“I’m sorry Jared takes all of his BS out on you, though,” I say.
A.J. sighs. “He’s still pissed at me for laughing at him in eighth grade when he was doing this monologue in English. He was doing this whole thing about his mom cheating on his dad, and I thought he was acting out a scene from a play or something and that he was being over the top on purpose. Like, I thought I was supposed to laugh. And then my laughing made the whole class laugh. But it turns out he was actually talking about his real-life parents.”
“Oh my god,” I say.
“Yeah, I felt like shit when I found that out. But that wasn’t till, like, two weeks later. I tried to apologize to him, but I don’t think he believed me. He’s pretty much taken it out on me ever since.”
“Well, he’s gone above and beyond what you did,” I say.
“Whatever. It is what it is.”
What it is is bullying, I want to say, but A.J.’s jaw is set and I don’t want to push him on it. I turn my attention back to our task.
“This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard involving a turkey,” I say as we clean out a big white bucket that once held cement mix.
“Trust me, it works. We used it the other day and it was perfect,” A.J. says, handing over a recipe card.
I study the card, which has been written out in a very neat script. “So, Isaiah will take it out of the brine and put it in a pan before homeroom. And you’re coming down later to put it in the oven?”
A.J. nods. “And then it’ll be ready just in time for class.”
“Sounds easy enough,” I say.
We set to work dumping vegetable stock, salt, and various spices into our biggest pot. We have to simmer these for twenty minutes, so we start cleaning out the turkey while this is happening.
“Ugh, gross,” I say when I realize we have to take out its innards.
“Allow me,” A.J. laughs, and sets about removing them while I gather my stomach.
“So,” A.J. says, not looking at me. “You’re, like, friends with Alisha, right?”
I so know where this is going, but I play along. “Yes.”
“Is she, uh, seeing anybody?”
“Not as far as I know. Why? Do you like her?”
“A little,” he says. “But I don’t know. I mean, I don’t know if she’d ever go out with me.”
“Stop it. You guys looked like you were having a great time together at the party.”
“It’s just that she’s so smart and I’m like a C student,” he says, staring at his hands.
“One, I don’t know what grades have to do with a good relationship. Two, I do think Alisha would be receptive if you asked her out. She seemed pretty into you at the party,” I say. “It can’t hurt to ask.”
A.J. shrugs and mumbles an “Okay, maybe,” but the worry lines are gone from his forehead. Then he clears his throat. “At the risk of sounding like my grandma, what’s going on with you and Luke?”
I freeze mid-stir. “Huh?”
“Yo, I know something’s happening there,” A.J. says. “Or happened. You were all flirty and shit at the party and I actually made a bet with Alisha that you guys would be a thing by Thanksgiving.”
I give my fakest laugh, hoping it will cloak any hysteria in my voice. “Well, sorry to say you lost.”
A.J. narrows his eyes. “So when you guys weren’t, like, even speaking or looking at each other a few weeks ago, that was over nothing?”
I just shrug, hoping I seem as blasé as possible. “That’s in the past. We’re fine now.”
A.J. blows out his cheeks. “Except he’s still totally into you. He doesn’t even have to say it. He looks at you like you’re a giant chocolate cake or something.”
My head whips up involuntarily. And my expression must be a dead giveaway because his eyes light up. “I knew it!”
“A.J., please. If you need to win the bet, win the bet, but don’t ask me to talk about this,” I say. “Also, I don’t want to put you in the middle. I’ve been trying super hard to avoid that.”
“I, uh, put myself there,” A.J. says. “And this isn’t about the bet. I just thought … you guys, you know, seemed to really like each other.”
That A.J. would actually be invested in Luke and me makes a tiny part of me soften. If you’d told me three months ago that the crass kid would be rooting for me in a romantic relationship, I would’ve laughed so, so hard. But it also stings at the same time, knowing why this can’t happen.
“Anyway,” he goes on, “if it means anything, I’m just saying I’m pretty sure he likes you, so, just, like, keep that in your pocket or whatever.”
