The Secret Recipe for Moving On

by Karen Bischer

  “Socks,” A.J. says, shaking his head. “He keeps socks stuffed in his jock.”

  “‘Socks in His Jock’ sounds like a lost Dr. Seuss book,” I say, which makes Luke laugh so hard, he almost falls off his bike.

  “Now, now,” Luke says when he’s recovered. “We have to give Jared credit for holding his head high today.”

  “Yeah, looks like he really grew a pair,” Isaiah says before dissolving into giggles, and that sets us off again.

  We’re still cackling as we approach Luke’s house, which is as homey and inviting as the last time I saw it, the day of the interview. A sudden wave of sadness extinguishes my Jared-related schadenfreude, and I wish we could go back to that day, when nothing had yet been ruined by lies and reckless kissing.

  Luke unlocks the front door. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

  “This place could be on HGTV,” A.J. says when we step inside. “My grandma watches enough of it, I should know.”

  He’s not wrong. The living room is perfectly decorated and charming, with a stone fireplace and built-in bookshelves flanking it, and cozy overstuffed couches, where Luke motions for us to sit down.

  “My mom and stepdad had it restored last year. It’s an original Craftsman, whatever that means,” Luke says as he plunks down on one of the couches.

  “Well, they have good taste,” I say, thinking of the mismatched furniture in my own living room.

  We throw all of our recipe cards and a couple of cookbooks onto the coffee table, and Luke pulls out an iPad.

  “Okay, so we’ve got you guys prepping the turkey on Sunday,” Luke says, pointing at A.J. and me, and we nod. “Isaiah and I are going in early Monday to peel the potatoes and prep the green beans and corn casserole.”

  “I wonder if any of the other groups are going in early?” I say, chewing my pen cap.

  “Let’s not worry about any of them,” Luke says. “Our destiny is in our hands.”

  “There’s only twenty points separating us from the Bakers. And Synergy—”

  Luke holds up his hand with what looks like an annoyed scowl on his face. “We’ve got this. Unless we completely burn everything, we’ll get those fifty points.”

  I’m about to argue that I want to be ahead of Synergy, not tied with them—like, they could get fifty points, too. And if Jared’s team gets fifty points, they’ll still be twenty points ahead of us—when A.J. points at something over my shoulder.

  “Yo, is that you? What happened to your tooth?”

  I turn around and see what A.J. is pointing at, a photo on the shelf behind me. There’s a tall guy with a kid, and I assume it’s Luke and his little brother until I look closer and see that the kid, is in fact, Luke, complete with freckles and a chipped front tooth.

  “Yeah, and that’s my dad. You can see where I get the height from,” Luke says.

  “And you have his smile, even with the chipped tooth,” I say almost involuntarily.

  He laughs. “That’s the photo from my first communion. My dad told me I couldn’t skateboard that morning, but I didn’t listen, and so of course I fell off my board right before I had to be at church and broke my front tooth on the curb. My dad was, like, the nicest person alive but he was really pissed about that. You can’t tell in that picture, though.”

  “When did he pass away?” Isaiah asks, then he shakes his head. “Sorry, you don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want to.”

  “No, it’s okay,” Luke says. “He had liver cancer. He was first diagnosed like three years after that picture. We thought he beat it, but it came back a year after that and it was really aggressive. He died four days after my brother Ryan’s third birthday.”

  The sadness in his voice gives me such a strong urge to lean over and squeeze his arm supportively, but I force myself to stay put.

  “That’s really rough, I’m sorry,” Isaiah says. “That must’ve been hard.”

  Luke shakes his head. “It was. I was having trouble in school and was such a dick to him and my mom right before he found out the cancer was back. And then it was like I was terrified of him when he got sick again. I feel like his last few months alive I was a total shit to him, just because I didn’t know how to act.”

  “You were twelve,” I say softly. “I bet your dad knew it was coming from fear and not because you hated him or something.”

  “I know,” Luke say. “I just feel like you read all these books and see all these movies where people are sick and everyone just rallies around the sick person. Everyone else in his life did. Except me. I think it’s why I focused so much on the biking after that, because he knew I loved that and encouraged it.”

