Whatever might have happened between Mr. Dempsey and Kristen, it was none of my business. And after a while, I assumed what everyone else had—that Kristen had moved away and that was the end of it.
***
I wasn’t that invisible girl, hiding in corners, anymore. In the three years since high school, I’d learned how to mold myself into a woman who knew how to enter a room in an outfit designed to draw attention. How to order wine at an expensive restaurant and what the tiny fork was for. I knew how to apply makeup with a light touch and how to keep lipstick off my teeth. If I were to pass Mr. Dempsey on the street, I was the kind of woman he’d notice, but never recognize.
Did Mr. Dempsey have something to do with Kristen’s abrupt departure? Possibly. Could I exploit that? Definitely.
I imagined sending him a message. Hey there, Mr. Dempsey! My name is Meg Williams, Wolverine class of 2006! Rawr!
The gamer next to me pounded away on his mouse, earning himself a dirty look from the guy working the counter. I looked back at my screen, imagining a first date with Mr. Dempsey and the typical questions people always asked—where I grew up, my family, what I was doing with my life. I was raised by my single mother, until she’d died of cancer due to a lack of access to quality medical care. I’m currently living in my car, just south of the poverty line. I love Bruce Springsteen and the Dodgers.
I couldn’t simply message him and hope for the best. If he said no, that would be the end of it. I first needed to learn everything I could about him—what he believed in. What repulsed him. What he cared about above all else, so that I could mirror that back to him.
Outside, the rain slashed against the windows, and I thought about the sound it would make on the top of the car that night as I tried to sleep, my nerves still a tangle. Then I imagined what it would be like to have a home with locks on the doors and windows. To listen to the rain on the roof of a house instead of a car. To have a television to watch and another human to talk to.
I logged out, navigating back to the Circle of Love home page, and clicked on the New Account button.
***
The first fake profile I created—Deirdre, age forty-three, perhaps a little new age, definitely in denial about growing older—didn’t work. Her message—You seem like the kind of guy I’d like to get to know better—didn’t even get a response, so two days later, I was back at the internet café to try again.
Sandy. Age 32. Status: Never been married. Occupation: Server. Likes: sunrise in the mountains, vodka tonics at 5:00 p.m., road trips to Mammoth. Sandy’s message to Mr. Dempsey: You’re hot. Sandy wanted sex.
Within minutes, the icon beneath Sandy’s message flipped from Sent to Read. I leaned forward, three dots showing that Mr. Dempsey was responding.
One minute. Two minutes. I imagined what he might be writing—something flirty, complimentary perhaps. It didn’t matter that I looked nothing like Sandy. I only needed her for a short while.
Finally, his message appeared. Thanks, but I’m looking for something a little more committed. I wish you luck!
I stared at the screen, parsing his words, my mind turning over my next move. I thought back again to Kristen, who’d only been seventeen. If I’d made Sandy a decade younger, would his answer have been different?
Another image search, another photo. A blond, caught midlaugh, the sun setting behind her. I was like Goldilocks, if Goldilocks were a twenty-one-year-old homeless woman with a passion for indoor plumbing and a willingness to sleep with a man to get it.
Amelia. Age: 21. Status: Never been married. Occupation: Student （majoring in early education）， currently on hiatus and hoping to get back on track. Likes: Surfing. Romance. Looking for a serious relationship.
My message to Mr. Dempsey read, Maybe we could catch some waves? I hit Send and logged off, knowing this would have to be my last attempt on Mr. Dempsey for a while. A small part of me wondered what kind of high school principal had a dating profile where any of his students might see it.