Maggie darted through the door and dashed down the hallway, wondering what exactly had just happened. She’d assumed some of the swim team members might be sad about having to find another extracurricular activity, but she’d never thought Ms. Pinkerton cared enough to be so upset. She didn’t have time to worry about it right then, though, because she was already more than a minute late to her next class and still had to get her English notebook from the other side of the building.
She was out of breath and fanning her maroon face by the time she reached her locker three minutes later. She dropped her backpack and papers to the floor, and spun the combination. Her fingers were slippery with perspiration and slid around the dial, making her overshoot the first number twice. When she landed on 35 instead of 36 for the third time, she groaned and tapped her forehead lightly against the locker door.
On the second tap, her eyes fell to the top page of the pile of papers Ms. Pinkerton had given her. She’d been so intent on getting out of the room, she hadn’t bothered to see what they were. Now, even though the red words written in Miss Wells’s neat handwriting were upside-down, Maggie could read them as if they were right-side-up and directly in front of her.
Maggie—
Decent effort, but not your best work. Let’s meet after school and discuss.
When her eyes got to the last line, she reached down and grabbed the papers.
Grade: C
“That’s impossible,” she whispered, her eyes locked on the single letter. “That has to be a mistake.”
“Maggie?”
Thirty-six phone calls, twenty-four dates, thirty-six kisses.
She closed her eyes against the refrain that shot through her head. It was the same one she’d silently repeated every time she’d gone to her locker last year, when going to her locker wasn’t just about exchanging books between classes.
“Are you okay?”
She opened her eyes, surprised when a single tear fell to the paper, making the ink run and the C grow. “Yes,” she said brightly, grabbing her backpack from the floor.
“Good. I wasn’t sure, since I hadn’t seen you all month.”
Maggie blinked back the other tears that threatened to fall. When she thought she could speak again without crying, she turned around. “Hi, Peter.”
“Hi.” He started to smile, but stopped when he saw that she obviously wasn’t okay. “Maggie—”
“It’s been a while, I know.” Clutching her backpack straps in one hand and her history report in the other, she started shuffling backward. “We totally need to catch up. And we will—but not now. I can’t right now.”
He stepped toward her. “Wait, let’s—”
“I have to get to English,” she said, hoping she was far enough away that he couldn’t see the thin streams rolling down her cheeks. “But we’ll talk after next period, or maybe tomorrow!”
She spun around as soon as she turned the corner and sprinted down the hall, toward the girls’ bathroom. Once inside the pink safe haven, she locked herself in the very last stall. She made sure the toilet lid was closed, sat down, and buried her face in her hands.
Maggie had never cut class before. She’d never mislabeled envelopes, or betrayed thirty kids. She’d never let someone else win without first giving everything she had, or consciously avoided a friend for four weeks straight. And she’d definitely never gotten a C.
She knew there was a first time for everything, but this was out of control.
19. “Nutley’s Noodle Shack delivers, you know.”
Maggie looked up from the cookbook to see her mom standing in the kitchen doorway.
“Don’t your friends like wontons?” Maggie’s mom asked. “Egg rolls? Fortune cookies?”
“Who doesn’t like fortune cookies?” Maggie’s dad peeked over her mom’s shoulder. “Wow.”
“I know it looks bad.” Maggie scanned the kitchen. It actually looked like Rachael Ray had tangoed with the Tasmanian devil in the middle of the room. Pots and pans covered the counter. Avocados and tomatoes spilled out of plastic shopping bags and onto the table. Every cabinet and drawer was partially open. And flour and cocoa powder blanketed the tile floor. “But it’ll be spotless by the time you get back. I promise.”
“Sweetie,” her mom said, stepping carefully around the patches of flour and cocoa powder, “it’s very nice of you to make dinner for everyone … but isn’t this a bit much?”
Maggie jumped when the oven timer dinged. She dashed to the stove, yanked open the oven door, and reached in with both hands to pull out the pan inside.
