The Secret Recipe for Moving On

by Karen Bischer

  I think of that now. He asked me to hang out. He asked me out on our first date. He made the first move. And then he cuts me loose with no real explanation except that he’s suddenly lacking feelings for me.

  I check my phone again. Nothing.

  And then I cry myself to sleep, which is probably much more than a horrible kisser like Hunter deserves.

  CHAPTER 4

  This is not going to be easy. I know this the second I return to the scene of the crime, the RHHS parking lot, the next morning and an overwhelming sense of nausea comes over me. Luckily, I’m driving my parents’ car today, so I can take a moment to gather myself before I get out.

  I look at the papier-mâché globe in the passenger’s seat. It was the reason why my parents let me borrow the car, since Dad doesn’t have to be at work until tonight and Mom is off. I didn’t tell them about the breakup, one, because I want to make sure Hunter and I are completely and totally broken up (I mean, what if we get back together?) and two, because I know they aren’t fans of Hunter. I feared they’d be relieved or something if I told them and that would just make me feel even worse.

  Anyway, Dad saw me getting ready to leave this morning and was all, “It’s raining, you don’t want to ruin that! You worked so hard on it!” Which almost made me start sobbing, because I’d been putting the globe together for the past few weeks whenever I had a free moment. All I could think about when I was making it was how much Hunter would appreciate it.

  I shake my head remembering that now.

  I linger in the car, not wanting to go inside just yet. Instead, I stare through the chain-link fence of the house next to the school parking lot. There’s a white German shepherd lying peacefully on the grass, sniffing at the damp air and I almost envy him and his lack of angst. I know his name is Montague and that this would be a rare moment for him, as I’ve heard he’s kind of psychotic—like, using-cinder-blocks-as-toys psychotic.

  Of course, it was Hunter who told me this, so maybe I shouldn’t believe it. I mean, if he’d lie about loving someone, why not lie about something minor like a dog’s playtime habits?

  That’s when I notice Luke roll by on his bike. There’s a raincoat-clad figure standing on the back pegs of the bike, hands resting on Luke’s shoulders. When she steps off and pushes back her hood, revealing her thick blonde braids, I realize it’s his girlfriend, Greta O’Brien. She’s a senior and, from what I hear, she’s a really good snowboarder, but she kind of scares the hell out of me. She’s tall and imposing and loud, one of those girls who gets all “What are you looking at?” if you happen to glance her way. She’s always “playfully” pushing her friends or bellowing with laughter. She reminds me a bit of a Viking woman. But from a distance today, she looks kind of innocent in her yellow slicker and braids, like an oversized kindergartener.

  Luke and Greta appear to be heavy into a discussion, maybe even fighting. Part of me knows I should look away and not be nosy, but it’s somehow comforting to know that even couples who are still together aren’t all sunshine and rainbows. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but Luke is making some really intense gestures with his hands, as if he’s trying to explain something to Greta. She shrugs and raises her hands up as if to say “What do you want me to do?” and Luke’s shoulders sag.

  Greta walks away, and Luke remains behind for a moment, lifting his baseball cap and smoothing his hand over the top of his shaggy light-brown hair. It almost makes me laugh because his T-shirt is beyond wrinkled, but it’s his hair he’s worried about.

  This makes me think of Hunter and how his hair always does what he wants it to do. It’s thick and comes down a little past his ears, and he recently got it cut in a way where he has a bit of a coif going on. Like, it appears floppy and wild, but it’s actually styled.

  I’m glad I don’t have to pretend that I find the hair cute anymore, because it seriously kind of makes him look like a douche.

  Ugh. I press my forehead on the steering wheel. This is not going to work, this whole tilt-a-whirl-of-feelings thing going on inside me. How can I get through an entire day while at once loving and loathing my all-too-recent ex-boyfriend?

  Then I remember I have to see him in home ec, and the anger bubbles up again. There’s no way I’m letting him think his cruelty and lack of response to my text has gotten to me. With that, I get out of the car and head inside.

