I’m shocked when, Isaiah—sweet, quiet Isaiah—takes a step in Jared’s direction, but Luke moves in front of him. “Dude, don’t,” he says under his breath.
“We can’t let him talk about A.J. like that,” Isaiah whispers harshly.
“No, we can’t,” Luke says. “But we can’t give in to Jared, either. It’s what he wants.”
“So we’re just supposed to sit and take it?” Isaiah says, his shoulders sagging.
I glance around the room. The meatheads are playing a mock game of basketball with a rolled-up towel and cackling. The stoners appear to be studying a bottle of detergent to see if it could work as a bong. Jared is mocking Mrs. Sanchez behind her back as she evaluates the folding capabilities of Hunter and Brynn’s group. “Excellent job, Synergy. Ten points for you,” she says, and Brynn squeals and jumps up and down, linking arms with Hunter as Mrs. Sanchez walks away. It all makes my blood rush into my ears and my heart pound, and I turn to face the guys.
“No,” I hear myself say. “We’re going to beat them all and get into first place with the best damn Feast-Off meal Mrs. Sanchez has ever seen.”
CHAPTER 20
I try to find A.J. after class, but I don’t spot him anywhere. I’m not sure what I can say to him, but I want him to know I’m not mad. I can’t bear for him to think I’m pissed at him the entire weekend. I’m pretty sure he’s not working today, but I reroute myself past the deli where he works on my way home anyway.
And that’s where I run into Luke, who’s coming out the front door. He spots me right away, but doesn’t seem surprised or upset by my presence.
“Oh, hey!” he says.
It’s too late for me to back away and run, and that would look super crazy of me, so I offer a “hey” back and tuck my hair behind my ears uncomfortably.
“I’m actually glad I ran into you,” he says, his face serious. “Are you okay? From before?”
Something inside me seizes. We haven’t really spoken in weeks, but his eyes are filled with concern. For me.
He lied to you. Stop it, Mary Ellen.
“I’m okay,” I say. “I’m more worried about A.J., to be honest.”
“Same. It’s why I’m here,” he says. “Him throwing that bottle … It just seems like something isn’t right.”
There’s a strange tug in my gut, like my body’s trying to be like, Luke cares about A.J., isn’t that sweet? I try to ignore it. “So he’s not working today?”
“Nope, he must’ve went straight home,” Luke says. “He’s seemed stressed out a lot lately. I’m wondering if he has something going on at home. Has he said anything to you?”
I shake my head. “No, but then he doesn’t seem like the type to open up.”
“True.” Luke shoves his hands in his pockets. “I just hate seeing him so angry.”
“I think the only thing we can do is let him know we’re here to talk if he needs it. I mean, he has his friend Patrick, but…”
“… It can’t hurt to let him know his fake family has his back, too,” Luke says with a small smile.
I feel myself starting to smile back, but bite my lip to stop it. “What if we both text him tonight? We can stagger it, so he doesn’t think we’re ganging up on him or anything.”
“Good call. He doesn’t seem like he’s going to want anyone to feel sorry for him.”
“I’ll make sure to add a GIF of, like, a girl in a bikini to throw him off the scent.”
“Look at us, teaming up,” Luke says. And then he smiles bigger and my heart gets all fluttery and now I know the real reason I’ve been avoiding him: my hormones are not to be trusted.
We both just kind of stand there awkwardly, I guess waiting for the other to leave. I finally adjust my backpack on my shoulders and start to say, “See you Monday,” but Luke interjects with a “How are you?”
“Good?” I say, unable to keep the uncertainty out of my voice. If Isaiah can see that I haven’t been myself, I wonder if Luke has noticed, too. And that’s the absolute last thing I’d want.
“I liked your RHHS TV report on the new band uniforms.”
I almost laugh because that report was only thrown together for filler on a slow news day, but Luke’s face is so sincere that I choke it back. “Thanks. They, uh, asked me to do the weather.”
