You're Bacon Me Crazy

by Suzanne Nelson

  “Your aunt’s Bacon Me Crazy BLT is up for the Flavorfest Best Award?” he asked me as he scanned the flyer. “I love that sandwich. I walk down to the truck for lunch twice a week! I’d go every day if my wife would let me, but she’s worried about my cholesterol, so on Tuesdays and Thursdays it’s tofu instead.”

  “I … didn’t know that,” I said, glad that he was a fan but also slightly weirded out by this window into his personal life.

  He handed me back the flyer, then said with conviction, “Go for it. Post them all over school. Save Flavorfest for the sake of your BLT.”

  Before the first bell, Asher and I had posted flyers on every bulletin board in the school and tucked them into the vents of nearly all the lockers.

  I was just taping the second-to-last flyer onto the mirror in the girls’ bathroom when Karrie came floating in on her cloud of holier-than-thou-ness.

  “Oh,” she said snottily, eyeing the flyer. “I saw Asher handing those out in the hallway, too. I hope he’s getting paid overtime.”

  “Actually,” I shot back, “he volunteered to help me.”

  Her face didn’t betray any surprise, but I thought I saw her eyes narrow ever so slightly. “I didn’t know he was starting to like his job so much. What a change of heart.” She checked her reflection in the mirror. “I’ll have to make sure he asks off for the afternoon of the Sweet Heart Ball. We’ll be taking pictures early.” She paused, studying my face. “Is something wrong, Tessa? You’ve gone all pasty.”

  “No!” I said instantly, forcing a smile onto my face even as my chest began to ache.

  “Are you sure?” Her voice smacked of fake sympathy. “’Cause for a second there I thought maybe I was crushing your hopes about Asher or something….”

  My laugh came out sounding hollow. “That’s crazy,” I said. “I just didn’t know that he’d asked you to the dance. That’s all.”

  “He hasn’t yet,” she said. “But I’m sure he will.”

  The next words stuck in my throat until I finally forced them out. “Well, I hope it works out … if it’s what Asher wants.”

  I was still reeling from Karrie’s news when I sat down in art history. Mei walked into class holding one of my flyers. And if Mei had slapped me in the face right then and there, it wouldn’t have hurt as much as watching her glance at the flyer, and then swiftly crumple it and toss it into the trash.

  On our way to the Tasty Truck after school, Asher and I stopped at every food truck in Russian Hill. It was all I could do to keep the smile on my face as I hyped up our Flavorfest rally to anyone and everyone who would listen. I made myself go through the motions, even through my leaden glumness. It must’ve worked, too, because all the food-truck owners gave a resounding “Yes” to the rally.

  “You’re going to have an amazing turnout,” Asher said as we approached the truck.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I guess everyone is on board, except for Mr. Morgan and …” I almost added Mei, but didn’t, not wanting to put a damper on our success. But Asher, of course, saw right through me. I’d told him about my fight with Mei during our walk, and he’d listened sympathetically. It seemed hard to believe that just a few weeks ago, I’d hardly said two words to him, and now, talking to him came so naturally. Which only made it hurt more every time I thought of him asking Karrie to the dance.

  “Hey,” Asher said now, looking earnestly into my eyes. “Mei wasn’t thinking when she trashed the flyer. You both need a chance to cool down, that’s all. I bet she’ll still come to the rally. A lot can change between now and Saturday.”

  “Thanks for saying that.” I sighed. “But … I don’t think so. She’s too busy with Ben, and it’s just not that important to her. Besides” — I shrugged — “I don’t care if she comes or not.”

  Asher raised a skeptical eyebrow. “For the record, you’re a lousy liar.”

  I let out a small laugh. “The truth is more my style, but it always seems to cause trouble. I was honest with Mei, and now we’re not speaking to each other. When I’m honest with my mom about the Tasty Truck, we end up fighting. Maybe I should try lying more often.”

  “Nah,” Asher said. “That’s one of the things that’s great about you. I wish I could be that honest all the time.”

  “You don’t think you are?” I asked, wondering if maybe he was leading up to telling me about Karrie himself.

