Take My Advice

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

I rarely called emergency meetings, but this . . . well, it was an emergency. I asked Dylan and Amanda to meet me at Baskin-Robbins after school. That might not have been the best choice, considering that it was pretty cold outside, but I needed chocolate in the worst way. I ordered a double-scoop of chocolate ice cream with chocolate stuff mixed in and with chocolate syrup drizzled over the top. Amanda looked at me in horror; Dylan looked at me with curiosity. 

"I'm not sure if we should or should not consider this a suicide attempt," he said after watching me shovel in the first bite. "Are we supposed to call an ambulance after you go into a coma, or did you want us to sit here and hold your hand while you go toward the light?" 

"This means something really bad has happened," Amanda explained. "Chocolate with chocolate and chocolate . . . We're talking, epically bad." 

"So your parents' divorce is finally sinking in?" Dylan looked at me sympathetically. "I knew it would, in time." 

"What?" Amanda stared at me, her jaw practically scraping the table. "Your parents are getting a divorce? Why didn't you tell me?" 

"Because they'll change their minds," I said, licking chocolate syrup off my spoon. "I know them-they're in love. They just need time to remember it." 

"Ah. So you haven't accepted it yet." Dylan leaned back in his chair, his hot fudge sundae going untouched in front of him while he evaluated me with those eagle eyes. "If that's not the awful thing that has inspired this totally bizarre feast you're having, what happened?" 

I outlined my situation with Bruce, not using his actual name. Sure, he was a blackmailer and a really crummy human being, but I was still bound by my code of conduct.  

"And I can't just let him circulate that list of names. If it gets out there, every person who has sent me a letter will be humiliated, and that can't happen. Not when I can stop it."  

Amanda's eyes were huge. "Oh, please, please don't let him release those names. I'm on there. Like, three times." 

"Three times?" I turned and looked at my friend. "Why have you written in so many times? You could just ask me for advice face-to-face, couldn't you?" 

She played with her spoon, swirling it around in her ice cream. "You're always too busy, Jill. I try talking to you, but you brush me off." 

I opened my mouth to retort, but then closed it again. This was the second time she'd made this kind of comment in the last couple of days. If it was bothering her enough for her to bring it up multiple times, maybe it was true. I'd have to think about that, see what changes I needed to make in my own personality so we could patch this up. 

"So you're going to do it? Go through all your columns and do everything you've told other people to do?" Dylan grinned at me. 

"You've got ice cream on your chin. And yes, I'm going to do it. It's the only way. He doesn't care if he gets in trouble, so if I want to keep that list safe, I have to play by his rules. I hate it, but I just don't see any other choice." 

Dylan grabbed a napkin and wiped up the dribble. Then his face turned thoughtful. "So you have three weeks. It sounds to me like you need a plan. We should count up how many pieces of advice you've given, cross out the duplicates, and then make up a schedule. If you divide the number of tasks to be done into the days you have left, you can spread it out evenly and not get stuck having to do seventeen things on the last day." 

"You make this all seem so logical," I said. "Are you forgetting that this is likely to be very embarrassing for me?" 

"So it wasn't embarrassing to the people you advised in the first place? Why aren't you willing to do things that you told other people to do, Jill-is it only a good idea as long as you're not the one having to do it?"