by Kasie West
“Maybe you should stop strategizing and just be yourself. I think yourself is pretty great. And he obviously does, too.”
She brought the sleeve of his hoodie that she was wearing again today up to her mouth to hide her smile. “You’re right. I think it’s time.”
“Time for what?”
“What says me more than a cook-off?”
“You’re finally going to make it happen?”
“Yes. Once he tastes my cooking, he will pledge allegiance to me forever.”
My dad stood on the dock, talking to the police officer. I held a rope attached to the front of the kayak and dragged it alongside the dock toward its slip. I had paused the podcast I’d been listening to, trying my hardest to eavesdrop, but they were talking too quietly. They had to be talking about our WaveRunners being scattered. Had Frank been questioned? Were there other suspects?
I moored the kayak to the dock. It was hard to look busy when I’d already done the entire closing routine. I untied and retied a couple boats. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I sat back on my knees and pulled it out.
I deserve to be ignored.
I stared at the new text from Hunter, shocked for two reasons. One, because I didn’t think he’d text me again after being ignored. Two, I had ignored him. No, I had more than ignored him. I had forgotten about his first text. Life had been so busy, and I hadn’t thought about Hunter in days. I hadn’t even checked his social media.
My finger, which had tapped on the screen to check the message, now dropped, accidentally typing an L into the blank bar. Crap. The stupid dots would appear on his phone, like I was typing back. I had to say something now.
My first thought was to say, Yes, you do deserve to be ignored. I even typed that out. But then I deleted it. That seemed too bitter. Too invested. I was neither. So I typed, Been super busy. How have you been?
I hit SEND.
Why had I asked him a question? I didn’t want to start a conversation here. But as the flashing dots appeared in the text box on my screen, I knew that’s exactly what I’d done.
Hunter: Texas is a lot different than Lakesprings. I miss it.
Me: Nothing compares to Lakesprings.
Hunter: How did I know you’d say that?
My brows went down. It had been more than three months since we’d talked, and he wanted to act like it was yesterday? Like he still knew me so well?
Me: Guess I’m predictable.
From the other side of the dock I heard my dad saying good-bye to the policeman.
I quickly stood, tucked my phone away, and brushed off my knees. “Dad!” I called.
He stopped to wait for me before exiting the gate.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Nothing. He came by to say they don’t have any leads.”
“Did he question Frank?”
He held the gate open for me. “No. He said he doesn’t have enough evidence to question anyone.”
“Evidence is the thing they have to have to arrest someone. Questioning someone doesn’t require evidence.”
He shut the gate behind us and locked the heavy replacement lock he’d bought after the break-in. “I’m just repeating what he said. He doesn’t have evidence to question anyone.”
“Anyone? Or Frank? I’m sure if Frank’s last name wasn’t Young that he’d be just fine questioning him. When you own over half the town, I guess you own the cops that go along with it.”
“I don’t know what to say, Kate. We got all our WaveRunners back. I think it’s time to let it go.”
I sighed. “Yep. Letting it go.” I was so not letting it go.
Speaking of letting things go, once I was in my room, I pulled out my phone to see if Hunter had responded. He had.
That’s not what I meant. You’re not predictable. Far from it these days. Hosting the school’s podcast? I never would’ve guessed that. Nice pic, btw.
He knew I was hosting the school podcast? Did this mean he’d listened to it? Was that why he’d reached out after all those weeks? And what pic? I suddenly remembered the website and the pictures that Alana and Frank had supposedly uploaded there. I slid into my desk chair and opened my laptop.
Like Alana had said, it was my school picture, taken after the lady had said, “Smile,” and I started to say, “Hold on.” She didn’t hold on. The candid shot that Frank had taken of me and Victoria was no better. I looked like I wanted to kiss the microphone. Ugh. Alana was right, this did inspire thoughts of killing her.
I shot her off a text: You approved of these pictures? I thought we were friends!
