“This totally blows,” Luke says when Mrs. Sanchez is out of earshot.
Isaiah shakes his head. “Yeah, you pulled A.J. back way too fast. You could’ve at least let him get a punch in.”
I almost laugh.
“I’m sorry, guys,” A.J. says, shoulders slumping.
“It’s not your fault,” I say. “We did the lesson right.” Luke blinks several times, like he’s surprised I’m being cool with this.
On the way back to school, Luke manages to keep A.J. away from Jared. The whole class is buzzing as we move, the near-fight being the closest thing to action they’ve seen since I kicked a papier-mâché globe at Hunter and Brynn’s heads. Maybe I should be grateful to A.J. for putting my public meltdowns on the back burner.
We get back to RHHS about twenty minutes after the end of last period. Most of the cars have cleared from the senior parking lot, and only a few kids are hanging around the halls when I grab my things from my locker.
When I go back outside, I notice Luke unlocking his bike from the bike rack, and I peel off his sweatshirt. “Hey,” I say, jogging over and handing it to him. “Thank you. I think I would’ve lost a few limbs to frostbite if not for this.”
“You’re welcome,” Luke says, putting his arms through it and shrugging it on. He sniffs the shoulder of the shirt and wrinkles his nose. “Looks like I’m going to smell like flowers now.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, my face growing hot.
He laughs and climbs on his bike. “Don’t sweat it, Agresti. See you on Monday.”
“See you,” I say.
I watch him ride away and sigh, trying to ignore the scent of woodsy freshness lingering on my shirt.
CHAPTER 9
I don’t know that I have many talents, but over the last few weeks, I’ve gotten pretty good at pretending I’m not eating when, really, I’m scarfing down an entire sandwich … in tiny pieces. My secret lunchtime routine has escaped the notice of the school librarians, and I’m hoping I can keep it that way till June.
But it’s going to be a challenge today because I’ve packed a Thermos with my dad’s famous chicken and gnocchi soup. Its deliciousness has been calling to me like a siren song from my backpack all day. Eating something so conspicuous in total secrecy is going to be a little tough, however.
I plunk down by the computers, and check over my shoulder to see if any of the librarians have somehow wandered back here. They seem busy helping a freshman history class find information on the Revolutionary War, so my hope is that they’ll be distracted just long enough for me to eat the whole thing.
I manage to unscrew the top and pause for a moment to savor the scent of the soup. When Dad made it last night, he’d said, “You’ve seemed a little stressed lately. I thought this might help.” The weird thing is, I haven’t thought that much about Hunter the last few days, and this is extremely exciting because it means I’m totally getting over him and I may be able to—
“No eating in the library!” a voice booms.
My stomach drops as I look up to my left. Sure enough, there’s a librarian standing by the railing of the second-level annex, frowning down at me with disdain. I’m one of those kids who kind of fears any type of authority—a grown-up yelling is all it takes to make me feel bad. Being called out like this makes me feel four years old again.
“I’m sorry,” I croak as I screw my Thermos lid back on. My face is on fire as I walk past the gawking freshmen. For the rest of the school year they’re going to remember me as the girl who almost took out the entire library computer system with a Thermos full of soup.
Reluctantly, I trudge to the cafeteria, where the low hum of lunchtime hits me when I step through the open doors. Two teachers are standing by the entrance chatting. I scan the room for an empty table, but it appears as if I’m the only one who hides during lunch, because the cafeteria is pretty crowded.
“Excuse me, is this your lunch period?” one of the teachers asks.
“Uh, yeah, I’m just looking for a place to sit,” I say.
“There are plenty of seats,” the teacher says, gesturing at the tables ahead of us.
Yes, there are plenty of seats … at tables already occupied by groups I’m not a part of. Like, I’m sure the cheerleaders would just love it if I wandered over and pulled up a chair and was like “Hey, gals! Nice day, isn’t it?”
That’s when I notice Brynn and Kim are staring at me from their table. I don’t want to give them the satisfaction of being smug about my friendlessness, so I take off to the left and walk as if I know where I’m going. Worst-case scenario, I can exit through the cafeteria’s back doors and hide in the bathroom for the remainder of the period.
