by Alex Light
She blinked, said, “Right,” and took the ball. When she rolled it, she missed.
My ball landed in the five-hundred-point hole next. “Favorite color?” I asked.
She thought about it for a second. “All of them. Undecided.” She rolled and scored. “Favorite food?”
“Burgers,” I said. “And fries.”
I rolled. Missed. Becca rolled. Scored.
“How old were you when you had your first kiss?” she asked.
“Thirteen. It was during recess and we both had braces.” I rolled again and scored this time. “Are you and your mom close?”
She smiled, bending to grab another ball. “Yeah. She’s my best friend.” Becca rolled and missed, passing me the next ball. I scored.
“What were you thinking before when I said I used to work here?” I asked. “You had this funny look on your face.”
Becca grabbed a ball and tossed it between two hands, her eyes following it. “Nothing. Just that, I don’t know, you’re different than I thought you’d be.”
“How so?”
“Like, you’re easy to talk to,” she began, “and attractive people are never easy to talk to. That’s a scientific fact.”
“You think I’m—”
“And you’re really nice,” she continued, ignoring me. “Working here and checking in on the place when Samson was sick. I mean, I kind of knew that already. Everyone at Eastwood always goes on about how nice you are and stuff. But it’s different, to see it firsthand. Am I rambling? I feel like I’m rambling.”
I was smiling by the time she finished talking.
“Not rambling,” I lied.
“Good.” She said it like she knew I was lying and picked up the next ball. She scored again. One hundred points. “Do you regret this?” she asked. “Our fake relationship.”
I didn’t even have to think about it. “No,” I said. “Not at all.”
It was starting to feel normal, being around Becca. Was it rude for me to be surprised by how much I was enjoying her company? Because I was enjoying it. I felt comfortable around her in this way I never had before. It was like we had skipped the beginning awkward phase when you first meet someone and aren’t entirely sure if you can act like yourself around them. I guess jumping straight into dating could do that to two people. With Becca, I felt like I could be myself. There was this kindness about her and this intelligence too, like she understood more than she let on. It was nice.
“Me either.” She said it shyly. It reminded me of how she looked that day in the hall after I kissed her.
I picked up the last ball and missed. It sucked too, because I had the perfect question. I’d save it for later.
It took us an hour to go through all our tokens. When we had, I bought more. We stayed in the arcade until we couldn’t hold any more tickets in our pockets or hands. I started looping mine through my belt and they trailed behind when I walked. Becca found this hilarious, picking off a few when she thought I wasn’t looking and adding them to her own stash. When we were done, we combined our tickets for a total of two thousand and traded them in for three prizes: a red plastic ring with a rose on it, a pack of sour gummy worms, and a stuffed blue whale.
Becca took the ring, we shared the worms, and the whale was undecided.
We were sitting outside on the parking lot’s curb, knee to knee, under the sun. It was cooler now, and the leaves on the trees were blowing in the breeze. Becca’s hair was whipping around her face, constantly going into my eyes. After I ate the last gummy worm, she hauled out the brown paper bag—where had she kept it this entire time?—and placed it on my knee.
“What’s the verdict?” I asked, eyeing the bag. “Did you have fun today? Am I allowed to finally eat whatever that is?”
She laughed, pulled her knees to her chest, and said, “You can eat them.”
I grabbed the bag, stood up, did a little victory dance, then sat back down and ripped the bag open. There were four little balls inside, all covered in white sugar. They were the same ones I had bought for my mom and, holy shit, they smelled incredible. I reached in and grabbed one. By some miracle, it was still warm. How was that possible?
“My mom calls them jelly bells,” she explained, grabbing one for herself. “It’s fried dough stuffed with strawberry jelly and covered in sugar. It was the first recipe she really perfected when she started baking. They were originally called jelly balls but, since they’re my favorite and my mom calls me Bells, she renamed them.”
I was listening, I really was, but I was also starving and these things smelled like literal heaven and I really thought I’d drop dead if I didn’t eat one in the next second.
When Becca took a bite, I shoved the whole thing in my mouth. I may have moaned because this was definitely one of the best things I’d ever eaten.
“Remember when you asked what my favorite food was?” I asked, a cloud of white powder spewing from my mouth. Becca nodded. There was sugar all over her mouth. “I change my answer to these.”
We sat there while the sun began to set, eating the rest. When we were both covered in powder, we dusted ourselves off and I drove Becca home. She was talking about the games, replaying which were her favorite and why. She kept toying with the rose ring on her finger. The blue whale was sitting on the dashboard. When I pulled into her apartment building, she sat there for a minute in silence, staring at the sky. I wanted to ask what she was thinking, but I kept quiet.
After a moment, she turned to me and said, “You’re lucky, Brett, to have a family like yours. Not because of the money. Just having two parents that are there for you and are these role models of what love should look like. And I don’t want to overstep, but I don’t think you should be upset at your dad for missing your football game. It was just one game. Try to think of the hundreds of games he’s been to, all right? All those times he put in the effort to support you—that’s what matters, not the one time he failed.”
