by Leigh Irwin
“You look ridiculous! What are you supposed to be? The Sexy Cook?”
“What? Oh, yeah…. I guess I do look a little strange,” she said absently, shutting the front door and turning toward the kitchen. I followed her.
“Geez! What a mess! What did you do in here, blow something up?” I asked, looking around.
Every surface was covered. I saw half-peeled potatoes lying on one counter, lettuce and tomatoes next to them, and various pots, pans and baking dishes sitting empty on the stovetop and scattered around the rest of the kitchen. A huge raw chicken was stuffed into a glass baking dish, still in its plastic bag. A large bowl held a box of cake mix, surrounded by eggs, a giant bottle of cooking oil and several round cake pans.
“What are you trying to do? You’ve got about ten things going on at the same time.” Emma gave me a dirty look and leaned against the counter.
“I didn’t ask you over here to criticize. I need help! I don’t have a clue what I’m doing, and I can’t find the directions Mom left me. I start one thing, then I’m not sure what to do, so I start something else, and now I’ve got everything started with nothing finished, and I just can’t do it!” Her big blue eyes flooded with tears, and a big one ran down her cheek.
“Okay. Let’s not panic. What we need here is organization,” I said. My words sounded right, but as I looked around me, I was bewildered. The chicken caught my eye.
“What were you planning to do with this?” I asked, pointing at the raw bird.
“Mom said to roast it. I guess that means bake it, but I don’t know how, or how long.”
“Let’s Google it,” I suggested. Emma’s face brightened.
“Why didn’t I think of that? I bet we could make this whole dinner using Google.”
Emma started typing on her phone, her thumbs flying. I glanced at the kitchen clock, and saw it was already 2:15. We decided dinner should be at 7:00. That gave us nearly five whole hours, and if we worked efficiently, we’d even have time for a swim.
I peeled and cut up the potatoes, while Emma dealt with the chicken. Watching her try to get the bird out of its plastic bag made me laugh so hard I thought I’d cry. At last, it landed in the sink with a wet plopping sound.
Disgusted, Emma exclaimed, “Eeeww! I can’t believe how gross this is. And it says here that I have to reach inside this thing and pull out whatever’s in there,” she added, reading off the front of the dripping plastic bag. Yuck!” She took a big breath, closed her eyes and shoved a hand inside the bird. I nearly cut off a finger, laughing hysterically while I chopped potatoes, my eyes focused on Emma fishing around inside the carcass.
“I think you should rinse it out again,” I commented sagely. We stared down at the pathetic-looking bird, now lying alongside a wet paper sack of something we didn’t want to touch. Emma had looked especially shocked when she’d pulled that out of the bird’s cavity.
For some reason the chicken reminded me of a headless baby, all chubby in the middle, with its wings flung back like wide open arms and its splayed legs. I pushed the image out of my mind.
By 4:00 things were pretty well under control. The chicken was in the refrigerator in its baking dish, the potatoes were ready to boil and we’d made a salad. The cake had been the easiest task, although we’d had to take turns beating the batter by hand since we couldn’t find the eggbeater. At least the cake mix had clear directions on the back of the box, and the icing would come out of a can.
“I’m exhausted. Can’t we take a break and go for a swim?” I pleaded.
“Okay. You go get your stuff while I clean up the kitchen.” Emma looked around her. “Whew! I think we did it—except for the cooking part of course. I sure hope this gets easier. I’m gonna go crazy if it’s always this hard!” Emma plopped onto a chair at the kitchen table and covered her head with her arms.
“You’re so pathetic!” I called on my way out the front door, laughing.
We floated in the pool and laid in the sun. I glanced at my phone. Oops, 5:00 already. Time to cook. We went back to Google for chicken roasting and potato boiling instructions. But we managed, and by the time Emma’s dad walked in from work, the table was set, the cake was iced, and the potatoes were mashed. The chicken was golden brown and juicy.
“Amazing!” Keith exclaimed, admiring our efforts. “I knew you could do it. Wait till you mother sees this! She’ll be so impressed.”