  “I know I’m not. There are plenty of times I should tell people what I really think, but don’t. Like, say, if there was a girl who liked me that I wasn’t into …” His voice got quieter, more hesitant. “It wouldn’t be fair to let her keep thinking that I might like her, right?”

  “Right,” I said, my stomach seizing. Maybe this was it. He was trying to set the record straight, once and for all, hinting that I shouldn’t ever expect anything but friendship from him.

  I took a deep breath, bracing myself. If Asher was trying to let me down easy, I had to take it all in stride, or we’d never be friends again.

  “So, with this girl,” I said, “you should be honest. Because the longer you lead her on, the more hurt she’ll be when she finds out it wasn’t real.”

  Asher seemed to think this over, then he nodded. “You’re right. I need to tell her. I mean, we’re already friends, so she’ll understand, won’t she?”

  “Even if she doesn’t want to, she’ll have to,” I said quietly, feeling a lump in my throat.

  “So,” Asher said, changing the subject, “what else do we need to do to prep for the rally?”

  “Just keep spreading the word,” I said halfheartedly. “I’m going to decorate the Tasty Truck with some banners on Friday night, if you want to help.”

  Asher’s smile dimmed, and his face took on an uncomfortable, reluctant look.

  “I mean, I don’t want to pressure you or anything,” I said, trying to undo whatever wrong turn I’d just taken. “You’ve helped a lot already, I just thought —”

  “Sure, I’ll help,” he said. “There’s just something …” His brow furrowed, but then we reached the truck, and he mumbled, “Never mind. It can wait.”

  “Guys!” I heard Cleo calling from the truck. She leaned out the window, holding up her cell phone. “Come look at this.” Her face drained of color and was tight with tension.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” she said in a doomsday voice as Asher and I hurried inside the truck.

  “What?” I asked with dread.

  Cleo pulled up YouTube on her cell, then handed it to me. “This was just posted a half hour ago, but it already has over a thousand hits.”

  I couldn’t believe my eyes. The video on the screen showed Karrie, smiling gorgeously while simultaneously brushing tears away from her meticulously mascara-ed eyes. “It was so … so shocking,” she was saying. “I mean, it was right there! A cockroach the size of a small rodent crawling across the floor of the Tasty Truck, in plain view. It gives new meaning to the words roach coach!” She sniffled. “The whole thing makes me so sad. I mean, Tessa goes to my school! I know her!” She heaved a sigh worthy of an Oscar-winning actress. “But after this, I don’t think I can eat at her family’s food truck ever again.”

  I looked up at Cleo in disbelief. “But — but she’s never eaten anything at the Tasty Truck! Ever!” I cried, my blood boiling. My morning run-in with Karrie had been brutal enough. I’d never imagined anything like this.

  “I know.” Cleo nodded sympathetically. “It doesn’t matter, though. She’s already got the sound bite, and that dayglow smile to make everyone believe it.”

  “What are we going to do?” I asked her.

  Cleo shrugged in a helpless, defeated way so unlike her that it made me go cold all over. “I don’t know if there’s anything we can do. There’s no way to prove she didn’t see a cockroach.” She sighed. “With every hit that video gets, she’s hurting our reputation.”

  “But it’s only on YouTube,” Asher said, looking painfully uncomfortable with the whole conversation. “
It can’t be that big of a deal.”

  “It’s not … yet,” Cleo said. “All we can do is wait and see what happens.” She frowned, then headed for the door. “I have to get some supplies from the garden.”

  Asher and I settled into our routine, but now there was quiet tension in the truck with us. I wanted him to be furious with Karrie the way I was. I wanted to tell him what I was thinking, but I was afraid that he might defend Karrie, and I didn’t think I could handle that.

  When Cleo came back, she looked even more shaken up. “Gabe just texted me,” she told us. “Karrie’s video was on the local news. And so was Mr. Morgan, with a bunch of ‘I told you so’s’ about dirty food trucks.”

  “Great.” I slumped against the counter. “Somebody has to talk to Karrie and get her to tell the truth.”