And then I spot Isaiah. Like the last time I saw him in the cafeteria, he’s sitting by himself at the far end of a table, the other end occupied by teachers discussing some papers. Isaiah’s back is turned, so he doesn’t see me until I’m pulling out the chair across from him.
“Hi,” I say. “Mind if I sit here?”
A look of confusion, followed by recognition, followed by just a hint of annoyance crosses his face and I instantly feel bad. I should’ve known. Isaiah is a classic introvert and just because we’re “family” doesn’t mean I can crash his solitary time.
“Hey,” he says back, finally. I take this as my okay—or, okay enough, anyway—and sit down. That’s when I notice he’s got the racing section of the Ringvale Heights Gazette folded in half on the table next to his lunch, and he appears to be marking it up with notes. I must have interrupted his horse-studying time. I want to ask him about it to be friendly, but I feel like I’ve already imposed enough.
“Don’t let me interrupt your reading,” I say. I pull out my Thermos and physics textbook to let him know that I’m going to be concentrating on studying and have no desire to be a Chatty Cathy.
He eyes me warily, but doesn’t say anything else.
I absorb myself in elementary particles. It goes down a lot easier while getting to enjoy the creamy soup, which I relish eating publicly and not having to hide.
“What is that?” I’m so startled, I literally jump a little in my seat. I look up and see that Isaiah is staring at my Thermos cup.
“It’s chicken and gnocchi soup. My dad made it. He’s a chef,” I tell him.
“Is that why you’re taking home ec, to follow in his footsteps or something?” he asks.
“No. But my dad was happy when I told him I’d signed up for it. I guess he likes that I’m taking an interest in cooking, but he knows I don’t want to be a chef.”
He nods. “My mom’s a dermatologist and my dad’s a pharmacist. I don’t want to do their jobs, either.”
“Do you want to do something with horse racing?” I ask.
His eyes start to sparkle as he nods enthusiastically. “I’d like to be a trainer. You know, the person who gets the horses in shape for races and stuff. The problem is, I only get to see them when we’re driving through the farm areas. My mom doesn’t like horse racing.”
“So you’ve never been to a racetrack?” I don’t know much about horse racing, but I assume this would be like if I’d never watched The Weather Channel or something.
Isaiah frowns and shakes his head sadly. “My grandfather was a jockey after he emigrated here from Jamaica. He got thrown from a horse, hit his head, and went blind. I guess my mom doesn’t want that happening to me. But it sucks.”
“Well, maybe someday she’ll change her mind,” I say hopefully.
Isaiah shrugs, unconvinced. Then, he goes back to his reading and I go back to mine, and it might be the best lunch I’ve had since coming to Ringvale Heights High.
* * *
For some reason, lunch with Isaiah has made me a lot more optimistic about things. Like, I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but if he’s open to me sitting there again, I’ll have found an actual lunch buddy.
A lunch buddy I didn’t meet through Hunter. This is huge.
I’m even ps
yched when Mrs. Sanchez tells us that today’s cooking lesson is going to be difficult. “You’ll be making sautéed vegetables, rice, and Texas toast, so you’re going to need every person in your group to pull his or her weight today in order for this to work.”
I’m closest to our apron drawer, so I pull out all four of them and place them on our kitchen counter. They’re all a little worn and none of them match. I take a faded red-and-white-striped one so that one of the guys is forced to wear the green-and-yellow flowered apron with yellow ruffles, or the one that says “I Heart Chocolate.” It’s given me my own private chuckle the past few weeks.
Brynn is also reaching down into her family’s apron drawer, which is in my direct line of sight. Like a distress signal, I kind of can’t avoid seeing the bit of red sticking up past the waistline of her jeans.
A thong. And not just any thong. A red lace thong. And Brynn once said in her most judgmental voice, and I quote, “Why would any woman subject herself to wearing butt floss?” Which means there’s only one reason for this turnaround: She’s wearing it for her boyfriend.
My insides twist on cue.
