Someone with blonde braids, snapping blue eyes, and a snowboard across her lap.
Stop looking, stop looking, stop looking, my brain implores me, but it’s too late. Greta must feel my gaze because she turns her head, her eyes instantly locking on mine.
“Hey! Mary Ellen!”
Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap.
I squeeze my eyes shut and am filled with silent regret for never making a will. I’m just going to have to hope Jodie knows she can have all my old InSyte merchandise.
I finally manage to lift my hand in a weak wave and hope I can fix my expression into something other than guilt.
Greta moves off the bench and walks over to me, hugging herself against the cold. If she’s going to bludgeon me with her snowboard, I hope it’s quick.
But it’s not beating the crap out of me that’s she interested in.
Her eyes sparkle and she grins. “Did you seriously take down Jared?”
Then, I swear to god, she lifts up her hand and instead of punching me, she makes a motion to high-five. So I do. She gives my hand a robust thwack. “Bad. Ass. And thank you.”
I’m still ready to run. I’m not convinced this isn’t going to be an ambush of some kind. “He had it coming,” I say.
She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Understatement of the year. That guy didn’t even learn from being called out, no, he had to turn it up a notch.”
“Yeah, I suspect I’m not the only one who wanted to flatten him after that last post.”
“What did he say to make you blow?”
“We were in class and he called my group losers, then implied I’d made my way from cold fish to raging slut, basically,” I say. “I was having a bad day already and that was enough to set me over the edge.”
“Typical dude, thinking he gets to label us to fit his narrative,” Greta says. “Should’ve punched him myself for the stuff he said about me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for her to call me out. But when I open them, she’s shaking her head. “Like, he had to tell the whole world about Evan Fishman and drag Luke into it.”
It’s as if the chilly temperature has somehow breeched my coat and frozen my insides. I don’t even get to say anything because Greta keeps going. “I swear to god, he was the biggest mistake of my life. What was I even thinking? Still wasn’t any of Jared’s business, though.”
“Evan Fishman?” I blurt out when I finally have the capacity to speak.
Greta blinks. “Yeah, he and I were hooking up. I thought it was more but it was only ‘messing around’ to him—direct quote there—so when he went off with that girl he works with … wait, I thought you read The Buzz?”
I’m suddenly sweating in spite of the cold air. “I thought it was Luke who’d, uh, done you dirty.”
“Luke?” Greta says with a snort. “He can be a stubborn ass sometimes, but no. It was Evan who quote, unquote, did me dirty, though I guess I deserved it for being dumb enough to fall for his lying ass.”
I remember Evan driving Greta to Luke’s that day of the interview, and how she looked at him when she said goodbye. And then it hits me: “Fish-y.” It wasn’t referring to me, the cold fish. It was referring to Evan.
Fishman.
Oh my god.
Now Greta shakes her head. “I mean, we had issues, Luke and me, but it’s all because we broke up over the summer and got back together when we shouldn’t have. Then I had to start falling for another guy? I was really confused. Luke finally was like, ‘This isn’t really working, is it?’”
It’s like someone’s taken a wrench and clamped down on my stomach and started twisting, to the point that I feel nauseated. It’s actually worse than anticipating getting beaten up.
“So, when you came to the party together, you were already broken up?”
“The party.…” Greta bites her lip and scrunches her nose in thought, then her eyes brighten. “Yeah, we’d been split for about a week at that point, but we were trying to stay friends. I was in a bad mood that night because Evan blew me off. I didn’t tell Luke that, of course, but I shouldn’t have gone. But I’m kind of glad I did, because I got to see that Luke was at least moving on.”
She raises an eyebrow at me pointedly and I feel my face flush. I try to make a noise of apology but it’s lodged in my throat.
“I thought something was brewing between you guys. He was trying to act all closed off when he saw you, and I knew.”
“Nothing happened while you guys were together,” I manage to say.
