Odd Girl In

by Jo Whittemore

  As it turned out, cooking wasn’t hard.

  It was impossible.

  The recipe instructed me to sift flour. When I asked Emily what sifting was, she wordlessly pointed to a huge silver cup with a crank on one side, and then went back to mooning over Trevor. I poured flour into the cup, and began turning the handle while I wandered over to watch them work. What I didn’t realize was that there were holes in the bottom of the sifter for the flour to drain through.

  When I looked into my cup to check the progress, it was completely empty, and my shoes, pant legs, and half of the kitchen were coated like a winter wonderland.

  “Crud,” I mumbled.

  Trevor and Emily glanced at me, then down at my floury path.

  “I was just making a trail back to my bowl,” I said. “In case I got lost.”

  Trevor smiled. “At least we won’t stick to the floor.”

  Emily rolled her eyes.

  I gave up on sifting and dumped flour directly into the bowl, mixing it with the other ingredients. Then I checked the recipe again, which said to coat the baking pan with grease.

  “Why?” I mumbled, flipping the pan upside down. “Hey guys, the instructions say to grease …”

  Emily thrust a canister of shortening at me. “Here.”

  “Okay, but …” She turned back to Trevor before I could finish.

  Making a face, I reached into the container for a giant glob of fat. I supposed that coating the outside of the pan with grease kept the cake from baking too fast or something. Just to make sure, I slathered it on extra thick and flipped the pan back over to pour in the batter. After sliding the cake into the oven, I joined Trevor and Emily.

  “You guys need help?” I asked. “I’m pretty good with grease.” I spun the shortening can on my index finger.

  Trevor laughed and Emily took the container from me.

  “We’re doing fine, thanks.” She smiled and nodded toward the back patio. “Why don’t you wait outside?”

  “Yeah, we’re almost done here,” said Trevor, sidling up beside her.

  So much for teamwork. Without another word, I plodded outside and flopped onto a lawn chair.

  A few minutes later, the sliding glass door opened.

  “Alexis?” said Emily. “Are you upset or something?”

  I squinted at her. “Where’s Trevor? Shouldn’t you be attached to his hip?”

  “You are upset.” Emily stepped closer. “Why? You didn’t even want to be here.”

  “Yeah, but if I have to be here, I don’t want to be excluded,” I said. “I like Trevor too, you know.”

  Emily gasped, and I rolled my eyes.

  “As a friend. I like having someone to bond with.”

  “You can bond with me,” she said.

  I sighed. “No, I can’t. When you’re not flirting with him, you’re kissing up to a teacher…. Or worse, Ms. Success.”

  Emily crossed her arms. “Sharon and I have a healthy mother-daughter relationship. Something you wouldn’t know anything about.”

  She might as well have slapped me.

  My eyes dropped to the concrete patio, and instantly Emily abandoned her defensive mode.

  “Oh no, that was too mean, wasn’t it? I’m so sorry!” She squatted beside me and grabbed my hands. “Alexis!”

  “It’s no big deal,” I said, shaking myself free and forcing a laugh.

  Emily didn’t look convinced. She just watched me and waited.

  Finally I blurted, “Okay, yes, it was a big deal! I just get sick of how other people have these great moms who stick around. What was so wrong with me that mine wouldn’t?”

  A knot started building in my throat and I swallowed hard. Emily got to her feet and for a second, I thought I’d scared her off. But then she leaned forward and hugged me.

  “There’s nothing wrong with you,” she said. “It’s totally her loss.”

  I tried to fight back the emotions, but a few tears welled up when I returned her hug. “Thanks.”

  Before it became a Kleenex-fest, our mushy moment was interrupted by a high-pitched beeping that was coming from the kitchen. The faint smell of smoke drifted outside, and my stomach lurched.

  Emily pulled away. “Is the cake done already?”

  “No. Something’s on fire,” I said.

  She gasped and shot upright. “Trevor!”

  We sprinted into the house and almost collided with him as he ran toward us.

  “Do you have a fire extinguisher?” he yelled to Emily over the smoke alarm.