Then she got out of the car, waved goodbye, and left.
I sat there for a while thinking about how I had lucked out on choosing a pretty great fake girlfriend.
Becca
MY MOM WAS SITTING AT the kitchen table when I walked inside. The oven was on, she had an apron tied around her neck, and our apartment smelled like vanilla—the three signs that she was beginning a new recipe.
“How was your day?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder and smiling at me.
“Good.” I grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and leaned against the counter.
“What did you and Cassandra do?”
I felt a little twinge of guilt for telling my mom I was spending the day at Cassie’s house, helping her fill out college applications. Some lies were for the greater good, though. Like escaping another Brett fiasco.
“Nothing. Just college stuff,” I answered, looking anywhere but her eyes. My mom (all moms?) had this talent of knowing exactly when I was lying. It’s like she could see it on my face or something. The trick was to say as little as possible and make a hasty exit. I was nearly out of the kitchen, almost to safety, when she called my name.
“I was talking to Cara on the phone before you walked in!” I froze, slowly turned around, and saw That Look on her face. Nothing good could come out of her talking to Cassie’s mom. “She invited us over for dinner tonight. I told her that was so funny, because you were already at her house. And you know what she said?”
I shook my head. Braced for impact.
“Cara said,” she continued, “that you weren’t there.”
I choked out a laugh. “That is very funny, Mom. You know how bad her eyesight is. Come to think of it, I don’t think she was wearing her glasses at all today. And Cassie and I spent the entire day in her bedroom, so it’s possible she didn’t even see—”
“Becca.”
I unraveled like a spool of string.
“Fine! I wasn’t with Cassie.” I sank down in the chair across from her, defeated, and let the truth spill out. “I
was with Brett,” I mumbled under my breath.
I didn’t know it was physically possible for my mother’s face to go from upset to unbelievably happy in under one second. Now she was beaming. She was even sitting up straighter, leaning across the table.
“The boy from the bakery?” She whispered it like Brett was in the other room eavesdropping.
“Yes.”
“What did you two do?” She said it calmly. Casually. I appreciated that she was at least trying to restrain herself. I told her about the arcade (she was equally surprised it was still open), and about the jelly bells, which, yes, Mom, Brett loved. Duh. And no, Mom, I do not like him like that. We are friends. At that point I could see her about to bubble over—she was bouncing in her seat—so I needed to leave the room ASAP.
“Can we postpone the interrogation till tomorrow? I need to study for my calculus test.”
The timer on the stove went off and she slipped on a pair of oven mitts. And, oh my god, it smelled amazing. I almost decided to continue the interrogation right then just to eat whatever was creating that heavenly smell.
“Speaking of tomorrow,” my mom said, placing a toothpick into a muffin and nodding when it came out dry, “I need you to pick up a shift in the morning. Don’t give me that face, Becca. It’s just an hour or two to help open the store, then you can come home and study.”
“Mooooooom,” I groaned.
“I’ll make you fresh jelly bells for school on Monday morning. Feel free to share them with whoever you choose,” she added, winking. No doubt a not-so-subtle reference to Brett.
I caved anyway. It was the power of the jelly bells. “Fine. But two hours and then I’m out of there. Promise?”
“Promise.”
I retreated to my room, snuck back into the kitchen ten minutes later and stole a muffin, which, honestly, changed my life, then actually began studying like I should have done two days ago. Having a fake boyfriend may have been a little exciting, but I wasn’t about to stop being a straight-A student, especially with college applications coming up. I still had no idea what I even wanted to do. The only thing I really liked was reading. Maybe I’d study English literature. Or creative writing. Half the time I told myself I’d take a year off like Cassie, stay home and help my mom out with the bakery, and then figure out this whole college thing later. If I didn’t score a scholarship to help my mom with tuition, I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to go to college at all.
But as long as I was out of high school, that was what mattered.
It wasn’t even like I really hated high school or anything. I mean, I disliked it the average teenage amount, but it just felt like Crestmont was this little part of the world and there was so much more out there to be seen. And I wanted to explore more than just the blue lockers of Eastwood High.
When I was in my pajamas, lying in bed with the lights off, my phone rang. I glanced at the screen, lowered the brightness after it burned my eyes, and saw a text from Brett. It was a selfie of him lying in bed with his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep.
Another text came right after. Dreaming of jelly bells, it read.
I smiled, placed the rose ring on my nightstand, and went to sleep.
My mom and I had a routine for opening up the bakery. She handled the kitchen—warming up the ovens, making the cupcake batter, unfreezing the cannoli shells—while I set up the rest of the place. I unstacked the chairs, wiped down the tables and counters, did another quick sweep of the floors, made sure the register had change, and, when it was eight o’clock, flipped over the open sign and unlocked the door. This morning there were two women waiting outside right on the hour. They each had an order waiting for pickup. I called out to let Mom know.
