Actually, I do. Or I will, once I talk to Mom and convince Dad to say no to New York City. I twist my hips in the seat to face Ethan. “Can we not talk about this anymore?”
He smiles and makes another turn, this time onto a narrow gravel road. At the entrance is a sign that says cree-kwood in fancy letters, and below that, no trespassing, private property.
My eyes follow the sign as we pass, and I silently pray that I won’t end up in jail by nightfall. “Where are we?”
“This is my dad’s place. Don’t worry, he’s in Milan.” He stops the car and points to the snowy hillside, thick with bare trees. “Look at that.”
I follow his finger to a family of deer in the woods.
“They’re hungry . . . probably sicker of this weather than we are.”
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That’s when he turns to me, our faces so close now that I wonder if he might kiss me. And then he tilts his head to one side and wrinkles an eyebrow. “Why haven’t we met before?”
He moves closer and I smile.
There’s a sudden thunderstorm in my head. Nanny’s been lecturing me about this for years, ever since I was twelve and Lori was caught French-kissing a boy under the bleachers at school. I asked Nan what French kissing was, and man, she gave me the Baptist “boys are evil” lecture of a lifetime.
Her exact final words: “It’s simple. Your body is a temple, youngin’. Don’t go lettin’ any boy deface your temple. You will regret it.” I was twelve and had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.
But it’s clearer now. With Ethan. Does he want to deface me? Do I want to be defaced? Okay, this is the weirdest train of thought ever. He’s close, moving closer. There is nothing simple about this. Nothing simple at all.
“What are you thinking about? Cakes?” I can almost taste his words. He lifts a hand, touches my cheek, brushes my hair back.
“No.” A little giggle escapes. “Not exactly.”
Then his lips come closer, and I know it’s going to happen. Those lips touch mine, light and sweet. No big deal.
Only it’s a hugely big deal. It’s my first real kiss, and I can’t even believe it’s coming from the mouth of Ethan Murphy.
He pauses, then pulls away, leaving my smiling face hanging in midair. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long 124
time,” he says. Then he faces forward and guns the engine, moving us up the hill.
Really? I wonder how long he could have possibly been wanting to do that. Before the day he came into the bakery, I thought I was invisible to him.
I tell myself to stop it. Just be happy. My first kiss is under my belt, and from the most gorgeous guy on the planet.
I let out a big internal “whee!” and try not to worry about what will happen next.
He doesn’t speak as the steep hill evens out into a circular driveway in front of a cabin. It’s another huge house, built onto a bluff. Ethan puts the car in park, gets out. “Let me go shut off the alarm.”
I emerge from the passenger seat, still feeling the kiss, the weight of those lips. I walk to the edge of the driveway and glimpse, far below me, Lake Michigan. I’ve never seen it like this, from so high up, surrounded by tall, dense forest, churning and reaching beyond the horizon. It’s beautiful.
I have this crazy thought that maybe we took one of those turns too fast and collided with a truck or something, and now I’m dead. I think this would make a pretty good heaven.
Ethan comes back, stands at my side.
“This is so beautiful.” I can’t think of anything more profound to say.
“Yeah. It’s my favorite place.”
I choose to ignore the fact that I’m probably not the first 125
girl he’s brought here. In fact, Haley may have been the last.
“Let me cook for you?”
That sounds relatively innocent. I nod. “Sounds good.
Clam linguini?”
“Of course.”
I stare out at the lake. I’ve got this insane feeling that I might cry. I am so happy. But I concentrate really hard and push that feeling back. Crying right now would maybe be the dumbest thing ever.
Ethan leans toward me and grabs my hand, and I turn to him. Before I know what’s happening, our lips are touching again, and all I can think is, Am I doing this right? I want to savor the moment, but I’m so unprepared. Two kisses in ten minutes is a lot to handle. I think of big movie love scenes and try hard to pretend I’m one of those stars who make it look so easy. His lips are soft and his mouth tastes tooth-paste-y. But I’m not keeping up with him. He pulls away first. Not a good sign.