She hands Hunter an apron, and they simper at each other.
I feel my stomach churn and I steady myself on the counter with both hands. So much for being over it.
“You all right?” Luke asks as he ties on the flowery apron.
I nod but can’t say anything. Hunter and Brynn have been dating for a few weeks and are probably already boinking like crazy. I had him for eight months and could barely even bring it up in conversation.
I tie on my apron and think of my own underwear collection, which is mostly cotton with flower prints or polka dots and then Christmas trees and Santas for December. They’re cute, but definitely not sexy. Maybe Hunter dumped me because my underwear wasn’t hot enough for him?
Isaiah is looking at our recipes for the day. “I can do the rice. Who wants the Texas toast?” A.J. raises his hand, and Luke volunteers to sauté the vegetables. That puts me on “prep,” which means I get to chop the vegetables and think about Brynn and Hunter having sex while I have a knife in my hand.
Mrs. Sanchez claps her hands together. “I’ll be checking over your written materials for your budgets next week. We won’t have much time to work on them in class, as we’ll be cooking this week, so you will probably have to work on it on your own time.”
“What do you mean, ‘on our own time’?” A.J. asks.
“Exactly that, Mr. Johnson. You won’t have enough time to complete your task in class, so you’re going to have to get together as a group during your free time to work on it.”
A.J. crosses his arms. “That’s BS.”
Mrs. Sanchez’s eyes narrow and she puts her hands on her hips. Even in her Snoopy apron, she suddenly looks intimidating. “Excuse me, Mr. Johnson?”
The whole class has stopped mid-preparation to watch this exchange. Even Jared’s bright-green beret, tilted forward on his head, looks interested.
“This class isn’t supposed to be this hard. I didn’t take it to do stuff outside of class. It’s total bullshit.”
“In the hallway, now, Mr. Johnson,” Mrs. Sanchez says, pointing toward the door.
A.J. sets his jaw and stalks out of the room. He doesn’t even look back at Mrs. Sanchez, whose shoulders sag as she follows behind him. “Get started on the lesson, guys,” she says. “I’ll be back in a second.”
We set to work right away without a word. Isaiah starts boiling water for the rice while simultaneously buttering some bread and sprinkling garlic powder on it, while Luke digs out our giant frying pan. Our sautéed vegetables are carrots, snow peas, and green onions, so I just have to cut up the carrots and green onions.
I’m about to start chopping the onions when I realize I need some paper towels to pat them dry. There’s a whole stash of them in the classroom pantry, so I quickly make my way over there. I have to squeeze by Synergy’s kitchen to do so, and just as I pass, Brynn’s demanding voice assaults my ear. “Would you guys mind if we finished our budget before the weekend? Hunter and I are going camping and we won’t be here.”
I freeze in place. They’re going camping? Like Hunter and I were supposed to go camping? So they can have hot sex and Hunter can tell Brynn about my lame underwear choices?
I don’t realize that I’m staring at them until Hunter looks directly at me and his face falls.
“Camping?” I say, not taking my eyes off of him. “Our camping trip?”
Brynn drops her eyes in fake dramatic fashion. “Oh, sorry, Ellie. I didn’t mean for you to hear that.”
“Oh, please,” I snap, my voice getting higher. “You waited till I was in earshot to say it. You’re not sorry about anything.”
Brynn’s face contorts into an indignant glare. “Not everything is about you, Ellie.”
I’m breathing heavy, like I’ve just run a mile and not merely walked about five feet. “Yeah, you made that pretty obvious since you moved in on my boyfriend while he was still with me. God, you’re a real piece of work, you know that?”
Brynn can’t seem to formulate a response outside of a couple sputters and sighs.
“Let it go, Brynn,” Hunter says, touching her arm.
“She needs to let it go,” she says, shrugging his hand off of her. “You wanted to be with me just as much as I wanted to be with you.” Then she fixes me with a hard stare. “And it’s not my fault she doesn’t know what a girlfriend is supposed to do.”
