THE TEST DUMMY
Lacey
“I did it.” As I got on the train the next day, I found Hennie and shoved my phone in her face to show her the website Martin and I had created the night before, once I got home from the rich-people gathering. He’d hidden the IP address so it was untraceable.
“Oh my God, you didn’t,” she gasped, snatching my phone. “This is insane.”
“No, it’s genius. Honestly, it’s necessary. Just last night I was at a party, with that weird girl, Amy Weitzman; her boyfriend hit on me when she was five feet from us. Maybe ten. He legit called me beautiful and offered to buy me a drink.” I rolled my eyes. “Douchebags.” I didn’t mention the fact that we’d nearly torn each other’s clothes off on the harbor booze cruise. I needed to forget that had ever happened. It was hard, as was turning him down last night. He was gorgeous. Except for the baggage.
“Amy Weitzman?” Hennie’s eyes widened. “She’s, like, dating the drummer of Coldplay or one of those bands. He hit on you? Damn!”
“What?” I scowled. “Drummer? No, he’s from here, from a wealthy family. Typical douchey rich guy. He’s BFFs with Monty. His name is Jordan—” I wrinkled my nose and snapped my fingers, forgetting his last name when I’d only said it not even a week ago. “Oh my God, it’s gonna drive me nuts,” I groaned. “He’s got the same name as that really good cider, and he and his older brother are total man whores who always hit on everyone. I’ve never really met Jordan, but I always avoid the brother like the plague.”
“Angry Orchard?” Hennie said.
“What?” I laughed.
“That’s a cider I had once. It was good.”
“Stephen and Jordan—Somersby!” I shouted, way too loud for the train. I lowered my voice. “Jordan Somersby.”
“Oh, yeah. He is really rich. His family is one of those scary ones everyone sucks up to. They’re related to, like, the Roth-what-do-you-call-its or those blue bloods, right? And his brother is a super-douche. But Jordan’s not Amy’s boyfriend, and he isn’t a douche either.”
“What?” I was lost.
“Yeah, she posts about that drummer all the time.”
“But Jordan—”
“I know,” Hennie gushed. “He’s so hot. So hot. Those eyes and that dimple in his right cheek and the way his hair is always so perfectly styled like he has a salon in his back pocket. And his shoulders and hands. Have you ever watched him play football? He should have gone pro.” She closed her eyes and moaned. “Ugh.”
“How do you know him?” I chuckled and pulled my phone back. He was hot; Lord have mercy, he was hot. And he was so interesting to talk to on the boat. But he was a rich trust-fund kid, an instant disqualifier.
“Same major. He’s the crush of every girl in all my classes and completely gorgeous. I’ve had sex fantasies about him. He hit on you?” Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t stop. “Did you flirt back? He smells so good, huh?”
“What are you talking about? He’s gross. He hits on everyone; he’s a Somersby.”
“Stop!” she shouted. “How else can I spell it out? Not at all like his brother, and not dating anyone? Let him hit on you. I want details.”
“You sure?” I scowled as dread hit me. Hard. Oh my God. I’d been rude to him. “How sure are you?”
“Maybe, like, ninety percent sure. Either way, I went out with some girls from class three weeks ago, and one of them is superrich and gets into every club with no issue.” It was her turn to roll her eyes. “And she said Amy and the little drummer boy have had a thing for, like, a year.”
“Well, now I feel terrible.” I squirmed in my seat. “I was a complete dick to him for no reason.”
“You were a dick to Jordan Somersby? He’s, like, the nicest guy and completely normal. With all the rich douchebags out there, you pick the nice, intelligent one to pick on?” She laughed. “He writes books, like epic fantasy, for a hobby. He’s a complete sci-fi and fantasy nerd. A finances geek. He’s never been inappropriate with a single girl from my course. I know this because they’ve all tried. He’s not like that. I don’t think he’s dated anyone in years. He was my TA all year. Totally single.”