“Come on.” As he gently pulls me toward the giant house in front of us, my cell rings in my pocket.
“It’s Lori.”
“Who?” he asks. Of course, he doesn’t know my friends.
I pull the phone out, hit Ignore. But a few seconds pass and I’m hearing her ringtone again.
“What’s up with her?” he says, opening the door to this amazing house.
I press the phone to my ear. “Hey.” I try to sound irritated. But by now she knows I didn’t come to school. I’ve got 126
some explaining to do.
“Hey yourself, nerd. You’d better get your butt back here.
They let us out of school. The Monster finally croaked.”
“What?” I say, in shock.
“You heard me.”
The Monster, the legendary ancient furnace at the high school, is dead?
“They let us out early, Sher. And if your dad or Nanny catches wind of it, they’ll wonder where you are. By the way, where are you?”
“Um. Sick?”
“Don’t even. I was right inside the front doors waiting for you with a muffin. Saw the whole thing. So did Jack. We were late. Got detention.”
So much for being sneaky. I suck at it. Ethan walks inside the house, but I haven’t made it over the threshold.
“Not that I have anything against you getting a little action,” Lori continues. “But consider yourself warned.”
“I can’t come back now,” I say, even though I know that I have to.
Ethan returns and leans on the door. “Come in,” he mouths, and disappears inside.
I shake my head. Lori’s right; the St. Mary telegraph will get me in the end. My father will find out. What was I thinking?
“Hello?” Lori says, then laughs. “You do anything you regret yet?”
“Good-bye.” I flip my phone down, and Ethan is back in 127
the doorway, holding a saucepan. My mouth contorts into an embarrassed grin. “I’ve got to get back. The furnace died.
School’s out.”
His arm drops to his side. “Why? You’re not skipping if there’s no school, right?”
I scrunch my eyes up, and I hope, hope, hope that he’ll understand. “I’m sorry. But I’ll be in so much trouble if I get caught. I can’t get in trouble now …”
Before I can finish my sentence, he turns around and walks away. “Fine,” he says, over his shoulder.
“Sorry.”
He carries the pan into the depths of the house, which I still haven’t entered, and comes back empty-handed. He moves to the alarm pad on the wall and resets it, then comes outside without a word. As he descends the porch steps and gets into the car, he won’t even look at me. I follow, arms crossed.
I slip into the passenger side. He doesn’t help me with my seat belt this time; just waits for me to close the door. The engine roars and he backs up, turns around, and speeds off down the hill, kicking up dead leaves like a tornado.
He doesn’t talk, and I feel this dream going bad really fast. “Look, I’m sorry,” I say. “I’ve never done anything like this. There’s something really important I’m trying to do, and if I’m grounded for eternity, it won’t happen.”
He twitches his head toward me. Maybe he can tell this is important, because his eyes soften, and I feel like maybe 128
we’re okay again.
“Sounds prett
y mysterious.” He laughs. If he asks me now, I will tell him about bringing my mom back and convincing a major TV network that we don’t need to live in New York City. But he doesn’t ask. “Whatever. I was just looking forward to spending some time with you.”
He reaches for my hand and pulls it to the gearshift.
“You ready to drive?” I’ve never driven a stick; I can’t even drive an automatic, really.
“No! I have no clue what I’m doing!” I say, smiling, and relieved that he doesn’t seem to be mad anymore.
His hand stays on top of mine, shifts to a different gear.
I have no clue how to have a boyfriend, either, but I’m learn-ing fast.
We slip back into town, talking and laughing the whole way. He’s funny and real, and I’m really starting to feel like myself with him. Before we can step out of the car and into the dark garage, he leans over and kisses me again. I need to relax and focus because my lips are not cooperating. But I can’t concentrate. I feel his hand messing with the bottom of my shirt and there’s a voice in my head that is telling me very unromantic things. Like, Slow down, sister. And the voices sounds just like Nanny, which is definitely a mood killer.
