Praise for The Oracle of Dating

“The Oracle of Dating is, without a doubt, the cutest book I’ve read so far this year, and a fantastic start to a new series!”

—Lauren’s Crammed Bookshelf

“I absolutely ate up this light, amusing tale of romance and friendship…. Read it for a positive spin on girl friendship, for the spunky narrator, for some smoking sexual tension (hey, this is Harlequin, after all!) that doesn’t cross the line, and, of course, for a tale of first love.”

—Kinnelon Library Teen Blog

“The Oracle of Dating is a quick, fun read with a witty lead character.”

—The Lip Gloss Chronicles

“It’s fun, wonderfully lighthearted, and the whole Oracle element puts an entirely new twist on the typical young adult romance…it even gives some pretty insightful and useful dating advice.”

—Obsessed!

“An adorable read. It took me back to the best moments of high school, made me feel the romance and just took me out of life for a while.”

—My Reading Room

The Oracle Rebounds
Allison van Diepen

www.miraink.co.uk

For two special guys in my life, Jeremy and Nate.

And for cheering the Oracle on, a big thank-you to Mary-Theresa Hussey, Natashya Wilson and Elizabeth Mazer at Harlequin Teen, and my agent, Ashley Grayson.

What are the warning signs that your boyfriend is about to break up with you?

 a) He’s avoiding your calls.

 b) He keeps canceling on you.

 c) You catch him getting cozy with another girl.

 d) He spends more time with his friends than with you.

Correct answer? Any of the above. Warning signs vary. And if you’re really unlucky, there aren’t any.

Contents

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter eleven

Chapter twelve

Chapter thirteen

Chapter fourteen

Chapter fifteen

one

Happily ever after is meant to last forever, right? Well, my happily ever after lasts five months, three weeks and two days. Then Jared drops a bomb.

“I need to take a step back, Kayla. I have to figure some things out right now.”

I stop listening after the “step back” part. I feel like I’m sinking through the floor. Jared is the one, isn’t he? This can’t be happening.

He’s watching me. “You’re not saying anything.”

“I’m chewing my pizza so I don’t choke.”

“Oh.”

I swallow my food. Keep it together, I tell myself. Having a public meltdown will only make this worse. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. Just that you understand.”

“I don’t.”

I don’t and I don’t want to. Why can’t this be any other Saturday night at Colonnade Pizza? I must’ve misheard him. He can’t be breaking up with me…. God, he’s so beautiful, with his curly dark hair falling over his forehead, and his blue eyes so tortured. He’s talking again. “Ever since I didn’t get that scholarship to art school, I’ve had to think about what I’m going to do with my life.”

“I get that, but how does that lead to you dumping me?” And then it hits me. He must’ve met another girl. The familiarity between us, the ease of us knowing each other so well, no longer excites him. Before he can answer my question, I throw it out there. “Is there someone else?”

His eyes widen. “Didn’t you hear anything I said?”

“Of course I did. I’m just asking.”

“You’re the only girl and that’s the truth.” He sighs. “I’ve been too into you these past few months. I haven’t been focusing enough on my art. If I’d put more effort into my portfolio, I might’ve gotten that scholarship. I was counting on it, and now I’m not sure what I’ll do. This is an important time in my life and I’ve been spending more time thinking about you than my own future.”

He’s talking, talking, blah, blah, blah…

And all I’m hearing is that I’m being dumped.

“Kayla, are you okay?”

My eyes fill up. My throat is closing. I’m either discovering a new food allergy or having my heart broken. “I’m…surprised, that’s all.”

“I’m not saying this is permanent. I don’t know.”

I’ll wait for you, Jared. I’ll give you time. Whatever you need. But I can’t say it. Pride doesn’t let me. “You’re making a big mistake, don’t you see that? I’m not just going to wait around for you. It’s…insulting!”

He shrugs helplessly. That look in his eyes—it’s killing me. He looks sad, and I have a sneaking suspicion it’s for me.

Dumping me is one thing. Pitying me is another. He’s so crossed the line.

“Maybe it’s better if it is permanent,” I say, unable to keep the edge out of my voice. “Teen relationships only have a thirteen percent chance of being long-term anyway.”

“That’s the Oracle talking, not you.”

“Yeah, well, we’re one and the same. I’m going to move on, Jared. I’m not going to sit around waiting for you.”

He nods gravely. “I understand.”

I blink. Can he let me go just like that? After spending half a year with him, after telling him I love him, this is humiliating. Didn’t he promise to love me forever? What about that?

“I’m going.” I slide out of the booth.

He grabs my arm. “Kayla…”

“What? Do you have anything more to say?”

“I guess…not.” He lets go of my arm. He can’t even look at me anymore.

“Bye.” And I’m gone.

In the blink of an eye, everything is different. I ride the subway in a daze, torn between tears and hysterical laughter. It’s over. OVER.

As the Oracle of Dating, I should have seen this coming. Sure, Jared has been acting a little weird recently, but I thought that was because he didn’t get the scholarship to art school. I’d hated to see him so disappointed, and I’d done everything I could to cheer him up. He seemed to be feeling better the past few days, like he’d finally accepted it and turned a corner. Maybe the real reason his mood had improved was because he’d made the decision to send me to Dumpsville.

I remember reading in one of Mom’s relationship books that sometimes when people feel powerless in their lives, they dump their significant other because that’s one part of their lives they do have control over. Worse, sometimes they blame their partner for their problems. Maybe that’s what Jared is doing. “I’ve been too into you these past few months.” Aren’t you supposed to be into the person you’re dating?

Well, Jared, if I’d known it was a problem for you, I wouldn’t have been so damned fantastic!

Whatever, he made his decision. I have to move on. There are lots of cute guys around. It’s not like I haven’t noticed them. I have!

Half an hour later, I get home. I live on a quiet street in Midwood, Brooklyn, with big old trees that shed branches whenever there’s heavy rain or wind. I’ve lived in this old brownstone ever since I can remember. Dad left us the house when he and Mom divorced, though apparently he made Mom buy him out. Since my sister, Tracey, is ten years older than me and lives in Manhattan, it’s just me, Mom and my stepdad, a Swedish theologian named Erland.

Mom’s car is gone, which is good because I don’t feel like talking right now. I just want to go to my room and bawl. First I have to get past Erland, who’s in the living room watching PBS. I close the door quietly and creep toward the stairs.

“What are you doing home so early?”

Great. I go back into the living room. “Jared…” My chin quivers. “H-he b-broke up w-with me.”

“I’m sorry to hear this,” he says with his thick Swedish-chef accent. “Can I offer you a hug?”

I almost laugh at the formal offer, but I go to receive his hug. “Thanks.” I sit beside him on the couch. “I don’t know why I’m crying. It’s his loss!”

He chuckles. “That’s true. And you are both very young, too young to get serious.”