“Nutley’s Noodle Shack doesn’t deliver to the emergency room.”
Maggie froze. Her eyes traveled from her bare hands, which were only inches away from burning metal, to the pink oven mitts her mom had just swatted her arm with. “Maybe the ambulance can swing by on the way?” she tried to joke, taking the mitts.
Apparently not wanting to distract her more, her mom waited for her to remove the pan and close the oven door before speaking again. “Maggie, is everything okay?”
“I’m not sure.” She placed the pan on a metal cooling rack and examined the chocolate cakes. “Are they supposed to sink in the middle like that?”
“I wasn’t referring to your dessert.” Her mom stood next to her and leaned closer to the pan for a better look. “Though I don’t think so.”
Maggie turned away from the cakes and headed for the refrigerator so her mom couldn’t see her face turn pink. She was already running behind schedule and wouldn’t have time to bake another dessert if this one wasn’t perfect, but she didn’t want her mom to see her panic. As badly as things were going, they’d be much, much worse if her parents decided to stay home to make sure she didn’t burn the place down.
“Everything’s fine,” Maggie said, grabbing a package of chicken from the refrigerator. “It’s great.”
“Okay . . .” Her mom watched her as she used a long, sharp knife to open the package and slice the chicken on a cutting board. “But we haven’t see you much the past few days. And when we have, you haven’t seemed quite like yourself.”
Maggie forced the knife quickly through the meat. If she hadn’t seemed like herself that was because she hadn’t felt like herself. But that was all going to change—starting tonight.
“We have to go, people!” Summer called as she flew by the kitchen doorway. “There’s going to be a magician! And a clown! And a Jonas Brothers cover band! We can’t be late!”
Maggie looked up from the chicken. “You don’t want to miss the Jonas Brothers cover band.”
Her mom tilted her head. “You know you can talk to me about anything.”
“I do,” Maggie said, even though “anything” had exceptions. Like cutting class. And practically failing history. And giving up on the swim team. And messing up the most important Patrol This mailing ever. And making sure she and Arnie had an amazing night so that he would finally kiss her and the rest of it would no longer matter.
“Good. Please remember that.” Her mom kissed the top of her head and started out of the kitchen. “And also please remember to turn off the oven when you’re done. And to load the dishwasher. And—”
“I will.”
Her mom smiled, blew her another kiss, and disappeared through the doorway.
Maggie continued cutting chicken until she heard her dad’s car start and drive away. Once they were gone, she dropped the knife to the counter and dashed back to the miniature chocolate cakes. They weren’t perfect, but at least they’d stopped sinking. She’d just have to cover up the sagging centers with extra whipped cream.
Deciding that would have to do, since it was already 5:25 and she was supposed to get dressed in five minutes and still had to cook the chicken and make the guacamole and salsa, Maggie left the cakes cooling and got back to work. She peeled, chopped, minced, sliced, diced, mixed, stirred, and sautéed until her fingers were red from juggling utensils and tears trickled down her cheeks from onion fumes. At ex
actly 5:50, with the guacamole and salsa done and the chicken sizzling in the pan, she dashed to her room to get dressed.
She was glad she’d planned her outfit and laid it out ahead of time. It took her three minutes and six seconds to blow-dry the flour out of her hair and put on lip gloss and mascara, which left six minutes and fifty-four seconds to get dressed. By the time she stood in front of her full-length mirror, she still had an entire minute to inspect her appearance.
Maggie turned to the right and then the left for a complete view. Her hair and skin were flour-free. The purple skirt, white button-down shirt, and purple V-neck sweater looked great together, and the purple suede flats she’d bought just for the occasion were even cuter than she remembered.
There was just one thing missing.
“Perfect,” she whispered, sliding on the silver bracelet with the aquamarine stone.