“I’ll take that under advisement,” I grumble. Then I tap the spoon on the pot. “I think this has simmered long enough.”
We turn our attention back to the turkey and don’t bring it up for the rest of the afternoon.
* * *
When we’re finished, A.J. catches the bus to his neighborhood, and I grab a hot chocolate from the Starbucks down the road and sit there for a while, thinking. It’s like the turkey and its bucket of brine are resting on my chest and I’m not sure what to do about it. Luke appears to still have feelings for me, and I have clearly not moved on if I’m actually worrying about this.
How can I possibly still be feeling something for someone who lied to me? Did I learn nothing from Hunter?
I ponder this and literally feel my heart palpitate as I walk home. I decide I need to talk to Jodie about this. Funk or not, I’ve given her more than enough time to mourn USC and I need her and her no-nonsenseness right now. Perhaps admitting what’s going on will give her something to be mildly happy about, since she can be all, “I told you so.”
I pull my phone out from my backpack and I groan when I see the battery’s dead. I’m returning my phone to my backpack’s front pocket when a car honks from behind me. Since I’m walking in the middle of the street, I move to the side to let it pass, but I hear it creeping up next to me.
“Ellie, hey!”
I turn and see Hunter smiling at me. What the hell is he doing over here on a Sunday?
“Oh, hey,” I say, hoping my lack of enthusiasm conveys that I want to be alone.
“Want a ride?”
“I’m two blocks from my house,” I tell him, taking a long sip of my drink, even though it’s barely warm, to keep this conversation from going further.
“I know. I was coming to see you,” Hunter says and his smile disappears. “I could really use your advice right now about something.”
“I don’t know. I really need to get a jump on my homework.” Total lie, but I mean, come on.
“Please, El,” Hunter says. “I need to talk to someone, and you’re the only one who will get it.”
“Fine.” I try to keep from rolling my eyes. He pulls over to the side of the street so I can get in, and then starts fiddling with the radio.
“Um, I don’t have all day,” I say.
“I know, I know. It’s just … I’m thinking I don’t want to go to Princeton anymore,” he says.
“Whoa,” I say slowly. Seriously, now, I get why he needed to talk.
“In fact, I know I don’t want to go there. I applied to Tufts, and if I get in, that’s where I’m going.”
“Damn, your family is going to flip.”
“And I think Brynn might, too. She applied early decision to Princeton and I have, like, no doubt she’ll get in.”
I have to clench my jaw to keep it from falling into my lap. Brynn—studious, driven-to-the-point-of-snobbery Brynn, who could probably get into most Ivy League schools—based her college decision on where Hunter was going? Yikes.
“She’s a big girl” is what I actually say. “And if she loves you, she’ll get over it.”
“I tried hinting to her the other night why Tufts would be a better school for me, since it has a good music program and their a cappella groups are so well regarded and stuff, but she kind of just laughed me off.”
Is it weird that I
know exactly why Brynn laughed him off? Because she must now realize how winning the talent show last year has gone to Hunter’s head if he thinks he’s ready for an award-winning collegiate-level group.
“My family is never going to understand this,” he says, shaking his head.
“Well, you’re just going to have to tell them and let the chips fall where they may. It is your choice, after all.”
Hunter’s silent for a minute. “That’s it? That’s all you can tell me?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “What do you want me to say? It’ll be okay? I don’t know that. I’m not psychic, you know.”
“I thought you’d tell me how I should follow my dreams and that everyone else needs to get off my ass.”
“No,” I say, losing my patience. “You wanted me to tell you what you wanted to hear.”
“Jesus, Ellie. You used to have all the answers.”
“That’s the thing,” I say, and for some reason tears start burning in my eyes. “I don’t have a vested interest in your life anymore. I mean, I’m sorry you’re in such a tight spot right now. But you just expect me to be here for you and have all the answers because I did in the past?”
