“That’s right, girl. Now, are you going to give it to me or cry some more?”
“Oh, it’s coming, Scarlett. Don’t you worry.”
“Hey.” I placed a hand on George’s shoulder so she’d look at me. I waited until she did, then said, “Look, I’m sure they didn’t forget. Your mom never forgets.” George still looked miserable. “Who knows? Maybe, they’re planning something and just haven’t told you yet.”
I stifled a yelp as Ronnie kicked me under the counter. He gave me a warning look, and I rolled my eyes. Yes, I knew it was supposed to be a secret. But I hadn’t actually said her parents were planning a surprise party, just hinted.
“Yeah, right,” George said. The fire from her and Ronnie’s verbal sparring was gone, and she was back to being a sad sack.
Poor George. If only she knew that we’d been working on her birthday menu, at the request of her parents, for the last month, she’d have felt tons better. But that was the thing with surprise parties. They were designed to torment first and bring satisfaction later. I just hoped George didn’t punch me or Ronnie for being in on it.
“What,” Aunt B said, walking to stand in front of George, “you come in and don’t even say hi to me? Well now George, I thought we had a better relationship than that.”
“Sorry,” George sighed. “How’s it going, Aunt B?”
“It’d be better if you weren’t all slumped over like that,” she said. “You’re scaring off my customers.”
“Sorry,” George repeated.
“And what about me?” Mom had followed Aunt B out of the kitchen, and now both of them were clucking over George like two mother hens—which made sense seeing as she was practically family. “Don’t you got a greeting for your favorite Aunt?”
“Hey, Aunt Jeanine.” George bit back a smile as Aunt B huffed, hands on hips.
“That’s more like it,” Mom said. “Know what you need? You need something sweet and fattening.”
“She’s right.” Aunt B nodded. “Well, not about her being the favorite. We all know who the favorite is. But she’s right about the sweets. George, sad people aren’t allowed in my bakery.”
“Is that a rule or something?”
“Don’t you sass me, Miss Grumpy. I’m just stating a fact.” Aunt B swung an arm around George, leading her to the display while Mom stayed with them, circling behind the counter. “Now, just look at all this sweet stuff here. There ain’t no room for sadness when you’re surrounded by cookies and cake. You just pick what you want; it’s on the house, you being such a good friend.”
“Thanks,” George said, fighting a smile as she rested her head on Aunt B’s shoulder.
I heard Aunt B tell George she was sad now, but she’d be real happy at a time in the not so distant future, saying she knew these things because she had The Sight. George nodded, following Mom and Aunt B to a table with a large plate of mixed confections.
The bell tinkled, and I heard what had to be the most obnoxious voice on the planet.
“Hurry up, man. I don’t want to be seen here.”
McCreary.
Bruce Diamond had dragged Grant McCreary into our bakery, and the QB was standing by the door, looking like he had indigestion, eyeballing me like I was the cause. I wasn’t surprised to see Bruce. He’d been in and out of the bakery a handful of times since his first visit, always carrying that dumb football. Bruce had a thing for our triple-chocolate brownies, which wasn’t so bad in and of itself. But I wished he’d left his friend at home.
“Hey,” Bruce said and walked toward me. “So Doherty, how’s your day going?”
“Fantastic.” I gestured to his chest. “‘Live Pure’?”
“Yeah,” he said, glancing down. “It’s S.C.A.L.P.’s slogan. You like the new shirts?”
Should’ve called that one. The huge cross by the armpit was a dead giveaway.
“What?” Bruce said as I shook my head.
“Just trying to figure out how the biggest playboy in school ends up in a purity club.”
“Well, see now, there’s a reason for that.” Bruce leaned in. “Girls love that I’m in S.C.A.L.P. It’s gotten me so many numbers. I can’t even tell you.”
“But you’re not pure,” I scoffed.
“Half the members aren’t,” Bruce grinned. “But my brother was in it, so I joined, too.”
“Dave?” I asked. I’d heard about his older brother being a heartbreaker.
“Yeah, but Dave was the real deal,” he said. “He dated a lot, but there was never a more perfect golden boy.”