Now she laughs, a hearty, musical chortle. “Oh, I know. I thought if something was going to happen between you guys, at least Luke would be happy and I’d feel a little less guilty about, like, emotionally cheating on him. So I left that night, hoping it would nudge something between you two, I guess. My reasons were completely selfish, I can’t lie.”
Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. How am I such a colossal idiot?
I must look completely stricken because Greta pats my arm. “Seriously, it’s okay, I know you didn’t move in on him while we were—” She pauses. “But wait, that would imply that something did happen eventually, but it doesn’t look like you’re together now.”
I close my eyes and shake my head. “Long story. Very long, very stupid story. Pretty much all my fault.”
A tall older woman who resembles Greta and has to be her mother comes out of the store then. “Ready to hit the road? We’ve got six hours of driving ahead of us.”
Greta nods and gathers her snowboard, then she turns back to me. “Listen, I don’t really want to talk up my ex because he’s, like, still my ex and that’s just weird, but he’s a good dude. And he’s not really great at holding grudges. Just in case that means anything to you.”
“Thanks. And, uh, good luck training,” I croak as she and her mom walk away.
I can only stare at my cart full of groceries. I just wasted the last few weeks being angry and self-righteous over something that didn’t even happen. That Luke had even kept speaking to me is crazy. I wouldn’t speak to me.
How can you make an apology big enough for that?
CHAPTER 27
On Friday morning I have three agendas:
One: Return to school and keep my head held high if anyone makes fun of me for my fight with Jared. We have an early dismissal today, so at least any snarky asides will be confined between the hours of seven thirty and noon.
But it’s easier than I thought, considering when I walk in, I get a literal ovation from the stoners who hang out outside the cafeteria. Callie Gorman even shakes my hand and cheers, “That fight was the most righteous thing I’ve seen. Give ’em hell, Ellie.”
And it’s not an isolated incident. In the short time I’m in the building, I get high fives, salutes, and thumbs-ups from anyone passing me. I guess I underestimated how many peoples’ lives have been made hell because of The Buzz.
Speaking of, Jared didn’t write up our brawl, but I knew there was no way he’d post about himself being beaten up by a girl. He must have had an appointed proxy in his absence, however, because while The Buzz’s posts have been scant, there was one about some kind of huge fight between Brynn and Hunter that seemed to span all the days I was out.
Destiny Done?
This formerly destined pair is apparently on the verge of a breakup, if their constant public spats are any indication. A classroom confrontation over alleged cheating has led to more arguments, culminating in a very audible fight over lies surrounding one’s college choice. Sources whisper it may be over between them.
So I guess Hunter came clean about Tufts. Still, after I read that, I make a point to delete The Buzz from my phone’s search history, and vow not to visit it anymore. It’s the start of the “Ellie doesn’t care what you say about her anymore” era, and that means killing gossip sources at their root.
Number two on the agenda: Start the road to reconciliation with Luke.
I labored all yesterday over an apology email—which I sent to Jodie for approval a
s I was writing, to which she replied this is great. JUST CALL HIM THO—which I intend to send after I make a total fool of myself on the morning TV broadcast.
My palms sweat as I wait for Mia to throw it to me for the forecast. She finishes a story about tryouts for the spring musical, then grins at me.
“And now back from her well-earned hiatus, here’s Ellie Agresti with the weather.”
I force my perkiest smile. “Thanks, Mia. This weekend’s forecast looks great, with clear skies and highs in the forties. We’re watching a potential nor’easter that may give us some snow Tuesday into Wednesday, but it’s too early to say what track it’s going to take and how much snow it would give us, so don’t go making any snow day plans just yet. But fear not, tonight, we’ll be enjoying clear conditions for the winter dance, with lows around thirty-two.”
I basically spit that out at lightning speed, causing Chris and Mia to exchange a nervous glance, probably freaking out there’s going to be a huge time gap to fill. So I quickly add, “If I can, there’s something I want to say about, uh, recent events.”