As she took one last look in the mirror, she felt good. She hadn’t been sleeping much since getting her history report grade, but she felt more awake than she had in weeks. So she’d made mistakes, and let people down. So she was no longer a straight-A student. The romantics were right—love conquered all. It had gotten her parents through some very tough times that they might never have survived otherwise, and now they were happier than they’d ever been. And with Arnie by her side, it would get her through the eighth grade.
The doorbell rang at six o’clock sharp, and Maggie bolted out of her room and down the hallway. Her smile grew as she neared the door, and by the time she flung it open, she was trying not to giggle in nervous excitement.
“Arnie?” Her smile vanished. “What happened?”
“Hey, Maggie,” he said, trying to grin and gasp for air at the same time. “Great scavenger hunt.”
She looked from the red envelope he squeezed in one hand, to the bike he held upright with the other.
“Where’s Dad Junior? Or Little Mom?” She peered around him to check the driveway. It was empty. “You rode your bike here? Your house is twenty minutes away by car.”
“And you usually wear shoes in the car.”
Maggie’s eyes fell to his feet. “Slipper socks?”
“I told you they were awesome.” He lifted up one foot proudly so she could see the argyle pattern.
She stepped onto the front stoop, took the bike from him and leaned it against the side of the house, and gently pulled him inside.
“DJ and LM had off today,” Arnie explained, fanning his face with the envelope. “And since the invitation you sent said to meet you at Java the Hut, which is right around the corner from my house, I figured slipper socks would be fine.”
“But Java the Hut was just the first leg of—”
“Your ten-legged scavenger hunt,” he finished. “I know that now.”
“Oh, Arnie,” Maggie said, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea you didn’t have a ride.”
“No worries.” His breathing had slowed enough for him to grin. “How would you have known? And it was a great hunt. Really.”
Maggie frowned. She would’ve known if she’d thought to ask before leaving notes and clues all over town.
“And it works out,” he continued, “because now I’m starving. And your last hint said something about a fabulous feast … ?”
“Yes,” she said, still feeling guilty but happy to move on. The rest of the night would definitely make up for its rough start. “And it will be fabulous.”
“Let me guess—chicken?”
She elbowed him playfully as they started for the kitchen. “How’d you know?”
His face scrunched as he looked at her. “Because I think it might be burning.”
He said this just as they reached the kitchen doorway—and Maggie heard the chicken still sizzling in the frying pan.
“No,” she groaned, flying to the stove and yanking the pan from the burner. The charred strips looked more like bacon than chicken. “I just wanted it to stay warm while I got dressed!”
“It’s okay.” Arnie joined her and casually turned the burner from high to off. “A feast always has more than one part, right?”
“Right.” She stared at the chicken like it was just too hot and would regain its normal color once it cooled off. When it didn’t, she turned to Arnie and forced a smile. “There are cheese, crackers, and water on the dining room table. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable in there while I get everything else ready?”
“Will do.” He patted her back. “Don’t be long.”
She didn’t want to be long. She wanted to have dinner so that they could have dessert and keep things going from there … but first she had to figure out how to salvage the main course. Trying to stay calm, she scraped the burnt chicken into the trash, dropped the pan in the sink, and searched the refrigerator for backup.
“Vegetarian fajitas!” she declared ten minutes later, entering the dining room with a silver tray.
“I love fajitas!” Arnie sat at one end of the dining room table and raised his water glass. “See? Who needs chicken?”
She placed the tray on the table and pointed to the various bowls. “Whole-wheat tortillas, refried beans, low-fat cheddar cheese, green peppers and onions, and, the best parts—salsa and guacamole, made by hand, by yours truly.”
Feeling like she’d just reached the finish line after running a marathon, Maggie dropped into the chair across from Arnie’s and spread a red cloth napkin in her lap. She was glad she’d thought to set the table earlier.
“Are your parents eating too?”
“Nope. Not here, anyway.” Maggie motioned for his plate and piled a little bit of everything onto it. She smiled sweetly as she handed it back to him. “We have the whole place to ourselves.”