Luke’s eyes light up and he starts to step forward to shake my hand or hug me or something, but he stops just short and drops his arms to his sides. “Dude, that’s awesome! You’re going to kick ass.”
“Thanks,” I say. I finally point at his bandaged arm. “Did that happen on the ramps?”
Luke’s face flushes and he laughs as if he’s embarrassed. My stomach clenches when I have this awful feeling he’s going to admit he got this injury hooking up with another girl or something, and I swallow hard.
“I tripped over a pile of clothes in my room and came down on the edge of my dresser. Didn’t realize it was that sharp until then. This is what I get for being a closet slob.”
I can’t help it when I let out a laugh that’s fueled by a massive wave of relief. “Closet? Your shirts are always in a perpetual state of wrinkledom, Luke.”
He looks like he’s about to laugh, but throws his hands up dramatically instead. “Ironing is boring! And annoying! And my mom refuses to do it for me. Like, I can throw my clothes in the washer and dryer, but ironing is just … no.”
“A bridge too far,” I say.
His eyes are twinkling and he finally grins. “I like it better when we’re on speaking terms, even if you’re giving me crap for my, uh, laundry habits.”
I feel my face flush and look at my feet. “Yeah, speaking does make that whole ‘communication’ thing a little easier, I guess.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” He climbs back on his bike and gives me a wave. “See you on Monday.”
“See you,” I say, feeling something welling up inside me but unsure what it is. Regret? Relief?
No. It’s disappointment. Like, did I expect him to end that conversation by begging for a second chance? Why would I want that? I shake my head as I walk.
This is not a road we’re going down again, Mary Ellen. There can be a thaw, for the sake of peace in class, but feelings? No. He lied to you.
I guess I just can’t look at him from the neck up.
That won’t be hard for the next seven months.
CHAPTER 21
A.J. doesn’t respond to my texts by Saturday afternoon. In fact, last night, Luke started a text chain between our whole group to discuss what we should make for the Feast-Off, but he doesn’t respond to that, either. Luke and Isaiah are chock-full of suggestions, though, and I have a hard time keeping up, even though it’s a rainy day and therefore crazy slow at Cityscape Shoes.
“Mashed red potatoes?” I say out loud after reading Isaiah’s suggestion. “But mashed sweet potatoes are so much better.”
“No,” Richard says, looking up from his crossword puzzle. “Sweet potatoes are a bitch to cut. Go with the red potatoes. It’ll save you time and fingertips.”
“See, this is why it’s good to have a coworker who cooks,” I say.
“I just know my carbs, what can I say?” Richard says with a laugh. He sobers quickly when something out the window catches his eye. “There are some people standing outside getting soaked. I think they’re waiting for the bus.”
I move over to the window, behind the display of snow boots, and under the faint light of a parking lot streetlamp, I can make out three figures huddled close together, their jacket hoods up. One appears to be a little girl in a bright-pink coat, and she’s wearing a skirt and tights.
“It’s coming down pretty heavy,” I say. “I bet they were at the pharmacy…”
“… and they closed five minutes ago,” Richard says, checking his watch. “Tell them they can come inside here.”
I push through the front door, which is kind of tough considering the wind is blowing back on it pretty hard.
“Excu
se me,” I call, poking my head out. All three turn around and when I squint I can see the person in the middle is an old woman with an oxygen tank at her side. “If you want to wait in here, you totally can!”
“Oh, thank you,” the old lady calls back, and they make their way into the store.
The little girl comes in first and pushes her hood off. “Brrr!” she says, shaking a head of dirty-blonde curls. “It’s much nicer in here.”
“We lost our umbrella,” the old woman says with a smile. “And we didn’t think the bus would drive away without us!”
“What a terrible night for that!” Richard says.
“We have to wait for the next one, but it’s not for another twenty minutes,” the little girl says.
I notice the third figure, apparently a guy in a dark jacket, is lingering outside. The old woman notices, too, because she backpedals and leans out the door. “A.J., get in here or you’ll catch your death.”