  As soon as I step into the main hall, I see Brynn walking toward her homeroom, and my heart speeds up. I know this will be a test, if she acknowledges me. I’m thinking of saying something neutral, like asking if I can give her the globe at the end of the day, but she completely avoids eye contact. Maybe she’s afraid I’m going to put her in the middle of this, but I wasn’t even going to ask her about Hunter. I was just hoping she’d say hello if I said it first.

  I purposely swing by the cafeteria, where I know Kim and Alisha will be sitting. I don’t see Kim, but Alisha is at a table talking to a bunch of RHHS TV people. She’s laughing, so I head toward her first, since she seems the most approachable. She makes eye contact almost immediately, then drops it, then looks me in the eyes again. “Hi, Ellie,” she says, her face pained.

  Oh god, please don’t let Alisha be weird around me. “Hey,” I say, and I realize all her TV station friends are watching me.

  “Have you been on The Buzz today?” Alisha asks, lowering her voice.

  I shake my head. The Buzz is an RHHS gossip site with a lot of “blind items” about students, paired with complementary photos or GIFs for each. Jared Curtis, one of the guys from my home ec class in the hipster/literary journal group, is rumored to run it, but that’s all I really know about it. I don’t know anyone well enough to decode all the “this popular basketball player was recently found ‘courting’ a teammate’s mom” type things, so I’m not exactly checking it twenty times a day like other kids.

  “Well, it alludes to Hunter dumping you because of—”

  That’s when Kim brushes by. “Come on, Alisha, we need to get to homeroom.”

  “In a minute,” Alisha says, flustered.

  “We need to talk to Mr. Carpenter about the Key Club meeting.” Kim won’t even glance in my direction.

  Without another word, she links arms with Alisha and steers her away from me without so much as a goodbye.

  They’re siding with Hunter. So that’s how it’s going to be.

  Fresh tears begin to burn my eyes, but I blink them back as I pull out my phone. It’s so old that it doesn’t hold a charge for very long, but I decide to risk it by loading up The Buzz.

  I scroll past items about a beach house that got trashed by some soccer players over the summer and a sophomore who is considering breast implants, and sure enough, the third post has a GIF of a crying Dory from Finding Nemo.

  CAN’T BAIT THE HOOK

  These two geeks are no longer enjoying a harmonious union, as one party was said to be a cold fish …

  Cold. Fish. The words swim around as the tears start to blind me. The whole school is going to think I’m a prude who won’t have sex with her boyfriend of eight months. It’s Robot Girl all over again. I’m probably going to get harassed about this until graduation.

  And it means Hunter probably told someone he was tired of me not sleeping with him.

  But then I notice there’s more.

  … Sources say, however, that a planned sex outing was on the horizon. Perhaps destiny got in the way?

  I squint at that last line, making the tears spill over. What does it even mean? Is Jared saying it’s my destiny to be a virgin forever or something since I couldn’t close the deal on having sex?

  It’s only then that I realize my hands are shaking and that several people in the cafeteria are watching me. With my heart hammering, I practically sprint to the bathroom. I make it into a stall before I start full-on sobbing.

  * * *

  I somehow make it to lunch without melting down again, probably because I’ve reached a phase of “I can’t even think
about this anymore” numbness. But the humiliation factor is upped when I get to the cafeteria and notice the table I sat at yesterday is empty. Steve is nowhere to be seen. I spot Brynn and Kim, miraculously reappearing at lunch today, at a table with some of their friends from the Politics Club. They don’t even glance in my direction.

  I scan the rest of the room to see if there’s anyone I know, anybody to keep me from being “that cold fish girl who sits alone at lunch.” The only person I see is Isaiah from home ec. He’s sitting at the end of an empty table, engrossed in some kind of newspaper and seemingly not bothered at all that he’s sitting by himself.

  That’s when the doors to the cafeteria burst open, and Paul comes sprinting through, the head of Harry the Hornet, the school’s mascot, under his arm. He’s followed by one of the school security guards who pants, “Wilder, you’re already going to be expelled for that so you may as well give it up.”