“I know.” The Oracle is always advising teen girls not to get too serious about their relationships. I’ve seen so many of them devastated when their boyfriends break up with them. The truth is, many guys just aren’t ready for anything serious at our age. Knowing that, I’d shied away from relationships myself, since the odds of them working are extremely low. And then I met Jared, and my good sense went out the window. I thought we had a once-in-a-lifetime connection, a connection worth taking a risk for. And now…Dumpsville.

“What I’m saying is,” Erland continues in his slow, professorly way, “as we get older, we learn more about what qualities are important to us in a partner.”

“I know you’re right. It just hurts.” I’ve read that heartbreak is an accepted cause of death in some South American countries. I don’t want to die. What a waste to die over a guy!

Erland hands me some tissue. “I had my heart broken when I was young. The girl was named Hannah…or maybe it was Krista.”

“She broke your heart and you can’t even remember her name?”

“It appears that way.” He laughs. “She was such a beautiful girl, and she promised me she’d always be mine. I thought we might marry one day. And then one week before our prom, she broke up with me. I later heard she attended with another boy, one of the school’s best hockey players.”

“That’s harsh. I bet she’d regret it if she knew you were one of the world’s top Martin Luther scholars.”

Erland blushes. “I doubt she would have appreciated my career in theology. We were not well matched, she and I, and in time I realized that. If I had stayed with her I would’ve had a very different life. I will always be glad that she broke up with me because otherwise I never would have met your mother, who is truly my soul mate.”

Erland believes in soul mates? I didn’t peg Erland for the romantic type. But then, I didn’t peg him for an astrologer either, yet he is. “So after this girl dumped you, how long before you met Mom?”

“About thirty years.”

“Thirty years!” I know Erland’s old, but holy crap, that’s a long time. “I don’t think I can wait thirty years to meet someone else.”

“I met other women in that time. But for true love, yes, I had to wait thirty years. I doubt it will take that long for you.”

I hope not!

For the first time, I go to my website to find help for me.

After chatting with Erland a little more, I head upstairs and log on to oracleofdating.com. It’s a great-looking site, colorful and user friendly, thanks to Tracey’s web design skills. These days I give most of my advice via live chats. I still have the phone line, but it’s barely profitable.

I recall blogging a few times on the topic of breakups. Searching the archives, I find three blogs. Relationship SOS: Are You about to Break Up? Obviously it’s a little late for that one. Why a Breakup Can Be Good for You. I’m not ready to look at the bright side just yet. Ten Ways to Deal with a Breakup. Okay, this is the one.

Ten Ways to Deal with a Breakup

 1. Cry—get the emotions out. You’ll feel better after ward.

 2. Write in a journal. Putting your thoughts and feelings into words is a healthy way to work through them.

 3. Exercise. If you’re anything like me, getting your butt to the gym or out for a run is hard. But afterward you’ll feel great. Exercise increases serotonin in the brain, the chemical that makes you feel happy.

 4. Listen to boppy, happy music. If you keep listening to sappy ballads, you’ll never move on.

 5. Get rid of as much evidence of your ex as possible. Take pictures off your wall, move emails from your inbox, put away old letters and gifts. Put them in a box in the back of your closet if you want to look back on them twenty years from now.

 6. Make an effort not to hang out at the same places you did with your ex unless, of course, they are your favorite places and you don’t want to give them up.

 7. Ask your friends not to mention your ex. You don’t need to know everything he’s doing or who he’s doing it with.

 8. Open your eyes to the possibilities around you. It’s never too soon to appreciate eye candy!

 9. Resist the urge to keep rehashing your feelings about the breakup. In the first week or two, vent all you want. After that, keep most of it in or write in your journal. Project the image that you’re moving on. Eventually, you’ll start to live it.

 10. Don’t stay home because you feel depressed. Get out and party!

Looks like I’m still at #1, judging by the tears that keep blurring my eyes. It doesn’t help that my sinuses are clogged and I can hardly breathe. Breaking up is so not pretty.

My stomach grumbles, and I realize I’d barely gotten through one slice of pizza when Jared dropped the bomb. I go downstairs in search of comfort food. I think some ice cream is in order.

Why is it people on TV lose their appetite when they’re depressed? When I’m depressed, I do nothing but eat. Nestlé’s Rollo ice cream, M&M’s ice cream and Milky Way ice cream have consolidated two of my favorite vices, ice cream and candy bars. Of course, with my lactose intolerance, too much dairy is never a good thing. So I pop two Lactaid pills and hope for the best.

I head back to my room, bowl of ice cream in hand. Then I notice it on my wall: the painting. Whenever I look at it, my heart swells with love, but now it just deepens my misery. Jared gave it to me one random night, not for any special occasion. It shows a young woman in a field of white blossoms, her hair blowing in the ice-blue wind, a mysterious smile on her face. He said the girl represented me, and the wind was him, madly trying to grasp her hair or her flowing dress, but getting happily caught up in both. I knew that when he gave me the painting, he was telling me he loved me, even though it was a few more weeks before he said the words.

Based on #5 of my own advice, I’d better take down the painting. Should I punch my fist through it, like someone on TV might do? Throw it in the fireplace and dance before the flames while doing a cleansing chant? But I can’t destroy the painting, I know that. It reminds me of what a talented artist Jared is and why he deserved that art scholarship. And it’s proof that the love between us had been real. To destroy it would be like saying that the love never existed.

I take the painting down and put it in my closet, facing the back wall. Then, since my closet is messy anyway, I throw a cardigan over it so I won’t have to see it.

A bleep comes from my computer. It’s an instant message for the Oracle. Forget it. I’m not in the mood to answer questions. Right now I’m having trouble dealing with my own life.

I try to turn my mind to other things, but then my conscience kicks in. What if it’s important? What if someone really needs me?

Oracle: Good evening.

NYCgirl224: Hi, Oracle. My family hates my boyfriend. They’re doing everything they can to make me break up with him. They won’t tell me when he calls or stops by. It’s to the point that I have to meet him in secret.

Oracle: That must be really difficult for you. Have you talked to your family about why they feel this way?

NYCgirl224: Of course. They think we fight too much. But all couples fight, don’t they? It’s normal. They just don’t know him like I do. They don’t see how sweet and loving he is.

Oracle: Maybe your family’s concerned you’re not happy with him.

NYCgirl224: They’re so judgmental. Yeah, he’s made some mistakes, but he’s always apologized for them. He’s not a bad guy.

Oracle: What type of mistakes do you mean?

NYCgirl224: Our fights have gotten physical a few times. My BF’s got a bad temper—it runs in his family.

Oracle: Has he hit you?

NYCgirl224: Yeah, but it doesn’t happen often. Just when I make him really angry. And my family judges him on that, like he’s beating me up every day or something. You can’t blame him. He had a really screwed-up childhood.

Oracle: It sounds like your family is afraid for you. Do you think it’s okay that he sometimes hits you?

NYCgirl224: No. I’m not stupid. But sometimes he can’t help it. He’s working on his anger issues. He says he’s going to get counseling.

