for a while.” He gives me a strange look, and my face grows warm. We did part on a rather awkward note.

“Are you going to finish that?” Chris points to my half-eaten apple.

“You can’t be serious.” I hand him the apple, take a deep breath, and broach the subject that’s been on my mind since yesterday’s practice. “Speaking of the tournament, it’ll be fun to get away for a weekend. I mean, Virginia Beach—how cool is that?”

Chris smiles. “Pretty cool.”

For one brief, delusional moment, I allow myself to believe his smile means he’s imagining sipping hot cocoa with me by a fireplace, but the dream is short-lived.

“Do you know we’ll be there the same weekend as the Polar Plunge?” he asks.

“Polar Plunge?”

“Yeah. It’s where people jump into freezing-cold water to raise money for Special Olympics.”

“Meaning they jump into the Atlantic? In Virginia? In February? That’s insane.”

“I know!” Chris leans in and lowers his voice so only Massey and I can hear. “I’m totally doing it. You guys should, too. It’s in the middle of the afternoon, so it’s after your game and before ours.”

“What?” Massey stares at Chris as though he’s lost his mind. “Coach won’t let us do that. Before our game? No way.”

Chris shrugs. “What Coach doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I’m in. Already paid my fifty bucks.”

“Wait.” I hold up my hand. “Are you telling me you’re paying money for the privilege of diving into a frigid ocean?”

“Yep. I told you. It’s a charity event. It’s all for a good cause. Come on, say you’ll do it.” His big blue eyes plead with me.

I hesitate. I definitely want to spend as much time as possible with Chris while we’re in Virginia Beach, but a Polar Plunge does not have quite the same romantic appeal as sipping hot chocolate by a fireplace. On the other hand, if he’s already signed up for it, what choice do I have? “Well, I suppose …”

“Not you, too, Lexi.” Massey shakes his head. “Your parents will never go for this.”

“As Chris said, what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

“Right. Like they won’t know.”

“They won’t. Because they won’t be there.”

“What?” Chris and Massey ask me this in unison. Both look as though I’ve told them my parents have sprouted wings and flown to the moon.

Mom and Dad have a bit of a reputation at my games as helicopters, which is appropriate because not only do they hover, they sometimes get so loud, the fans around them have to duck and cover their ears. I am so looking forward to a game—and a whole weekend—without them.

“They won’t be there,” I repeat. “Mom’s boss is getting married up in New York, so I’m on my own.” I glance at Chris to see whether he understands the significance of this. The two of us, practically unsupervised, for a weekend at the beach.

“This trip just keeps getting cooler and cooler,” he says.

“I know, right?” I give him what I hope is a flirty smile.

“So I guess this means …”

“Means what?”

“It means you’re in? For the Plunge?”

I sigh and roll my eyes. “Sure. I’m in.”