Authors: Anna Staniszewski
Once I get myself cleaned up after our ice-cream eating contest (which Marisol and I decided was a tie since neither one of us could actually get any ice cream in our mouths), I bike over to the Rileys’ house. As I ring the doorbell, I pray Evan will open the door. So, of course, I’m faced with Briana instead.
“What do you want?” she practically snarls.
I swallow, telling myself I won’t be scared of cheating, bra-stuffing Briana Riley anymore. “I’m looking for Evan.”
“He’s not home.”
“Oh.”
I expect her to slam the door in my face, but instead she puts her hands on her hips and takes a step forward. “So Steve says you’re the reason he broke up with me last night.”
Oh my goldfish. Didn't Steve know better than to tell her I was involved?
She smiles, her perfect teeth gleaming. “I guess I should thank you. I was going to dump him, but he was so needy. I didn’t want him to go all psycho on me. Thanks to you, he finally got a clue and ended it himself.”
I can’t believe it. After all of that, I actually
helped
Briana? Then I realize that’s not true. As much as she’s trying to act like Steve breaking up with her doesn’t matter, I can see the wounded pride in her eyes. After all, she was upset enough to skip school today.
“Are you just going to stand there?” says Briana, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
I can’t help glancing at her chest. It might look real, but it’s just as fake as everything else about her. When I look back up, I’m shocked to see her cheeks turning red. I didn’t realize her face even knew how to get flushed.
“What are you looking at?” she demands.
“Nothing.” Then I can’t help smiling as I add, “By the way. Nice bra.”
Briana’s eyes grow wide, and she staggers backward. The look on her face says it all: she’s terrified. Of course, I’ve already decided I won’t say anything to anyone about her secret, but Briana doesn’t know that. My smile grows wider and wider. For once, I feel totally in control.
“Who’s at the door?” Evan’s voice calls from behind Briana.
“Your girlfriend,” she spits before storming away.
Evan appears in the doorway, and his face takes on an uncertain look when he sees me.
“These are for you.” I hold out the brownies before he can slam the door in my face. “They’re peppermint.”
He’s clearly surprised, but he takes them anyway. “Thanks.” He looks under the foil, and I see a smile cross his lips as he catches sight of the frowny face I carefully made out of peppermint candies. “Thank you,” he says again.
“Anytime.”
“So I heard you won the bake sale competition today,” he says. He lowers his voice. “I don’t think Briana was too happy about that when Angela called to tell her.”
“Yeah, I still can’t really believe it.”
“I’m sure you deserved it.” He shuffles his feet. “So look, I asked Briana about the glass in her room, and she ’fessed up about all the crazy stuff she’s been doing to you. I’m sorry you had to deal with that. I don’t blame you and your mom for leaving.”
“You guys would be better off with a housekeeper anyway.”
Evan nods. “We’ve had a bunch. But they always quit. I wonder why.”
We stand awkwardly for a minute, but I know I have to say it, even if it’s hard. “I’m really sorry, Evan. I know you think I’m a horrible person for spying on your sister. I only agreed to do it because I was so desperate for money to go visit my dad, but I guess after that it kind of got out of control. I feel really bad about everything. And I swear I’m not a stalker.”
“Even though you just showed up on my doorstep?” he says, grinning.
“Good point. The truth is, I’m trying to give stalkers a better name. Don’t you think people would like us a lot more if we came with baked goods?”
He laughs. “It seems to be working on me.”
We grin at each other for a long moment, just enough time for butterflies to suddenly hatch in my stomach.
“So,” says Evan, “there’s no way I can eat all these brownies by myself. What do you say, Booger Crap? Want to come in and help me?” I guess that means I’m forgiven.
The stomach butterflies do a happy little flutter dance. “I think that’s an excellent idea.”
At school the next day, all anyone can talk about is how Steve dumped Briana and asked Caitlin to the Spring Dance instead. I don’t hear the word diaper uttered even once. By the time Marisol and I sit down in the cafeteria at lunch, I’m actually starting to feel kind of bad for Briana, especially since she’s stuck sitting all alone with Angela Bareli. Caitlin and Steve moved to a different table, along with everyone else who once worshipped at Briana’s feet.
“I guess when people had to choose between Briana and Caitlin, they picked the one who isn’t pure evil,” I say.
“No kidding,” says Marisol.
As I peer across the cafeteria, I’m surprised to see Caitlin smiling as Steve whispers something into her ear. Maybe Caitlin will never be Miss Congeniality, but I can live with her being our grade’s new queen bee.