He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, popped the top and took a long swallow. I felt like I did after I’d just finished a tough soccer game, so weak with relief that I was shaking. Emma beamed beside me.
Emma’s mother was duly impressed, and dinner was served. While we ate, we prodded her for cooking tips. It was like learning a foreign language, all these mysterious words like sauté, braise, dice. Who knew how complicated cooking was?
Chapter 5
“Did you get your class schedule yet?” I asked Emma.
“Yes, but I didn’t get the teacher I wanted for math,” she replied, looking disgusted.
I was so happy to have something to look forward to that I hadn’t really even checked to see what teachers I had. The endless days and my parents’ constant fighting were really dragging me down. As fall approached, Mom picked up even more shifts at work, and Dad was gone more than ever. It was lonely, even with Emma right next door.
I’d cooked dinner several times at our house, thinking it might bring my parents home sooner, but they were always so preoccupied that I felt like they barely noticed. Not only that, but the night before school started, neither one came home in time for dinner. Dad was off to Shanghai again, on a last-minute trip, and he’d forgotten to tell me. Then Mom called at 6:00 to say she’d be late. I’d just finished making a salad to go with the chili. I had trouble hearing Mom’s voice, barely a whisper. She was rushing to the room of a wailing mom whose twins had insisted on being born two months early.
“Okay, I’ll keep something for you. It’ll be in frig,” I replied in a sulky tone.
“Oh, Sam, I’m so sorry I can’t be there, especially after all your hard work, but I’ve really gotta go. Love you,” she said breathlessly and ended the call.
I’d lost my appetite, so I put everything in containers, after dishing up a bowl of chili and another of salad for Mom. I took my dinner of granola bar and yogurt upstairs to my room, where my homework awaited. I was asleep before Mom got home and overslept my alarm the next morning. I hastily dressed and ran downstairs for another granola bar.
Emma was pounding on our front door. “Hurry up, Sam! If you want a ride to the bus stop, get out here now. Dad’s already late for work!” she yelled. I grabbed my backpack and raced out the door, shouting goodbye to Mom, who was still upstairs.
“Good morning, Sam,” Keith said, smiling at me in the rearview mirror as I climbed in back with Emma. “Are you two ready for another fun year of high school?”
“More than ready,” I said. “Summer is so over-rated.”
Since we’d started high school, Keith had driven us to meet the bus, saving us from the long, uphill walk. We jumped out of the car just as the familiar yellow school bus screeched to a halt. Why didn’t school busses ever change? Emma and I lurched down the aisle, and the bus picked up speed. We greeted the others already on board and took the first two empty seats we saw.
The day was sunny and warm here, on top of the Peninsula, but as we wound down Hawthorne Boulevard toward the ocean, we were soon enveloped in a fog bank that clung to the trees and colored everything around us gray. It felt like we’d descended into a different world, where all sounds and life itself were muffled. Sometimes the sun never burned through the fog all day long, so we always made sure to stuff a sweatshirt in our backpacks.
Emma and I had adjoining lockers, and we’d picked up our books the week before. We pushed our backpacks into our lockers, grabbed our first period books and separated, rushing to our classes with no time to spare.
My first class was Honors English, wit
h Coach McKinney. He was the golf coach of all things, and I was curious to see what a golf coach knew about English literature. He looked more like an athlete than a teacher, with eyes that crinkled when he smiled. He was dressed in his usual: a golf shirt, kakis and white tennis shoes.
“Okay class, settle down,” he said in a surprisingly quiet but commanding voice.
Everyone scrambled for seats. I liked to sit right in the middle of the action, so I claimed a spot on the aisle about halfway back. As I sat and dropped my textbook onto the desk, I looked around. The same old group. I knew nearly everyone in the class. Some of them had been in my classes since elementary school.