Oracle: It’s not your job to stick by him while he gets help. It’s not acceptable for him to hit you—not even once. Let him work out his own problems.

NYCgirl224: *Groan* You sound like my parents. Are you really a teen?

Oracle: I am. But I strongly feel that anyone who hits you has lost his right to be your BF.

NYCgirl224: You just don’t understand, Oracle. No one does.

She disconnects. It’s the first time a client has ever hung up on me. Did she really think I would support her in staying with her boyfriend? Usually I try to be diplomatic, but I couldn’t this time.

Talk about perspective on my situation. A breakup isn’t so bad compared with having an abusive boyfriend.

I hope I’ll hear from her again, but I doubt it. I can only hope she comes to her senses before it’s too late.

That night, as I lie in bed, I can’t stop thinking about it: the moment I fell in love with Jared. The moment I knew that my feelings weren’t just a trick of teenage hormones, but the real thing.

It was back in January. The school day had just ended, and Jared and I were getting our stuff from our lockers when we saw a crowd gathering in the hallway. We went over to see what was going on, and saw idiot jock Declan McCall giving Evgeney Vraslov a wedgie as a bunch of people cheered him on. Evgeney’s glasses had skidded off on the floor, and his face was bright red with humiliation.

Jared dropped his book bag, strode up to Declan and grabbed the collar of his shirt, hoisting him backward. Evgeney dropped to the floor, and Declan stumbled. A hush came over the crowd. No one could believe that someone would dare challenge Declan.

“What the hell?” Declan glared at Jared, rubbing his neck where his collar had bit into it. “You promised me a wedgie, Dec.”

Now no one, I mean no one, called Declan “Dec,” apparently due to his dislike of being compared to patio furniture. Since Declan was a little slow, it took him a few seconds to realize that now he was the one who looked like a jackass in front of everyone.

Declan got up in Jared’s face. I felt my heart pumping with fear. He was big and brawny and had made mincemeat of plenty of guys on the football field. A ripple of excitement went through the crowd as everyone braced for Declan to throw a punch. Several guys started chanting, “Fight!”

Jared held his ground. Didn’t even flinch. I realized that although Declan was the bigger guy, Jared had something far more dangerous. He had a quiet, deadly confidence about him. A please take a shot at me because I’m just dying to hand you your ass look in his eye that made Declan stop in his tracks.

After a few tense moments, Declan turned and walked away. The crowd, revved up for a fight, erupted in boos.

If ever there was a romantic hero, it was Jared at that moment. He was a guy who’d known trouble in the past—had even been in juvie—and wanted nothing more than to avoid it now. But he’d put himself on the line for Evgeney.

How could I not have fallen in love with him?

two

Sunday night is Glamour Girl night for me and my friends. It’s our favorite show about rich, spoiled teens and their world of brand names, booze and love triangles. As usual, we’re in Viv’s basement in Park Slope. Some might think we’re a strange mix because we’re all so different. Viv, who’s from a strict Indian home, is an honors student. Amy is a blonde bombshell who’s always looking for a party. Ryan is a metrosexual—a guy who isn’t afraid to add frosty blond tips to his hair and doesn’t mind being compared to Ryan Seacrest. Sharese is a church-going debate-club member who’s never shy about sharing her opinion. As for me, I’m not sure, but I think I’m the one in the middle who brings their different personalities together. I’m also the Oracle of Dating, of course, but Viv is the only one who knows that (and I’d like to keep it that way).

I break the news. There’s dead silence for two seconds. Then…

Viv: “That jerk!”

Ryan: “Good-for-nothing ass clown!”

Sharese: “May all his Jonas Brothers hair fall out!”

Amy: “You’re way better-looking than him anyway.”

At that, I’m slightly comforted, even though I know it’s not true.

“We always thought he was weird,” Sharese says.

“You did?”

They all nod.

“He was too quiet,” Viv says. “It was kind of creepy sometimes.”

“He didn’t know how to dress,” Ryan points out.

I’m surprised by their reaction. I thought they liked Jared. “If you guys didn’t like him, you should’ve told me.”

“It’s not that we didn’t like him,” Sharese says. “We just thought he was weird.”

“No offense, Kayla,” Ryan says, “but you weren’t much fun when you were with him. You never went to parties.”

He’s right about that. Jared preferred that we spend time on our own, and I was happy to just hang out with him. I have to admit, parties mostly lost their appeal because I already had a guy and didn’t need to meet one.

“You’ll find someone else—don’t worry.” Amy smiles. “Maybe a guy on the soccer team?” Amy’s boyfriend, Chad, is on the soccer team, and Amy is a huge fan of the team’s, um, man power.

Viv turns to Amy. “Don’t pressure her to find another guy right away. She needs time to discover herself again.”

“Self-love, huh?” Amy smiles wickedly.

Viv’s eyes flash. “You’re such a perv!”

I laugh. I’m glad I have my friends. Too many girls make the mistake of drifting apart from their friends when they’re in a relationship—a mistake the Oracle always warns people against. Thank goodness I followed my own advice. I need my friends so much right now.

“What you deserve is a hot stone massage,” Ryan says. “Total pampering, total relaxation.”

“I can’t afford that, but I’ll do a mani and pedi.”

Ryan looks skeptical. “That’s all you ever do. You need to work more shifts at the Hole and save some money.”

The Hole, short for Hellhole, is Eddie’s Grocery, where Ryan and I work. I have three four-hour shifts a week and that’s enough for me. My greatest dream is to make enough money as the Oracle of Dating to be able to quit.

“No spa day is worth more time at Eddie’s.” I pick up the remote control.

Amy grabs it from me. “No, wait! Glamour Girl doesn’t start for five minutes and we need to hear more about the breakup. How did he do it?”

“What do you mean, how? He just did it. Over pizza.”

“Did he at least wait until you were finished eating?” Ryan asks.

“No. I was still on my first slice. But I forgot to leave money, so I guess he paid.”

“Damn straight, he should pay!” Sharese says.

“So how did he say it?” Amy asks.

“He said he needed to take a step back and figure stuff out.”

They all wince as if they’ve popped sour candies into their mouths. What Jared said was cliché and we all know it. Taking a step back is the same as needing space or a time-out. It’s almost as bad as “we’ve become different people.” Lots of my clients have had those lines thrown at them and the cliché seems to add to the insult. But then, what’s a guy to say? I’m not attracted to you anymore? You bore me?

“Was that it?” Viv asks. “Is that his only reason?”

“He’s really disappointed about not getting an art scholarship. He somehow blames it on being too into me and not focusing enough on his goals.”

“Maybe he’s trying to punish himself by breaking up with you,” Viv offers.

“Too into you?” Sharese says. “What crap.”

The others agree that it was a lame thing to say. The stupid part of it was, I believed him. But I guess he was just trying to save my pride. Maybe he thought it was kinder to tell me he’d been too into me than not into me enough.

It doesn’t help when Ryan says, “I’m sorry to say this, but he probably met another girl.”

