Chapter 1: The Breakup Blueprint

After the Zoom call ended, my best friend Carter and I immediately started strategizing how I should break up with my boyfriend. We were both in my tiny apartment, our laptops still open from the call, the blue light reflecting off our faces as we scooted closer together, ready to plot.

The cursor blinked on the dark laptop screen, while outside my window, New York City was alive with the sounds of distant sirens, honking cabs, and the occasional thump of bass from a passing car. Carter—my best friend since freshman year, and very much a she, despite her name—leaned in close, her voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper. It felt like we were plotting a bank heist, not the end of a relationship. The air between us was electric with anticipation—the kind you only get when you know you’re about to turn your life upside down.

“He’s so distant—seriously, he’s boring as hell.”

Carter rolled her eyes, stretching out the word 'hell' until it sounded almost musical. She scrunched her nose, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "Honestly, Riley, you deserve someone who at least fakes interest in your day."

Whenever I talk to him, it’s always the same: “Oh. Okay. Mm.”

I mimicked his monotone, my voice as flat as day-old soda. Carter burst out laughing, nearly spitting out her gum and slapping the table for emphasis. "It's like he's gridlocked in an emotional traffic jam."

He doesn’t even know how to kiss. It’s like he’s from another decade.

I wrinkled my nose, recalling the awkward, stiff peck from last week. "I swear, it's like kissing someone auditioning for Saved by the Bell—zero chemistry, all cringe."

Let’s just break up—after May 20th, we’ll break up.

Carter tapped her phone, counting the days on her fingers. "Alright, May 20th. D-Day. I'm putting it on my calendar—Breakup-palooza."

My best friend was about to nod in agreement when her eyes caught on my phone screen. She looked up at me, her expression morphing into pure horror.

Her brows shot up so high they threatened to disappear into her hairline. "Wait—did you seriously start a Zoom just to plot your breakup? Is this, like, an official event now?"

Me:

No, the one who started the meeting is my boyfriend!

I threw my hands up, my cheeks burning. "Swear to God, Carter, Ethan started the call! I just... never left." I started fidgeting with my bracelet, avoiding her gaze.

When Carter Evans showed up at the coffee shop, the group call had just ended. Only Ethan Moore and I were left in the Zoom room.

The coffee shop was buzzing with the low hum of indie music, the hiss of the espresso machine, and the sharp clatter of ceramic mugs. I sat at a corner table by the window, sunlight streaming through the smudged glass, my phone propped up between us. The Zoom window was still open, Ethan’s icon haunting the screen. Carter slid into the seat across from me, her Starbucks iced coffee dripping condensation onto the table.

I forced myself to sound sweet and gentle as I spoke to my boyfriend:

“It’s my birthday today, you don’t have to come. I know you’re busy with your classes.”

I tried to sound extra sugary, my voice shooting up an octave, adding a forced, overly-bright smile, as if he could see me through the screen.

Ethan, cold as ever, replied, “Mm.”

The monosyllable hung in the air, heavy as a lead weight. Carter stifled a giggle, mouthing, "See what I mean?"

“Okay, take care, don’t overwork yourself. You can hang up first, babe!”

I forced out the word 'babe' like it was a dare, but there was nothing from his side. Not even a sigh. Just a void.

There was only silence from Ethan’s side.

I glanced at Carter, who was already rolling her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. The silence felt like a neon sign flashing: DUMP HIM.

I put down my phone. Carter kept winking at me, mimicking my syrupy tone:

“Take care, don’t work too hard, babe~ Hahaha! Riley Brooks, do you really like Ethan that much?”

She waggled her eyebrows, making exaggerated kissy faces. "You sound like you're trying out for Love Is Blind."

My smile faded. I replied, deadpan, “I don’t like him anymore. Planning to break up.”

I said it flatly, more to myself than to Carter. The words tasted like old gum—chewed over too many times. I swallowed hard, rubbing my temple as the aftertaste lingered.

Carter nearly spit out her cold brew. “What the—why? Didn’t you work so hard to get him? Now, after just three months, you’re breaking up?”

She slapped the table, eyes wide. "Girl, you were obsessed! You had a whole Pinterest board dedicated to this dude!"

I gritted my teeth.

My jaw tightened, a pulse beating in my neck. My hands fidgeted with the edge of my sleeve, picking at a loose thread.

Five months ago, I fell for Ethan at first sight in a giant lecture hall during Intro to Psych. He wore a white hoodie, messy hair flopping over his forehead, his features sharp and almost too perfect—like one of those out-of-your-league guys you see in a Marvel movie.

I remembered the way he looked that day, sunlight catching the tips of his hair, his profile outlined against the window. He was reading a battered copy of "Thinking, Fast and Slow"—that psych class classic everyone pretends to finish—and didn’t even glance up when I walked by. That mystery, that distance—it was magnetic.

Just one look, and I was hooked.

It was like getting zapped by a live wire. My stomach flipped, my heart skipping in a way it hadn’t since my eighth-grade crush on Nick Jonas.

I wanted to pick him.

Not just notice him, but actually choose him, like picking the last golden apple at Trader Joe's. I wanted to be the one to break through that frosty exterior.

So, I went up, asked for his number, invited him to dinner, set up study dates... all in one go.

Carter always said I had the subtlety of a marching band, but I didn’t care. I was bold. I sent the first text, planned the first coffee, even tracked down his favorite snack—salted caramel Kind bars, which, honestly, is a weird flex.

But Ethan was even colder than I’d imagined. Top of the class, perfect GPA, but he barely talked. He hardly responded to my stories or jokes. Usually, he only said a few words:

“Mm.”