“Are you sure you’re not upset that Steve’s taking Caitlin to the dance?” asks Marisol.
I nod. A few weeks ago, I would have been devastated. But now, I’m fine with it. “Steve’s really out of the picture. Trust me.”
She smiles. “See, I knew Evan was a way better guy for you!”
“You’ve never even met him,” I say, laughing. Then I catch sight of Andrew Ivanoff walking across the cafeteria. “But maybe we can double date sometime?”
Marisol suddenly becomes very interested in her sandwich.
“May I sit here?” Andrew asks, pointing to the seat next to Marisol.
“Sure!” I answer since Marisol is still acting all embarrassed.
Andrew sets his zombie lunch box on the table and turns to Marisol. “Did you bring the costume sketches we discussed?”
“I did some new ones too,” she says, taking out her sketchbook. In a matter of seconds, she and Andrew are having an in-depth discussion that goes over my head.
But I don’t mind. It’s so great to have Marisol back again. It’s like the past few weeks never happened, and our friendship is as strong as ever. In a way, I’m glad things worked out the way they did. Because of our fight, I actually managed to make a couple new friends, something I didn’t think was possible, especially considering that a few years ago my dad was my only friend on earth.
Thinking about Dad makes a lump form in my throat. I haven’t heard from him since I screamed at him the other day. He doesn’t even know about the bake sale. Part of me wonders if it would be better to not have him in my life at all. But I know that won’t work. He might have let me down, but he’s still my dad.
I push aside my half-eaten lunch, grab my phone, and go hide out in the bathroom. My hands are shaking as I dial his number, but I know I can’t hang up.
“Hello?” he says.
Even though I’m still upset with him, it’s great to hear his voice. “Hi, Dad.”
“Rachel, I’m so glad to hear from you. I wanted to call you, but I was afraid you were still mad at me.”
“I am, but I’m getting over it.”
“Your mother called me last night. She explained about the plane ticket and everything.”
“I’m sorry I lied to you about that. It just seemed like the only way.”
“I guess I understand,” he says, his voice low and sad. “I just wish I could convince you to come down here anyway. We’d have fun. And you’ll be missing out on seeing your favorite show.”
“I know, but it’ll have to be another time. We really can’t afford it right now.”
Dad sighs. “You sound just like your mother.”
“Well, maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”
“It’s not a bad thing at all,” he says. “She’s always been the one keeping our family together, despite all my foolish decisions. I want you to know, Rachel, leaving was never about you. It was about a lot of things, but none of them were your fault.”
“I know. I just wish you’d talked to me about it first, to both of us.”
“You’re right,” he says. “I should have. And I promise that from now on when there’s a problem, I’ll tell you. And you promise me too, okay? If something is wrong, you need to talk it out.”
“Okay, Dad.” I realize how impossible that kind of promise would have been for me to keep even a month ago. I was so afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing that I spent most of my life not doing or saying anything at all. But that’s over now. It doesn’t mean I’ll never be embarrassed or speechless again, but I’m determined not to let those things control me anymore.
“Holy bean dip, Marisol. You look incredible,” I say, helping her pin one last curl into place. She’s absolutely glowing in her red dress, and her eyes are sparkling even more than the sequins.
“I hope Andrew likes it,” she says, admiring herself in my full-length mirror.
“He’d be crazy not to!”
She smiles and looks at me through her fake eyelashes. “I wish you were going too. I’m so nervous!”
“You sound like me. But you’re the one who doesn’t get nervous, remember?”
“I know,” she says. “It’s just that Andrew is so nice. I don’t want him to regret taking me to the dance.”
“Unless zombies ate his brain, I think he’ll be excited.”
She beams back at me, and I’m 100 percent sure I did the right thing in fixing Marisol up with Andrew. Not only did the costumes for his film come out great, but now he’ll have fun at the dance with Marisol instead of sitting at home because his original date got herself grounded.
“Is your mom still letting Evan come over tonight?” asks Marisol.
I nod, grinning like a fool. “I think she feels guilty that she’s going out on a date while I’m stuck here, so she took pity on me.”
“Are you okay with her going out? I mean…”
“It’s fine.” Strangely, it is. Maybe I haven’t completely accepted the fact that Mom is dating again, but Mr. Hammond is a nice guy. And he seems to make her happy, way happier than my dad has in a long time. Plus, it’s been days since I’ve had to worry about finding my bookshelves organized by author’s last name. That’s definitely a good sign. “I’ll get over it.”