Sharese elbows him. “Nice job upsetting her.”

“Ouch!” He rubs his ribs. “Well, it’s true. It’s better if we prepare her for it.”

“I believe him that there’s no one else, but there could be another girl soon, I know that.” Or would there? If he said he needs to take a step back, wouldn’t that apply to all girls? Maybe not. If I believe that, I’ll be deluding myself.

“You can find someone, too,” Amy says. “A rebound can be a beautiful thing.”

The red numbers on the clock read 12:27 a.m., but I’m nowhere near sleep. I can think of nothing but rebounding.

REbounding.

ReBOUNDING.

I get out of bed and switch my desk light and computer on. I look up rebounding on an online dictionary.

 1: To spring or bounce back after hitting something.

 2: To recover from a disappointment.

The first definition is a lot more fun. I don’t want to “recover” I want to bounce back. Jared is the wall I’m bouncing off. I’m going to bounce off, do a back flip and land in the arms of a cute guy.

I’m aware of what’s happening to me. It’s textbook for someone who’s been dumped. A void has opened up in my life and I am looking for the quickest way to fill it: what better way than with another guy? Textbook or not, there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s not like I’m going to fill it with drugs or alcohol.

Come to think of it, I wrote something on rebounding a while ago. I search my archives, and find a blog from last November.

You Know You’re Rebounding If You:

  are too embarrassed to tell your friends you’re dating someone new because they’ll say it’s too soon.

  believe that dating someone else will prevent you from thinking about your ex.

  keep thinking of how your ex would feel if he spotted you with your new date (in fact, you hope he will).

The Rebound Equation:

Calculate the number of days you were together and divide it by 8.

Add 30 days if you are the dumpee.

Subtract 20 days if you are the dumper.

Add 30 days if you fantasize about getting back together.

Subtract 20 days if you believe the breakup is for the best, even if you were the one dumped.

= ___ days before you should enter into another relation ship.

I grab a calculator. Jared and I were together for five months, three weeks and two days, for a total of 173 days. 173 divided by 8 is 22. He dumped me, so I add 30 days. I add another 30 days because, damn it, I have fantasized about getting back together. Do I believe it’s for the best? No!

Total number of days before I can start dating someone else: 82. No way!

Maybe I should reconsider my answers. Did he really dump me? Undoubtedly. Do I fantasize about getting back together? Yes. Is it for the best? Ha! That’s where I put the wrong answer. If Jared wanted to break up then, of course, it’s for the best. It can’t be anything but for the best. I should have answered yes.

I subtract 20, which leaves my total at 62 days.

62 days—that’s two months! That means I won’t be able to date anyone until the middle of May. What was I thinking when I made up the equation? I’m sixteen; I don’t have two months to waste!

Of course, I don’t have to take my own advice.

By the time I get to school on Monday, the breakup is headline news.

Midwood High School is where Brooklyn gamer kids, gangster kids, emo kids and normal kids (me and my friends) collide in a maze of gray hallways. You can hear a dozen different languages in the cafeteria on any given day, not to mention the fact that we have tons of clubs representing diverse nationalities, religions, interests and sexual orientations.

Everybody is tormenting me with questions about the breakup. I can’t tell everyone the truth, can I? Thankfully, my friends have already put out the official version of events, and I stick to the story. The official version: Jared and I mutually parted because we’ve been drifting apart and (Amy added this part) I wanted to see other people.

I know that Jared won’t contradict it. He isn’t the type to make me look bad. This is the same guy who briefly dated the most popular girl in school, Brooke Crossley, and tricked her into dumping him so he wouldn’t have to hurt her feelings.

Speaking of Brooke, she tracks me down in the hallway after first period and plies me with questions—like she has a right to know! Why does she care anyway? She’s back with the king of the jocks, Declan McCall.

“So what really happened?” Brooke demands.

“What do you mean?”

“With you and Jared. Come on, you dumped him, right?”

“Ah…it was pretty mutual.”

“Was he an asshole to you?” She has the nerve to put an arm around me. Puh-lease. We’ve never been anywhere close to friends.

“He wasn’t an asshole to me.”

“Were you an asshole to him?”

“No.”

She grimaces. Obviously this isn’t as cut-and-dried as she’d hoped. “Then why’d you break up?”

“We grew apart.”

“Grew apart? So you don’t think, like, he’s a total loser?”

“No. I’ve got nothing bad to say about him.”

She looks crestfallen. I’m almost sorry I can’t give her a better story. Then she tosses her hair and walks off.

It would have been the perfect opportunity to get revenge on Jared, but I just couldn’t do it. If he starts trash-talking me, then I suppose I should do the same to him. But that’s not Jared. And that’s not me either. I admit that part of me would love to hurt him the way he’s hurt me, but I can’t. Sure, I could start some drama, but there wouldn’t be a point. I can’t break his heart if he’s not still in love with me.

At least the official version leaves my ego intact. It makes it seem like I was restless, like I’d had enough of one guy. But the truth is, sticking with one person suits me. When I was with Jared, I didn’t want to be with anyone else.

I see Jared a few times in the hallway. We say hi, but neither of us stops walking. It’s up to him to stop, since he’s the one who did the dumping. If I stop, I’ll just seem desperate. Why can’t he ask how I’m doing?

His eyes—God, they’re bluer than ever—aren’t warm. They’re not cold either. I’d say they’re careful. Maybe they’re even a little angry. My friends, I admit, haven’t been mature about this. They give him dirty looks or turn away. Even Viv, who’s one of the kindest people on the planet, glares at him. I’ve told them to be nice, but they don’t listen. He hurt me, and they believe he deserves to be hurt, too.

In American history class, I can’t concentrate. I keep asking myself what I did wrong. I’ll make a list…

Top Eight Reasons Jared Got Annoyed with Me

 1. I play my favorite songs over and over. Which wouldn’t be so bad except:

 2. I have no taste in music to begin with (in his opinion). I see nothing wrong with pop music, but he seems to think it’s an evil invention meant to enslave the human race.

 3. I’m indecisive. Pizza or Chinese is a decision, for example, that takes many minutes of contemplation and perhaps a pros and cons list.

 4. He says I don’t know how to stop and smell the roses, and that I’m always walking too fast and talking too fast and doing too much.

 5. I have been known to complain, especially when I have a bad shift at Eddie’s (which, I admit, is practically every shift).

 6. People-watching, for me, can be an afternoon’s entertainment. I can set up shop at the mall and observe them for hours. For Jared, it’s a dead bore.

 7. When he gives an opinion, I get upset if it’s not what I want to hear. I take things too personally. I take any bit of criticism to heart.

 8. I’m a little too focused on Glamour Girl. Yes, I have visited the Glamour Girl message boards a time or two. Is that a crime?

I read over my list. As far as I can tell, none of those reasons justify breaking up with me.

Another possibility comes to mind. Was I too clingy? We’d talked pretty much every day. But half the time he’d initiated it, so he can’t blame me for that, can he?