Sunday was the busiest day at the bakery. Mom said it was because of Sunday dinners and how families all got together, had a huge meal, and ordered pastries for dessert. I was kind of jealous that people did that. Both my parents were only children, so I had no cousins, no aunts or uncles—nothing. My mom’s parents both died when I was a kid. I could remember attending each of their funerals and my parents not letting me see the bodies. I was too young, was what they said. My dad’s parents were still alive, but they retired and moved down to Florida years ago. Not that it matters. I doubt they’d want to see me either.
My mom came out with the women’s orders and they were on their way. She was also holding a stack of pink papers in her hand. I took a closer look when she placed them on the counter, in front of the cash register. They were flyers for the bakery. Promotional flyers.
“Mom,” I said slowly, lifting one of them up. “What’s this for?”
“Business has been a little quiet lately, Bells. Try to hand those out to customers, will you? Get the word out around town.”
Under the Hart’s Cupcakes logo, in small black text, it said, “Try a Free Cannoli with Any Purchase.” “We’re handing out free stuff now?”
My mom wasn’t listening. She was bustling around, wiping nonexistent crumbs off the counter.
“Mom.” I grabbed her hand, looked her in the eye. “What is it with these flyers? Is business okay? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Becca,” she said, reaching out and adjusting my apron. She was smiling that don’t-worry-about-it, everything-is-going-to-be-okay smile. “I’m simply trying out a new strategy to bring in business. That’s it, hon. Don’t worry yourself. We’re fine. Will you try to hand a few of them out? Place them in the bags with the customers’ orders.”
I let out a breath. “Fine, Mom.” She blew me a kiss and disappeared into the back. I didn’t read too much into it. If she said everything was fine, then everything was fine.
I pulled out my calculus textbook and began studying. Every minute helped. I was halfway through a chapter on exponents when the bell chimed. I closed my textbook, plastered on my best employee smile, looked up, and immediately froze. It was Jenny, walking up to the counter, eyes on me.
“My brother placed an order for this morning,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. She was wearing a baby-pink denim jacket that was way too warm for weather like this.
“What name is the order under?” I asked, pulling out the sheet.
“Parker.”
I scanned the list, crossed off his name, called out to my mom, and then tapped my fingers awkwardly on the counter.
“It’ll be a minute,” I said, opening up my textbook because I had nothing else to do.
Jenny nodded, eyes scanning the bakery. “Your family owns this?” she asked. Right. Our friendship ended before the bakery opened.
“My mom does.”
“How’s Brett?” she asked curiously.
It was weird. The tables had turned. I was the one with the boyfriend now.
“He’s fine,” I finally answered.
Silence stretched on. I wanted to sink into a hole and never return.
Jenny picked up one of the flyers. Playing with the corners, she said, “You could have told me you were dating someone. Even though we’re not close anymore . . . you still could have told me. I would have wanted to know.” She sniffled, cleared her throat, and held up the flyer. “What is this?”
It took me a second to respond, a second to understand what she had just said and brushed aside. “Mom’s trying to bring in new business,” I said.
“‘Try a free cannoli with any purchase,’” Jenny read. “Does that start today?”
I shrugged. “Guess so.”
A century later, my mother walked in with Jenny’s order and whispered “Flyers” to me before leaving. I tried my best to sneak one in the bag but Jenny caught me midway.
“To spread the word,” I grumbled, holding out the bag for her. Her eyes traveled from my face to the flyer and back again. The seconds dragged on.
Then she grabbed an entire stack of flyers, shoved them into her purse, and left without another word.
“Was that Jennifer?” my mom asked, reappearing when the door shut.
“Yeah.”
“Wow. She looks so different. Are you two still friends?”
I could vividly remember telling her about my friendship breakup with Jenny. But that was also after the summer she opened the bakery, so she had other things on her mind.
“Not anymore.”
My mom nodded, patted my shoulder, said, “She took the flyers. Told you it would work!” then disappeared into the back. To be fair, it wasn’t a guaranteed success. For all I knew, we could have just witnessed paper theft. My mom didn’t seem to care, though. I could hear the whiz of the blender and reopened my textbook to continue studying.
The two hours flew by. Thankfully there were no more Eastwood High student sightings, and as soon as the clock struck ten, I made my escape. I was walking home with my headphones in when my feet did that thing again, where they took me somewhere completely different than the place I’d originally intended to go.
I walked down Main Street and took a left at the intersection. It was hotter than normal, and I tied my hair up to keep it from sticking to my neck. Another right turn and I was standing on my dad’s street. His house looked the same. Except for a new sign on the lawn. It was a big pink stork, holding a swaddled baby. Before I knew it, I was standing on the sidewalk, reading the Congratulations message. His daughter’s name was Penelope. I had a sister. Half sister. All those years of being an only child flashed through my mind. I stumbled on the sidewalk. My knee scraped against the concrete. I felt the blood begin to trickle down my skin.
A sister.
A pair of white sneakers appeared. There was a woman staring down at me, face creased with worry. Her mouth was moving but I couldn’t hear a word. All I could focus on was her stomach, flatter than before.