“Oh. Great.” He took the plate and looked at it for a second before putting it down. “Do you always set extra places then? Just in case unexpected visitors stop by during dinner?”
Maggie giggled when she realized what he was talking about. Because she’d set the table while her parents were still home, she’d had to set it for four people instead of two. “I told my parents that Aimee and Peter were coming over.”
“Are they?”
“No,” Maggie said, puzzled. He’d almost sounded hopeful. “That was just what I said so you and I could hang out alone.”
“Oh. Good idea.”
Noticing the tall candles lining the middle of the table were still unlit, Maggie jumped up. As she did, her right knee struck the bottom of the tabletop, which made her water glass topple over and Arnie lunge for his to prevent the same outcome. She quickly mopped up the water with her napkin, and ran for the living room. After grabbing a box of matches from the coffee table, she swung by the stereo and popped in a CD, and then dashed back to the dining room.
“That’s better,” she said breathlessly, lighting the candles. “Much more romantic, don’t you think?”
“Um … sure.” He drained his water glass. “I didn’t know you liked classical music.”
“It’s Mozart.” She blew out the match and sat down. “My mom and dad sometimes dance to this song when they think Summer and I aren’t paying attention.”
Arnie nodded as he refilled his water glass.
“Don’t you think that’s great? That two people can still be so in love after so much time together? I think that’s so great. Finding that kind of love has to be the most important thing in the whole world.” She watched him drink another glass of water, and then a third. When he went to refill the glass again, she looked at his plate. “Arnie? Is something wrong with your dinner?”
“What?” He set the water pitcher down harder than he’d intended, and winced at sound of glass hitting wood. “No. Not at all. It’s delicious.” He grabbed his fork and lifted a mound of beans.
“Your food has moved around your plate … but it hasn’t moved from your plate.” She quickly assembled her own fajita and took a bite. It tasted fine. Not as good as it would’ve with chicken, but definitely edible.
> They ate in silence for several minutes. Maggie didn’t want to pay attention to what Arnie was doing with his food, but she couldn’t help it. In the time it took her to finish two stuffed fajitas, he ate a small piece of tortilla sprinkled with shredded cheese. This probably would’ve been enough to send her into a full-fledged panic attack if dinner wasn’t only one small part of her master plan. But since it was, she monitored the clock hanging on the wall behind Arnie; at 6:58, she started gathering dishes.
“Ready for dessert?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, like he thought she’d never ask.
She was relieved when the miniature chocolate cakes were a huge success. With the exception of their sunken middles, which Maggie filled with whipped cream, they’d turned out just like the recipe said they would. She only had a taste, since Arnie devoured three immediately and she wanted him to have as much as he wanted, but it was enough to know that they were rich, moist, and delicious. The only way dessert could’ve gone better was if they’d actually talked and laughed while enjoying it.
But it was still an improvement, and Maggie was determined to take advantage of the upswing. At 7:29, she suggested they move into the living room—and then waited two more minutes as Arnie polished off the cakes.
“Don’t tell the Patrol This kids,” he joked, licking the chocolate from his fingers.
“I’ll bring the candles,” she said quickly. Along with the swim team and history class, Patrol This was the last thing she wanted to think about right then.
“Wow,” Arnie said once they’d moved to the living room.
“Merry Christmas in September!” Immediately dismissing the dinner debacle, Maggie held out both arms like Arnie was on The Price Is Right and had just won the room’s entire contents in the final showcase showdown.
Arnie’s eyes landed on a mountain of presents sitting under the potted fern in the corner of the room. “Those are for me?”
“Yes.” She hurried across the room and lifted as many brightly colored packages as her arms could hold. “But if my parents ask, you, Aimee, and Peter all loved the back-to-school rulers, protractors, and Number Two pencils I gave you.”
Maggie Bean in Love Page 15