Free The Starter Boyfriend by Tina Ferraro

then fake-waltzed down to the tiles in my bare feet. Gliding around the store like Maria in “The Sound of Music” in the grand ballroom, I caught sight of Tux, who was definitely “one of my favorite things.” I skipped up into the store window and danced toward him, pretending he was not only a little bit real, but that we were making eye contact.
    When Phillip appeared to fill the window’s entryway, reality knocked me on the head.
    “We’re the King and Queen of Homecoming!” I cried out quite ridiculously, doing a spin that landed me pressed up against Tux’s chest. “King and Queen of the World!”
    I drew a quick breath and glanced back at Phillip, hoping to see him laughing. Instead, he was posed rather rigidly, his hands crossed on his upper arms, his face solidly set. I didn’t know if his brain had rankled back to the make-believe softball game or if he was thinking me immature and stupid. In either case, my thoughts scrambled for a way to make this look better.
    “Can you grab my cell phone from the front pocket of my backpack, please, Phillip? You know, under the counter. I’d love you to take a picture of me right now.”
    Little lines shot out from his squinting eyes.
    “Of the mannequin and me,” I said, careful not to repeat the mistake I made with Adam and refer to Tux as him . “So I can show it to my dad. How the dress will look with my date.”
    That, and let’s be honest, wouldn’t a photo of Tux and me like this make to-die-for cell phone background?
    Phillip’s feet stayed planted in place. “Won’t your father be there when your date picks you up?”
    Yikes. Of course. Think, Courtney, think. “Did I say Dad? I meant my mom.”
    “Your mother?” His tongue seemed to stick to the roof of his mouth. “You’ve never mentioned her before.”
    There was a darn good reason for that, and there’d be a snowball fight in hell before I forwarded her this photo. “Yeah, probably because she lives in Detroit.”
    He stared down for a long moment, like there was something awful fascinating on the linoleum. “I hope this doesn’t upset you, but I’d thought, you know, well, that your mother had maybe passed away.”
    I mugged a grimace for his sake. “No, no, nothing like that. In fact, she called the other night and said she’s getting her life back together. I think she’d love a photo.”
    “Totally.” Color brightened his cheeks. “One picture coming up. Don’t move a muscle. Either one of you.”
    I laughed, shrill and hard, as he took off. Then I blew out a breath and wrapped my arms around Tux’s torso, putting my face against his, trying to tap into the calmness I seemed to get from him.
    I imagined him smiling, revealing a magnificent set of pearly choppers. His breath would smell like spearmint. His kiss would leave my lips warm and tingling like a thick application of beeswax lip balm. And suddenly, my shoulders went slack. Tux’s power was working.
    And how ironic was it that my make-believe boyfriend was both a source of my stress with my boss and the key to solving my problems in my life?
    Phillip reappeared in the entryway. “Okay, now,” he said, holding my phone in front of his face. “Say cheese!”
     
    * * *
     
    Saffron’s photo appeared on my cell phone display while I was wrestling with my algebra/trig homework on my bed later, taking the place of my new Tux ‘n Me background photo. She and I had called each other’s cells before, but always for specific reasons, not the I’m-just-bored, real friend stuff. Were we about to turn that page?
    “Hey, babycakes,” I said into the phone, plopping my head back on a pillow.
    “Hold on, Courtney,” Saffron said almost immediately. Then raised to voice to shout, “ Yeah, yeah, Mom, be right there !” Which was either completely legit, or the oldest power play in the book. “Sorry,” she said, returning to me. “Not a lot of time, but I’m hoping you can help me.”
    So the jury on our friendship