The Breakup Support Group

There are only four other people in the room and thankfully, no camera crews. Still, I’d do almost anything to be anywhere else right now. Bastian closes the door behind us and puts a gentle hand on my back, pushing me forwar

d. “Guys, we have a new member,” he says all cheerfully as if this isn’t a club for sad people. “Her name is Isla Rush.”

Two girls and a guy turn away from the pizza boxes and nod or wave at me. “Hey, it’s waterworks girl,” one of them says. She’s an African-American girl with long hair in thin braids. A chill rushes into my chest when I recognize her from second period. She takes out a slice of cheese pizza and sets it on a paper plate. “Figures I’d see you here.”

My face flushes fiercely and horrifically red, and I’m so embarrassed my skin might be in danger of melting off. The girl rolls her eyes and walks up to me, throwing the non-pizza holding arm around my shoulders. She smells like nail polish. “No worries. We’re all friends here. I’m Ciara, by the way.”

“Yeah, no need to blush,” the other girl says, throwing me a smirk that makes my heart jump. “We’re all broken-hearted idiots here.” I haven’t seen her around school, and I’d know it if I had; she’s incredibly beautiful, with short brown hair that swoops over her impossibly green eyes. She’s wearing skinny jeans that scrunch up at the ankles over a pair of neon purple running shoes, and her shirt is just plain black, but it somehow makes her look like a badass. A girl as hot as she is should never be heartbroken. And yet she is, and suddenly I have no hope left for me. If someone hurt her, how is there any hope for the rest of us?

Bastian walks around me, his hand on my back, gently urging me to venture closer into the group. He takes a paper plate and hands it to me. He points to the hot girl with short hair. “This is Trish, and that’s Xavier,” he says, gesturing to the only other guy in the room. He’s short and pudgy and probably a freshman. He nods at me over a mouthful of pizza and takes a seat in one of the chairs in the circle.

“And I’m Ms. Meadows,” a voice says from across the room. A large woman wearing a pink dress waves from the teacher’s desk in the corner of the room. She has curly strawberry blond hair and is wearing an obscene amount of makeup. She’s all the way across the room, and I can see her eyelashes, thick like spider’s legs from how much mascara she’s wearing. “Don’t pay any attention to me, dear. I’m just the adult host of the club, but I don’t get involved … much.”

The club members snort at this confession. Bastian actually laughs. “Oh my God, you get involved more than any of us, Ms. Meadows.” She rolls her eyes and throws a hand at him before turning back to her computer screen.

To me, Bastian says, “Ms. Meadows has been divorced three times, and she loves pointing that out to us every time someone is upset that their relationship didn’t last forever.”

“Nothing lasts forever,” she says from her desk, keeping her eyes on the computer screen.

Ciara hands me a Coke. “She says she doesn’t participate, but she does. Anyhow, she’s cool. Don’t mind her.”

I take the drink can and reach for a slice of pizza. “So what exactly do we do here?” I ask, taking a seat next to Ciara in the circle. Now that I’m here, it’s not as intimidating as I’d feared. We’re just a group of people eating lunch in a circle of desks.

Bastian holds up a finger to me, signaling that he’ll talk once he’s finished chewing. “Welcome to the Break Up Support Group, Isla. This is a safe place. Everything you say here will be kept confidential, and we trust you to do the same with us. We’re here to help you heal and move forward with your life, confident that you are worth loving, and that you will find love. I’m Bastian, and both of my parents are therapists. This is my first year taking over the club, and I am always open to suggestions.”

Ciara nods. “We usually eat pizza first and then we go around the circle, sharing stories of our progress, but since you’re new, you have the floor.”

“Uh, I don’t know about that.” I grip my pizza crust tightly, wondering exactly how much this free pizza will cost me. “Can I just listen to everyone else this time?”

“Oh, hell no,” Trish says, leaning back in her chair. She pulls a pepperoni off her pizza and pops it in her mouth before pointing a finger at me. “They made me tell all the gory details of my ex-girlfriend the first day I was here, so you’re telling too, new girl.”

“Well … if she doesn’t feel comfortable …” Bastian says, only to be cut off by Ciara whipping her head around so hard, her braids almost hit him in the face.

“Are you kidding? Waterworks girl needs to dish. Look at her, she’s holding back some serious issues under that pretty smile.”

“Okay.” I hold out my hands. “Can I please be called Isla instead of new girl or waterworks girl?”

“Of course,” Bastian says, sitting straighter in his chair. He pulls out a black notebook and flips it open to a blank page. “Guys, let’s call our new friend by her real name. Waterworks doesn’t even make sense because she’s not crying.”

“She was crying,” Ciara says with a mouth full of food. I shoot her a glare, and she gives me a helpless shrug. “Well, you were. I am here for you girl, but I’m also dying to know why you were crying. Did you get dumped today?”

I shake my head, and Trish says, “Damn. You cried in class?”

“Okay, we have to know the details, Isla.” That came from Xavier, who’d otherwise been quiet this whole time. I watch him take a plastic fork and knife and saw his pizza into a neat little square before he eats it. I swear he looks like he could be in junior high instead of high school.

“Come on,” Ciara says, putting a hand on my desk. Her chocolatey eyes remind me of Emory’s, and I don’t know why I’m suddenly thinking of some guy when I’m supposed to talk about my ex-boyfriend. “Talk to us. We’re here for you.”

I glance across the room and find Ms. Meadows watching me from the corner of her eye. “You can trust this group,” she says with all of the compassion of a loving grandmother. “These are some good kids, and you look like a good kid, too.”

“Fine, I’ll tell you guys,” I say, taking a huge bite of food to give me a minute to think. “But you have to tell me your stories first.”

“Deal.” Bastian raises a hand, signaling that he’ll go first. “I joined the club last year when I was a freshman, after I had three girlfriends cheat on me in a row, one of them with my dumbass jock older brother. I saw a flyer for the club in the locker room, and since my mom is a huge advocate for support groups, I figured I’d try it out.”

“My turn,” Ciara says with a sigh. She watches her pearly nail polish, twisting her nails toward the light as she talks. “My last three … no four, boyfriends have been heartbreaking assholes. But I’m not giving up on love.”

“It might help to mention that you only date college guys,” Trish says, still talking through a mouthful of food. She’s on her third slice of pizza, and I wonder how she stays so thin.

“Why would that help?” Ciara says, wrinkling her brow. “I like mature men, okay? That’s not why I’m perpetually single. There’s a college man out there for me, and I’m going to find him, and then I’ll bounce out of this damn club, giving you all the finger.”