I kind of freeze in place when she says this. I feel it even more when I hear a very familiar voice reply, “I want to make sure the driver sees us.”
“Nonsense,” the woman says back. “You can track the bus on that app on your phone. We’ll know when to go out.”
Very slowly, the black-coated figure trudges inside. It takes him a moment to push his hood back, but when he does, it’s totally the A.J. I spend last period with.
“Hey,” I say, wondering why he won’t look me in the eye.
“Hi,” he says, focusing on the snow boots display by the door.
“Do you two know each other?” the woman says, looking from A.J. to me.
“Yes,” I say, hoping I sound friendly, even though I’m a bit taken aback by A.J.’s coldness. Maybe he still feels bad about yesterday or he’s afraid I’m going to bring it up. “We have home ec together.”
The woman’s eyes light up. “Oh, you should see how much A.J. is applying that class at home! I’ve never seen my grandson so taken with something. He cooks for us all the time now, right, Sammi?”
The little girl nods vigorously and I’m struck by how she and A.J. have exactly the same pale-blue eyes.
“And the budgeting!” A.J.’s grandma says, nodding to Richard. “They’re learning so much. A.J. set up a chart for us and—”
“Gran,” A.J. interrupts, annoyance in his voice. “I don’t think they care about our budget.”
“Tsk, tsk,” she says, waving him off. “If I’m proud of you, I’m going to say it, dear. Besides, you know how much that budget helped us, what with the rent going up and my emphysema making me work less.”
I stare at him as he acts all interested in the wall full of boxes containing kids’ sneakers. Obviously, a member of his home ec family interacting with his real family isn’t exactly his idea of a spectacular Saturday.
“You should see A.J. decorate cupcakes!” I say, figuring a little praise from my end will show I’m not pissed off at him for yesterday. “Our teacher couldn’t believe how good he is. She said he should—”
“Maybe we should splurge for an Uber,” A.J. says, looking flustered, but A.J.’s grandma, her face beaming, ignores him.
“What does his teacher say, hon? I like it when I hear good things from them and not ‘A.J. doesn’t apply himself.’”
“She told him he’s good enough for pastry school,” I say, keeping an eye on A.J.’s reaction to this. He seems to be biting the inside of his cheek, which I don’t understand.
A.J.’s grandma shakes her head at him. “You’re always so close-mouthed about these things. Why wouldn’t you tell me that?”
A.J. just stares out the window and shrugs in response.
“I bet he’s too busy figuring out how to cart me around,” she says. “Our car had to go and die last week and we’ve been taking the bus everywhere. He doesn’t seem to trust his old gran by herself, though.”
“Well, that’s a good grandson in my book,” Richard says.
A.J. just continues to stare out the window.
“Normally we go to the Drugfair in our neighborhood, but we were out at the mall today and figured we’d stop here because it’s on our way. Little did we know they close earlier than our Drugfair!” A.J.’s grandma taps her oxygen tank. “Don’t ever smoke. It’ll cost you in more ways than one.”
“Where do you live?” Richard wants to know.
“In the Southvale Apartments in Ringvale Heights, over on Columbus Avenue.”
“Gran!” A.J. barks. “Why do you always have to be so specific?”
“Because we live there,” A.J.’s grandma says. “I doubt these two are going to come rob us blind.”
So that’s why A.J. had me pick him up at the dentist’s office. The Southvale Apartments are considered the “shady” part of Ringvale Heights, if a mostly upper-middle-class suburb could have a shady part of town. Hunter would always hit the automatic locks on his car when we’d drive up Columbus. “There are probably hundreds of meth heads and junkies on this block alone,” he’d say.
While it’s true there are always some incidents listed in the Ringvale Heights Gazette’s crime blotter from Columbus Avenue, there are enough DUI reports and domestic disputes from the rest of town to kind of even it out. I think Hunter was going by urban legend more than anything.