He’s getting pretty into this. Slow. Down. I stop first this time.
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He sits back in his seat. “Wow,” he says.
Wow what? Wow, that sucked, or wow, that was the best kiss ever? He doesn’t explain.
“We better get you back to town. Don’t want you to get a reputation.” He climbs out of the car, and I let that comment sink in. Like my mother? Is that what people will think when they see me with Ethan?
I swing open the door and he’s there, waiting. “Want to go for coffee?”
It’s almost lunchtime, and all I’ve put in my stomach today is a latte. The last thing I need is coffee. But I also don’t want this to end. He grabs my hand again. If the kisses are a little awkward, at least there’s this: his hand feels perfect in mine.
“I would love a coffee,” I say.
We walk out of the garage, through the gate, and down the hill from his house.
“You wanna give this a try again? I mean, legally, next time?”
“Legally?” I ask.
“Like, a real live date?”
I know that if I go on a date with Ethan, Jack will hate me, Haley will kill me, and Lori will never give me a moment’s peace, wanting to know all the details.
But as Ethan and I are walking together, his hair blowing back in the freezing wind, I don’t care. He catches me watching him, and he delivers that smile. The one that 130
makes me all wiggly inside. “Legally would be good,” I say.
Ethan pushes open the door of Geronimo’s, and I’m feeling so blissed out that it takes me a minute to register all the faces that have turned to stare. I look down and realize that we are still holding hands, like we’re going out. Like Ethan Murphy is my boyfriend.
My eyes travel to our regular table. Lori’s there, with Tuba Dude Jim, her boyfriend of the minute. I look from her to the next table, then to the next, where my eyes land on Haley, live and in person, surrounded by her groupies. She glares at me like I just threw up on her.
Ethan shouts to one of his buddies waiting in line. He hasn’t let go of my hand yet. I look back to Lori and then see Jack coming out of the back room with a gallon of milk in each hand. Geronimo’s is busy with school letting out early, and Mrs. Davis probably asked him if he could work. Of course he said yes.
When Jack sees me, his entire face turns to stone. And then as he passes a table full of jocks, one of the long-legged basketball morons sticks out a foot, and Jack drops like a sack of potatoes. He falls flat, saving one gallon, but all he can do is watch as the other hurtles out of reach and bursts open on the floor. I let go of Ethan’s hand and rush to my best friend, the room filling up with laughter.
Mrs. Davis hurries around the counter. “What happened?” But Jack won’t tell.
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“Accident. Sorry. I’ll clean it up.”
He’s still on the floor when I hold out a hand to help him up. “You okay?”
But his eyes are fierce, and he gets up on his own. I go from worried to scared in less than a second.
“You get that chem lab turned in okay?” he says in a cold voice. My heart plummets like a boulder in my chest.
The room applauds as he stands up. And being Jack, he bows to the audience. A few ninth-grade girls are circling, checking to see that he’s all right.
“Jack?” I say.
Mrs. Davis brings a few dish towels to throw on the spill.
“Jack?” He’s not looking at me.
“I don’t want to talk to you.” He turns away and smiles at one especially perky freshman.
Ethan, done talking to his friend now, steps over the milk puddle, oblivious to what happened. He puts his hand on the small of my back. It’s a nice, new sensation, Ethan’s touch. But I can’t enjoy it. “Come on, let’s sit,” he says.
“Okay. Just a minute,” I say, and watch Jack go to the back room.
I stand paralyzed on the edge of this river of milk, wondering what to do. The sounds of the espresso machine and teenage gibberish echo in my ears as Jack returns with the mop and bucket. He stares at that mop as he moves it back and forth, back and forth. Finally, he glances up and our eyes meet.
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And that’s when I know. It’s as clear as the sky on this frigid April day.
I’ve broken his heart.