She quickly responded: You look adorable! Seriously, you’re super photogenic.
I reminded myself that murder was still illegal in all fifty states and texted: You’re lucky awkward is a good look on me.
Alana: Oh, btw, keep next Friday open. I did it. I challenged Diego to a cook-off and he said yes.
Me: What does that have to do with me?
Alana: We’re doing it at your house.
Me: Why?
Alana: Because you have a better kitchen. And we need a judge. He’s bringing someone, too.
Me: Okay. We must talk tomorrow.
Alana: About the cook-off?
Me: About Hunter.
My phone rang one second later and I answered.
“You think I can wait until tomorrow with a setup like that?” Alana asked.
“He texted again.”
“And you didn’t answer again.”
“Well …”
“Ugh! Kate. Tell me everything you said.”
I relayed the exchange to her, and she was silent for several long minutes before she said, “Huh. You haven’t screwed everything up. Your replies sounded almost distant.” She seemed impressed by this. “Maybe you’re not as hung up on him as I thought.”
“Touching the hook!” Maybe it was less than that actually. Because I realized that, aside from irritation, I’d felt almost nothing when reading her the texts.
She laughed. “There’s hope for you yet.”
We hung up, and I stared at Hunter’s texts again. I waited. I waited for my heart to pound or for the butterflies to take flight. There was nothing. I closed my eyes and I ripped that hook, the one I’d only been touching, off the wall and flung it into the toilet. Because in my mind it had been a bathroom hook, of course. Then I flushed. And since it was all in my head, it easily went down the drain. When I opened my eyes, I deleted the messages and Hunter’s name from my phone. I unfollowed all his social media accounts. I’d never felt so light.
“Kat!” a voice called to me from across the lunchtime commons.
Anytime someone used that name at school now, I knew they only knew me from the podcast. And they only recognized me from those awkward pictures on the website.
The floppy-haired boy caught up to me. “Kat!” he repeated.
“Hi, thanks for listening.” That was my go-to phrase. Most of the time it was enough. This time it wasn’t. The floppy-haired boy wanted to talk.
“Hi,” he said. “I need advice.”
“Can you call in on Wednesday?” I asked. “We like callers on the show.”
“I tried to call in last Wednesday and never got through.”
“You didn’t?” I asked. “Like you got a busy signal?”
“Yes.”
“Wow.” I hadn’t considered that was possible. “Okay, I’ll try to give you advice, but honestly, asking a friend would probably be just as effective.”
“No, you don’t hold back. I like that.”
I scoffed.
It didn’t faze him. “I want to try out for football.”
“Okay,” I said, not understanding what part of that required my opinion.
“But look at me,” he said.
I did. He was a small guy. I’d initially thought he was a freshman, but maybe he wasn’t. “That’s what pads and helmets are for, right? You obviously won’t be on defense. Maybe you can be the catcher person.”
He scrunched up his face.
“See, you should ask your friends,” I said, backing up. “Or ask Victoria, she’s sporty. I know nothing about football.”
That didn’t deter him. “I would try out, even being as small as I am, but it’s my parents. They won’t let me.”
I stopped in my retreat. “Oh.”
“Yeah, my mom’s afraid I’ll break every bone in my body and my dad doesn’t even like football. He told me I’m more suited for golf.”
“Golf is cool.” I thought of Diego. “One of my friends hit a golf ball through the goalposts from the hill behind the stadium.” I paused for a minute. “Off topic?”
“Slightly.” The boy yanked on his backpack straps. “And by the way, your friend is exaggerating. I’ve seen guys try to do that and fail miserably.”
I stepped out of the way to let a group of kids pass us. “Right?” I said. “That’s what I told him. He swore, though. I really should have him prove it to me.”
“Back to me, here.”
I laughed. “Okay, let’s see. I’m kind of stumped on this one. I can see where your mom is coming from.”
“Thanks a lot. This is why I should’ve called in. You wouldn’t have been able to see me and be influenced.”