“Oh, shit.” I sent a text to Marcia, double-checking. It was only seven thirty in the morning, so she wouldn’t see the text for hours, but when she did, I prayed she would confirm that he was seeing Amy so I could justify my rudeness. But then again, would I want to wish that on him? She was one vapid, strange girl.
Or was their relationship like what Carmen had been saying? One of those where they didn’t have a say in it. Prearranged for them. Those connections were less common now, at least, but some families still found strength in opportunistic alignments.
Feeling sick, I admitted to myself that the moment we’d gone into the bathroom on the yacht, I’d been contemplating, even if just for one drunken second, having savage sex with him. I still got hot with visions of how it was supposed to have gone. Being single for two years meant my sex life was a bit lacking. It had been a while since I’d felt the kind of heat I did when Jordan had dragged me away.
My phone screen lit up, shocking me that Marcia was awake. As I lifted it, my entire body went on pins and needles.
It wasn’t Marcia. And it wasn’t a text.
It was an email.
“Oh, God,” I whispered, drawing Hennie’s eyes to me.
“What?”
“It’s the Test Dummy.” I showed her.
“Oh my God, hurry up! Open it. This is such a bad idea.” She gripped my arm, leaning on me.
I opened it, cringing when I saw the name. It wasn’t Jo emailing me, as I’d expected. It was Kami. She wanted to check on her boyfriend, Miguel, the DJ. I almost tapped out and sent her a message declining the job. He was a celebrity of sorts. He had collaborations with huge stars. But she was my friend, and clearly more clued in than she let on. And I remembered how it felt to be cheated on. I knew that pain, and I would have wanted to know for sure long before I ever did. I had to do the job.
“Oh, God, DJ Spark, that supercute guy whose dad runs the securities company and is talking about becoming a senator, and he performs with all those celebs? Yikes.” Hennie winced. “Good luck with that one.”
“Right.”
“Doesn’t he know you really well?”
“No. I’m good friends with Kami, but he doesn’t really give any of us the time of day. He’s a couple of years older and went to a different school. And honestly, he’s so stoned all the time that if I wear a wig and some makeup, he won’t know it’s me. He thinks he’s better than everyone else.”
“A wig.” Hennie gulped. “So you’re really going to do this?”
“How can I not? Kami’s one of my best friends, and I have heard the rumors that she’s being cheated on, and now she’s caught an inkling that something’s up. I’ll confirm that for her, send her proof, and she’ll dump him.”
“Why doesn’t she just dump him now if she suspects?”
“She really likes him. It’s the saddest shit I’ve ever seen. Of all our friends in our little circle of girls, she and Jo are the only ones dating guys the rest of us dislike. But it’s like they’re powerless to walk away.”
“They live in a messed-up world. Who else but the rich breaks up this way?” She laughed. “When I got dumped, my ex texted me, short and shitty. And then, he had his friend bring a box of my stuff to my house. The friend left it in the rain and ruined most of it.”
“Harsh.”
“Way harsh, but it’s the way it’s supposed to be. You’re supposed to leave hating that person and ruining their stuff. He hated me. And once he ruined my things, I felt the same. And it helped me get over it.”
“Right, but maybe the feelings were real. A large percentage of relationships in our generation are between people who don’t know themselves. They’re not in love. And if they are, it’s superficial. They don’t know how to love yet. You’re an old soul.”
“What’s Marcia like?”
“She’s like you. In her approach to love, at least.” I smiled. “But she’s had a good example. Her parents love each other, even in their weird way, and she and Monty are goals. He’s a great guy—a die-hard nerd at heart and completely smitten with her and loyal to the death. Honestly, of all my close friends, only Jo and Kami are in unhealthy situations. Carmen is seeing a guy she won’t tell her parents about. He’s at school on scholarship, but he’s completely cool.”
“And you’re the only single one?”
“Yeah.” I winced. “Something that’s starting to rub them all the wrong way. No one wants to bring a single girl to the couple’s party. And no one wants to be the single girl at the couple’s party. It’s painful. I’m starting to notice I get left out a bit.”
