by Chris Cannon
“Couldn’t you talk him into going?”
“No.”
Normally, Grant walking me to my car and kissing me goodbye in front of my brother was one of my favorite parts of the day. But today, I was feeling less than romantic. “Aiden didn’t tell you anything?”
Grant pointed at me. “Female.” Then he pointed at himself. “Male. We don’t talk about everything like you do.”
Honk. Honk.
My idiot brother laid on the horn.
“Like that’s going to make me move faster.” I reached up and wrapped my arms around Grant’s neck. He kissed me, backing me up against the car. The cold metal at my back contrasted with the heat of his body pressed against mine.
Honk. Honk. Honk.
“I hate your brother.” Grant kissed me one last time. “See you tomorrow.”
After dinner, I lay on my bed staring up at the spider web of cracks in the plaster of my ceiling, talking to Delia about the cake we planned to bake for the auction. We’d been on the phone so long my ear was hot.
“I found these cupcakes on Pinterest. They’re normal cupcakes, but there’s what looks like a book on top of each one.”
“Like a paper book?”
“No. It looks like clay.”
“That would be tasty.” I laughed, and thought for a minute. “I bet it’s fondant or marzipan.”
“I think you just made those words up.”
“Fondant is really stiff icing, and marzipan is almond paste.”
Beep.
“Someone is trying to call through.” I checked caller ID, but all it said was private caller. “I don’t recognize the number. Hold on.”
I clicked over. “May I speak to Monica?” a man asked.
It took a moment for me to realize he meant my grandmother. “Sure.”
Clicking back over, I told Delia I’d talk to her tomorrow and went in search of my grandma. She sat on the couch reading a spy novel. “Phone for you.”
She closed her book. “Who is it?”
I held the phone out to her. “I don’t know.”
My grandmother crossed her arms and waited.
“Fine.” I clicked on the phone. “I forgot to ask who this was, and my grandmother doesn’t like surprises.”
She swatted at me with her book.
He laughed. It was a warm sound. “Tell her at our age she should enjoy the mystery.”
I shoved the phone at my grandma, repeating his message.
She put the phone to her ear. “All right, mystery man. You have five seconds to dazzle me before I hang up.”
Her cheeks colored. “Everett, it’s been a long time.”
Wait a minute. Everett, as in Everett Evertide? Grant’s grandpa? Why was he calling my grandma? And why was my grandma blushing?
I dashed upstairs and checked my cell. Fifteen percent charged. That would have to do. Grant answered on the fifth ring.
“Zoe?”
“What took you so long?”
“Hold on. I just got out of the shower.”
A naked Grant. My insides shimmied around in an exciting kind of way, and my face colored. Just like my grandma’s. Holy crap. Was my grandma thinking about Grant’s grandpa naked? Now my insides shimmied in a not so good way.
“I’m back,” Grant said. “What’s up?”
“Why—” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Why is your grandfather calling my grandma?”
“How would I know…oh shit. Earlier tonight, he was talking about how the heart attack made him realize he needed to start living again.”
“Ick. I mean good for him, but why can’t he hit on someone else’s grandma?”
“Maybe it’s not what we think. Maybe they’re old friends.”
Laughter drifted up from downstairs. Suspicion confirmed. “I don’t think that’s it.”
“Maybe I should remind him about the shotguns,” Grant said, not in a joking voice.
“Please, if she knows he had a heart attack, she won’t threaten to shoot him unless he deserves it.”
…
Delia called while I was blow drying my hair the next morning. “I’m coming to pick you up. I need your opinion on something.”
Before I could say okay, she hung up. I shouted to Jack that I wouldn’t be riding with him, finished my hair, and added some eyeliner and lip gloss. What did Delia want my opinion about? Her plan to find a new guy? Her plot to make Aiden like dances? The options were wide open, which made the day a little more exciting.
When she walked in the kitchen, I figured out she was talking about her new look.
“Holy shit,” Jack said from the kitchen table where he sat eating his pop tart.
She ignored him and focused on me. “Well?”
Her hair was shot through with crimson streaks. Her lips and nails were glossy red. Her eyes, accented by smoky eyeliner and thick lashes made her look like some sort of Goth Snow White.
“You look awesome.” I hugged her.
“Thank you. I was afraid it might be too much.”
I snorted. “I can’t believe you managed to say that with a straight face.”
She laughed. “You’re right. I figured if I planned to look for a new guy, I should have a new look.”
“At least one of you is smart enough to avoid assholes,” my brother commented.
“It’s hard to avoid them when you live with one,” I shot back.
…
In first hour, Lena gave Delia the once over and muttered something rude under her breath. I couldn’t quite make it out, but I knew it was mean. Delia must have figured out the same thing.
“You’re jealous because you couldn’t pull this off,” Delia said loud enough for other people to hear.
“Please, gothic hick isn’t a look I aspire to.”
Delia’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe you should branch out, since you have snotty rich bitch down to a science.”
Students around us sucked in their breath.
Mr. Fletcher entered the room, and took note of the stare down. “Ladies, if you could declare a stalemate for now, I’d like to start class. If not, I can assign detention now to save time later.”