  “It’s like you were finding a way to, like, connect with him,” A.J. says.

  “Yes, exactly. I … I do wish he’d gotten to see me do so well with the bike stuff.” Then he glances at the three of us, and we all must be wearing expressions of total sadness because Luke laughs lightly. “Now that we’ve made this a therapy session, is there anything you guys want to get off your chests?”

  “I have to get laughing gas every time I go to the dentist, or I freak out,” Isaiah says.

  “I used to eat Play-Doh,” A.J. says

  I think I’m feeling something for you right now and that worries me. What I say is, “I told all my friends in third grade that my cousin was Christina Hemmings from California Cowgirl and that she was coming to my birthday party, but of course she didn’t and half those girls never spoke to me again.”

  Luke smiles. “Go big or go home with those childhood lies, huh?” The front door creaks open then, followed by a gravelly voiced “Luke, I’m home.”

  “In the living room, Mom,” Luke calls back.

  My heart suddenly begins to pound. It’s like one side of my brain is all, You’re going to meet Luke’s mother! and the other is, Except it means nothing because you’re not dating, Mary Ellen.

  A short woman with golden-brown, feathered hair steps into the living room. She grins as she peels off her black leather jacket, and in a raspy voice declares, “This must be the other family you’re always talking about!”

  “The family that doesn’t nag me about cleaning my room,” Luke deadpans.

  She throws back her head and cackles and my heart squeezes momentarily realizing they have the same laugh.

  She leans over and smooths Luke’s hair, then smiles at all of us. “How are you guys?”

  “Good,” Isaiah and A.J. say in unison.

  “Great, how are you!” I chirp with a big toothy grin, and it’s only then that I realize I’m suddenly sitting ramrod straight.

  “I’m lovely, thanks for asking, honey,” she says, beaming at me. She has kind eyes. Luke’s eyes.

  Luke bites his lip in what I assume is amusement, and it hits me then: That was me using my “mom cred.”

  “Well, I know you guys have a lot of work, so I’ll leave you to it. But if you need anything, just yell. My name’s Casey. I’ll be in my room catching up on my DVR.”

  “Well, now that that’s over with…” Luke says after she walks away, and I notice he’s blushing slightly.

  “Dude, your mom’s great,” A.J. says.

  “Yeah, she’s cool,” Isaiah agrees.

  “You look like her. You both have—” I stop myself before I say “kind eyes” because that could get misconstrued. “—the same hair.”

  Now Luke bursts out laughing. “The same hair? She’s stuck in the eighties!”

  “The same hair color,” I clarify. Then I clamp my mouth shut before I dig myself any deeper.

  We settle back into strategizing our cooking times then, and I think we’re only halfway through when I notice how dark it is outside. And also how much I have to pee.

  I stand up and stretch. “Um, where’s the bathroom?”

  “Straight that way, on the left,” Luke says, pointing down a hallway behind him. I make my way in that direction, passing a room with a door that’s open a crack and Luke’s mom must be watch
ing a soap opera in there because I hear her say, “Why would you do that, Jenna? He’s never going to leave her for you. They’re the supercouple of the show, for crying out loud.”

  I suppress a smile as I continue down the hall. I see two doors to the left and one is wide open. It must be Luke’s room because there’s an enormous poster of a guy upside down in midair on a BMX bike. Also, the room is a mess. The bed is unmade and there are clothes all over the floor. Luke’s elbow injury makes a ton of sense now.

  A red-faced Luke swoops by then and shuts the door. “Heh-heh, nothing to see there.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “That was an eyeful.”

  Luke’s mom emerges from her room then. “Oh, sweetie, did you just have to see that mess? I hope you aren’t scarred for life.”

  “It’s not that bad, Mom,” Luke says, his face even redder now. “Besides, Ellie wants to be a meteorologist. She’s seen worse on those weather disaster shows.”

  Casey nods approvingly and winks at me. “Smart and pretty, that’s a good family member to have.”

  Now my ears get hot. I drop my eyes to the floor and focus on the beautiful dark-brown inlay of the hardwood floor below me.