He doesn’t have a reply for this, and the fact that he’s that oblivious makes me even more annoyed. Then he’s all, “You’ve changed.”
That’s. It. “Hunter, you dumped me for another girl you apparently had feelings for long before we met, hooked up with her before you broke up with me, treated me like that was somehow my fault, and now I’m supposed to be the same old Ellie? Do you know how much you hurt me?”
“You’re just being a hypocrite,” he snaps.
“Excuse me?” How is he possibly turning this on me?
“I heard how you and Luke were all over each other at Alisha’s. And didn’t he have a girlfriend then? You’re not any better than me.”
I feel my throat constricting. I want so badly to scream and I start shaking. “And who told you that?”
“Steve saw you guys. Which means the whole class probably saw you, so don’t deny it.”
“We were not all over each other,” I say, my face going all hot. I don’t want to lie, but I don’t want to give him any satisfaction right now. “We played beer pong together and that’s it.”
“See, you’re even drinking now because of him,” he says, shaking his head.
I’m fairly sure I’ve never been part of a more ridiculous conversation, but I can’t seem to extricate myself from it. “I was playing with soda. But even if I was drinking, what’s the big deal? Everyone else drinks. Jesus Christ, you drink. And your girlfriend puked all over you from drinking too much. When the hell did you start”—I struggle for the word—“idealizing me so much?”
“I just think you’ve changed a lot and it bothers me. And I think it’s Luke’s influence.”
I actually burst out laughing. Like, I don’t know what else to do right now. “Hunter, you really have lost the right to judge how I have or haven’t changed. Honestly, if I have changed, it’s a result of how you treated me and that’s that.”
His face goes bright red. “I just don’t appreciate you going off on my sense of morals when you’re not doing too well with them yourself.”
I’m so done. I feel my blood pulsating in my temples and I clutch my Starbucks cup so hard I almost crush it.
“Whatever you think is going on between Luke and me is none of your damn business,” I growl. “Now stop projecting all your defensive shit on me.”
He shakes his head and a forced laugh comes out, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. “You know what, Ellie? Good for you for moving on. Because I guess if Luke’s so damn great he’ll finally be the one to get you to chill out and devirginize you!”
Without even thinking, I rip the lid off my drink and launch its contents into Hunter’s face. Well, not quite, because he moves his face when he sees the cup coming and the now-cold hot chocolate mostly lands on his shoulder. But still.
Before he can react, I yank the car door open and grab my backpack in one motion. That makes the open front pouch of my backpack tip forward and everything in it spill on the seat. I don’t care. I slam the door shut, glaring at Hunter through the window with a rage I’ve never known. He stares at me for a second with a look that resembles regret, but then I shake my head disgustedly at him, and he peels off into the growing darkness.
I stomp the rest of the way home and I’m glad to see that my parents aren’t there. I need to be able to vent to Jodie without them hearing it. I reach for my backpack, and when I see the open front pouch hanging down with nothing in it, a sense of dread wells up inside me. My phone was in there, with my pens, eye drops, and lip balm. All of which are now on the passenger’s seat of Hunter’s car.
Luckily, Jodie’s number is one of the few I know by heart, and I use the upstairs cordless phone to make my call.
“Hello?” Jodie asks, sounding annoyed. Normally, she’s all, “Yo, El, what’s up?”
“Hey, it’s Ellie. I’m on my landline.”
“Oh,” Jodie says, sounding less annoyed but still not like herself. “I thought you were a telemarketer or something. Did your phone finally die?”
“No, you’re not going to believe this,” I say. “It fell out in Hunter’s car while I was—”
“Hunter’s car?” Jodie repeats, her tone changing back to annoyed. “What were you doing in Hunter’s car?”
“It’s seriously the most—”
“Jesus, Ellie, you still haven’t gotten him out of your life yet? Is that why we’ve barely spoken the last few weeks?”
Seriously? She’s making this my fault? “We’ve barely spoken because you’re in a perpetual funk these days.”