A.J.’s face is totally red and I suddenly feel sorry for him, which is exactly the reaction he probably didn’t want me to have and why he hasn’t said anything. But still. He’s ashamed of where he lives, and his grandmother, who looks to be his only guardian, is in poor health. I wonder if this has anything to do with his mood lately and if Jared was just what put him over the edge.
It’s kind of awkward as we wait for the moments to pass, and A.J.’s grandma and sister do all the talking. Finally, the bus is shown to be a few blocks away on the app, and Sammi cheers and runs out the door.
A.J.’s grandma waves as she heads for the door. “So lovely to meet you both, and thank you so much for the shelter!”
“No problem,” Richard says. “Get home safely.”
A.J. kind of lingers and slowly heads for the door. He pulls his hood back over his head and starts to push out the door, but then stops and turns around. I’m startled by how stressed he looks and I know exactly what he’s telling me: Please don’t tell anyone about me. What he says out loud, though, is, “Thanks. See you Monday.” He heads out the door, but then, at the last second, dashes back in. “Oh, and my aunt has a great corn casserole recipe that’s really cheap to make. I’ll hit her up for it. And I can get the turkey and stuffing recipe, of course.”
“Awesome.” I smile. He doesn’t smile back, but he does give me a double thumbs-up before he heads toward the approaching bus.
“What was that about?” Richard says.
“Our home ec project,” I say.
“Good thing he’s not graded on his conversation skills,” Richard says. “He’s not exactly chatty, is he?”
“No,” I say, watching the bus pull away. “But he’s family.”
CHAPTER 22
“… And looking ahead to tomorrow, the Thanksgiving forecast is pretty much perfect. Plenty of sunshine and highs in the low-fifties for the RHHS/Bollingwood football game or for anyone who signed up for the Ringvale Heights Turkey Trot.”
I get all this out, ignoring the nagging voice in my brain that says I sound like I have absolutely no breath control and that I’m probably smiling like a lunatic.
“And that’s the forecast. Back to you, Mia and Chris,” I say and have to stop myself from exhaling loudly and slumping against the green screen.
Willow gives me a thumbs-up from behind the camera as Mia throws to Alisha with the sports report. I give an exhausted smile back. I survived day three of TV weather forecasting. Even my looming physics test today seems like a walk in the park in comparison.
When the show ends, Alisha high-fives me. “If you felt nervous today, it didn’t show at all.”
“My breathless projection was that good, huh?” I
say drily.
“Stop. Seriously, for someone on their third day, that was awesome.”
“Holy shit,” Chris says from behind us, making both Alisha and me turn around. He’s staring at his phone and he starts to laugh. “I think The Buzz got hacked. You guys need to see this post.”
Everyone in the room whips out their phones. I huddle close to Alisha as she loads up The Buzz, and there it is: what looks like a video screen shot of a horrified-looking Jared holding a balled-up pair of socks, with the headline:
Stuffing for the Turkey?
Which asshole who just so happens to run this gossip site got caught packing his pecker checker? We’ll just say it rhymes with Mared Burtis.
There’s then a video. It looks like a dress rehearsal for the school play, Julius Caesar, which Jared’s starring in. He’s dressed in an ancient-Roman-looking tunic and carrying a sword. He’s about to deliver his line, when he steps forward and a balled-up pair of socks falls out from between his legs. He goes completely pale and picks it up, and for the briefest second, I feel bad for him. Everyone on stage behind him starts to laugh. But he continues with his lines, tossing the socks into the wings of the stage.
The amount of gasps and hysterical giggles going around the room is something to behold.
“It’s about damn time someone gave him a taste of his own medicine,” Willow says, coming over to Alisha and me.
“Seriously,” Alisha says. “Although, he’s such a sociopath that this could just make him worse.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Is that even possible? Wait, don’t answer that.”
Unsurprisingly, The Buzz post is the most talked-about thing all day. Jared just kind of glowers through home ec, and while no one in the JAILE family addresses him directly, we have a great time snickering about it as we head over to Luke’s house that afternoon to work on our meal strategy for the Feast-Off and finish our monthly budget.
The Secret Recipe for Moving On Page 20