  “Why don’t you guys take a break and use that foosball table downstairs you begged me to get,” she asks.

  “We’ve still got a lot of work to do,” Luke says. “We’re probably going to be here late.”

  Casey seems to consider this. “Well, okay, then why don’t I heat up that lasagna and some meatballs for you guys? Joe and Ryan are at that Devils game tonight and someone’s got to eat it, right?”

  My stomach growls as if on cue, and they both hear it. Casey smiles at me, her blue eyes sparkling. “I’m going to take that as a yes. Sit tight, sweetheart, we’re gonna get you fed.”

  Maybe I could be friends with Luke. Just for his mother.

  Casey sets the dining room table and eats with us, telling stories about Luke that make us laugh and make Luke’s face grow redder and redder.

  “If I’d known all my deepest secrets were going to be spilled tonight, I’d have suggested we work at the library,” Luke says, shaking his head.

  “But then we wouldn’t have gotten this feast,” A.J. says, his mouth full.

  “Yeah, thank you, Casey,” Isaiah says. “I wasn’t expecting to get fed!”

  Casey winks at him. “Any family of Luke’s is a family of mine.”

  “I assume this means we should be in charge of kitchen cleanup,” Luke says.

  “Of course we should,” I say, standing up and gathering my plate. “It’s only fair.”

  “I approve of this other family of yours, Luke,” Casey says, ruffling his hair.

  Much like we do in class, we station ourselves by the sink and kitchen cabinets, basically forming a human dish-washing chain. A.J. washes, Isaiah and I dry, and Luke puts everything back where it belongs.

  “I’m sorry that even out of class, we’re cleaning a kitchen together,” Luke says with a laugh.

  “Please,” Isaiah says. “It’s the least we could do for your mom getting us—”

  He’s cut off by a loud burst of music with the words, “Here’s my story, sad but true, it’s about a girl that I once knew…”

  Luke closes his eyes. “Mom, come on, please!” he groans.

  “She took my love and ran around, with every single guy in town,” Casey’s voice intermingles with the music. Then she pops her head into the kitchen. “‘Runaround Sue’ is a classic, honey. Your friends should know it.”

  Now Luke shakes his head at us apologetically as his mom dances out of the room. “Sorry, this is my mom’s after-dinner routine. Cleaning the house to the oldies.”

  A.J. bops his head along as he washes a glass. “I dig it.”

  I move in time to the beat as I dry a plate and Luke’s face softens. “Looks like Agresti likes it, too.”

  An unexpected explosion of delight cuts through me, hearing him call me Agresti again. “It’s catchy,” I say.

  And then it happens. We’re all dancing, moving in rhythm to the music as we dry plates and utensils. Luke extends a hand out and I take it, and he expertly twirls me around, then spins me back toward Isaiah, who catches me. I lose my footing, though, and we stumble backwards into the counter and laugh so hard that we both start crying.

  A feeling of warmth grips me then, the act of dorking out and just enjoying my fake family. Even Luke. It’s the happiest I’ve been … in a while.

  When we get back to work, Casey lowers the volume, but continues with the oldies playlist, which is the soundtrack to the rest of our budgeting. We’re either super reinvigorated from the food or our dorky dancing or both, and we manage to finish up our meal-prep discussion and do our budget in an hour.

  My mom, who’s been driving for Lyft to make some extra money on her days off, texts that she’s on her way home and can pick me up. Isaiah’s mother arrives first, then Patrick rolls up for A.J., leaving me waiting on the porch with Luke.

  “I’m really sorry about my mom,” Luke says, digging his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

  “Stop it,” I say. “Your mom’s great. She’s friendly and she fed us. She’s basically a goddess.”

  “If I tell her you said that, she’ll”—Luke pauses and looks down—“well, I can tell she already really likes you.”

  “I’m hard not to like,” I joke. I say it because I feel the need to defuse something here, something that feels like Luke is saying he really likes me.