“Nope, you’ve been super evasive lately and now I know why, since you apparently think hanging out with Hunter again is acceptable behavior. Why can’t you just get over him already?”
I take a deep breath, wondering if it’s possible to strangle my phone. “Jodie, I’m very, very sorry you’re not going to USC, but you don’t need to take it out on me and—”
“Excuse me? You know how much USC meant to me. Do not throw that in my face.”
“Yeah, I do. And I know that your life isn’t over because there are other colleges that you don’t have to fly to, which you seem to have conveniently forgot during this stupid extended pity party.” I feel my eyes bugging out and I suck in my breath. Did I really just say that?
But before I can take it back, Jodie makes a strange noise between a laugh and a yelp. “You’re going to lecture me? Oh, that’s rich, Miss Avoid Everything That Makes You Feel Bad.”
Whatever bit of regret I just had evaporates instantly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You stick with what’s safe because you can’t bear to have your feelings hurt. You don’t want to experience anything new and just stay in your little shell, so you stick with the familiar, even if the familiar is an asshole like Hunter. God, even your obsession with beating his group is like a weird, sick way of keeping him in your life.”
I suck in my breath. “Newsflash, Jodie, I hooked up with Luke last month, but I haven’t told you since you’ve been so busy feeling sorry for yourself and I felt bad. And I told Hunter off today for good. I actually dumped my drink on him, but since you’re too busy being a raging, reactionary bitch right now, maybe we can have this conversation another day.”
With that, I slam down the phone.
Seriously, what did I do to deserve today?
CHAPTER 24
It might sound crazy but the Feast-Off is the only thing keeping me focused at the moment. It’s like all of my anger and angst and fed-upness is funneled into creating the perfect meal.
And this is fine with me because I don’t want to think about yesterday. At all. Like, if I remember my fight with Hunter, I’m liable to punch someone. If I think about my fight with Jodie, I feel like I might start crying and never be able to stop. I mean, this is a pretty epic moment in our
friendship. Aside from a minor tiff in the sixth grade over who was the bigger T.J. Choi fan, we’ve never really fought. I’ve always tolerated Jodie’s pushiness and sometimes opinionated advice because it’s a minor part of who she is. But our argument took that to a whole other level, and since neither of us has apologized, I’m terrified this might be a permanent thing.
“Are you okay?” Isaiah asks at lunch that day. He’s staring at me with a deeply furrowed brow over a book Mariana gave him about horse care. He’s been working at the equine therapy center on Friday afternoons and Saturdays, the only two days his mother would concede. But it seems to be enough for Isaiah, who has been practically glowing since he started working there, and every lunch period he devours the reading material Mariana gives him.
“I’ll be all right,” I say.
“You sure?” he asks. “You look upset.”
“I just had kind of a late night last night is all.” Okay, that’s kind of true. I kept waiting to see if Jodie would call me and simultaneously fought the urge to call her. That went on until about 1:00 a.m., when I finally fell asleep.
Isaiah doesn’t look like he believes me, but he stops the line of questioning.
I’m digging half-heartedly at my pudding cup when a shadow falls over our table.
There’s a loud thwack as a heavy Ziploc bag is dropped on the table between Isaiah and me, startling the both of us. I look up to see Brynn standing there, scowling.
“Hunter said to give this to you.” It’s more of an accusation than a declarative statement.
I examine the bag, which contains my phone and all the stuff that fell out in Hunter’s car. I don’t know if Hunter is still too pissed at me to have brought it himself or if he knew Brynn’s path would cross with me before his.
Or maybe he thinks I’m liable to throw another drink in his face.
“Thanks,” I say.
“What were you doing in Hunter’s car yesterday?” Brynn asks, her eyes bright, her nostrils flaring.
“He saw me walking and offered me a ride home,” I say slowly. Approaching this like you would a possibly rabid animal caught in a trap seems the best track here.
The Secret Recipe for Moving On Page 22
