Free Breakdown (Crash into Me) by Amanda Lance

you can’t make cupcakes every day.”
    “Watch me,” I mouthed back to him.
    “Sounds good to me, Jumper.”
    When he started to laugh again I just glared at him.
    “Seriously, Jumper,” William said once he got his laughter under control. “If I ever want a cooking lesson you’ll definitely be my first call.”
    “Baking,” I corrected. “ Bak-ing . And if you’re calling anyone, it should be a girl who buys your crap.”
    “Oh,” he said. “Touchy, touchy. I’ll have you know, Jumper, that most girls are happy when I show up at their doorstep… more than happy, in fact.” He added the last part as if it were an afterthought. Why didn’t it surprise me that he went and made another reference to his sexuality? Was everything sexual innuendo to this guy or did he just get some so often that he didn’t even notice?
    “Good for you.” My voice instantly resorted to defensiveness. “But if I have to ask you one more time what you’re doing here and you don’t answer, I really will call the police.”
    William rolled his eyes, his smile fading for the first time for real since he arrived as he went to get something from his pocket. The simple change in his expression my insides clench much more than I would have anticipated. I shut my eyes and turned on the faucet to wash the dishes I had created. This guy was only feeding on my loneliness. Using my obvious underbelly to get in my head and take advantage of me in some way, right?
    That’s what people do, after all. That was all anyone ever did.
    “I came to return this. You must have dropped this in my car.”
    Attracted to the sound of soft plastic landing on the table, I stared then at the familiar image of myself—slightly younger and freshly freed from braces. 
    Looking back at my more recent past, I couldn’t remember when I had lost my license. Almost as if by instinct, I flipped the glossy plastic over—it was better to see the checked off box that confirmed my willingness to donate my organs than my own image.
    “Right…”
    “Is that baker translation for thank-you?”
    “More like why didn’t you just leave it in the mailbox like a normal person?”
    William smiled again, a piece of his golden hair falling into his eyes. When was the last time I had made someone light up like that? When was the last time I had lit up like that?
    “I also figured I’d say hello, see how you were doing. You know, like a normal person?”
    “Okay,” I snapped. “Well, you did it, now you can leave.” I didn’t mean a word of it, not a single one. And I was almost certain my eyes were screaming for him to stay. If he saw it or not remained uncertain.
    William leaned back in his chair, his face arrogant, and even more attractive for it. If I could have, I would have chided him, yet, not wanting him to know—again anyway—how good looking I thought he was, I kept quiet. Meanwhile, he continued to look at me with an overconfidence that suggested he knew something I did not. “You’re not a big people-person are you, Jumper? Don’t host a lot of guests?”
    Smiling, I imitated him sentence for sentence. “You’re not a very smart guy are you, William? Don’t take a lot of hints?”
    “Yeah, all right,” he said, still smiling and pushing in the chair behind him. “I’ll leave you to bake your sorrows away. But if you need a taste tester, feel free to give me a ring. It’d be nice to hear from you.”
    “I wouldn’t hold your breath.” I scrubbed hard at the dirty mixing bowl in my hands.
    He sighed as if bored. “If that’s what it takes to get a call from you…”
    “What?” I turned just in time to see him looking at the whiteboard on the fridge. For Dad’s forgetful mind, Mom had scribbled each of our cell phone numbers there with a dry erase marker. And before I could think of something to say or even run to the fridge and wipe the number away, William was typing away into his phone, grinning like a madman.
    “I have to