  “She’ll never do it.” They were the first words Asher had spoken in ages. I glanced at him, and saw that he looked as sick about the whole thing as I felt.

  “But we have to try —”

  “I have to go,” Asher said, grabbing his backpack from the storage closet. But he paused in the open door and turned to Cleo. “I’m sorry.”

  Then, before I could even say good-bye, he was gone.

  Speaking in front of a roomful of people had never been a problem for me … until Wednesday morning in art history class. What complicated matters was the fact that the person I was supposed to be speaking with wasn’t speaking to me at all.

  “Ansel Adams was a great conservationist as well as a talented artist,” I said, reading from the cue cards I’d written, “and his photographs of Yosemite and other national parks have helped protect them for decades.”

  This was supposed to be Mei’s cue to launch the PowerPoint photo montage she had put together. But since we hadn’t worked out those details, or spoken so much as one word to each other since our blowup on Monday, I had to clear my throat and nod in her direction to clue her in.

  “Oh!” she blurted, then fumbled to start the program on Mr. Toulouse’s laptop.

  The rest of the presentation was just as discombobulated, with Mei and me blundering through in a series of out-of-order photos. When it was finally over, I collapsed into my seat with a huff. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mei hide her face in her hands, shaking her head in dismay.

  As awkward as the presentation had been, I was relieved to have it over, at least until Mr. Toulouse called Mei and me up to his desk right after the bell rang.

  Mr. Toulouse shifted his glance from Mei’s face to mine, as if trying to piece together a puzzle.

  “Girls,” he finally said, “your presentation today was informative and met all of the project requirements, so I’m giving it a B-plus.”

  “Thank you,” Mei and I unintentionally said together, then instantly stiffened.

  Mr. Toulouse’s eyebrows arched over the top of his glasses. “That being said, I couldn’t help feeling that the pep and vigor I normally see from you two was sadly missing from your report.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Is there anything the matter?”

  “No!” Mei burst out, a little too eagerly. “Everything’s fine.”

  “Just hunky-dory,” I added with false spunk.

  It was a flat-out lie, not just because of Mei, but because of Karrie’s video. I’d heard whispers flying around the school hallways, and I guessed from the not-so-subtle glances kids were giving me that the rumor mill was having a heyday with Karrie’s story.

  I hadn’t had a chance to talk to Asher about his running-scared routine yesterday. And because he had baseball practice after school today, I wouldn’t see him at the truck, either.

  “Well,” Mr. Toulouse said now, “if you two say everything’s all right, then I suppose I have to believe you.” Then he leaned forward conspiratorially. “But I have to admit, I miss catching you writing notes to each other during class. First period isn’t nearly as exciting when you’re both so well-behaved.”

  I nodded meekly, then escaped out the door, with Mei close behind. But when we reached the hallway, we instantly separated, with Mei hurrying to where Ben was waiting at her locker. Ben glanced at me, shrugging apologetically.

  Good, I thought. He should feel bad, stealing away my best friend. But as soon as I thought it, guilt washed over me. It wasn’t entirely Ben’s fault that Mei was forgetting me. I wasn’t just afraid Mei was forgetting me for Ben, I was afraid she was outgrowing me altogether.

  When I got to the Tasty Truck after school, Gabe’s eyes were bulging bug-like with panic. He was staring helplessly at a pile of BLTs.

  “Look at this,” he said mournfully. “I made these a few hours ago, in preparation for the lunchtime rush, and they’re still sitting here. The only things anyone has bought from us in the last four hours were sodas and water bottles. No fresh food.”

  “Maybe it’s just a slow day,” I said, trying to think of a logical explanation, aside from the one already nagging away at me.

  “This is more than just a slow day.” Cleo shook her head. “People are afraid to eat our food.”

  “But that’s insane,” I protested. “There’s nothing wrong with our food.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Cleo said in a resigned voice. “People believe what they see on the news, whether it’s true or not. Two other trucks already got inspected by the Department of Health and Sanitation today. Of course they passed their inspections with flying colors, but that’s not the point. If we don’t stop this right now, we’re going to start losing customers permanently. No one will come to the rally, and Flavorfest won’t stand a chance.”