  “Yes, but it’s somewhere in there!” She pointed to the kitchen.

  “Wait here!” he shouted, and ran off.

  Emily and I followed him without hesitation. She was in love, of course, and I just wanted to see the fire.

  Inside the kitchen, the alarm was earsplitting and smoke poured out of the oven in thick, gray curls. As if that wasn’t scary enough, there was a bright orange glow of fire in the oven.

  Trevor jumped when he saw us. “I can’t find the extinguisher, but it’s Alex’s cake!” He pointed at the flames.

  “Alexis! What did you do?” Emily yelled over the smoke alarm.

  “I don’t know. I’m a fire magnet!” I climbed onto the counter and fumbled with the smoke detector until it got quiet.

  Emily peered through the glass window in the oven door. “There’s shortening all over the bottom of the pan. You started a grease fire!”

  “You gave me the grease!” I shot back.

  “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just put the fire out,” said Trevor.

  Emily nodded and turned to me. “When I open the oven door, you throw the box of baking soda on the flames, okay?”

  “The box?” I asked. “But …”

  Somewhere outside, a car door slammed. Ms. Success was home.

  Emily looked up in alarm. “Just do it!”

  “Okay, I’m on it!” I raced to the counter and searched among the cooking clutter for the baking soda. I couldn’t find it so I grabbed a box of flour instead. “Go!”

  Emily opened the oven door, and instantly smoke filled the room. The detector resumed its earsplitting shriek as I chucked the box of flour into the oven.

  “No!” cried Emily just as the fire started licking at the cardboard. “You weren’t supposed to throw the whole thing on there! What is wrong with you?”

  “Well, I didn’t think it made sense either!” I yelled. “But you said throw the box and you’re the—”

  Trevor grabbed both our arms, his eyes fixed on the oven. “You used baking soda, right?”

  The way the color was draining out of his face, I was tempted to lie. “Uh, no,” I stammered. “I couldn’t find any so I used flour.”

  An expression of terror crossed Trevor’s face. “Flour acts just like gasoline! Run!”

  “Huh?”

  He yanked Emily and me towards the door. Before we’d even reached the kitchen table, a ball of flame exploded from the open oven. The three of us screamed and hit the floor.

  “Roll!” Emily cried. “Roll! Put out the fire!”

  She started flopping around on the tile like a fish out of water, but I couldn’t see anything burning on her clothes. I glanced down at my own and at Trevor’s. After making sure we were flame-free, I sat up.

  Other than an outward explosion of flour and smoke, the kitchen appeared fine. The fire in the oven had gone out, but all that remained of my carrot cake was a blackened lump.

  “Emily.” I coughed and poked her shoulder. “It’s okay.”

  “Okay?!” cried Ms. Success from the doorway. “It looks like a nuclear winter in here!”

  “Sharon!” Emily instantly stopped worrying about her invisible flames and jumped to her feet. “I’m so, so sorry!”

  She lunged forward and hugged Ms. Success, who looked just as surprised as I had been when Emily had hugged me.

  “It’s all right.” Ms. Success patted Emily’s back. “The other kids are safe so we don’t have to wor
ry about a lawsuit.” She raised an eyebrow at Trevor and me. “Do we?”

  “No. And it wasn’t all Emily’s fault,” I said. “We were working on our teamwork assignment. For Champs.”

  “Really?” Ms. Success gave a pleased grin and held Emily at arm’s length. “Instead of going out to the dance clubs, you’re here working on my assignment?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Emily.

  I didn’t bother adding that we weren’t old enough to get into clubs.

  “Fantastic! Well, get this place in order and carry on.” She saluted us and walked away, whistling cheerfully.

  With three people it didn’t take long to return the kitchen to a pre-fallout state. Emily tackled the oven, I took care of the floors, and Trevor handled the dishes. When he went to put them in the washer, however, he stopped.

  “Why are there groceries in the dish rack?” he asked.

  Emily shot me a horrified glance, and I hurried over to Trevor.

  “Oh, that,” I said. “Ms. Success asked Emily to put away the groceries and we didn’t have time.”