  I keep my hands shoved in the pockets of my coat, as if that will stop me from doing something I’ll regret, should it come to that. There’s about six inches between Luke and me, and he’s not wearing a coat, so I can still smell the dish soap on him. A slow song is playing from inside, something about smoke getting in your eyes. We’re both slightly swaying in place to it, trying to stay warm.

  “You’re really good at the weather reporting,” he says. “You sound just like the weather people on TV, I’m not even kidding.”

  A feeling of warmth blooms inside me and I can’t help but smile. “Thanks. It’s stressful, but I think I’m slowly getting the hang of it. Any tournaments coming up?”

  “Not till after the holidays, so it’s all training till then.”

  “Well, that just gives you more time to nerd out about Christmas, then,” I say.

  Luke gives a small chuckle, but his smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I didn’t think of that. I almost forgot it’s December next week. I’ve been preoccupied, I guess.”

  It hits me then: Has Luke been sad, too, and he’s just better than me at hiding it?

  A swath of headlights illuminate the street, and my mom pulls up alongside the curb. She waves to us from the driver’s seat and Luke waves back.

  “Have a good Thanksgiving tomorrow. And thank your mom again for dinner,” I say, which makes Luke smile a little bigger.

  “She’s going to adopt you if you’re not careful,” he says. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  When I climb in the car, there’s an overwhelming scent of pine trees and I make a gagging noise.

  “Sorry, the last passenger went a little overboard with his cologne,” Mom says.

  I instantly feel bad, because I know Mom doesn’t love driving people around. “Was he at least nice?” I ask.

  “He was going on a date and he was nervous. I didn’t have the heart to tell him he overdid it with the, uh, scent,” my mom says, cringing.

  As we drive home, Mom asks how everything went and I brace myself for her to ask me about Luke again, like that morning before the races, but she doesn’t. Still, I’m reminded of that sad look on Luke’s face.

  He’s a liar. He doesn’t get to be unhappy, the rational part of my brain argues.

  But the other, ridiculously empathetic part of my brain is like, Maybe he misses you.

  My phone buzzes then, and my heart starts to race, thinking it might be Luke. But it’s actually a text from Alisha.

 
Jared went nuclear.

  There’s a link to The Buzz and there’s one massive entry. And unlike all the other posts, no one’s mentioned in veiled blind items. No, their names are outright used. I skim posts about a girl’s alleged nose job and one about Bryce Pratt’s family giving him an intervention over steroid use. There’s one about Greta struggling in her training runs because “she’s not getting any vitamin ‘D.’” And then I see it.

  A.J. Johnson is so poor, he was spotted dumpster diving in the Gardner’s Deli parking lot. Hope he found some good meals. I mean, deals!

  “I’m going to kill him,” I say through clenched teeth.

  “Yikes, what’s going on?” my mom says.

  “Nothing,” I say, squeezing my phone so tight I’m shocked it doesn’t shatter in my hands. “Nothing at all.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Mrs. Sanchez has given us permission to come in the Sunday before the Feast-Off to prepare our turkey, since it has a very specific marinating time of “overnight.” In fact, Mrs. Sanchez looked pretty impressed when we said we wanted to do it on a weekend, even though it meant she had to come in and unlock the school and classroom door for us. “You’re a very resourceful group. The rest of the class should be watching out for you.”

  “I think she wants us to win,” A.J. says when Mrs. Sanchez retreats to the teacher’s lounge while we work on our turkey. Our job is to follow A.J.’s grandma’s recipe for soaking the turkey in a “brine” and leaving it until tomorrow morning.

  It also means it’s the first time I’ve seen him since The Buzz’s post—which was deleted about an hour later, but still survived via screenshots—went live.

  “I just want you to know, I never said anything to anyone about the day at the shoe store,” I say as we take the turkey out of its packaging.

  “I know you didn’t,” he says with a shrug. “And I was trying to fish out a plastic milk crate I accidentally threw in the dumpster during my shift. So what Jared said was a complete lie. I’m not that bothered.”

  He’s chewing his inner cheek, so I know he is bothered. I have to wonder if any of Jared’s other stories were out-and-out lies, too—I keep thinking of Greta doing poorly in her training and can’t help but feel guilty over that.