  A leaden weight settled over me. Suddenly, there was a loud throat-clearing in the direction of the truck window that made us all jump, and we glanced up to see a stern-looking man with a clipboard and a pocket protector.

  “Can I help you?” Cleo asked.

  “Dan Gervis,” he said. “Department of Health and Sanitation. There’s been a complaint filed with our department. I’m here to do an inspection.”

  I stared at him in disbelief. This could not be happening. But when Cleo smiled welcomingly and told Mr. Gervis to come right inside and make himself at home, I knew it was. And when I thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse, it did. Because right as Mr. Gervis stepped into the truck, we heard a loud voice holler from outside the truck, “Hey. That’s the roach coach we saw on the news last night!”

  I looked out the window just in time to see a family of tourists happily snapping pictures of our Tasty Truck.

  Mr. Gervis stiffened at the words, and I gripped the counter, a storm of fury rising inside me. In that moment, I was certain of one thing: I was never going to let Karrie get away with this.

  I grabbed my backpack and motioned Gabe outside while Cleo chatted sweetly with the inspector.

  “I’m going to try to fix this,” I said. “But I need you to drive me to the baseball field right now.”

  Gabe nodded, grabbing his car keys. “If you can fix this, Tessa, I’d drive you to the moon.”

  I got to the field just as Tristan was walking off it.

  “Hey, Tessa!” he said, giving me a smile that I tried desperately to interpret as just friendly and nothing more. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at the Tasty Truck?”

  “Where’s Asher?” I asked.

  “He just headed for the locker room,” he said. “What’s the matter?”

  Our awkward moment about the dance was still fresh in my mind, but Karrie’s latest coup trumped everything else.

  “The Tasty Truck is under siege,” I said. “Karrie’s going to completely ruin our reputation.”

  “That’s brutal,” Tristan said sympathetically. “I can’t believe it’s getting blown that far out of proportion.”

  I nodded. “That’s why I’m here. I came to see if you and Asher could talk to her. You’re her friends. She’ll listen to you guys….”

  Tristan shook his head. “Asher already tried talking to her about it last night. I
guess he called her as soon as he found out.”

  “Oh,” I said. So that’s where he’d gone when he blew out of the Tasty Truck.

  “She’s sticking to her story,” he said. “We know she’s lying, but …”

  “But what?” I stared at him. “Nobody has the guts to call her on it?”

  “Saying she’s a liar won’t change anything,” he said. “Most of the school already believes her. That’s how she operates. She gets everyone into her camp and then no one challenges her.”

  “Why does she have such a vendetta against me?” I cried.

  “I don’t know,” Tristan said. “There was your lip-gloss joke. And I think she’s mad about Asher ditching her at the concert for you.”

  “But — but that’s not what happened,” I said. “He said he wanted to leave!”

  Tristan shrugged. “Well, just be glad Asher’s not coming to the rally, because if he were, she’d probably be even nastier.”

  My heart took a nosedive. “What did you just say?” I whispered, because I knew I couldn’t possibly have heard him right the first time.

  “Man, I’m sorry,” Tristan said. “I thought you already knew. Asher’s not coming to the rally.”

  I was halfway to the locker rooms before I even registered that Tristan was still standing in the middle of the baseball field, calling my name. But I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to hear the excuses he was sure to have for Asher. No excuse could possibly be good enough.

  Asher was coming out the gym door when he caught sight of me. His eyes met mine, and they widened in dread. He knew I’d just found out.

  “What is wrong with you?” I cried. “You weren’t going to even bother telling me that you weren’t coming?”

  He held up his palm like a peace flag. “Wait a sec, Tessa. It’s not what you think….”

  “Really? And what do I think? That you can’t come because your soon-to-be girlfriend wants to bring down the food truck?”

  His face went creased into confusion. “Are you talking about Karrie?” He shook his head adamantly. “Sh-she’s not …” he stammered. “That’s … Argh! Would you just give me a chance to explain?”