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Chapter 11
make like a banana and split
It’s like my life has taken a 180-degree turn since Palm Sunday, only a week and a half ago. It’s Wednesday now.
Ethan meets me in the hallways, greets me with kisses. I think I’m getting better at the kissing, but I’ve got a lot to learn. It seems like the most natural thing in the world to him. I, however, am a total amateur.
Everyone knows about me and Ethan, and the buzz about the TV show has reached a fever pitch. Now all these kids who I haven’t spoken to since grade school come up to me and act like we’re best friends. Except for Haley, of course.
She passes me between classes, always with the same smug grin plastered across her face. Like she’s up to something.
The worst part is that Jack isn’t talking to me at all. And I have no idea what to say to him to make things better.
Whatever it was I saw in his eyes at the coffee shop on Monday has spooked me. Sadness? Anger? Love, maybe? At the very least, I think he likes me. Scratch that. He liked me.
Now he can’t even look at me.
Art class is especially uncomfortable, since he sits right next to me. I want so badly to update him about Mom. Tell him that I called the bakery again and got the machine.
Called again, got a woman, and hung up on her like a big chicken.
I still have no idea what to say.
But the party is a week from Saturday, and preproduc-tion is in full swing. I need to talk to her if this plan is going to work. Like today.
The Suits have the cake sketch, but they want the guest list, too. I’ve been stalling on that one. Amazon sends me text messages fifty times a day about it; I can’t hold her off much longer.
I’m in my room now, and due at the bakery in a half hour. The guest list is up on the laptop, but my cell phone is in my hand. Mom’s number is selected and my thumb is hovering over the Send button. I can do this.
In an attempt to calm my nerves, I pull out the box of cards. I pick one out and read the note inside.
One decade old already! I just won first place in a huge contest here in London and thought of you and your birthday cake. I wonder what it will look like. My winner was covered 135
in silver butterflies. You would have loved it. Hope you have a happy day. Love you, Cupcake. Mom.
I smile. Why am I so afraid of talking to my own mother? Ridiculous. I hit Send and the number dials. It’s late in the afternoon and most bakeri
es close early. But I’ve got to take a chance.
One ring. My heart is beating faster. Don’t freak out. Just relax. Two rings. Then another.
Click. “Hello?”
Oh no, it’s a woman’s voice. My palms are sweaty, and I almost panic and hit End.
But I stop myself. “Hello?” I say, my voice a shaky mess.
“Yeah, hello?” She sounds harsh, not at all like my mother.
“Hi. Um, I’m interested in ordering a cake by Maggie Taylor. Does she work there?”
The person on the other side laughs. “Not really. Owns the place. But she’s never around. Always off at some contest or other.”
“Oh.”
“You wanna leave a message?” Clearly this woman has no real grasp of customer service.
“Um. My wedding is coming up soon; I really need to get in touch with her.”
“Well, she’s gonna be in Chicago this weekend, and she don’t like me giving out her private number.”
“No. I understand.” My heart is beating even faster now.
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“But she’s going to be in Chicago?”
“Yeah, some cake contest. Big surprise.”
“Oh, that’s where I live. Maybe I can go and see her?” I ask, trying hard to sound casual.
“Look, lady, see her, don’t see her. Whatever. I got work to do.”
“Wait—”
She hangs up without another word.
But I don’t care because this is the break I needed. Mom’s going to be in Chicago, only a few hours from here. I can go to see her. And maybe Jack will drive me; maybe that will smooth over his weirdness about me and Ethan.
He can’t say no. At least I hope not. Still, I know better than to ask him over the phone or in a text. It has to be face-to-face.
I get back to the guest list. They want me to give fifteen names. So far I’ve got Lori, who will bring Tuba Dude Jim if they are still dating when the party rolls around. That’s two.
Ethan, of course, unless he wakes up and realizes that I’m no superhot cheerleader. Three. Jack, because he’s been to every birthday party I’ve ever had.
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