The Secret Recipe for Moving On

by Karen Bischer

  Isaiah’s eyes are darting back and forth between us, his mouth slightly agape. I’d laugh if I didn’t think Brynn was about to pounce on me for any sudden moves.

  “And what happened that all your shit fell out in the car and you didn’t even realize it?”

  Uh, did Hunter not tell her we fought? Oh, wait, of course he didn’t. Then he’d have to admit how it all started, with him not wanting to go to Princeton. I let out a deep, exhausted sigh. “You’ll have to ask him that.”

  Brynn’s face has now lit up an alarming shade of red. Before her head can full-on explode, I give her my most exasperated look. “I can assure you, it’s not what you think it is.”

  “It better not be. Seriously.”

  I don’t know what’s firing up this level of snark in me right now, but I flutter my eyelashes at her in what I hope is the most dismissive way possible. “If I were you, I’d be more worried about the Feast-Off. Hope you don’t mind working the dance because Synergy is, like, totally going down.”

  Isaiah’s jaw drops even lower.

  But Brynn doesn’t have a comeback for that. Instead, she makes this annoyed snorting noise and stomps off.

  I pull the phone out of the bag, and much like yesterday afternoon, it’s still dead. When I look up, Isaiah’s completely wide-eyed.

  “What was that all about?”

  “Let’s just say I gave Hunter a good telling off yesterday. That’s none of her business, though.”

  Isaiah narrows his eyes. “So you’re not sneaking around with him?” The rising angst in his voice makes me smile.

  “Isaiah, do you think if I was having an affair with Hunter, I’d have toyed with Brynn like that? Hell no, I’d rub it in her face after what she did to me.”

  He seems to ponder this for a moment. “And you would’ve been right. Good point,” he says finally, picking up his book again.

  Too bad when he drops his head down to read, I can see Brynn scowling at me from her table.

  I resume concentrating on my pudding. In roughly two hours, my group is winning the Feast-Off. Then she’ll really have something to scowl about.

  * * *

  It’s probably a little ridiculous that I’m daydreaming about our presumed victory during my next two classes. Even though I’ve eaten my lunch, my stomach growls at the thought of the hot, brined turkey and deliciously carb-loaded side dishes we’re preparing. I picture Mrs. Sanchez smiling beatifically at us, telling the whole class to see what a good job we did, Brynn scowling even more, and then, by some twist of fate, Jared’s team falls out of first place into dead last and has to work the dance.

  When the bell rings at the end of French, I spring out of my seat and am the first one to the door. I hustle my way through the crowded hallway, dreaming of victory and tryptophan-induced contentment. The meatheads will scoff in grand meathead fashion, Jared will have to shove his beret in his mouth to keep from screaming, and Hunter, Steve, and Brynn will rue the day they laughed at my accidentally salty chocolate chip cookies. I don’t have any issues with the stoners, but I do hope they are at least a tiny bit envious of our feat.

  By the time I get to the home ec room, I’m bordering on giddy. I scan the room for my family members, to share a psyched-up look with them, but they’re not at our table. In fact, they’re all gathered in our kitchen, staring into the refrigerator, their faces ranging between tense (Isaiah) and flat-out pissed off (A.J.).

  “What is it?” I ask, feeling my smile evaporate.

  Luke wordlessly points in the refrigerator, and there, on the bottom shelf, is our uncooked turkey sitting its roasting pan.

  No. This is not happening.

  That’s when I hear giggling behind me and when I look over my shoulder, I see Steve and Hannah watching this go down as if it’s a sitcom.

  “What the hell?” I say, turning back to my group. “There’s no way we’re winning now. Like, seriously, what. The. Hell?”

  “Agresti, it’s not that big a deal—”

  My cheeks get all hot as I spin around to face Luke. “Not that big a deal? We’ve been working toward this all marking period. But clearly, I’m the only one who gives a shit.”

  Luke flinches, and even Isaiah recoils, suddenly frowning.

  I turn to A.J., who’s been mysteriously silent. “Why didn’t you put it in?”

  He stares at me hard. “I had to take my grandma to the hospital because she fell this morning.”

