The Art of Lainey Read Online Free Page B

to say “Jason broke up with me.” Maybe it’s because there wouldn’t have been time left for her to give me advice. Maybe I didn’t want to dump my problems on her when she already sounded so stressed.
    Or maybe I just didn’t want to start crying again.

Chapter 4
    “T HOUGH WE HAVE HEARD OF STUPID HASTE IN WAR, CLEVERNESS HAS NEVER BEEN ASSOCIATED WITH LONG DELAYS. ”
    —S UN T ZU , T HE A RT OF W AR
    A few days later, I have a dream about Jason lying in a ditch, calling out to me for help. It’s four o’clock in the morning when I sit up suddenly in my bed, positive he’s in some kind of trouble. I should call him. I mean, what if he’s really hurt somewhere?
    I debate it for about five minutes but then decide to call Bianca instead. She went through a phase in fifth grade where she had night terrors and she used to call me at crazy hours when she woke up and couldn’t fall back to sleep. We would end up talking movies and the cute boys in our class until Bee felt better and then we’d both doze off in class the next day. She hasn’t made a late night call in years, but she won’t mind if I wake her up just this once.
    She picks up on the third ring. “Are you okay?” she asks.
    “Sort of.” I explain the situation.
    “Don’t do it, Lainey.” Bee yawns. “Nothing says patheticlike a middle-of-the-night text message.”
    “But what if he was in a terrible accident?” I ask. “What if he really
is
lying in a ditch somewhere and I’m, like, psychically connected to him?”
    Bianca mutters something in Spanish under her breath, but she stays on the phone with me while I do an internet search for recent crimes and car accidents. The Hazelton police department has logged exactly two incidents in the past twelve hours: a car break-in and a vandalized doghouse.
    “Who would vandalize a doghouse?” I ask.
    “Cats?” Bee suggests. She yawns again. I laugh. I love her. She lets me keep her on the phone for another half hour, talking about soccer strategies and
Undead Academy
, our favorite TV show. We trade opinions on which of this season’s zombies have the best hair, and then discuss which of the JV girls might make varsity soccer in the fall. It feels almost like fifth grade all over again. For a minute, I miss how simple things used to be.
    Finally Bianca says, “You should get some sleep, Lainey.”
    I sigh. “There’s no chance I’ll be able to fall back asleep. But I shouldn’t keep you awake just because I’m all freaked out.”
    “There’s nothing to freak out about,” Bee says. “Did you read
The Art of War
yet?”
    “I skimmed it a little,” I say. “I mean, I did look at it a couple of times.” In between reading and rereading every single email Jason ever sent me and moping around the house.
    “Why don’t you go read it for real,” Bee suggests. “Think of me and you as one army, Jason as the opposing army, and your relationship as the country being fought over. I’ll come by around eight and we can go for a run and start strategizing.”
    “Okay. Thanks, Bee.”
    “See you soon,” she says.
    I hang up and dig
The Art of War
out from beneath a stack of magazines on my dresser. Using the light on my phone, I open the book and start to read. The first part makes sense—the five factors, planning, all warfare being based on deception. But then Part II starts talking about chariots and how much it costs to raise an army. How the hell can that be relevant? I skim forward until I find something that makes sense to me:
In war, then, let your great object be victory, not lengthy campaigns.
    I keep reading. Part III is about when to attack and when to retreat.
If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.
That’s sounds promising. Obviously I know myself, and after almost three years, I know Jason pretty well too. I’m starting to feel like Bee’s idea isn’t so crazy. I flip forward a few pages. Part V talks about