  Paul ignores him and continues on his mad dash through the cafeteria and out the back door. Everyone else is laughing, or aiming their phones at him to try and record it, or both.

  Steve arrives then and drops his backpack on the table. “What the hell was that? Did he have Harry’s head?”

  “It looks like it,” I say, relieved he’s talking to me. “You didn’t see anything coming in?”

  Steve shakes his head. “No, I was just at the guidance counselor. I wanted to drop creative writing and switch into mechanical drawing. Unfortunately, the only time it’s available is this period, so I’m switching in tomorrow.”

  “This period?” I say, feeling my shoulders sag.

  “Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t mean to ditch you.”

  Part of me is relieved that Steve seems concerned about me. But that’s completely sucked away when I feel his hand on my knee.

  “I’m really sorry about what happened between you and Hunter.” He seems sincere, but I don’t have time to really analyze it because the hand-on-the-knee thing kind of weirds me out. I quickly jerk my knee away and lock my feet around the chair’s legs.

  “Have you, uh, been on The Buzz?” I ask.

  He looks down at his lunch. I’m not sure if it’s because I just yanked my knee away or because of the question. “Yeah. Are you okay?”

  “Not really. Have you seen Hunter today? Does he know about it?” I say.

  Steve shakes his head. “No. I haven’t really talked to him since before he went to Brynn’s for dinner the other night. He’s been kind of MIA.”

  To Brynn’s for dinner. My stomach starts to knot. I wonder if he told her about the cold fish thing and the “sex outing” and if she advised him to break up with me. Over at their table, she and Kim are laughing hysterically about something. Probably what a joke it was that Hunter would ever date me.

  “I hate everyone,” I mutter.

  Steve gives a light laugh. “Not me, I hope,” he says, and his hand finds my knee again.

  “Knock it off,” I tell him, my voice breaking.

  “I’m just trying to be nice,” he says, removing his hand.

  “Well, you’re being a little too nice,” I say, standing up.

  So this is how it’s going to be. Half the school is going to see me as a total prude who won’t give it up, and the other half is going to think I was days away from being a raging slut but wasn’t good enough for Hunter.

  Steve starts to say he’s sorry, but I grab my bag and my lunch and leave the room.

  I go through the rest of the day practically holding my breath, waiting for someone to whisper “cold fish” at me and for everyone to start laughing, but aside from a few sidelong glances, nothing really happens. Maybe people couldn’t decode the blind item about me, since barely anyone knows who I am to begin with.

  When I get to the home ec room, Steve and I manage to avoid each other. I’m relieved that he doesn’t say anything, because I’m still kind of weirded out by the whole lunch thing.

  That’s when Hunter walks in. It’s the first time I’ve seen him all day, and he’s wearing a dark-green polo shirt that shows off his tan. He looks incredible in that color, and it hits me, hard, that he isn’t mine anymore. And that he told people I’m a “cold fish.”

  I feel like I’m about to start tearing up, but then Hunter takes the seat diagonally across the table from me, as if going out of his way not to interact with me. The urge to cry screeches to a halt, but my face gets hot and my hands start to shake. I’m suddenly afraid I might blow up right there in the middle of the class, and that’s the last thing I want. No way am I giving Hunter the satisfaction of dumping me, then being all, “Don’t you see she’s crazy? Can you blame me?” So I make myself hyper-into what Mrs. Sanchez is saying.

  “Budgeting is the cornerstone to any home, be it a single person, a couple, or a family. Without knowing how to spend your money, you risk not having enough to cover your expenses.”

  Mrs. Sanchez spends the rest of the class explaining what should be in every budget: utilities, credit card bills, cell phones, food, hobbies, college loan payments, savings, mortgages, and rent. I think of how little money my parents make and how it barely covers anything on the list (I know for a fact they don’t have much in savings right now). I doubt anyone at this table has a clue about what it really takes to get by and survive.

  Thinking about it makes my insides twist, so I inhale deeply and close my eyes. When I open them, I notice Paul is absent from the table next to ours, and I wonder if he’s truly going to be expelled. Luke is following along with the budget lecture and writing in his notebook and A.J. is trying to carve something into his chair with his pen. Isaiah, however, has that same newspaper from lunch on his lap, and he’s staring at it intently.