I know that what-ifs won’t get me anywhere. The cold, hard truth is that if Jared had wanted me to do something differently, he could have asked me. Since he didn’t, I can only assume he didn’t want to work things out.

In chemistry class, my lab partner is Evgeney Vraslov. Skinny, with curly red hair, he’s known to most people at school as “The Bulgarian Supergeek.” But most people are callous and unfair—Evgeney’s a pretty cool guy if you can decipher his thick accent. And smart as all hell, too. I just know he’s going to be the next Bill Gates and his former classmates will be kissing his ass.

I have new respect for Evgeney after seeing him do an awesome dance performance months back at the Halloween dance. And he dresses far better than he used to, thanks to the fashion advice on my website. In fact, Evgeney is one of my most loyal clients. He approaches dating like it’s a science and appears to study everything I post with the same rigor he gives a chemistry experiment. Anyway, I like chatting with him, and we’ve become friends. Whenever he decides to go to the cafeteria for lunch instead of hiding away in the computer lab, he sits with me and my friends.

When I drop my books beside him, he says, “I am sorry for your loss.” Which is what you’d say if someone died, not after a breakup. But the weird thing is, it touches a chord, and I have to bite my lip to keep it from trembling.

“Thanks, Evgeney. It’s for the best.”

He looks puzzled. “Why?”

“I don’t know. It just is.”

I admit, I’d gushed about Jared. Evgeney had asked me about our relationship and I was all too happy to tell him. It’s no wonder this new turn of events doesn’t make sense to him.

I should come clean. Since he’s all about studying relationships, I owe him the truth about mine. Evgeney’s faced a lot of rejection himself; he faces it in the hallways of our school every day because he’s different. There’s no need to put up a facade in front of him.

“Actually,” I say quietly, “it was Jared’s decision, not mine. It took me by surprise.”

He gives a sad nod. “I’m sorry.”

I can tell he means it.

By lunchtime, the breakup is old news. Everything is as it used to be, except that Jared isn’t sitting with us. He’s on the other side of the caf with Tom Leeson and Said Abdullah, two friends he jams with most Thursday nights. Jared doesn’t look my way, not even once. I’m so miserable that my stomach feels queasy. How can he ignore me like that?

It’s as if the past six months have been erased and Jared is now a stranger. The guy who claimed he couldn’t get enough of me has had enough. The guy who could hardly be near me without touching me in some way—entwining his fingers with mine, squeezing my waist—now can’t spare me a glance.

I remember the first time he kissed me. It was after school in the art room. I’d felt a hunger inside him that lit me up, scorching us both, forging our connection. Over the next months his kiss had become familiar to me, but the fire had always been there. The hunger for each other. And for me, at least, our connection had only grown stronger over time.

Looking over at him, I see him tipping his head back to drink some soda. Even the act of drinking is somehow sensual, and a rush of longing goes through me. It occurs to me that I should be glad I never slept with him. I’d been sure that he would be my first, but I’d never quite felt ready, and Jared didn’t pressure me.

“I can’t believe he’s just sitting there.” Ryan’s voice jars me from my thoughts. He’s got the evil eye focused squarely on Jared.

Amy snorts. “I think he wore that outfit two days in a row.”

I want to rise to Jared’s defense. He’s still in the foster-care system, living with an elderly Italian lady who sells lingerie to transvestites. He’s been saving all of his money for art school, and doesn’t have money for new clothes. Plus, I think he has two of the same band shirt.

“Guys, you don’t need to talk about him like that. It doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Ryan turns to me. “It makes us feel better.”

Viv nods. “At least we know what kind of guy he is. Instead of working through a rough spot, he takes off. I heard about guys like that on Oprah.”

“Can we please change the topic?” I ask.

“I’ve got a new topic.” Amy looks at Sharese. “Are you going to tell them, or should I?”

“Tell them what?”

“About your new guy, of course!”

“He’s not my new guy,” Sharese says, shifting in her seat. “We’re going out for dinner, that’s all.”

“Which is obviously a date. Aren’t you going to tell them he’s an Olympic athlete?”

Sharese rolls her eyes. “It wasn’t the real Olympics, I told you. It was the World Transplant Games. Zink’s had a bad heart all his life and got a transplant two years ago. He’s doing well, but he still needs drugs to make sure his body doesn’t reject it.”

“Back up a minute,” Ryan says. “Did you say his name was Zinc, like the vitamin?”

“It’s a mineral,” Sharese corrects, “but yes, that’s his name. It’s his mom’s maiden name. It’s spelled with a k on the end.”

Ryan laughs. “What a name! Like he doesn’t have enough strikes against him already. So how’d you meet him?”

“He’s been in my church youth group on and off for a few years.”

I’m glad to hear that Sharese has a new guy in her life. Her last crush, on an ice-cream scooper named Mike P., came to nothing. By the time she’d worked up the courage to give him her number, he’d quit the Dairy Freez, never to be seen again.

“That’s so romantic,” Viv says. “He struggles with his health for years, and now he can finally ask out the girl of his dreams.”

Sharese makes a face. “Easy, turbo. It’s only a date.”

“So is he cute or what?” Amy asks.

“He’s cute, yeah. He’s kind of short. His heart condition stunted his growth.”

“It’s gonna be a hot date, I just know it.” Amy gives a sly grin. “I bet he wants to test out his new heart by getting some action.”

three

7 Days into Rebound Equation

With Regard to Key Lime Pie

When someone finds a partner, we’re happy for them. We’re so happy we have parties: engagement parties, wedding showers, weddings, gift-opening parties, anniversary parties.

Kaitlin used to have her boyfriend over every Sunday for dinner with her family. They used special plates and there was always a special dessert. Kaitlin’s favorite was key lime pie.

But since Kaitlin and her boyfriend broke up, this Sunday dinner ritual no longer applies. No fancy china, no special dessert. There is no denying that, because Kaitlin does not have a boyfriend, her parents do not believe Sundays are worth the extra effort.

Every Sunday, Kaitlin hopes against hope that her parents will buy dessert. She has compassion for her mom, who is watching her waistline, but she still feels that dessert would be nice.

Every Sunday, like clockwork, Kaitlin asks, “What’s for dessert?”

The answer is usually “Well, we have some cookies in the cupboard,” i.e. nothing.

Where is my key lime pie? she wonders. Don’t girls without boyfriends deserve dessert, too?

The Oracle believes there should be a new trend. Let’s pull out all the stops to celebrate people who have refused to settle or have been dumped or just like to be on their own. Let’s celebrate people who aren’t afraid of being single.

Let’s serve them key lime pie!

The Oracle of Dating

When you’re involved in a breakup, you get every cliché in the book thrown at you. Like when Viv says, “It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” Ugh. In Viv’s defense, she knows about love and loss. Last fall Viv briefly dated Max McIver only to have to break up with him when her parents found out. It was devastating for both of them, but somehow they managed to salvage a friendship. And there’s obviously something still between them; they just can’t act on it.