“Not necessary,” Delia said. “I’m done with her.”
Chapter Nineteen
Zoe
At lunch, Aiden was conspicuously absent from our table. Since Delia didn’t comment, I wasn’t going to mention it. Grant squirted ketchup on his fries in the spider web pattern he favored.
“Why do you do that?” I asked.
“Do what?”
“Why do you play Spiderman with your ketchup?” I pointed at the pattern he’d made. “Most people put it all in one spot.” I pointed at my plate where I’d squirted three packets next to my fries in the normal fashion.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it’s the way my grandpa showed me how to do it.”
Interesting. Maybe I’d ask my grandma if she remembered Everett doing the same thing. How weird to compare dating notes with my grandma.
“Did you look at the picture of the cupcakes I sent you from Pinterest?” Delia asked.
“Yes.” I grabbed my phone and pulled up the link. “It’s fondant. I think we could do it. We should practice making the books without the cupcakes since that’s the tricky part.”
“Okay. Tonight it’s Operation Fondant at your house.”
Later, we surveyed the mess that was my kitchen counter.
“Fondant is evil.” I glared at the rectangular cracked piece of icing that looked nothing like a book.
“Agreed.” Delia pushed her fondant sculpture away. It looked better than mine, but not by much. “Now what?”
I rolled my shoulders trying to make the tension go away. “It’s still nice out. Let’s walk to the pond.”
We cleaned up, and then headed down the dirt path that ran alongside my house to the pond. My dad had planned to put in a gravel road so we wouldn’t have to deal with mud, but he didn’t get around to it. A twinge of sadnes
s made me catch my breath. The cool breeze, or maybe it was my melancholy thoughts, raised goose bumps on my arms.
Delia wrapped her arms around her chest. “We should have grabbed jackets.”
“It feels good. I like when the temperature drops. It means winter is on its way.”
“Not all of us enjoy being snowed in,” Delia said.
“It’s nature’s way of telling us to slow down and enjoy the moment. As long as you have food and water, you’re good. You can’t leave your house, so you don’t have to hurry to get anywhere. It’s like a mini-vacation.”
“That’s one way to look at it.”
When we reached the pond, I sat on the grass while Delia collected stones from the edge of the man-made pond. My dad had dredged the area, lined it with sand, and then added landscaping rock all around the edge. He’d chosen a blend of smooth and rough stones because if all the rocks were smooth, you’d never feel the joy of finding the perfect skipping stone.
Thinking about him made my chest ache.
Delia drew her arm back and whizzed a rock across the top of the water. It skipped three times before sinking.
“Nice,” I commented.
“Your turn.” Delia held a rock out to me.
“You know how this will turn out.” I stood and took the rock, performed the exact same arm maneuver Delia had, and watched as my rock hit the water and sunk. “See, I still suck at this.”
“True.” Delia laughed and flung another stone, which skipped across the water, shooting up a small spray three times before sinking. “We both suck at making fondant icing. What are we going to do?”
“Maybe we give up on the book idea and pick something else,” I said. “Go in a new decorating direction.”
“Maybe we should just make fancy cupcakes that someone might want to take home and set out for a party.”
“That would be easier, and someone would be likelier to bid on those because they’d be easier to share,” I said. “We can Google pictures of cupcakes from those high end cupcake specialty stores for inspiration.”
Delia skipped another stone across the pond. “I like it.”
“Good.” I liked having a new plan. “Operation Fancy Cupcakes is a go.”
Chapter Twenty
Grant
Aiden texted Friday at seven a.m. and asked if I could give him a ride to school. He didn’t say why, and I didn’t have time to ask questions if I wanted to make it to school on time. He waited for me at the edge of his driveway.
“What’s up?” I asked as he climbed in.
“My dad backed into my car last night, which is somehow my fault even though I parked where I always park.” Aiden adjusted his glasses, pushing them farther up on the bridge of his nose. “I pointed out that his logic was faulty.”
“I’m sure that made the situation better.”
“Yeah, it was a brilliant move on my part.”
“Speaking of brilliant moves, what’s going on with you and Delia?”
“Nothing.”
“I thought you liked her.”
He shrugged.
“Maybe you should—”
“Stop. I don’t need your help. It’s not like you are qualified to give dating advice.”
“I’m doing better than you are.”
“Really? You didn’t want a girlfriend, but that’s exactly what you have.”
“I do not. Zoe and I are dating. That’s it.”
“So you wouldn’t mind if I asked her whether or not she thinks she’s your girlfriend?”
“Try it, and I’ll punch you in the throat.”
“Exactly.”
When we made it to school, Zoe wasn’t where she usually stood in quad. That was weird. Where was she?
“Looking for your girlfriend?” Aiden asked.
“Shut up.” I punched him on the arm and then I went back to scanning the crowd for Zoe. She stood near the entrance to the building with Delia and they weren’t alone. I didn’t care that Delia was talking to some guy, but another guy was talking to Zoe and he was standing a little too close. I headed for my not-girlfriend. The guy moved closer to Zoe and touched her on the arm.