The words sting like a slap across the face and tears start burning in my eyes, and to make matters worse, I hear one of the Jersey Strong girls whisper, “Oh shiiiit!” and some people giggle in response. Which means what I feared is true: The whole school knows I’m a virgin of my own cold-fish doing.
A.J. and Mrs. Sanchez re-enter the room then, and Mrs. Sanchez totally notices that something is going on. “Everything all right?” Actually, it’s more of a statement, as if there’s no other acceptable answer except “yes.”
“It’s fine,” Hunter says, but his eyes are on me, pleading to not make any more of a scene.
“Yes, fine,” I say, though my voice cracks and betrays me. “I need some more paper towels, though, so…” I stride into the pantry as the tears spill over. I can’t do this. No matter how much I think I’m over this, I’m always going to be the one who got dumped while Brynn gets to shop at Victoria’s Secret and do the nasty with my ex in the woods, and everyone will be on her side.
While I’m the girl who yells at them in front of everyone like a lovelorn psycho.
I sink to the floor, wracked with silent sobs, and I’m glad the classroom activity has resumed because I’m never going to be over this. Ever. And I’m never going back out into that classroom. Or at least not until class is over.
That’s when Isaiah sort of tiptoes into the pantry and, in a low voice, says, “Hey. Are you all right?”
“Fine,” I chirp. “I just need some—” but before I can finish, an involuntary wave of tears comes over me, and I’m totally sobbing again.
“I’m sorry,” I gasp.
“Oh no,” Isaiah says, frowning. “I didn’t mean to make you cry!”
“It’s not you,” I say, tearing off a paper towel from one of the rolls next to me, wiping my eyes. “It’s them. You saw. The whole effing class saw.”
“But you didn’t do anything wrong, and I think the, uh, whole effing class knows that.”
“But they think Hunter dumped me because,” I pause, and it literally makes my heart hurt to say it: “I’m uptight.”
Isaiah scowls. “You give him too much credit. That guy’s completely ridiculous.”
In spite of everything, that makes me giggle. “Gee, Isaiah, tell me how you really feel.”
“No, seriously. He cheated on you with her, right? That’s just … wrong. Like, really wrong. He doesn’t deserve to have someone crying over him in a pantry. Or anywhere else for that matter. He’s pathetic.”
I study
Isaiah for a moment. He’s keeping his distance like most guys do when they see a girl crying. But what he just said is the emotional equivalent of a pat on the back. I mean, Jodie can tell me that, but since she’s my friend, she’s automatically on my side. I think back to Luke telling me they’re not worth it last week, and now Isaiah. They don’t owe me anything and yet they’re seeing this from my point of view.
I give him a wobbly smile. “Thank you.”
Luke pokes his head into the pantry then. “Everything okay in here?”
I take a deep breath, thinking of Hunter and Brynn’s self-righteous faces. “I will be. But we need to beat Hunter’s team.”
Luke raises an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “In today’s task or all year?”
I blink hard, and feel my pulse start to quicken at the thought of being better at something than the both of them, the hypercompetitive overachievers. At the thought of taking them down and putting their smug asses in place. To show them that they’re not better than me.
“All. Freaking. Year,” I say.
A.J. wanders into the pantry then. “Is this a team meeting?”
“Yes,” Luke says. “Agresti wants to annihilate Synergy.”
“I’m down with that, yo,” A.J. says, rubbing his hands together. “As long as we beat jackass Jared’s team, too. That guy’s such a dick.”
Luke, Isaiah, and I all mutter our own distaste for Jared while nodding vigorously.
I pull myself up from the floor, an exhilarating feeling of determination surging through me. “Okay, well, we need to get back out there and get a jump on our meal.”
We head back into the classroom and set to work, washing, chopping, and frying. Luke tosses the snow peas and carrots in the frying pan. He caught on to the technique of sautéing before the rest of the class (for example, Jared is sautéing across the room and doesn’t seem to notice that a snow pea has landed on his beret) and I wonder if his circus training has helped him with hand-eye coordination or something.
Brynn and Hunter start giggling over something then, and I reflexively inhale deeply and clutch my knife’s handle super hard.
The Secret Recipe for Moving On Page 8