Page 16 of Perfect on Paper

“Almost always.”

“See? So, you must not need everything.”

I hesitated, picking my words. “Usually I can tell what the theme of the issue is. People generally have a good sense of the problem, they just don’t necessarily know what caused it, or how to fix it. Then I match the problem to a theory, and give advice based on the one that fits best.”

“Theories?”

“Relationship theories. Like attachment style, how to deal with commitment phobia, the no-contact rule, men are from Mars, how oxytocin is triggered at different times in different people…”

A blank stare. “You’ve always known all this stuff?”

I couldn’t help but sit up a little straighter. “I’ve built my knowledge base. But I’ve always been interested in it. Since middle school, at least.”

“Where did it start?”

I had to think for a minute to pinpoint the original theory I’d stumbled on, the one that’d kicked off my whole fascination. “Do you know the bookHe’s Just Not That Into You?”

“With Scarlett Johansson? Sure, but I don’t know what it’s about.”

“That’s the movie, not the book, but anyway,” I muttered under my breath. “The general idea behind it is if a guy doesn’t reach out to you or make an effort, he doesn’t have feelings for you.”

“Groundbreaking.”

“Well, for a lot of people, yeah, it was. I read it years ago and I loved it, and I started reading as many relationship self-help things as I could. Then I found YouTube, and podcasts, and it kind of went from there.”

“But what about the locker?”

This was the first time I’d ever shared this secret with anyone. (Ainsley didn’t count, because she’d followed the whole saga in real time.) As much as I wasn’t exactly Brougham’s biggest fan, it was actually nice to be able to spill it all to someone. Two and a half years was a long time to keep a secret. “I started it at the beginning of ninth grade. I had all this relationship knowledge, but no one to apply it to.” Honestly, I didn’t know if I wanted the rush of being able to help people, or simply to experiment on others to see if these theories had any basis in reality. Maybe it was a bit of both. “And when you’re around the offices after hours as much as I am, it’s not as hard to find… certain information as you’d think, so I happened to find which of the lockers was unassigned, and its combination. Our school still uses hard-copy records for that stuff, go figure, so itwas easy enough to just remove number eighty-nine from the assignment sheet. Then one afternoon while I was waiting for my mom, I made some flyers and stuck them in random lockers, saying if they wanted free relationship advice, they could put an anonymous letter into locker eighty-nine with an email address.”

“And people did it?” Brougham asked.

“One person did it. And I guess my advice worked, because they told some friends the flyer was legit, and it snowballed. Later in the year, someone dropped a tip in the locker with a thank-you note, and it occurred to me half the kids at our school were millionaires. Or their parents were, anyway. So I gave people a few weeks’ warning that advice wouldn’t be free anymore by putting it at the bottom of every email. And the whisper network did the rest for me. I started out charging five, now I charge ten. I could probably do even more, but I don’t want business to drop.”

Brougham watched me intensely, not reacting, but not breaking eye contact, either. For the first time, I understood why Ainsley found him attractive. That stare made me feel like I was telling the most interesting story in the world. “But why anonymously?” he asked. “Why don’t you just do what we’re doing with everyone? People would pay.”

He wasn’t wrong about that. People would pay. That meant more than even Brougham probably realized. In a school where seven-figure family incomes were the norm, it really was a lucky break for me that we had a uniform. Without it, my status as a scholarship student would’ve been abundantly clear to anyone who looked at me. But even with the uniform, kids found a way to flaunt their wealth. Fendi bags and camel Gucci skirts and Cartier watches decorated every second ensemble. Each time a new iPhonewas released, it was all you’d see in the hallways by the next Monday. People usually didn’t make comments about older models, per se, but anyone who lagged in upgrading would find themselves on the receiving end of lingering, pointed looks anytime they checked their phone around other students.

There was no way in hell my parents would be able to keep up with all that. My locker income was the only thing that gave me even a fighting chance at fitting in with the other students here. Obviously, ten dollars an email wasn’t going to get me Fendi and Gucci, but it was enough to cover a decent iPhone plan and the odd thrift store haul. Add in Ainsley’s skills with a sewing machine, and on a good day I could pass for upper middle class. And, thankfully, that was enough to get me by.

So, yeah, some extra income wouldnotgo astray.

But if people found out it was me running the locker, all the fancy clothes in the world couldn’t protect me from the awkwardness that would follow. How would I have a normal conversation with someone in English class when they knew I knew all about how they lost their virginity? Or that they’d secretly cheated on their boyfriend? Or that they sabotaged their sister’s relationship so they could have a shot in her place?

And a million times more pressing than that, the reason I would never,everadmit to being behind the locker, was that I’d used it to do something awful to Brooke. If she ever found out about that, who knew if she’d ever forgive me again. She’ddefinitelynever trust me again. I wouldn’t, in her shoes.

Locker eighty-nine couldn’t become a real person.

I could’ve opened myself up and explained all that toBrougham. Problem was, I didn’t really like him, let alone trust him.

In the distance, a door slammed. I made out the murmur of voices, then footsteps that grew closer, but not so close I could see who they belonged to. One of the voices was male. And angry. Was this the “friend” Brougham’s mother had mentioned? Or his father, home early?

I shifted in my seat, suddenly overtaken by the urge to make myself small. My home life was happy, by all accounts. It’d been years since my parents divorced. But still, the sound of adults stomping and yelling was enough to make me feel eight years old again, crawling into bed with Ainsley to seek reassurance I never really believed.

Brougham was totally unruffled. The only sign he’d noticed anything was a blink, and the slightest tilt of his chin toward the voices. Then he grabbed a cracker and nibbled on it thoughtfully. “Well,” he said. “I think it’s pretty clear we’re not getting anywhere today.”

“What?”

At first I thought he might be kicking me out because of the nearby argument, despite the fact that he barely seemed to have heard it, but then he continued with, “You’re obviously not prepared, and so far, I’ve learned nothing useful.”

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