“At least you’re not still dating that asshat, France,” Hennie said, sneering. She was there for me a lot the summer that we broke up.
“Yeah, and he’s a prime example of how the Test Dummy can work. I mean, that’s how I ended up breaking things off. He got crazy drunk and hooked up with some chick. My friends were at the party, saw, took photos, and showed me. I broke up with him the next day, but it took having definitive proof to do so. He stalked me for like a month. Remember the Halloween party bullshit?”
“And this is why you’re so jaded and bitter,” Hennie said, laughing. “Makes sense.”
“I’m not bitter. I’m educated.”
“Okay.” She got up and nodded, mocking me. “Let’s go, crazy.” She got off the train, and I followed with my phone burning a hole in my hot little hand.
It was a defining moment.
Did I email back and take the job, possibly creating chaos but also a means to pay for my final year, cashing in on the misdeeds of the guilty? Or did I walk way, head held high and moral compass intact?
The moment I got to my office and saw the picture of my dopey brother and me on my desk, I knew the answer.
What if Martin ended up needing more surgery or treatment?
What if anything went wrong?
My parents’ nest egg that they used for our educations would be gone by the time school started.
No, I didn’t have the luxury to second-guess this decision.
I was all-the-way committed in this one. My family was all the motivation I needed.
I sent Kami an email back, detailing what the Test Dummy required. A rough estimate of the DJ’s schedule for the next two weeks. A picture of him and his full, real name. Once I had proof, I would load it onto the website where only she could view it and decide if she wanted to make it go live and possibly viral, and she would be the one to click the link and upload it to the website’s main page. If the guy didn’t take the bait and didn’t hit on me, the fee was halved. I wouldn’t collect the second payment in that case.
It was as discreet as discreet could be. A girl could take her video proof, keep it to herself, and break things off with her boyfriend quietly. But for exposure and free marketing, the website would bring more business in if spurned young women decided to post the videos publicly.
I bit my lip and sent the email, terrified of everything for half a second before my door burst open and Mr. La Croix smiled at me.
“You going to be ready to present something to us about these bug bars by Monday?”
“Sure am,” I lied. Guess I knew what I would be doing this weekend unless I spent the next thirty-six hours killing it and getting inspired. Which meant no hanging with friends or pleasure reading—my absolute favorite activity.
“Excellent.” He gave me a thumbs-up and left the office, leaving the door open.
I put my phone away and my head down, focusing on cricket flour and how bugs in cuisine were a culinary delicacy in other cultures. Like that of tree-hugging, hippie yoga moms.
Hours and multiple skin shivers and dry-heaving moments later, I came up with something. It wasn’t great, but it would do. I would have to iron out the details still, but the concept was pretty good. Not as good as the Test Dummy, of course. If only I could bring that to the big table; it would knock people’s socks off.
At the end of the day, Hennie came in, giving me a dubious look. “Hey.” She slipped in and closed the door. “So, did you do it?”
“Yeah. I did. I sent her an email with the details. Price quote, a request for Miguel’s personal details and whereabouts. And Martin found some awesome spy-camera pin online. Records up to six hours. It’s being delivered to my house right now.”
“How are you going to receive payment from your customers?” she puzzled.
“I was thinking email money transfer to a secret account. Maybe offshore. Martin was looking into setting something up.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Those always get traced. Gift cards are the way to go.”
“Gift cards? What?” I scoffed.
“Rechargeable Visa and Mastercard gift cards. They totally work, they’re untraceable, and you can pay your tuition with them.”
“You’re a genius.”
“Tell them to send four two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar Visa gift cards. You won’t have to pay taxes on the money you make. Two up-front and two after delivery of the video.”
“Dude.” I stood up, bringing my phone and my purse. “You’re so smart.”
“Being corrupt isn’t just about being smart. It’s shrewd; I won’t deny that. You ready to go home?”
“Yeah.” I checked my phone and saw missed calls and texts from Marcia. “Maybe. Give me one sec.” I quickly called Marcia as we walked to the elevator.
