Cassidy Jones and the Secret Formula (12 page)

My eyes moved from Dad to Emery.
What could he possibly do?
I wondered.
He’s only a kid.

Dad smiled. “I’m afraid not, Emery, but I will keep you updated.”

Though Emery smiled back, he obviously regretted missing the opportunity, whatever it was.

Shoveling in the last bite of pancake, Ben pretended to get a piece caught in his throat. Bulging his eyes, he dramatically clutched his throat. “Dreeenk.” He reached for Chazz’s glass of juice.

Horrified, Chazz quickly handed him the glass.

Ben chugged the juice. Falling back in the chair, he smiled and sighed. “Chazzy, you always have my back.” Messing up the top of Chazz’s hair, he stood up.

“Will that tide you over?” Dad teased, standing up, too.

Ben patted his flat stomach. “That’ll do me for the next hour or so.”

~~~

After we cleaned the kitchen, Mom said, “I’m taking Chazz to a birthday party. Why don’t the three of you go down to the park? It’s a lovely day. I don’t want you cooped up inside.”

During cleanup, I had contemplated ways of getting Emery alone, eager to take him into my confidence. However, the park was not the place I envisioned doing this.

Knowing
who
I’d most likely run into at the park, I informed her, “Nate and Emery can go.
I’m
staying here.”

Mom smiled at me impassively. “Fresh air will be good for
all
of you.”

~~~

Apprehensively, I followed Emery and Nate down the stone stairs that connected our street above to what we called “Spinning Park.” The playground at the bottom of the stairs had received this name because a good portion of the play equipment spun. We had spent years spinning wildly to the point of nausea and occasionally throwing up.

To the right of Spinning Park, a path weaved through a large wooded area, and to the left was a sports field. Nate and his friends spent a majority of their free time on this field. Right now, soccer seemed to be the rage. After school and on the weekends, these boys would meet to strut around and talk surly while chasing the black-and-white leather ball up and down the field. Before the Sunny Chan Incident, I would sometimes watch a game. It was fun listening to these boys razz each other and talk trash. There was definitely an art to it. Since Sunny Chan, I’d avoided the field because of one player’s dedication to the game.

Walking through the playground, I kept my fingers crossed that Jared would be with his dad this weekend. Still, my heart leapt for joy when I spied him dashing across the field. Watching him, thoughts and concerns not relating to Jared abruptly faded from my consciousness, just as they had earlier when pancakes mentally absorbed me. For the moment, Jared Wells received my undivided attention.

As I looked at him, his face blurred due to distance, a thought popped into my head:
If I can’t see him clearly, then he can’t see me.
It occurred to me I had an advantage I didn’t normally have. At this distance, I could ogle to my heart’s content, and who would be the wiser?

Pulling Jared into my enhanced view, I took in his tousled dirty-blond hair, angular face, and beautiful eyes, thickly lashed and the color of milk chocolate. His lips slightly turned up in the corners as he called something out to a teammate, and his cheeks were an appealing ruddy against his olive skin tone, due to the cool air and physical exertion. It had been a long time since I’d had such a pleasing eyeful of Jared.

When admiring his perfection was no longer safe, I averted my eyes.

As we approached the field’s sidelines, Bobby Neigh looked in our direction, yelling, “Times…Hi, Nate.”

Nate smiled, shouting, “Hey, Bobby. Which side’s short?”

“You can play on mine,” Bobby said, walking toward us.

It surprised me that he was leaving his position. Following his lead, the other players moved our way, too.

This was strange. Usually, when a game was in progress, a new player would insert himself in. The game never just stopped.

Then I realized why. Walking over, they eyed Emery. They weren’t approaching to welcome him, but to gawk. They wanted to check out the tall, “nerdy” kid.

As they drew closer, I moved closer to Emery. By the time all thirteen players had formed a semi-circle around us, I stood by his side, and Nate stood on his other side. “This is my friend, Emery,” he introduced him.

They looked him up and down, their expressions unimpressed. Grunting greetings, they showed no enthusiasm. Some, I could tell, thought he had hardly been worth the effort of leaving the field. Others took the time to stare at the gauze square on my forehead.
Apparently, Emery isn’t the only spectacle,
I thought, my blood boiling.

His friends’ reactions didn’t escape Nate. But instead of calling them on it, he decided to create a place for Emery. “Want to play?” he asked with a grin.

I glanced up at Emery’s unperturbed face.

He smiled at Nate. “I don’t know how. But you go ahead. I’ll watch with Cassidy.”

Peripherally, I noticed a head whip my way. Instinctively, my own head turned, and I looked directly into Jared’s eyes. What I saw almost made me gasp. I had never seen his face so enraged or his eyes so piercing. They moved to Emery, sharpening.

“Are you sure?” Nate asked Emery.

“Yes. Cassidy and I will watch the game from the bleachers.”