I was surprised to see James though. I hadn’t known he was much of a student. His family had moved to Palos Verdes (PV for short) the year before, and I’d noticed him right off. So had all the other girls. He was tall and skinny, but he had a head full of blond curls, vivid green eyes and a tan that could have been sprayed on, it was so perfect. He had a shy smile that lit up his even-featured face, and I was immediately drawn to him. But I forced myself to forget him when he started hanging out with the popular crowd.
I wasn’t one of them. I wasn’t unpopular, but there was a large clique of rich kids who always gravitated together, like metal to a magnet. Emma was on the fringes of the crowd, not that she cared, but I didn’t even register.
I knew James was a surfer, so I wasn’t surprised that he’d arrived to first period with his hair still wet from the shower. A handful of guys and several girls took surfing for PE. Why they wanted to get up at dawn and spend hours in the foggy, cold ocean was a mystery to me. I had enough trouble just making the bus on time.
The first day of classes passed uneventfully, but all of my teachers assigned homework, due the next day. Emma and I went to soccer practice before catching the late bus for home. It would be a busy night. Dad was supposed to be home in time for dinner, and Mom would be there, too, not working late for once. I figured my homework would take up the rest of the evening. Why had I ever wished school would start?
On my way to meet Emma for lunch the next day, I literally ran into James. I was reading something on my cellphone as I walked along, and he was studying a sheet of paper. We collided with a thud that almost knocked the wind out of me. My books and phone fell onto the cement floor with a loud crash.
“Wow! Sorry about that,” James said, stooping to pick up my books. I squatted, trying to rescue my phone before it got crushed by the hordes of kids who hurried past us in all directions.
“No problem,” I replied, finally standing. I felt my face burning when I saw who it was. I’d had a boyfriend before, but no one for the past six months, and over the summer, I’d decided boys were overrated. But as I looked up at him, way up, I reconsidered that judgment.
“Do we know each other?” James asked, a puzzled look on his face. “I know we’re in the same English class, but were you here last year, too?”
“Umm… yeah, we’ve always lived in PV. But you’re sort of new, aren’t you?” I feigned ignorance, intrigued by him and wanting to keep the conversation going.
“We moved here from San Diego last summer, right before school started. So, are you headed to lunch? I’m going that way.” He gestured for me to join him, and we started toward the cafeteria.
I was flabbergasted that he seemed interested in talking to me, when there were so many other girls who would do anything to get his attention. Suddenly, Emma appeared at my side, smiling.
“Hey. Ready for lunch?” she asked, looking at me and grinning.
“Yep. Do you know James?” I asked awkwardly. I stepped back to give Emma more room, thinking that James had to be more interested in talking to Emma than me.
“Hi James,” Emma said, smiling at him and then looking back at me. “We had biology lab together last year. He was my partner when we dissected the frog. That was an experience!”
They laughed as we walked, Emma on one side of me, James on the other. At the entrance, James said a quick goodbye and strode across the room to meet a couple of guys, and Emma and I worked our way through the cafeteria line.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“About what?” Emma asked, eyeing the day’s selections. “Oh, you mean James. He’s fine, smart and all, but he’s not really my type.” She picked out a large salad and a piece of cornbread.
“I didn’t know you had a type,” I responded as I put a turkey sandwich on my tray.
“Not really, I guess, but to me, James feels more like a brother than boyfriend material.”
“Oh,” I said. He was definitely boyfriend material as far as I was concerned.
I ate quickly, stealing occasional glances at James, now settled at a table across the room with several of the popular kids. He sat facing Emma and me, and I caught him glancing our way a few times, but I dismissed it, figuring he was probably looking at Emma.
The bus ride home had turned into my favorite part of the school day. I always sat on the ocean side of the bus, which gave me an unobstructed view of the coastline. On the morning route, ours was one of the last stops before we got to school, but on the way home, we drove miles out of our way, dropping kids off all along Palos Verdes Drive, not backtracking until we were practically to San Pedro.
That afternoon, the fog had burned off, leaving a sparkling day. The ocean looked close enough to touch, and I relaxed into my seat, listening to music on Emma’s phone. We shared her earbuds, each taking one, a habit we’d gotten into years before.