  Trevor sifted through the bags. “But these are all baking ingredients. You even have cream cheese for the frosting.” He looked at us. “Why didn’t you guys tell me you had this stuff?”

  “Well, we … we wanted you to feel comfortable,” I said, rubbing my neck. “You know the old saying, ‘To make a guy feel at ease, uh, let him use his own cream cheese.’”

  I laughed nervously and Emily joined in with a hearty thigh-slapping rendition. When Trevor didn’t so much as crack a smile, I tried again.

  “What I mean—”

  “Wait!” blurted Emily. She turned to me. “I’m sorry, but I can’t take another bad dairy rhyme. I’m lactose-humor intolerant.”

  That actually got a chuckle out of Trevor and gave Emily the strength to tell him the truth.

  “Trevor, I bought all those groceries because I wanted you to be able to make something you liked,” she said. “Because … because I like you.”

  Trevor stood there frozen for a moment before raising his eyebrows. “You do?” His confused expression cleared. “Ohhh. That explains the cheesocolates … I hope.”

  Emily bit her lip. “I know they were pretty disgusting, but I was trying to share your interests, and it was either that, or rent a Wookiee costume.”

  “Really?” he asked.

  She nodded. “But the fur was too hot.”

  Trevor blushed. “I’m not sure what to say.” He paused and shrugged. “I guess I don’t think of you that way.”

  I winced for Emily, but she threw her shoulders back and smiled.

  “It’s fine. Let’s just forget the whole thing. I’ve got desserts to remake.” She turned before he could see her lower lip trembling.

  I grabbed some groceries out of the dishwasher. “Wait, I’ll help you.”

  She smiled gratefully at me and started sorting out what she needed. Without looking at Trevor, she said, “Trevor, you don’t have to stay. You’ll still get full credit for your teamwork assignment.”

  Emily and I both held our breaths and each other’s gaze, wondering what he would do.

  Trevor left the room.

  Emily shrugged at me and blinked back tears. “Well, let’s get started.”

  “I’m sorry,” I told her.

  She waved a dismissive hand. “It’s no big deal.”

  I nodded. “That seems to be the theme of the day.”

  Without warning, an explosive noise punctured the air, and we both screamed and huddled together. Trevor appeared in the kitchen doorway holding a fire extinguisher.

  “I’m back,” he said. “And I’m ready to bake.”

  Emily didn’t even bother trying to hide her smile.

  Chapter 8

  On weeknights, take-out food was an Evins family staple, as was a shouting match to choose the restaurant. But when I got home from Emily’s, I was greeted with silence and the aroma of grilled meat. I made a beeline for the kitchen, where Dad was brushing garlic butter on toast.

  “You’re making dinner?” I exclaimed.

  Dad smiled and put a finger to his lips, nodding toward the living room. I poked my head into the other room and saw my brothers sprawled on the floor and snoring into the carpet.

  I joined Dad at the stove. “What happened to them?”

  He showed me an empty coffee pot with a thin film of liquid on the bottom.

  “Nick?” I asked.

  “He was pretty caffeine-powered before he conked out,” said Dad. “When I came home, he’d already straightened up the pantry and the refrigerator. I’m guessing for his organization task for Champs.”

  I opened the pantry door. “Wow. He was busy in here.”

  “And my office,” said Dad. “He rearranged the furniture and nailed the paintings on the wall. He even tried alphabetizing my books.”

  “Lucky for you, he doesn’t know the alphabet,” I said with a smile. “What about Parker?”

  Dad pointed to a pair of sneakers by the back door. “For his physical skill, I told him he needs to be able to run three miles in thirty minutes. He got out of breath just tying his shoes.”

  I laughed. “So we shouldn’t bet on him in any races.”

  “Don’t underestimate your brother,” Dad said. “I’m sure he’s already dreaming up a device to make him move faster.”

  “Yeah, it’s called a car.”

  It was nice hanging in the kitchen and talking with Dad, and when we couldn’t get my brothers to wake up, he and I even ate together. During a lull in conversation, I asked him something that had been bugging me.