Viv’s cliché doesn’t work for me. Sure, I had a great few months with Jared. I discovered real passion, real companionship. There was nothing I couldn’t tell him. I enjoyed the routine of a solid relationship: the daily phone conversations, the lazy days chilling and making out, the messages on my voice mail telling me he missed me.

But is it better to have loved and lost? I don’t think so. I was happy with Jared, but that happiness doesn’t make up for the pain I feel now. By dumping me, he’s taught me a lesson I didn’t want to learn—that you can show someone who you really are, you can love them completely, and then without warning, they can turn away from you.

And a breakup isn’t just a parting of two people. It’s a series of mini-breakups that occur when the primary couple parts ways. You’re breaking up with his family and friends, and he’s breaking up with yours.

I miss Gina, his foster mom. I miss the way she pinched my cheeks and plied me with cannoli. Will I ever see her again? I can’t picture calling her up to say hi. But it seems so strange to have spent so much time with her over the past few months and never see her again. I wonder if Jared will miss Mom and Erland. He got along great with them.

I’m tempted to put some of my thoughts in a blog, but how can I? Jared could surf by and see my innermost feelings spilled onto the page. The last thing I need is for him to know how heartbroken I am. I’d prefer to hang on to what pride I have left.

I admit I’ve occasionally surfed by his Facebook page and his band’s MySpace page. I can’t help it, even though I know it’s totally unhealthy. What happens when I see that he’s chatting with a new girl? Or what if his band posts a new song called “Swinging Single” or something like that? There’s too much potential for more pain. So, in a moment of strength, I delete him as my Facebook friend. This way, I won’t be able to see his page and I can stop wasting my time.

Another thing about breakups? They’re hard because your whole routine changes. Now, after almost six months of a relationship routine, I have huge gaps in my schedule.

With all this time on my hands, I have to ask myself: what did I do with my spare time before I met Jared?

The answer is simple: I used to focus more on being the Oracle of Dating and less on my own love life (or lack of it). When Jared and I got together, I became less focused on expanding my business and only did what was necessary to maintain it.

While I was with Jared, I wrote a blog about every two weeks. Before we started dating, I wrote at least one blog a week, sometimes two or three.

What’s up with that? Was I the type of girl to forget her ambition because of a boyfriend?

Well, no more.

I call Tracey, but get her voice mail, and then I remember that she’s at her belly dancing class. I decide to call the only one of my friends who knows that I’m the Oracle: Viv.

I explain the situation to her, and she says, “Yeah, I noticed you weren’t blogging as much.”

Great! I’ve been letting down my readers. “You should’ve said something.”

“You seemed happy. And busy. I didn’t want to pressure you to blog more.”

“I let my relationship with Jared sidetrack me. I always thought that I’d be able to quit working at Eddie’s by now and focus on the Oracle, but obviously I haven’t gotten my butt in gear. I’ve got to think of how to expand. I need a new business plan.”

“Did you have an old business plan?”

“No. Maybe that was the problem. A business should grow over time, shouldn’t it? I’m not making any more money than I did six months ago.”

“That’s because you haven’t done anything to broaden your audience. If you want to expand, you have to put the word out. A few flyers at local schools and shopping malls isn’t enough.”

“But I don’t have lots of money to do an advertising blitz.”

“You do have some money, right? Try investing it in yourself. That’s what all entrepreneurs do.”

I consider that. I have a few hundred in the bank, since the Oracle’s been in the black for a while. Maybe that money should be invested in advertising. But how can I be sure it’ll be worth it?

“I could try buying some advertising space on a couple of teen websites if I can afford it.”

“Good idea. Your business is on the web, so web advertising is your best bet.”

“Okay. I’ll do some research on where would be best.”

When we hang up, I surf some websites and contact a few to ask about advertising prices. I have no idea how much advertising costs, but I have the feeling I can’t afford most of the sites I’d like to advertise on.

If it takes thousands of dollars in advertising to grow a business, then I don’t have a chance. It seems unfair that it takes money to make money.

I’ve got it! What if I find some popular teen blogs and see if I can do a guest blog for them? That’s a way of putting the word out without paying anything. True, most teen bloggers don’t have an audience of thousands. But if I can find some who are read by, say, one or two hundred people, that could be useful. What have I got to lose?

My thoughts are interrupted by an instant message.

Cheerlead4ever: I need help, Oracle of Dating. I’m going nuts.

Oracle: What is it, Cheerleader?

Cheerlead4ever: I think my boyfriend is cheating.

Oracle: What makes you think that?

Cheerlead4ever: He spends a lot of time with his guy friends and doesn’t always answer my calls. The guys could be covering for him.

Oracle: It sounds like you don’t trust him. Why is that?

Cheerlead4ever: He’s cheated before. It was the most humiliating thing that ever happened to me, and I can’t go through it again. He promised he’ll never do it again but how can I trust him?

This is a touchy question. I have a theory about cheaters. If they do it once, they don’t have the moral foundation to stop themselves from doing it again.

Oracle: The past can’t be changed. If you’re sure that you want to give him another chance, then you have no choice but to rebuild the trust that was lost. Otherwise, you’ll just be torturing yourself.

Cheerlead4ever: He’s not helping any. He thinks I call and text him too much.

Oracle: That’s too bad. If he wants to rebuild your trust, he should accept that you’ll be suspicious of him, at least for a while.

Cheerlead4ever: I don’t think he’s concerned about rebuilding my trust. He just expects me to trust him, just like that!

Oracle: He doesn’t sound very mature.

Cheerlead4ever: You’re right about that!

Oracle: Then the Oracle must ask you: why do you feel you have to be with him?

Cheerlead4ever: Everybody knows we belong together. Even he knows it.

Oracle: Why do you belong with a guy who’s cheated on you? Don’t you deserve better?

Cheerlead4ever: Of course I do. I’m just waiting for him to figure that out.

Oracle: If this guy is immature, it could be a long time before he figures it out. Or he may never figure it out. Are you willing to put your happiness in his hands?

Cheerlead4ever: Yes, Oracle, I am. Now, can you tell me ways to figure out if he’s cheating on me or not?

This girl really doesn’t get it. I give her some tips, and by the end of the chat, she seems satisfied that she got what she came for. Once we disconnect, I sit there for a few moments, wondering how anyone can be so obsessed with keeping a cheating boyfriend. The more she told me about him, the scuzzier he seemed. Yet for her, breaking up was not an option.

Far better be single than in a relationship where there isn’t trust.

I trusted Jared completely. Until he broke my heart.

Haven’t Been Single for a While? Give It a Try!

Now I admit it—the Oracle of Dating is as guilty as anyone of extolling the merits of being in a relationship. I mean, it’s the Oracle of Dating, not the Oracle of Singledom. Nevertheless, the Oracle believes that being single is not only a healthy place to be, it’s essential for a person’s growth. It’s a state not to be reviled, but appreciated. And the fact is, being single is downright fun.