Weeks passed quickly, and school settled into a routine. Emma and I took the late bus home after soccer practice every day, walked down the hill and went our separate ways, loaded down with textbooks.
After the first day of school, James took a permanent seat next to me in English class, and we bantered back and forth each morning before class started. I tried not to read too much into it, although I was flattered by the attention, and I always tried to get to class a few minutes early.
One morning before class, I noticed James looked uneasy. He dumped a stack of books onto the floor as he sat down, and when he greeted me, he avoided looking me in the eye.
“Everything okay?” I asked, hoping nothing bad had happened. He broke into a huge grin and laughed, which really confused me.
“Everything’s fine. I was just thinking, that’s all.” He hesitated, fidgeting with his pencil, and then looked directly at me. “Wanna go to the football game with me on Friday night?” he asked, his smile wavering a bit.
I noticed him tapping one foot on the floor, like it had a mind of its own. I was shocked. He was actually nervous! My heart started pounding in my ears as I studied him, still not positive he was really serious.
“Sure. That would be great,” I finally squeaked out, my throat dry. He relaxed back in the chair, stretching his long legs out before him, a look of relief on his face.
“Is it okay if we meet up at the front gate before it starts?” I nodded but didn’t say anything, because Mr. McKinney was already talking at the front of the room.
On the way home that afternoon, I couldn’t wait to tell Emma about my upcoming date. She let me ramble on, and for once I was so distracted that I didn’t even notice the view outside the window.
“You absolutely have to spend the night after the football game on Friday,” I gushed. “I’ll tell you all about my big night out.”
“Sure,” she smiled indulgently, before passing me one of her earbuds, effectively ending my monologue. I couldn’t wait for Friday.
Chapter 6
I put lots of effort into picking out my outfit for school that Friday, then decided that I didn’t want it to look like I was trying too hard. I put on my favorite jeans and a bright red PV High T-Shirt and called it good enough.
After school, Emma and I had soccer practice as usual, so we decided to shower in the locker room and stay at school rather than take the late bus home. Neither set of parents could be relied on to drive us back again in time
for the game, and taking an Uber back and forth seemed like a total waste of money.
James was waiting at the gate when we walked up. The three of us showed our school IDs and were inside just as the game started. Emma waved to a couple of girls and took off, leaving James and me alone, along with a couple thousand other people.
“Did you eat yet?” he asked as we pushed our way through the crowd. My head spun, and I felt a little dizzy when he took my hand, but I tried to be cool about it. Was it nerves or hunger?
“No. We had a really long practice so there wasn’t time. I’m starved.”
“Let’s get something before we look for seats, okay?”
We each got a hotdog and a drink and squeezed ourselves into two spaces in the bleachers. I saw Emma a few rows away. She smiled and raised her eyebrows in question, but I just grinned.
James seemed nervous, which was actually reassuring, since my stomach was tied in knots and my head pounded. We ate and watched the game, cheering the team on. They were usually outmanned, and tonight was no exception. The Sea Kings lost 21 to 7, but I couldn’t have cared less. A contented feeling had settled over me, and I watched the game without really seeing it. Afterward, we strolled to the parking lot together, holding hands.
“Do you need a ride home?” James asked.
“No, not really. Emma and I’ll just call an Uber…”
“You don’t have to do that. My dad will drive you guys home. He’s right over there.” James pointed to a huge black SUV. A girl of about eight was waving frantically from an open window. She looked like a cute, little girl version of James, the same blond, curly hair and smile. Just then, Emma walked up.
“I’ll call the Uber,” she said, pulling her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans.
“My dad will give you a ride home, if you want. I have to warn you though, my little sister is with him,” James said.
“Great!” Emma smiled.
Emma, James and I sat together in the backseat, with Janie and their dad in the front. Janie chattered the whole way, telling us all about her new pet bunny. James and his dad beamed at her, obviously charmed. Emma and I traded looks, amused by the little girl’s performance as much as by her doting brother and father.