“You’re right. So if I couldn’t look at your totally breakable bones, what would I say?”
He bit his lip as if his life depended on my answer. I gave it some more thought, then spoke again.
“I’d say, compromise?” I suggested. “Tell your parents that if they let you try out for the football team and you don’t make it, then you’ll try golf.”
His eyes lit up. It was the part about giving advice that I didn’t get on the podcast, the part where I could see that the solution presented made sense to them.
“That’s … a good idea,” he said.
“Don’t act too surprised.” Although I was. I had given advice … good advice … without Victoria there to back me up or elaborate.
I started to look around again, in search of Alana. She hadn’t answered any of my texts and she wasn’t in our normal place—our lunch bench—but she wasn’t in any of our not-so-normal places, either. I sighed and noticed my advice-asker was still standing in front of me.
“This is obviously advice for next year, right?” I asked. “Since football season started weeks ago.”
“Yes.”
“So you have a whole year to put on some weight. Do that Michael Phelps diet thing.” I may or may not have watched a documentary about Michael Phelps.
“What diet is that?”
“The one where he basically eats all day and works out in between eating. Or at least he did when he was training for the Olympics.”
“Sounds painful,” he said.
“I agree.” I gave him a small wave. “I better go. Thanks for listening to our show.”
I took a step to my right when I heard another voice say, “Wait.”
I turned around and saw that a petite girl with long black hair had been standing behind the football boy, as if there was a line forming.
“Hi?” I said to the girl.
“I wanted advice, too.”
I shot the football guy a look, and he left with a shrug.
“Okay, what can I help you with?” Maybe I needed to set up a booth and start charging. Thankfully, the girl asked an easy question, about which way I thought would be better to ask her girlfriend to Fall Festival. I answered her, she nodded happily, and I took off at a fast walk toward the library.
Once inside, I stepped behind the nearest shelf of books. I let out a breath, and freed my phone from my pocket to see that Alana had texted me back.
Alana: I’m making a presentation.
Me: What does that mean? I’m in the library.
Alana: I’ll explain later. The library? Why?
Me: I’ll explain later.
Alana: Lunch is almost over. I’ll see you in podcasting.
I tucked my phone away. Lunch was almost over, and I hadn’t eaten anything. My hunger did not outweigh the thought of facing the commons again, though. I peeked out from behind the shelf and scanned the library, wondering if there was a vending machine in here. I obviously did not frequent the library enough.
Then I saw Max sitting at one of the long oak tables in the center. I smiled and made my way to him. He was sketching in a notebook like he often did these days, more dedicated than I’d ever seen him to his comics.
“Brother,” I said. “Tell me you have food.” I sank into a chair across from him.
“We can’t eat in here. It’s against the rules.”
“Really? So where do you eat?”
“I eat on my walk over here.”
“That’s some fast eating. That cannot be good for your digestion.”
He gave me a Max look, one that said he didn’t think I was as funny as I thought I was.
“It wasn’t meant to be a joke,” I said.
He gave me a half smile this time.
“That’s better.” I took in all the empty chairs around us. “Where are your friends?”
“They like to eat at lunch,” he said.
“Jerks.”
That one got a chuckle.
A moment later, Liza walked in and sat down next to Max. “Are we having a family meeting?” she asked. “Nobody told me about a family meeting. I thought I was going to help you on the girl voice in your comic. Did you ask Kate to help you, too?”
“Don’t worry, he didn’t ask me,” I said. “I’m not sure if I should be offended or not. I’ll let you both know in a minute.”
“Don’t be offended,” Liza said. “I’ve read more of his comic than you have, so I know what he’s looking for.”
“Now I’m pretty sure I’m doubly offended.”
She rolled her eyes. Max didn’t grace me with a response. I kicked his foot under the table but then turned my attention to Liza.
“How was tutoring yesterday?” I asked her. This was the first week she’d gone without me.