Mia nods vigorously, though Chris is frowning apprehensively. He eventually nods, though, and I pull out the index card I carefully filled out last night. My hand is shaking, so I try holding it with both hands.
“As many of you know, I’ve been the center of some, uh, hot gossip this year. I think a lot of us have been, actually. So let me do this in a way you may understand: Which senior is neither a cold fish nor slutting it up? She’s a weather nerd who likes tacos and lilacs and just wanted to fly under the radar when she transferred here. She may have stuck it out in the wrong relationship just to keep it that way. The irony, then, is that relationship basically shoved her into the spotlight.”
I can’t help but shoot an exasperated look to the camera then, and I hear people in the studio and the nearby classrooms laugh. It’s all I need to keep going.
“But losing that relationship forced her to take a different approach to things. She still prefers to stay under the radar, but she’s now better at being in the spotlight. She used to be afraid to speak her mind, but now she can … for the most part. She wouldn’t have had the guts to do this three months ago and she thanks the friends she’s made for helping her get to this point, the friends who have accepted her as she is: Isaiah, A.J., and Alisha, you’re the best.” At the other end of the table, Alisha clutches a hand to her heart and mouths “Aww,” at me.
I smile before swallowing hard and forcing myself to stare directly into the camera. “She is also as flawed as anyone else. Like, when she snaps at her home ec group because she’s taken a class assignment way, way, way too seriously in the name of proving something that never really needed to be proved—I’m beyond sorry, guys. Or when she finds out she’s been incredibly wrong about something for a very long time. And she really wants to tell Luke Burke that she really likes him, that she’s sorry more than she can say, and that she hopes he saves her a dance tonight. And she doesn’t care who knows it.”
There’s a collective “ooooooh” and wolf whistles that erupt from the classrooms by the TV studio.
“Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say.”
I glance back sheepishly at Mia and Chris, who are staring at me with their mouths hanging open. “Back to you, Mia and Chris!”
They carry on with the broadcast as if what I just did was totally normal, but Willow’s eyes are bugging out of her head from behind the camera as she mouths an exaggerated “Oh my god” at me.
I quietly wait for the broadcast to end, and the second we’re clear, I practically sprint toward my backpack to grab my phone and hit send on the email to Luke. Alisha jumps out in front of me, her face giddy. “I knew you were into Luke! Why didn’t you say anything?”
I grin widely. “I just did, didn’t I?”
She laughs. Willow joins us and pokes me in the arm. “I’m shocked it took you as long as this. It was obvious back in that interview you did with him.”
“Well, uh, we kind of started seeing each other in secret after the party…”
“Since the party?” Willow says, her eyes huge. “Jesus, I need to give Luke crap. I saw him at Target a couple days after the party and I was like, ‘Are you and Ellie secretly dating or something?’ and he was like ‘That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.’”
“Well, it wasn’t really a lie because we broke up pretty soon after. I got mad at him and it ended up that I was totally wrong.”
I must look distraught because Alisha squeezes my elbow. “He’ll forgive you. I know he will.”
“For real,” Willow says. “That boy is cuh-razy for you. It’s all over his face.”
Their optimism buoys me for a bit, but then I check my phone. Nothing.
I’m on edge the rest of the day, to the point I’m glad for the early dismissal because my concentration is nonexistent. By the time we’re released at noon, with no texts or in-person appearances from Luke, I’m ready to sink into the nearest crevice for the next decade or six.
“I bet he just wants to talk to you in person tonight,” Alisha says as we walk out of school together.
I offer a weak smile and pray I don’t start crying. “We’ll see.”
I can’t break down because I have to focus on my third agenda for today: Make it up to my home ec group that we have to be at the dance tonight. My plan is kind of complex and will require every bit of concentration. I’ve already reached out to Mrs. Sanchez on the matter and she’s agreed to help me, so at least there’s that.
It would just be whole lot easier to concentrate if Luke were speaking to me.
CHAPTER 28
“Are you sure about this?”