  My stomach drops, as if I’m on an emotional elevator that’s free-falling from the complete and total anger penthouse to the “oh crap, how can I be that stupid?” basement of embarrassment.

  I find my voice. “Oh my god, is she okay?”

  “She’s fine, she just had to get a few stitches,” he says, his eyes boring through me. “If you’d have checked your texts, you would’ve known that—and we might be eating turkey right now instead of staring at it in the refrigerator.”

  “Texts?” I repeat, feeling my shoulders sag.

  “Yeah, I asked if you could run down and put the turkey in the oven since, you know, I was indisposed.”

  “I lost my phone and didn’t have it until lunch, and even then the battery was dead,” I say, becoming more than a little annoyed at his accusatory tone. “Why didn’t you text anyone else?”

  “Because I figured you’d see it!” he says, practically yelling.

  “And that’s my fault?”

  “I thought you’d have your phone on you!”

  “She didn’t have her phone because she was hanging out with Hunter yesterday and he had it,” I hear someone hiss.

  I turn around and see Brynn leaning toward our kitchen, her face red and screwed up.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Luke asks, looking between the two of us.

  “She left her phone in Hunter’s car,” Brynn says, her voice going up an octave, and attracting the attention of her group. “God knows what they were doing in there for her to forget it.”

  I shake my head, not even believing any of this. “For the last time: Nothing happened.”

  “What’s going on?” Hunter asks, tugging at the collar of his sweater nervously.

  “Just talking with Ellie over here about what a great, fabulous boyfriend you are,” Brynn snits. “Did you think you guys could hook up again and that no one would find out?”

  With that, Hunter shakes his head, grabs Brynn by the hand and marches her into the pantry, where we can hear his muffled voice talking sternly and hers sounding basically hysterical.

  The guys are all staring at me wide-eyed.

  “Seriously,” I say, feeling my blood start to boil. “Nothing happened.”

  “Sounds to me like the lady doth protest too much,” a smarmy voice pipes up. I turn around to see Jared leaning on his counter, looking like he’s mentally composing a salacious blind item in his head.

  “Shut up, Jared,” I say. “You have no idea what’s going on here.”

  “Oh, but I think I do,” Jared says, grinning devilishly. “You and your merry group of losers are going to finish in last place, but it seems like you’re actually a winner for finally slutting it up lately. Not bad for a former cold fish.”

  In that moment, everything weirdly slows down. It’s like there’s an explosion inside me, and it bursts out to my feet, which makes me jump out of my kitchen. Then the explosion travels into my hands, which reach for Jared’s neck. I’m suddenly off the ground, tackling Jared to the floor, and his beret goes flying across the room. I feel my knee meet the tile with a hard thunk and pain registers in my brain, but I’m too busy intermittently pummeling Jared’s chest with my fists, then shaking him by the shirt collar to care.

  “Get! Off!” he gasps, and I realize I’ve knocked the wind out of him. He reaches up to swat me away, but I knock his hand back with significant slap. I feel a hand on my back, like someone is trying to pull me off of him, but I somehow manage to roll Jared and me into the bottom of a nearby kitchen counter, which we kno
ck into with such force that an entire tray of deviled eggs comes crashing down on top of us.

  “Ms. Agresti! Mr. Curtis!” Mrs. Sanchez yells, and I’m vaguely aware of her running over, as I grab at deviled eggs and pelt Jared’s face and head with them. “We’re not losers, I’m not a slut, and you’re a jackass! A complete and total jackass … who … wears berets!” I scream, as he squirms underneath me. Even over the blood rushing in my ears and Jared’s yelling, I hear various noises around the classroom, from hysterical laughter (I assume the stoners), hollering something about the eggs (the meatheads) to ohmygod-ing (Steve and Hannah).

  I’m in mid-throw, when someone grabs me under my arms and pulls me off of Jared, who quickly crawls away.

  “You’re crazy!” he screams, his voice cracking, as he pulls himself to his feet. His group mates step away from him, as if he’s carrying some kind of disease.

  My heart’s pounding so hard that I almost feel like I can’t catch my breath.

