Page 27 of The Breakup Artists

“Well, noteveryone,” she says, straw in mouth. “Justin beat me once. And then there wasyou and Ella.”

I shrug noncommittally.

But she’s got her popular-girl laser eyes homed in on my face, ready for action. “What was the deal with you two throwing the game anyway?”

I could say it was nothing, but that won’t cut it. “Was just trying to be polite.”

“Oh, really?Polite, huh?” she says. “Or maybe... you have a thing for her?”

A statement, not a question. I laugh even though it’s not funny. “OrI just dumped a cup of coffee on the girl and thought beating her at her own party would get me banned from every social event this summer.”

“Hmmm,” she says, and my neck bristles in warning.

I give her a smile but no words.

She considers me for a moment. “See you around, Mr. Coffee,” she says and saunters away. Even her exit is part of the show, another opportunity for people to watch and be impressed. And maybe I would be if I were actually Holden.

Amber joins Leah, and I do what I do best—wait and watch. The energy is high, the music loud; the party is in full swing.

Tiny chats up Derek and Justin in the windowed cabin, and I can tell by her body language that Justin annoys her—one of the many reasons she’s happiest when I spearhead the acting. Not to mention the case last summer where she took the lead with a girl who had a surprise pet tarantula that kept getting loose when she would visit. Brutal.

Then there’s Ella, who sits on a cushioned bench talking to seahorse guy. Their conversation doesn’t last more than a handful of minutes before he points to the snack table.

And that’s my cue.

I head toward them, measuring my pace so I arrive as he stands, leaving Ella solo.

“Hey,” I say, taking the now-empty seat next to her.

“Enjoying Amber’s party?” Ella asks, and I inwardly groan at her emphasis onAmber.

“Yeah, I mean, ocean and sun... what’s not to like?”

“Well, you’ve been standing near the railing by yourself for like an hour.”

“You’ve been watching me?” I ask with a winning smile.

“Why are you so impossible?”

“Why are you?” Again, I feel that strange twinge of heightened energy in our banter and chalk it up to the fact that she’s just better at it than most of our cases.

She laughs. “Most people don’t come to a party to stand by themselves.”

“I’m not most people. And I don’t mind being by myself. You’d be surprised what you learn about people from just watching.”

“Not as much as you do by talking.”

“Not so,” I say, and she looks unconvinced. “For instance, that guy you were just talking to”—I scan the boat—“has a crush on that guy over there with the white sneakers.”

She raises an eyebrow curiously. “And how do you know that?”

“Because he keeps circling him, talking to everyone in his peri-phery,” I say.

“That’s not exactly hard evidence.”

“There’s also his body language. No matter who he’s talking to, he’s always slightly turned toward the guy he’s interested in. But you know him better than I do... am I wrong?”

She gives me a look like she’s tempted to be contrary. “Not wrong.”