  “Do you ever talk to Mom?” I tried to make it sound casual as I cut into my steak, but Dad stopped eating and studied his plate. After a moment of silent contemplation, he wiped his mouth and looked at me.

  “No.”

  Even though I’d been pretty sure of the answer, it still made my stomach hurt.

  “Oh.” I stabbed a potato extra hard. “Why not?”

  Dad took a long drink of water and turned to me. “It’s complicated, but trust me when I say it’s better this way.”

  I nodded and cleared my throat. “Could I call—”

  “Hey, I’ve got an idea!” He reached over and tweaked my nose. “You need an organization task for Champs, right?”

  I blinked in confusion. “Uh, yeah.”

  “Why don’t you take a shot at the garage?” he asked. “That’s probably worth double credit!” He laughed and got up from the table.

  I stayed in my chair, confused and irritated. Just because he didn’t want to talk about Mom …

  “Alex?” He smiled at me but it didn’t reach his eyes. I could tell the subject was closed.

  “Fine,” I said, leaving my dirty plate on the table and storming out to the garage.

  My brothers and I called it the Dispose-All. There were boxes and rubber tubs stacked everywhere, and a lot of items had apparently escaped their containers and started taking over the garage.

  I went to work rounding everything up, and an hour later I’d returned almost all of the stray items back to their original homes. I was down to the last one … an oven mitt shaped like a hockey goalie’s glove.

  I rummaged around until I found a box marked “kitchen” and set it on Dad’s workbench. When I ripped the tape off the top of the box, I pulled away a layer of packing foam to reveal photo albums.

  “That’s weird,” I muttered.

  Dad had given me several albums of pictures when Mom left, but I’d never seen these. I opened one on top with “Our First Year” written on it. The pictures inside were of my parents’ wedding and trips they took. I put the album aside and reached for the one underneath.

  “That’s year two,” said Dad from the garage doorway.

  I jumped even though I didn’t really have a reason to feel guilty. He strolled over and sat beside me.

  “The albums you’re holding lead all the way up until your birth,” he said. “Y
ou, of course, have the rest.”

  I peered into the box at the years Dad had kept hidden in darkness. “Why aren’t they all in the house?” I asked.

  Dad flipped through the first year album. “Because they give me more pain than pleasure. But I didn’t want to deny you and your brothers any memories you would have wanted to keep. So I offered each of you the albums relating to your lives.”

  “And I was the only one who took them?” The third album held baby pictures of Nick and Parker.

  Dad shrugged. “I guess boys don’t get as nostalgic as girls do about memories.”

  “Or maybe Nick and Parker felt the same way you did,” I said. “It is hard to see her here.” I closed the album. “And then to wonder why she never came back.”

  Dad put an arm around my shoulders and cleared his throat. I thought he was about to spout some words of wisdom, but all he said was, “I know.”

  We sat in silence, staring at the albums until I said, “Why did you put them in a box marked ‘kitchen’?”

  “Because I don’t cook much,” said Dad with a sheepish grin. “I figured I’d never come across them.” He patted my leg. “I’d say you’ve completed your organization task, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes.” I grabbed the box and glanced at him expectantly. “Is it okay—”

  “You can keep the photos,” he said.

  I hugged him, and we went back inside to find Nick and Parker eating dinner.

  “Awww. Looks like we slept through some Dispose-All fun,” Nick said with a smile.

  Parker shook his head. “Darn the luck.”

  “Let me make it up to you, boys.” Dad winked at me. “Why don’t the two of you start on the dishes and tomorrow, you can finish the garage?”

  “Awww!” Nick said again.

  I headed for my room with the photo box, but Parker yelled my name.

  “Your friend Chloe called,” he said, pointing at the message board. “She said it was important.”

  I groaned, remembering her request from Champs. If you join an interesting group, let me know.

  I’d teamed up with Trevor and hadn’t said a word.

  “Did she say what she wanted?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Something about hockey boosters?”

  Feeling slightly relieved, I picked up the phone and dialed, barely managing a hello before Chloe cut in.