Emery made this assumption confidently, as if we had discussed it beforehand. Normally, presumption like this would require resistance from me. However, at the moment, resisting was something I was in no condition to do.

In a voice surprisingly calm, I encouraged, “Go ahead, Nate, play.” Somehow, I added almost playfully, “I’ll watch over Emery for you.”

Turning abruptly away, Jared walked back out to the field. From the corner of my eye, I watched him. His shoulders were tense. The other players followed, taking this as
Show over, game back on.
Nate joined them.

I felt I would crumble.

“Should we sit down?” Emery asked.

“Sure, why not?” I mumbled.

As we headed toward the bleachers, my legs threatened to give way and sudden tears blurred my eyes.
What is this?
I asked myself, blinking back the tears.
I never cry!
Usually, I handled emotionally charged situations stoically, detaching myself before feeling pain. However, this pain shot through me like an arrow, preventing me from disconnecting. I would have to come up with another coping strategy. Picturing myself curled up on the ground, weeping inconsolably, I desperately drummed up a “bandage emotion.” Scorn covered despair adequately.

Sticking on the “bandage,” my mouth lifted in a sneer. Instantly, relief followed. Contempt felt easier to control than devastating grief.

As we sat on the bottom bench of the bleachers, I noticed Emery thoughtfully observing my profile. Silently, I scowled at the game in progress, struggling to maintain.

“I’ve never watched a soccer game before,” Emery said lightly, leaning forward, placing his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together.

My response came out in a rude snort. “Don’t judge soccer by what these morons are doing. No one out there is winning the World Cup.”

Not intimidated, Emery replied, “No, but I’ll learn the basics from this game.”

“The basics are two teams, one ball, and each team trying to kick that stupid ball into those stupid goals,” I snapped. “You don’t need to be a genius to figure it out.”

Oh, my gosh! What is wrong with me?
Remorse tore the “bandage” off.

“I am so, so, so sorry, Emery.” Tears welled. “You didn’t deserve that, especially with what you’re going through. I am
so
mean.” My moistened eyes looked to the ground. “It’s just that boy, Jared, the one who was trying to burn holes through you with his eyes—”

“Oh, I hadn’t noticed.”

As I looked up at him, he smiled, acknowledging that he had.

Returning the smile with a sad one, I dropped my eyes again. “Anyway, don’t take it personally. It’s me he hates.” The word “hates” caught in my throat, making it impossible for more words to flow. The only thing flowing now were tears, so heavy I couldn’t see the ground.

In my devastation, I felt a light pressure on my back. I realized the pressure was Emery’s hand, attempting to comfort me. His voice soothed. “Cassidy, I wish I had a tissue handy—”

Holding up my forearm to show him I was covered, I wiped my wet cheeks with the hoodie sleeve. From the corner of my eye, I detected a small smile on his face.
He thinks meltdowns are the norm for me,
I realized, gasping breaths.
What else is he supposed to think? He’s only known me as a basket case.

“Your sleeve provides an adequate substitute,” Emery agreed. “Forgive me, Cassidy, but I must contradict your last statement. That boy does not hate you.”

“N-no. H-h-he does.” Despair filled my every fiber. I was coming apart at the seams. I needed help. I needed Emery’s help. “I-I have t-to t-t-tell you some—”

“Jared, what’s your problem?”

Quickly looking up, I saw David Hsu bounding aggressively toward Jared.

Emery’s hand slid off my back.

With a menacing expression, uncharacteristic for Jared, he held his ground. Picking up the ball trapped under his foot, he tossed it hard at the ground towards David.

Alarmed, David skidded to a stop.

“Fine. Your ball,” Jared growled, tossing me a seething look.

Receiving the full impact of the intent, my heart convulsed. This proved to be the final, deadly blow. All at once, my heart broke, shattering into a million pieces. Letting out a long, ragged breath, I attempted to revive it, unsuccessfully.

“Let’s go, Cassidy,” Emery said, in a soft but firm tone.

Swiping my sleeve across my eyes, I nodded and bit my lip, forcing back new tears. Somehow, I managed to stand up, ready to follow wherever he led.

As we walked silently back to Spinning Park, I clamped down on the reeling emotions, pushing Jared into the recesses of my mind. Feeling somewhat rational again, I tried to sort out my breakdown. Jared broke my heart, but a broken heart did not take precedence over the more pressing matters at hand. I knew this, but in those emotionally gripping moments, I couldn’t see the forest for the trees.

Emery, please have answers. Please help me.

Spinning Park was empty, except for a young couple swinging their squealing toddler. Enthralled with their child’s delight, they took no notice of us when we entered.

Refocused, I took over leading. “Let’s go over there,” I said, pointing at an old-fashioned wood swing with two benches facing one another. I wasn’t in the mood for anything spinning. My stomach was disturbed enough.