Now I wanted to punch him in the throat.
To Zoe’s credit, she backed away from the interloper. When she saw me she waved.
“Good morning.” Zoe came toward me.
“Morning.” Instead of putting my arm around her shoulder like I normally did, I kissed her. She seemed startled at first. Once she caught on, she threw her arms around my neck and threaded her fingers through my hair.
“Mr. Evertide.”
I pretended not to hear whoever was lecturing me. Zoe laughed against my mouth and stepped back.
Turning to find Ms. Ida smiling at me was a surprise. “I knew you two would make a good team. However, you know the school policy. I’m afraid you’ll both have to report to the principal’s office after school.”
I nodded, not caring about detention. The way Zoe was still clinging to me showed she didn’t care either.
“I wonder if the school has a double indemnity clause.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “We already have detention.”
So I kissed her again. This time, the tone signaling five minutes until first hour broke us apart. I walked Zoe to her class, and then went to mine. Happy with the message I’d sent for other guys to stay away from my girl—oh hell. I’d been about to think of her as my girlfriend. It was Aiden’s fault for putting that idea into my head.
…
Zoe
By the end of the day, I was torn between being happy for myself that Grant was taking me to the dance, and being sad for Delia because she wasn’t going.
Delia met up with me outside the principal’s office. “I can help you get ready for the dance tomorrow, if you want.”
Crap. How was I supposed to handle this? “We could get ready together, and you could go with us. I’m sure Grant wouldn’t mind.”
“Yeah, right.” She tucked a strand of crimson hair behind her ear. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal. I’ll play with your hair and makeup, and then I’ll swing by Betty’s and pick up a I-didn’t-want-to-go-to-the-stupid-dance-anyway chocolate chip pecan pie on my way home.”
“I bet a pie with that name would sell really well. We’ll create one and sell it in our bakery boutique along with Boys are idiots cupcakes.”
Delia laughed. “We may have just stumbled on marketing gold.”
Grant showed up. If the frown on his face was any indication, he was less than happy.
“Call me,” Delia said as she left.
“What’s with the face?” I asked Grant. Would I be eating pie with Delia rather than going to the dance tomorrow? Because that would suck.
“Remember the last time we had detention and Principal Stephens didn’t have time to call our parents?”
Crap. I’d totally forgotten. “He’s definitely going to call our parents this time.”
“The good news is, my mom should be shopping with friends, and my dad won’t be home to answer the phone. What about you?”
“My mom was planning to hit the grocery store after work tonight, which means he’ll probably reach my grandma. That won’t be so bad.”
He grabbed my hand and led me into the office.
“You two again.” The secretary dug the dead chicken timer out of the drawer. “Have a seat. Principal Stephens will call you into the office once your parents arrive.”
Grant and I sat at the table, checking the door every time someone walked in. The third time the door opened, my grandmother walked in, smiling. Spotting me, she scowled like a villain from a cartoon, which made me laugh.
“Quiet,” the secretary snapped.
It took a great amount of self-control not to roll my eyes. After my grandmother signed in, she sat in a chair outside the principal’s office, pulled out a steel blue scarf she was crocheting, and went to work.
The door opened, and Grant frowned. A petite brunette walked in,
looking like she was ready to sue the entire school into the dust. She had to be his mother. The way she carried herself reminded me of Lena. I would so have to torture Grant about that later.
His mom didn’t acknowledge the secretary or bother signing in. She marched straight back toward the principal’s office.
“Ma’am, you have to sign in,” the secretary said in a much nicer tone than she’d used with us.
“Do you know who I am?” Grant’s mom said, in a voice that carried through the office.
Grant ducked his head, like he was embarrassed of his mom’s behavior.
“If you signed in, she’d know who you were,” my grandmother said in a conversational tone.
Grant’s mom zeroed in on my grandma. She examined her from head to toe. Apparently my grandmother’s jeans and thermal pink camo shirt didn’t pass inspection, because she sneered and then said, “Who are you?”
Pretending not to notice what a bitch Grant’s mom was being, my grandmother set down the scarf she was working on and held out her hand. “I’m Monica Cain. And you are?”
The principal’s door opened, and the man himself stepped outside. “Sorry to keep you waiting, ladies. Please come in.”
Would we have to go in there with them?
“Zoe, Grant, in here. Now.”
That answered that question. I pushed my chair back and sighed.
Grant stood. He opened his mouth to say something and then stopped.
“Your mom is going to hate me, isn’t she?”
He cringed and then turned and headed for the open door where the principal waited, irritation clear on his face.
…
It was awkward with all five of us shoved in Principal Stephen’s office. The adults sat in the chairs, while Grant and I stood wedged in on the side of his desk so all three of them could glare at us. Although my grandma wasn’t really glaring. Grant’s mom could’ve stared down an axe murderer.
“I’m sorry to disturb you ladies, but this is the third time Grant and Zoe have been cited for PDA’s.”
“I’m sorry,” my grandmother said. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
I was sure she knew what he meant, and was messing with the man. I ducked my head like I was embarrassed, but I was trying not to smile.