Yes, fun. Because being single puts you in a realm where the familiar is replaced by mystery. Who knows who you’ll meet at the party Friday night? Who knows what new guy will show up at your school?

So whether you decide it’s time to break up with your boyfriend, or whether he’s made the decision for you, don’t despair. There are infinite romantic possibilities awaiting you…and if you need any help, the Oracle of Dating is always here.

I post the blog with a satisfied nod. I can’t believe I haven’t written more blogs about being single in the past. I’ve spent most of my postpubescent life single so I should know a lot about it. I’ll have to write more about the joys of singledom in the coming days. And if Jared surfs by the website, all the better—he’ll figure I’m happy without him.

“You’ll have to free up your schedule next week,” Mom says at the dinner table as she’s twirling spaghetti around her fork.

“Why?” All sorts of unpleasant possibilities run through my brain. Pie-making with the church ladies? Teen Bible study? Sunday-school nursery duty?

“We have a French exchange student coming,” Mom says, too cheerful to be trusted.

“Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“Mrs. Martin called from the school. They’ve been having a hard time finding homes for the exchange students. I thought it would be nice if we helped out.” She gives an innocent smile, but I know this must be part of some devious plan. For a holy woman, Mom can be downright wicked.

I look to the Swede for help, but his expression is annoyingly cheerful.

“How could you do this without asking me? You know I’ve been down lately. I don’t want to have to show some French girl around.” I could see it now: hours in gray museums, endless lineups for tourist attractions. “How long will she be here for anyway?”

“Two weeks.” Mom dabs the side of her mouth with a napkin. “And it’s not a girl. His name is Benoit and he’s seventeen. We thought you’d be okay with that.” She and Erland exchange a look.

“Are you serious? You’re letting some strange French guy in the house for two weeks! What if he tries to assault me?”

I can tell Mom and Erland are trying not to laugh. Okay, fine, I’m being a bit of a drama queen, but still. A French guy in our house? There’s no telling what sort of European debauchery could happen.

“I’ll ask him not to assault you, dear,” she says. “We don’t know for a fact that he’s strange. Anyway, I think it will be good for you.”

“I have to entertain him for two whole weeks! That’s just cruel.”

“You won’t have to be with him every day, honey. His teachers will have plenty of activities planned. But it would be nice if you took him out a few times.”

“You have not been going out much lately,” Erland points out. “Now is your chance. Show Benoit the city. You would be great at that. We will give you money toward it.”

Mom smiles. “Don’t you think it’s about time you had some fun?”

You know you need to get a life when:

  You check your email dozens of times a day, hoping to hear from your ex-boyfriend—the same ex-boyfriend who hasn’t said more than two words to you since you broke up.

  Your parents have to fly you in a companion from overseas.

  Your mom buys you a bunch of teen romance novels when she used to tell you to go to the library instead.

  Your stepdad looks up your horoscope without you even asking him, and says you will find new romance soon. (C’mon, Erland!)

I don’t have time to wallow in self-pity, though, because a situation arises that demands my attention. I’m on the phone with my older sister, Tracey, when she says, “Guess what? I’m going to try online dating! I signed up on Lavalife and Match.com.”

Uh-oh, this is not my area of expertise. When I think of online dating, I think of freaks, perverts, stalkers.

A little background on Tracey: she’s amazing. Really, she’s the best sister ever, and she actually likes having me as a little sister. Problem is, she’s had bad luck with guys since…well, forever. Tracey hasn’t dated much in the past few months. Around the time I got together with Jared, she had a relationship relapse with her ex. After that, she took a few months off dating, but has emerged again, slowly and cautiously. I was intent on setting her up with Jared’s gorgeous and spiritual social worker, Rodrigo, but as soon as Tracey decided she was ready to date again, it turned out Rodrigo had a new girlfriend. Talk about timing.

And now this. Internet dating. How can I give her advice when I know so little about it?

“Kayla? Are you there?”

“Uh…yeah.”

“Corinne met the sweetest guy online last month. She’s talked me into signing up.”

“Cool, but you’ve got to give me a minute to wrap my mind around this. The whole idea scares me. You hear about women getting stalked by people they’ve met online.”

“They get stalked by people they meet other places, too. But you’re right, I’ll have to be careful. It’s still worth exploring. I’ve known a bunch of people who’ve met their mates online. Mark at work met his wife through a site years ago, and that was in the early days of online dating. Now there are thousands of potential guys. Mom says that at least half of the couples in her marriage prep courses meet that way.”

“Maybe I should try it, too.” The word rebound flashes in my mind with neon lights.

“Don’t you dare. You’re too young. And there’s no need. When you’re in high school and college, there are loads of opportunities to meet guys. It’s afterward that things dry up.”

“Don’t worry, Trace. I’m not going to look for a guy online. But you’re right that it’s worth a shot for you. Let me do a little research before you go on any dates, okay?”

“Yay! But hurry—I’ve already started chatting with a couple of guys, and it’s only a matter of time before we go out.”

Talk about a fire under my butt!

Over the next couple of days, I plunge into the world of online dating. I spend hours surfing the internet for articles, and I check out a bunch of dating websites.

In the end, I come up with:

The Dos and Don’ts of Online Dating

The Dos:

  Do put up a realistic photo. Sure, replacing your picture with a supermodel will get a guy’s attention, but do you really want to see the disappointment in his eyes when he sees the real you?

  Do look good—but don’t go over the top. If you dress up too fancy or wear too much makeup, he may wonder why you’re putting so much effort in.

  Do trust your instincts. If you get a bad vibe from him, then don’t spend much time with him and don’t tell him many details about your life.

The Don’ts:

  Don’t give out your phone number or call him until after you’ve met him, unless you have a block up so he can’t see your phone number.

  Don’t meet on a Friday or Saturday night. Those nights are prized, and people generally stay out later, which makes it awkward if it’s a bad date and you want to go home early.

  Don’t give him your full name until after he’s met your approval. Create a separate email account for guys you meet online.

  Don’t let your date see where you live.

  Don’t get into his car.

There must be more, but that’s all I can put together for now. I hope it’s enough to save Tracey from potential predators. I email her the blog and post it on my website, and none too soon. It turns out Tracey intends to go on a coffee date on Saturday afternoon with a guy who calls himself “Iced Mocha.” I am beside myself with anticipation. I offer to go to the café and keep an eye on things, but she says no, that would make her more nervous.

Too bad, because I’d love to put on a hat and sunglasses and play the spy. On second thought, maybe Mom and Erland were right; I need to get out more.

four

11 Days into Rebound Equation

Wednesday-morning pep rally. I’m sitting with my friends at the back of the gym. Sports teams are strutting in front of us while silly mascots are jumping and clapping, as if we care. We would totally sneak out if the teachers weren’t watching the doors. It’s not that I hate my school, but I don’t feel a major allegiance to it. Which I suppose isn’t good, considering I’m on student council.

“You wouldn’t believe what my mom did,” I say. “It’s totally heinous.”