“You want your usual?” He nodded, and I came back with a bag of brownies. I pushed them across the counter. “Need anything else?”
He just kind of stood there.
“Your friend looks like he’s ready to leave.”
Bruce shot a glance over his shoulder. “He can wait.”
“You sure?” I said. “He looks a little edgy.”
As if to prove my point, McCreary said, “Hurry up, man.”
“Be there in a sec,” Bruce said then turned back to me.
“What do you want, Diamond?”
“Nothing really. I just came by to tell you we’ve got an important game this Friday. Sure would be great to see all my friends there, cheering us on.”
He considered me a friend? That was news to me. Ronnie had joined the others by now. They were eating their snacks, watching our interaction like some kind of sitcom.
“I don’t do football,” I said. “Besides aren’t you guys on an all-time losing streak?” Even if I didn’t go to the games, I did pay attention. BHS Varsity had lost three games this season, not too bad for most teams, but sacrilege in Bowie.
“Ouch,” Bruce said, hand to his heart.
I shrugged. “The truth hurts. Nothing I can do about it.”
“Actually,” he said, “that’s where you’re wrong. You being there could be the turning point, Doherty. Luck of the Irish and all that.”
I didn’t know what he was trying to pull, but I guess we had kind of become friends. “I can’t,” I said seriously. “Sorry, even if I didn’t dislike football so much, I’ve got to work.”
“How about a hug for luck?”
I rolled my eyes. “Seriously Bruce, you’re wasting your time.”
“I’m not leaving till I get that hug, Doherty.”
Seeing his determined expression, I threw up my hands and came around the counter. “Alright, go ahead. Knock yourself out.”
At that, he laughed, placing his football on the counter. “Ah see, I knew you loved me.”
With a squeak of surprise, I gripped onto his shoulders as he scooped me up, lifting me into the air. The door chimed. When I turned, I saw Wilder standing frozen in the door, two empty mugs in his hands. Bruce’s arms were still around me as he set me back down. I knew Grant was somewhere nearby, leering, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Wilder.
“Get your hands off my girlfriend!” someone shouted.
Shocked, all eyes flew to the owner of the voice and watched as Poncho hurled his jelly doughnut across the shop. I assumed he was aiming for Bruce, but the powdered circle went wide, hitting me smack in the chest, splattering jelly and confectioner’s sugar everywhere.
With as much dignity as I could muster—which wasn’t much considering I was covered in preserves—I disentangled myself from Bruce and walked to the bathroom while Mom tried to calm a now-wailing Poncho. Unbelievable, I thought, swiping at the jelly. All the glares, the barked orders. The little twerp actually had a crush on me. Guess throwing pastries and hissy fits spelled L-O-V-E to nine-year-old boys like Poncho.
Fan-freaking-tastic.
#
When I came out of the bathroom, Sandy and the triplets had fled; Wilder, Bruce and McCreary were gone; and Ronnie and George were probably somewhere laughing their asses off.
“So Delilah,” Mom said casually, “there anything you want to tell me?”
“Huh?” I said.
“T
he jock who lifted you up like you weighed nothing at all. That was Bruce Diamond wasn’t it?” Mom’s smile was a little too laid back. “Are you guys seeing each other? How long have you been hanging out if you don’t mind me asking? Days, weeks?”
I groaned.
Sure, Bruce wasn’t vile like McCreary. Lord knows the boy was cute, but I just didn’t think of him like that. It took some doing, but by the end of her grilling, I was pretty sure Mom got that. She also mentioned Wilder, saying, “So that was him? I thought he’d be taller.”
As it came time to close up, I was working at a dark stain on the counter. Wilder hadn’t come back. He’d skipped his nightly cup of Joe, satisfied, no doubt, with the one he’d had following his afternoon make-out session. I sprayed again, scrubbed harder. The stain wasn’t coming off.
Feeling a hand on my back, I paused.
“Delilah, you can stop now,” Mom said. “I think it’s clean.”
Ignoring her, I got back to work. “But there’s a spot.”