Liza’s eyes went to the tabletop, and a small smile played at her lips. “It was good.”
“I’m proud of you for going on your own.”
“Are you making fun of me?” she asked, snapping her head up.
“What? No. Did it sound like I was making fun of you?” Apparently I needed to work on my tone.
“A little. But thanks.”
“Is Aunt Marinn going to make you keep going after the first quarter?”
“I don’t know. But you were right. It’s not bad having a time where I’m forced to do my homework and someone on hand ready to help.”
“Did I tell you that? I think Alana told you that.”
“Hmm. Maybe. I feel like it was you, though, and that’s what matters.”
“Ha.” I looked at Max. He’d been so quiet through this whole exchange. He was generally quiet, but it seemed more so than normal. “I want to read your comic sometime.”
“Okay,” he said.
“It’s a Bailey family meeting!” Alana said, plopping down in the seat beside me and pulling a taco out of the bag she held. It smelled amazing.
“I thought I wasn’t going to see you until podcasting class,” I said.
“The taco line was shorter than I anticipated.”
“You can’t eat in here,” Max said.
“I can. It’s a special rule, just for me. It’s called the Alana Does What She Wants rule. It’s a hard rule to explain, lots of nuances and sublaws, but I’m sure you get the gist of it.”
“So, the presentation?” I asked.
“Frank and I were presenting the ‘recording a podcast at the carnival’ idea to the student council,” Alana explained, taking a big bite of her taco.
“Oh. And what did they say?”
She chewed and swallowed. “Sorry. They approved it. They were even excited about it.”
The live show was happening.
“Why are you sorry?” I asked, trying
to act casual. “I’m fine about it. Cool with it.”
“Do you hear your sister, Max?” Alana asked my brother. “She is so not cool with it.”
Max smiled.
Alana turned back to me, holding her taco. “Maybe it would help if you admitted your fear.”
“So you and Frank made the presentation?” I asked, changing the subject.
“I know, I know, I’m fraternizing with the enemy. But you told me to spy and I am. I’m learning lots of good stuff. Like the fact that I think he might be sincere about wanting to let go of grudges his parents have held.”
I glanced at Max and Liza. They both looked as skeptical as I felt.
“I don’t think Frank knows what sincere is,” I said. Because sincere definitely wasn’t snooping through my house and sabotaging our business.
“Don’t worry, I’m still being wary,” Alana said. “I think a mending with the Youngs can only be good for your family, though. Maybe it will start at the bottom.” She took another bite of her taco. “This is delicious.”
The smell of her taco had my stomach growling with hunger. And thinking of Frank only made me grumpy.
“Presenting the podcast reminded me how awesome this festival is going to be,” Alana went on through her mouthful. “Which reminded me that Diego still hasn’t asked me. So when he calls in to the podcast this week, tell him to ask me already, okay? I’m hoping he’ll ask at our cook-off date this Friday, but I think a little encouragement will go a long way.”
I froze. Then I widened my eyes at her and nodded toward Max and Liza.
“Oops.” A piece of stray lettuce clung to her lip and she used her finger to swipe it into her mouth. “Do they not know he calls in?” She pointed at them. “You guys are sworn to secrecy.”
Liza made an X over her heart with a finger.
Alana smiled at me. “There. All fixed.”
“Seriously, guys,” I told my brother and cousin sternly. “You can’t breathe a word.”
“We won’t,” Liza swore, and Max nodded solemnly.
I wanted to be comforted by that assurance, but uneasiness settled into my chest. Diego couldn’t find out.
The podcast that Wednesday felt off. On the surface, everything seemed normal. Victoria was doling out lots of advice, I was adding my fair share of sarcastic quips mixed with useful suggestions. Our classmates and Ms. Lyon sat on the other side of the glass making sure everything ran smoothly. But something wasn’t quite right. For one, Diego hadn’t called in yet. He’d called three weeks in a row; I assumed he’d call again. People liked him.