The doorbell rings, and we rush downstairs to open the door. I almost fall over when I see Andrew. His pale hair is slicked back, and he’s decked out in a light purple tux.
“You look amazing!” says Marisol. She turns to me, her face glowing. “He got the tux from his dad. It’s vintage.”
“Wow, it’s…incredible,” I manage to say without cracking up. He and Marisol will definitely be the most colorful (and most dressed-up) couple at the dance, but I doubt either of them will care.
“Marisol,” says Andrew, the tops of his ears red as always, “you’re the one who looks amazing.”
The two of them look so nervous and happy that I can’t help beaming like a proud parent.
“Call me,” I mouth to Marisol when they’re leaving. She nods as she loops her arm through Andrew’s and lets him escort her out to his mom’s car.
After they’re gone, I grab my journal and flip to the end.
Dirt
Diary
. I stare at those words for a minute, knowing it’s time to get rid of all the secrets I’ve been collecting. They just don’t feel like my secrets to know anymore.
I tear the pages out, all those words reminding me of how much has changed over the past few weeks. Then I crumple the pages up and throw them in the recycling bin. The minute they’re gone, I feel lighter.
“Was that the doorbell?” Mom asks, coming into my bedroom. She looks great. Her bangs are pinned back for once, and she’s even put on some makeup. For the first time, I realize that she has a widow’s peak just like I do. Maybe no one will ever automatically assume we’re mother and daughter, but it’s nice to know that we at least have one thing in common.
“Looking good, Mom.”
She blushes. “Oh, thank you. I have to admit, I’m a little nervous about my date. The last one was just lunch. But dinner feels more official, you know?” She gives me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I know this is still a sore topic for you.”
It is, but at the same time, it’s nice to see Mom looking so happy. “I’ll get used to it.”
“It sounds like things with you and Evan are going well,” she says, putting in her earrings.
Now it’s my turn to blush. It’s refreshing being able to talk to my mom about things, but dishing about guys with her is going to take some getting used to. “I guess so.”
“He seems like a nice boy,” she says with a wink.
When Mr. Hammond comes to pick her up a few minutes later, I take a deep breath and grab a plate of brownies from the kitchen counter.
“These are for you,” I say, holding them out to him. “My mom said they’re your favorite.”
Mr. Hammond looks surprised but smiles when he peeks under the foil. “Caramel chip. Thanks, Rachel!”
I wish I could get away without having to say anything else, but this is the last apology I have to make. “I’m sorry about that rumor going around about you. I swear I wasn’t the one who spread it, but it was my fault it ever got started.”
Mr. Hammond nods. “Your mom told me what happened. I can’t say I’m thrilled to have everyone looking at my bottom all the time, but I know you didn’t mean it. You’re a good kid. Which is why I brought you this.” He holds out a
Pastry
Wars
cookbook.
“Wow, thanks!” Okay, he’s probably just trying to bribe me so he can date my mom, but that’s fine. I can’t wait to try out some of the recipes. Maybe I can get Evan to help me make one when he comes over later.
“Listen, Rachel,” says Mom, exchanging a look with Mr. Hammond. “I was thinking about that class at the bakery this summer. If you’re still interested, I’ll split the cost with you. That is, if you don’t mind using your bake sale winnings to help pay for it.”
“Are you serious? But I thought you wanted me to put that money into my college fund.”
“Maybe that was a little hasty,” Mom says. “Your teacher, Ms. Kennedy, called me the other day. Talking to her reminded me how important cooking is to you.” Leave it to Ms. Kennedy to know what to do without me having to say anything. “If you’re really going to be a pastry chef one day, taking some classes now will be an investment in your future.”
I rush over and wrap my arms around her. “Thanks, Mom.” I can’t remember the last time I hugged her so tight.
She’s beaming when I finally pull away. “We can talk about the details tomorrow.” She glances at her watch. “Okay, we have to be off. Have fun with Evan tonight, but don’t stay up too late. Remember, we have a long day of work ahead of us tomorrow.”
I roll my eyes. “Ugh, I know,” I say, acting like I can’t think of anything worse. But the truth is, it’s just that: an act. Because even if I’ll never grow to love inhaling bleach and battling soap scum, I have to admit that I don’t hate cleaning houses. Thanks to all that scrubbing and dusting, things have gone from bad to worse to pretty okay. And I have a feeling they might actually stay that way.