Kristan Higgins - Too Good To Be True

M AKING UP A BOYFRIEND is nothing new for me. Ill come right out and admit that. Some people go window shopping for things they could never afford. Some look at online photos of resorts theyll never visit. And some people imagine that they meet a really nice guy when, in fact, they dont.

The first time it happened was in sixth grade. Recess. Heather B., Heather F. and Jessica A. were standing in their little circle of popularity. They wore lip gloss and eye shadow, had cute little pocketbooks and boyfriends. Back then, going out with a boy only meant that he might acknowledge you while passing in the hall, but still, it was a status symbol, and one that I lacked, right along with the eye shadow. Heather F. was watching her man, Joey Ames, as he put a frog down his pants for reasons clear only to sixth grade boys, and talking about how she was maybe going to break up with Joey and go out with Jason.

And suddenly, without a lot of forethought, I found myself saying that I, too, was dating someonea boy from another town. The three popular girls turned to me with sharp and sudden interest, and I found myself talking about Tyler, who was really cute and smart and polite. An older man at fourteen. Also, his family owned a horse ranch and they wanted me to name the newest foal, and I was going to train it so that it came for my whistle and mine alone.

Surely weve all come up with a boy like that. Right? What was the harm in believingalmostthat somewhere out there, counterbalancing the frog-in-the-pants types was a boy like Tyler of the horses? It was almost like believing in Godyou had to, because what was the alternative? The other girls bought it, peppered me with questions, looked at me with new respect. Heather B. even invited me to her upcoming birthday party, and I happily accepted. Of course, by then I was forced to share the sad news that Tylers ranch had burned down and the family moved to Oregon, taking my foal, Midnight Sun, with them. Maybe the Heathers and the rest of the kids in my class guessed the truth, but I found I didnt really mind. Imagining Tyler had really feltgreat, actually.

Later, when I was fifteen and wed moved from our humble town of Mount Vernon, New York, to the much posher burg of Avon, Connecticut, where all the girls had smooth hair and very white teeth, I made up another boy. Jack, my Boyfriend Back Home. Oh, he was so handsome (as proved by the photo in my wallet, which had been carefully cut from a J.Crew catalogue). Jacks father owned a really gorgeous restaurant named Le Cirque (hey, I was fifteen). Jack and I were taking things slowyes, wed kissed; actually, wed gotten to second base, but he was so respectful that that was as far as it went. We wanted to wait till we were older. Maybe wed get preengaged, and because his family loved me so much, they wanted Jack to buy me a ring from Tiffanys, not a diamond but maybe a sapphire, kind of like Princess Dianas, but a little smaller.

Sorry to tell you, I broke up with Jack about four months into my sophomore year in order to be available to local boys. My strategy backfiredthe local boys were not terribly interested. In my older sister, definitelyMargaret would pick me up once in a while when she was home from college, and boys would fall silent at the mere sight of her sharp, glamorous beauty. Even my younger sister, who was only in seventh grade at the time, already showed signs of becoming a great beauty. But I stayed unattached, wishing Id never broken up with my fictional boyfriend, missing the warm curl of pleasure it gave me to imagine such a boy liking me.

Then came Jean-Philippe. Jean-Philippe was invented to counter an irritating, incredibly persistent boy in college. A chemistry major who, looking back, probably suffered from Aspergers syndrome, making him immune to every social nuance I threw his way. Rather than just flat out tell the boy that I didnt like him (it seemed so cruel) Id instruct my roommate to scrawl messages and tack them to the door so all could see: GraceJ-P called again , wants you to spend break in Paris. Call him toute suite .