  “Aw, that was pretty awesome. You’ve had that coming for a long time, dude,” Callie laughs from the Bakers’ kitchen. If I wasn’t in such a state, I think I’d probably hug her right now for saying that.

  “What’s come over you, Ms. Agresti?” Mrs. Sanchez says, her eyes wide with horror.

  “I’ve had it with him,” I manage to say as I shake myself free from the grasp of the person who grabbed me, and realize it’s Bryce. We’d rolled all the way into Jersey Strong’s kitchen and it was their deviled eggs I’d destroyed. I instantly feel even worse.

  “Well, both your groups aren’t getting any points for this lesson, and both you and Mr. Curtis can pack your things and head to the office.” Mrs. Sanchez looks so disappointed that I want to cry.

  I notice the collective shocked expression of my group changes to total annoyance. A.J. even hurls an oven mitt at the floor in disgust.

  “Please,” I say, “Don’t penalize my whole group.”

  “Now, Ms. Agresti,” Mrs. Sanchez says, wearily pointing to the door. “You too, Mr. Curtis.”

  Jared, who has pieces of egg flecked in his hair and stuck to his forehead, swipes up his backpack and storms out. I gather my things slowly so I can give him a head start to the office.

  “I’m sorry I ruined your eggs,” I whisper to Bryce. I brace myself for him to yell at me, but he surprises me by merely patting me on the shoulder. The rest of his group doesn’t look so pleased with me, but they don’t bitch at me either, and it almost makes me feel worse.

  The rest of my classmates are all staring at me, some whispering and others tittering. I know I have egg in my hair, but I’m too embarrassed to shake it out. I can’t even look back at my group, seeing as how I just ruined everything for them. Tears start burning my eyes as I leave, and they thankfully don’t start falling until I get to the hall.

  When I get to the principal’s office, I’m shaking as well as crying. I’ve never even gotten a detention before and I’m terrified of what’s to come.

  “Oh, please, don’t try to get sympathy by being a girl and crying,” Jared says. He’s sitting in a chair closest to the principal’s door, so I take a seat four chairs away from him, lest I have any more urges to hit him.

  Ms. Ahmed, the school secretary, is staring at me openmouthed. It’s probably the egg, but maybe it’s the fact that a girl and guy got in a fistfight. “And your name is?” she asks.

  “Mary Ellen Agresti,” I say.

  She nods, then disappears into the principal’s office.

  “We’re totally going to get suspended, you know,” Jared says.

  “Yeah, well, maybe you’ll think of that the next time you mock me or my group,” I whisper harshly. “Or anyone else for that matter on your stupid gossip page. You’re lucky I’m a girl with no upper body strength and not any of the guys you mention who could do some actual damage.”

  He doesn’t have an answer for that, and it’s not like he can respond anyway. The door to the principal’s office opens, and Ms. Ahmed ushers us in, closing the door behind us with an ominous click.

  * * *

  Three days’ suspension. Yes, I got the maximum penalty because, as Mr. Golding reminded us, there’s a zero-tolerance policy at RHHS for fistfights.

  Amazingly, Jared didn’t argue it. Probably because he realized we have witnesses to his constant harassment of our group, which I was quick to bring up. But also, I never mentioned The Buzz, and I think he was waiting for me to talk about it. He probably figured a three-day suspension for fighting is a whole lot better than the trouble he’d get into for his pet project.

  We’re dismissed long after the bell rings (because of our clean records and because it’s the end of the day, Mr. Golding let us go without our parents having to come pick us up. But he made it clear he was calling them), and after I go to the bathroom to get the egg out of my hair, I head to my locker. Basically, I do anything possible to delay going home, where I’m sure my mom is going to freak out on me after Mr. Golding’s phone call.

  I can see a light on in the home ec room, and I peer inside to see Mrs. Sanchez surrounded by cleaning supplies, trying to get up the mess from the eggs.

  “Mrs. Sanchez?” I say, putting my backpack down. “I’m so sorry for disrupting class like that and making such a mess. I swear to god, it’ll never happen again.”