She greeted me with craziness. “Oh my God, I thought you died. Where have you been all day?”
“Working. I know you don’t understand that concept, but it’s something us common folk do.” I laughed. “Why, what happened?”
“Okay, so I wake up to an out-of-the-blue text from you asking me about Jordan friggin’ Somersby. Then I get a phone call from him this afternoon asking who you are in the grand scheme of life. What the hell did I miss?”
“Nothing. Just me being me, insulting him for being flirty while his girlfriend was right there. But Hennie says he isn’t dating anyone. I just wondered if that was true. Because if he isn’t, I was a complete dick to him and might have a reason to apologize.”
“Well.” She took a deep breath. “Not exactly. From what I hear from Monty, everyone went nuts about three weeks ago. Mr. Weitzman pulled his accounts, totaling around a billion, from an investment company. Everyone has been trying to woo him, and apparently the Somersbys are using Jordan to win the family over. By way of Amy. So it’s not like real dating. I mean honestly, Amy is a complete tool. Like, have you ever had a conversation with her? She doesn’t even lift her face up from her phone. I watched her walk into a glass door once—didn’t even stop texting, just started feeling blindly with her hands for the handle to open it. But I wouldn’t say they’re actually together—just trying to make their dads happy. All an act, I suppose. Like those old-school marriages.”
“Jesus.” I cringed. “So I was a dick to him then, wasn’t I?” That didn’t make me feel good.
“Well, kinda. But honestly, Monty and Stephen both think he needs to be a man and break things off with her and tell his dad no. It’s pathetic. The old days of merger marriages and all that nonsense are done. Getting disinherited isn’t as bad as being with someone you don’t even like.”
“His dad threatened to disinherit him?” Who were these people?
“His dad thinks he’s the most powerful man in the world because his family is.”
“Gross. So Jordan called and asked who I was?” That made me feel all kinds of funny. Especially since he was dating a girl to make money for his family. He was worse than France.
“Yeah, the weirdo called you Cinderella.”
“Cinderella.” I laughed, realizing I was blushing and hating it. “I see. Well, that’s random.”
“Not so much; you kinda are when you think about it. You’re hot and poor and always at a party filled with royalty. All you need to do is lose a shoe and you’re her. I tell you this all the time: you’re a knockout. And his family is known for being able to spot prime real estate.”
“Oh my God, stop. You know my feelings on boys with trust funds. You have the only worthy one.”
“That’s pretty true.” She changed the subject. “What are you doing now?”
“Going home to work all night. What about you?”
“Not much. Why don’t we hang out? We could do dinner.” She sounded bored. She needed a job.
“I’m finishing a project for your dad, getting a big presentation ready. So I can’t. But if I work hard enough tonight and tomorrow, I can probably hang tomorrow night.”
“Okay.” She didn’t sound as excited about tomorrow.
“We can go dancing,” I offered weakly, getting a warning look from Hennie. “It’ll be fun.”
“Okay.” She perked up. “Come here after work, and I’ll get a little soiree going as sort of a preclub gathering. Yay!” She went from zero to sixty, and I started massaging the spot I assumed my liver was located. Her version of a soiree was going to be intense. Too intense for me.
“I’ll text you later.”
“Bye!” she said in her singsong way, and hung up.
“Oh my God. I have to party again tomorrow.” I sighed and stepped onto the elevator.
“No one feels sorry for you. Jordan Somersby hit on you,” Hennie retorted.
“Oh my God, stop. Marcia just explained it, and he’s not doing much better in my books, so let’s just drop it. You coming for dinner again? Grandma made chicken potpies. I think she already made you one.” It was dangerous bringing Hennie home, risking Martin flirting with her. But we all liked having her there, and I had given my consent.
“Hell yes.” Hennie didn’t lighten up from her worrying mood, though. But I knew once we got home and my sick brother was being all attentive and flirty, she’d be plucky again and Martin would have that silly grin on his face. If I had to sacrifice my own comfort and happiness to put it there, so be it. I was getting used to making all kinds of sacrifices for his sake lately.