  “Mr. Greenlow,” I hear Mrs. Sanchez say, and Isaiah looks up. “Could you kindly show me what you’re reading?”

  Isaiah guiltily pulls his newspaper off of his lap and holds it up. Mrs. Sanchez leans over her counter to get a better look. “The Daily Racing Form?” she says and, with that, the whole class starts laughing.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Isaiah says, sinking in his seat.

  “I’m not sure that’s appropriate for class,” Mrs. Sanchez says.

  “I don’t know about that,” A.J. jumps in. “I mean, betting on the ponies could be listed under hobbies when you’re budgeting, right?”

  The class laughs again, and Isaiah sinks farther down in his seat.

  Mrs. Sanchez ponders this. “Yes, Mr. Johnson, I suppose it could. That said, reading about Belmont Park isn’t going to help when there’s a test on this material. So, Mr. Greenlow, kindly pay attention.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Isaiah says again, folding the newspaper and placing it on his backpack just as the bell rings.

  Mrs. Sanchez claps her hands as everyone gathers their things. “Read the packets I gave you yesterday so we can discuss how income affects budgeting tomorrow.”

  I turn my head, looking for Brynn. I want to ask her to come to my car to get the globe, but I don’t see her or Hunter anywhere. Then I remember that there’s a Ringtones rehearsal this afternoon in the school theater and they’re probably heading there. I can leave it with one of the guys and run out, and Hunter will be none the wiser.

  I get to the classroom door at the same time as Luke and have to skid to a stop before I bash into him.

  “We have to stop meeting like this,” he says.

  “Sorry,” I say, sidestepping around him.

  “She speaks!” he says behind me, but I don’t stick around to hear what else he has to say. I check over my shoulder to see if he’s talking about me with A.J. or someone, but he’s met up with Greta and they’re smiling at each other. I guess whatever disagreement they had this morning is over.

  It’s nice that some couples can work out their issues.

  I head to the parking lot and grab the globe from the car, then head toward the back door of the theater. If I leave it in the prop room, it’ll get found, especially since it’s where half the Ring
tones go to make out with their groupies during rehearsals.

  As I’m about to round the bend that leads to the theater’s back door, I pass two girls, freshmen, judging by their general youngness, giggling.

  “Who does that, outside and in the open?” one says.

  “I know, right?” her friend replies. “It’s like they don’t care who sees them.”

  I’m intrigued as I come around the corner, half expecting to see a couple like Luke and Greta going at it. Sure enough, there’s a girl leaning against the brick wall by the theater door practically being mauled by a guy … in a dark-green polo shirt.

  I think I literally stop breathing when the realization dawns on me. It’s like my feet refuse to move. I’m just standing there, watching him swallow this girl’s head, his hands running all over her body.

  “Wait, I need to catch my breath,” the girl says, giggling.

  I know that voice. Oh my god, this isn’t happening.

  Hunter backs off from his conquest and suddenly I’m staring straight at Brynn.

  “Are you kidding me?” It just comes out, and they both jump. I’m on autopilot and I don’t care who sees or hears it. “You get me out of the way so you can be with each other? You assholes!”

  Hunter digs his hands into his pockets guiltily, but Brynn is totally affronted by this, and there’s no way I’m letting her say anything back to me. I spin around and start storming toward my car. I get to the parking lot before I hear Brynn yelling after Hunter and Hunter yelling after me. I realize I’m still carrying the globe and have this urge to hurl it at the both of them.

  “Ellie,” Hunter yells. For some reason I stop, maybe thinking he’ll apologize or something. “You don’t have to be like this. I didn’t want to lead you on anymore.”

  It’s like this sudden, eerie calm takes over me. I’m done with this. I’m done with them. I turn to face Brynn and Hunter and set the globe down, then spin around and start walking to my car before I can burst into tears in public. Especially since there are a good number of people watching this all go down and I know the humiliation is going to sink in in a few seconds.