  Mrs. Sanchez studies me for a minute, then sighs and stands up. “I must say, in all my years of teaching, no one has ever used food as a weapon.”

  I don’t know if she means this as a joke or not, but since she’s not chewing me out for my lack of conduct, I figure she doesn’t hate me. “Let me help you,” I say, grabbing some paper towels and Windex. “I just want you to know, I’m not a violent person. I have no idea where that came from.”

  Mrs. Sanchez bites her lip as I start to scrub the floor. “I think I know where it came from. I know Jared isn’t the easiest to get along with.”

  “Still,” I say, slightly relieved she knows I’m not a raging psycho, or at least thinks I’m a raging psycho who has her reasons. “I could’ve handled it better.”

  “Well, I will say your group was very disappointed today,” Mrs. Sanchez says, and it’s like I’ve been stabbed in the heart. “I felt worse for them as a whole than for anything else.”

  Not worse than me, I guarantee that.

  “What happened to the turkey?” I ask.

  “It’s still in your refrigerator,” she says, pointing to our kitchen. “I told the boys I’d take it by the church down the street for their soup kitchen.”

  “I can take it over to the church now, if that’s okay,” I say, wiping the last of the egg from the floor.

  “That would be lovely. I’ll call them to let them know you’re on your way,” Mrs. Sanchez says.

  I march over to our refrigerator and carefully grab the roasting pan, which is now covered in tinfoil. Even though the pan is sturdy and has handles, it’s a bit awkward to carry because of the weight of the turkey, plus the weight of the books in my backpack. I pretend like it’s super easy to walk as I make my way out of the room.

  I turn to Mrs. Sanchez before I walk out the door. “Were the guys really pissed at me?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. But like I said, they did seem disappointed.”

  I must look as pained as I feel because Mrs. Sanchez gives me a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. They’ll forgive you.”

  I can only hope she’s right. Because I’m not exactly sure I’d forgive me if I were them.

  * * *

  I carry the turkey through the main hall and am glad there isn’t anyone left at school to see me. I’m sure I’d get some quizzical looks carrying this massive tin-foiled thing down the halls.

  It’s starting to snow when I get out to the nearly empty parking lot, big, fat dry flakes, the kind that will totally stick and give us a nice few inches before it lets up. Unfortunately, since my hands are full, I can’t pull my hood up, and flakes start smacking me in the face as I walk.
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  “Agresti!” I turn around and am totally shocked to see Luke leaning on the bike rack. He looks as if he’s been waiting outside for a while, if his red cheeks are any indication. I try not to think about how ridiculously cute he is, all rosy-cheeked and windblown.

  “Hey,” I say, unable to look him in the eye.

  “I was hoping I might run into you. Are you all right?”

  I nod, feeling a little relieved that he at least doesn’t hate me. “My knee’s a little banged up, but I’ll live.”

  “And what was the verdict from Golding?”

  I shake my head and sigh. “I got my first suspension. That’ll be something I’ll proudly tell my grandkids about, I’m sure.”

  Luke throws his head back and laughs, which delights me. “Man, I always thought there was a little fire in you, but I never thought that would happen.”

  “Yeah, well, that makes two of us,” I say, giggling. It feels good to laugh after everything that’s happened today.

  “Are you taking the turkey to the church?” he asks.

  “Yeah, I told Mrs. Sanchez I’d take it over for her.”

  “Here, let me carry it.”

  “No,” I say, stepping away from him. “I was such an asshole to you guys and I’m the one who messed everything up, so I need to do this.”

  “Jeez, don’t feel that bad about it. Jared totally deserved it, especially after what he said to you.”

  “But I let you guys down,” I say, my voice cracking. “We may not have won today, but if our side dishes were good enough we could’ve pulled ahead a little.”

  “You’re still worried about the points?” Luke says, his eyes narrowing.

  “Of course. Did you end up making the side dishes?”

  He shakes his head. “We knew we were getting a zero already, what would the point have been?”

  “Ugh. If I’d have just kept myself in check…”

  “Agresti,” Luke says, stepping closer and surprising me by tilting up my chin with his finger. “If you didn’t hit him, I would have.”