Mrs. Sanchez is looking at me with what I think is a mixture of admiration and “this girl is completely nuts.”
“I’m pretty good at multitasking,” I say with a shrug. That’s a total lie, but I at least need to try. If I don’t, I might burst into tears over not hearing from Luke.
She consults her phone. “Well, your shift doesn’t start until nine thirty, so you have a good two and a half hours to finish.”
“Oh, it won’t take that long,” I assure her. “Thank you again for opening the classroom for me.”
Mrs. Sanchez opens her mouth, like she’s about to say something, then stops herself and smiles. “You’re welcome. And good luck to you. I’m sure your group members will be very pleased to have a decent meal in their stomachs before your shift begins.”
“I hope so,” I say. And I also hope it helps to make them forgive me.
When Mrs. Sanchez exits the home ec room, I dash to my kitchen and throw open the refrigerator and study the contents inside. Mrs. Sanchez is completely right to be doubtful of my abilities, because I have two hours to cook five side dishes. By myself. While wearing a black velvet cocktail dress and heels.
I yank my shoes off, since they’re only going to slow me down. I then tie on an apron, knowing that my mom will be less than pleased if her dress gets stained with potatoes and cream of mushroom soup.
Then I set to work—I’m a whirlwind of filling pots with water, then placing them on the stove and starting the oven. I raid the pantry and the refrigerator for our ingredients. I’m moving around so much, I feel my hair starting to pop out of the French twist I’d tried to do by myself.
I attempt to tuck in the offending loose tendrils when all the water on the stove starts to boil at once, sending water sloshing over the sides of the pots.
“Eeeep!” I squeal, reaching for the burners and lowering them, praying the water doesn’t jump out onto me.
“Jeez, Agresti, you trying to out-do Martha Stewart or something?”
After I jump about ten feet, I blow a stray lock of my hair out of my face and see Luke in the doorway. He’s out of breath, as if he’s been running, but he’s grinning.
Utter relief and a fluttery feeling fill my stomach at the sight of him in a navy-blue suit, white shirt and red tie. He’s here, and he doesn�
��t seem like he hates me. And he looks totally hot.
Then a wave of disappointment hits me. “This was supposed to be a surprise,” I groan.
Luke makes his way into the room, peeling off his suit jacket as he gets to our kitchen. As he tosses the jacket over the corner of a nearby chair, I notice his tie is printed with little reindeer.
“Well, I am surprised. Because I have no idea what you’re doing.”
“I wanted to make all of our side dishes tonight. Like, I wanted to make it up to you guys.”
“Make up what?” Luke says, wrinkling his nose.
“The fact that I was such an überbitch and we’re here tonight as a result of that,” I sigh.
Luke shakes his head and laughs. “The points thing sucks but we definitely didn’t hold this against you at all. We heard what Jared said.”
I gaze at the array of pots and pans and food spread on our counter and start to laugh. “I knew I should’ve just sent a group text apologizing.”
“I would’ve preferred a GIF with a kitten or bear cub saying ‘I’m sorry,’ instead of, you know, a home-cooked meal,” Luke sniffs, but he can’t keep a straight face.
“Well, I can at least use this to make up for the fact that we have to be here tonight,” I say, feeling almost dizzy with relief that he’s being himself.
“Fair enough,” Luke replies, and starts rolling up his sleeves. “Where do we start?”
“Oh no,” I say, wagging a wooden spoon at him. “You shouldn’t have to help. This is all me.”
Luke bites his lip like he’s trying not to laugh. “And you were doing so well before I walked in here?”
“All right. You can do one thing. But just one thing.”
“Then I better make it an important thing!” Luke smiles again, and tosses his tie over his shoulder. Then he starts digging around our apron drawer and pulls out the green flowered one, which he ties around his waist. He notices me staring at him, and I realize I’m smiling when he’s like, “What?”
“Oh,” I say, trying not to giggle. “I just enjoy it when you wear the girly apron.”
The Secret Recipe for Moving On Page 25