“She read your diary!” Sharese says.

“I don’t have a diary.”

“She caught you sexting!” Amy declares.

“I don’t sext. That’s your thing.”

My friends are poised for the news. When I say the words exchange student, they shake their heads in disgust.

“I hope you guys will help me entertain him. You will, right?”

“Him?” Amy’s eyebrows go up. “Your mom is awesome.” The wave comes our way and we fling our arms upward. “She’s obviously hoping to get you some action.”

“Yeah, right! That is so not my mom.”

“That is so your mom. She knows you need a man. We all know it.”

“Well, I did find it odd that she’s letting him sleep in my room.” I watch their eyes widen. “I’m kidding!”

“My parents would never allow a guy who’s not family to stay at my house,” Viv says. “Especially a French guy. Don’t they all sleep around over there?”

“You can’t generalize like that,” Amy says. “You can only generalize that French guys are skinny. But Kayla doesn’t mind skinny.”

“Maybe I do. It depends on the guy.”

I refrain from saying that Jared wasn’t skinny, he was all lean muscle. I scan the gym, spotting Jared with a couple of guys and a girl at the other end. The girl is a senior named Chelsea Yang. Pretty. Cheerleader. Debate club.

Oh, my God. Chelsea Yang is moving in! My girl radar is certain of it.

I feel a hand on my arm. It’s Viv. She knows what I’m thinking.

So does Ryan. “You’ve raised his market value, Kayla. Before you, Chelsea never would’ve been interested. But you’ve made him an acceptable choice.”

“I did?” I am not cool with this. I took a chance on him, and now other girls know that he’s boyfriend material? No, thank you.

“I bet Chelsea’s been waiting for you to break up this whole time,” Amy says.

“But why would she be interested in Jared? Wasn’t she dating Michael from student council for ages? Jared isn’t her type.”

“He wasn’t your type either, or so you thought,” Sharese says. “Things change.”

“I can’t believe this.” Somehow my relationship with Jared has made him a desirable dating choice.

“She’s no you, Kayla,” Viv says. “Remember that.”

“Thanks.” But the bleak future is flashing before my eyes. Jared will get together with Chelsea. She will be less clingy, less melodramatic, and an altogether better girlfriend than I was. They will go to prom together, elope to Vegas, then go off to college and share one of those married couple dorm rooms which I’ve always thought were so cozy and romantic.

This line of thought is not working for me. “I’m going to the bathroom.” I get up quickly before one of my friends can offer to join me.

I hurry there, expecting to burst into tears. But the tears don’t come. Sadness seems to be locked in my throat. I’m standing at the sink, looking at myself in the mirror. How could you do this to me, Jared, when you promised to never hurt me?

I force myself to breathe in and out until I feel calm again. I finally straighten and leave the bathroom. When I go back into the gym, I refuse to look in Jared’s direction. Rebound, I tell myself. I’ve got to move on.

That night I write a blog called A Viable Option, discussing the idea that who you’re seen dating determines who will consider dating you next. I’m still reeling at the fact that go-getter Chelsea Yang may be going for Jared.

Or was she around the whole time? Were she and Jared secretly friends, just waiting for me to be out of the picture before they became more?

I try to banish the thought. Unless I’m faced with evidence to the contrary, I’m going to believe Jared didn’t dump me for another girl.

Still, I have to wonder about what Ryan said—that I somehow raised Jared’s stature by dating him for so long. But why? He dated Brooke before me, the most popular girl in school. She’s the one who made him a viable option, not me.

Or maybe not. She dumped him, claiming he was a jerk for demanding sex. But the truth was, it was just a ploy to make her break up with him. I suppose Jared might’ve remained a dating no-no if I hadn’t scooped him up after that.

When you think about it, the fact that Jared and I stayed together for six months showed Chelsea and all the other girls at school that Jared was a keeper. And, damn it, we probably looked happy. Because we were happy. At least, I thought we were. I still don’t know when that changed.

I wish it worked both ways. I wish there was a group of gorgeous, dangerous (but not really) guys waiting for Jared and me to break up so they could ask me out. But no one has, and frankly, that type of guy doesn’t seem to exist except in Jared.

Thank God for my business. At least I have something to focus my energies on. I decide that instead of draining my bank account on paid advertising, I’ll visit some teen blogs. I contact several popular sites. Within a few days I hear back from most of them, and five say they’d be happy to have me. Four of them ask me to write guest blogs, and the fifth asks me to answer a question submitted by a reader.

I start work on the four blogs. None of them has given me a deadline, but I’d like to put all of them out over the next month. The blogger who asked me to answer a reader’s question puts out an open call for questions for the Oracle of Dating. Her website, teenmoi, must be really popular, because I get an extra sixty hits the day she mentions me in her blog.

When Amy tells me about a house party happening on Friday night, I decide it’s time to leave the computer and go out for a change. And then I find out that my friends can’t go. At least, Ryan and Sharese can’t go. Viv isn’t interested. She can’t see why we’d go to a party when we don’t even know Tara Franklin, the senior who’s hosting it.

Thankfully, Viv responds to pressure. So I tell her how I really need to get out and how it would be awkward to go with just Amy and Chad, and Viv caves. Booyah!

“You have to introduce Kayla and Viv to your soccer buddies,” Amy says to Chad on the subway there.

“No probs.” Chad is an easygoing guy with a cute face and soccer bod. He seems happy to leave it to Amy to do all the talking and decision-making. I’ve never really understood why he and Amy have been together so long—it must be two years by now. I think the passion wore off a while ago. Plus, Amy often flirts with other guys, and sometimes takes it into the realm of cheating. I don’t know why she has a boyfriend when she seems to enjoy playing the field so much.

I check my hair and makeup in my compact. I braved the straightening iron—something I don’t do lightly—and successfully glammed up my makeup without looking like a showgirl. The hour I spent putting myself together was worth it. I’ll be able to walk into the party with confidence.

Tara’s house is on a swanky block in Brooklyn Heights. When we get there it’s around ten, and the place is pumping. A random kid answers the door. The inside of the house is posh, with mainly black furniture, white walls and expensive-looking artwork. I can’t imagine why anyone who lives in such a nice place would have a house party, since the term itself is synonymous with destruction. But that’s not my problem.

We’re instantly swept into the crowd. I find myself surrounded by beer bottles and people I vaguely know. I’m glad that Viv is by my side because Amy and Chad have gone missing. Rock is blaring from speakers throughout the house, making it difficult for us to hear each other.

Amy and Chad are back, slipping cold beers into our hands. I nod my head to the music. Half a beer later, I’m slipping into a happy mood where nothing can touch me.

Okay, maybe not. I spot Jared’s friend Tom in the kitchen with his girlfriend. We say hi, and that’s it. But it sucks because Jared’s in my head now. I wonder if there’s any chance he’ll show up tonight. Maybe he will, now that he’s newly single. I half hope he will, because I want him to see that I’m out having fun.

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