“Baby, that’s spot’s not going away. It’s been here since we opened.”
My arm stilled. “It has?”
“Yep,” Mom said, taking the washcloth out of my hand. “You feeling okay? I know you’ve been through a lot today. First getting felt up by that jock—”
“He did not feel me up, Mom.”
“—then getting hit by a flying pastry; it’s a lot to take in.” I realized she was laughing at me and gave her a look. She shrugged. “Baby, sometimes these things just happen. You’ve gotta learn to roll with the punches, take life one jelly doughnut at a time.”
I cracked a smile. “One doughnut at a time, huh?” Reaching over, I hugged her tight. “I’ll remember that.”
She dropped a kiss on my hair. “That’s my girl.” Looking over my head, her smile fell, one hand going to her lips. “Oh, poor thing.”
Following her gaze, the first thing I saw was wild brown hair. It was attached to Mae Thrush, who wearing another wispy sundress, looked frail as a weeping willow about to be swept off by the breeze. She was looking in at us, slowly floating by, running her small hand along the glass of our storefront window.
“What’s Mae doing here?” Mom asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
Noticing our nighttime visitor, Aunt B rushed to the door. Mom and I watched mystified as Aunt B walked outside, handed Mae a bakery box, and said something we couldn’t hear. Mae remained perfectly still as Aunt B reached out to give her a one-armed hug. Then she looked down, turning the box between her spindly fingers. She might’ve said something, I couldn’t tell. But between one blink and the next, Crazy Mae had ghosted away, disappearing into the night.
Aunt B came back in, saw us looking, and said, “What? She likes the sunflower cookies. Nobody likes those.”
True enough, but now I knew why Aunt B made a fresh batch of our least favorite cookies every night.
“You are an exceptional woman, B,” Mom said.
Aunt B rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath.
Hooking the night’s trash bags to my wrist, I smiled, grateful to have been raised by two exceptional women. I hauled the bags out the back entrance to the dumpster, working quickly. It was quiet out here, dark too. The only sources of light were single bulbs, spread out at intervals, one per business. The pinpricks of light were barely enough to illuminate a shoe box.
Just as I turned, a dark figure stepped out of the shadows.
“Oh,” I said, releasing a breath. “It’s just you.”
“Hmm,” Wilder said. “Relief. That’s a new one.”
Realizing how I must look, I dropped my hands. They’d flown to my chest in fear before I’d realized it was him. “What’re you doing back here? Do you smoke or something?”
“No,” he said. “Do you?”
“No,” I said incredulously.
He studied my face so long I began to blush.
“What?”
“Tell your boyfriend not to bring his football into the music store anymore. It’s strange.”
“And lurking in shadows isn’t?” I crossed my arms. “Bruce isn’t my boyfriend.”
He scoffed quietly, which automatically got my blood up.
“What?” I said again.
His eyes went to mine. “You let just any guy touch you like that?”
“Sure, why not?” I said not missing a beat. “Haven’t you heard, Wilder? I’m a Doherty. Everyone gets a free ride. You want yours now?”
It was his turn to blush, but he didn’t. The jerk. The only reaction I perceived was a slight clenching of his jaw.
“No?” I pushed. “Had enough this morning, did you? Who was that girl anyway? A few things about her aren’t genuine, that’s for sure.”
He smiled a slow smile, and I bit my cheek. Where the heck had that come from?
“She’s just a girl,” Wilder said, still wearing that annoying smile.
“Then why was her tongue shoved down your throat?”
My eyes went wide. Holy crap, was that my voice?
Shaking his head, Wilder walked a few steps closer.
“It was only a kiss,” he said, stopping right in front of me.
“Yeah, right,” I muttered, though it was hard to say anything with him so close. My throat had gone dry, and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t seem to swallow.
He leaned in until we were nose to nose then paused.
For one insane second, I thought: Good Lord, Ethan Wilder is going to kiss me.
Instead, he lifted his hand, ran two fingers lightly under my jaw. I shivered as the tips came away white, covered in powdered sugar.
“You know, you’re kind of cute when you’re jealous.” Rubbing the sugar away with his thumb, he straightened, turned and walked through the back door to the music store.
My face was a permanent shade of red, somewhere close to fire brick and flaming. Jealous? Me? Yeah right, I scoffed though it was too late for him to hear. It wasn’t like I cared who Ethan Wilder kissed. Nope, not me.
The heck with curiosity, I’d seen more than enough.
CHAPTER 12
“So Doherty, how’s your mother?”
I felt my eye twitch. “She’s okay.”
“Okay?” Rapier said as students filed in. Wilder was last through the door, as usual wearing his leather jacket. “Jeanine’s been called a lot of things but okay was never one of them.” He paused for effect. “Matter of fact, if memory serves, she was excellent, always up for...anything.”
My pen nearly snapped in two; my grip was that tight. It was all I could do to keep from running to the front of the class and ringing Rapier’s thick neck.
“You know,” I said, “as much as you talk about her, she’s never mentioned you.”
His eyes lit. “Probably just trying to protect your young ears. She liked to have fun, a real wild one your mama.”
I ground my teeth, reconsidered the benefits of asphyxiation. They’d go easy on me. I was a minor, and Rapier was revolting. I’d say he drove me to it. It was a crime of passion. Rapier was a crude loudmouth, and I passionately wanted to shut him the hell up. A life of crime was looking better and better.
The late bell rang, and Rapier smirked, turning to the board.
Seeing the back of his sunburned neckline, I suddenly realized that to choke Rapier I’d have to touch him. Bile rose in my throat, and I instantly scrapped the idea.
“What’s wrong?” George whispered. “Your face looks green.”
I waved off her question. “Rapier’s an ass.”
“Yeah,” she shrugged, standing. “What else is new?”
“Well, he was more of an ass today than usual. His ass-dom has officially reached new heights,” I said. “Where are you going?”
“To get the supplies.” Seeing my blank expression, she rolled her eyes. “We’ve got lab today. Rapier just said so. Weren’t you listening?”
“Guess not,” I said.
“Understandable.” S
he looked over the instruction sheet for today’s assignment. “I tune him out whenever possible. I’ve heard listening to Rapier too long gives you hives.”
I laughed. “Really, I thought it was boils.”
“Could be both. Oh, and just a heads up,” George said, backing away. “He also said the lab stations on the left side of the room aren’t working, so we’ve got to share. Wilder and Dwayne are coming this way.”
On reflex, I turned, saw that she was right.
Turning back around, I breathed out. Okay, so I’d be working with Wilder. No big deal. We were both young adults. There would be other people at the station with us. We could get through this just fine, probably wouldn’t even have to say two words to each other.
Wilder stepped up next to me. “Doherty.”
“Wilder,” I said back. I didn’t really know Dwayne, so I nodded. He lifted his chin in response.
“Doesn’t it make you angry?” Wilder asked.
I sighed. So much for not talking. “Does what make me angry?”
“When he says those things about your mom?”
No need to ask who the “he” was.
“Of course, it does.”
Wilder shook his head. “If I was you, I’d deck him.”
“I’ve considered strangulation.” I shrugged. “But what good would it do? I’d get in trouble, and Rapier would still be a jerk.”
The corners of his lips turned up. “It might make you feel better.”
George came back to the table with two beakers, four sets of goggles, something that looked like food coloring, an eyedropper and a thermometer. She filled one beaker with water and flipped on the Bunsen burner, all business. Dwayne tracked her movements. He looked unsure as to whether he should offer to help. I could’ve answered that for him, but as George slapped his hand away, it seemed like Dwayne was already learning the hard way.
“It wouldn’t.” My face reddened. I didn’t know why I was talking about this with Wilder of all people. I guess it was just because...well, he’d asked. “It wouldn’t make me feel better,” I repeated, trying not to flinch. I had his full attention. “What he says, it does make me angry, but it just hurts to hear her talked about that way. To know people look at her like that is...” I shook my head, unable to find the words.
The Unbelievable, Inconceivable, Unforeseeable Truth About Ethan Wilder Page 10