Here is a list of the evidence I have procured:
1. Cindy has been after my dad pretty much ever since they met. You can totally tell. I mean, she is always showing up at our house with food. Which is kind of ridiculous. I mean, we know how to cook here. (Well, at least enough to keep ourselves fed.) But Cindy kept bringing over things like cherry pie or chili or fried chicken. And when my dad’s doctor put him on a special diet for his high cholesterol, suddenly Cindy just happened to get all into healthy cooking. Her spaghetti and meatballs started getting replaced with grilled chicken and roasted asparagus. So. Totally. Suspicious.
2. She’s always complimenting me. Now, you might think that’s really nice of her, but if you look below the surface, you’ll see that it’s a total ploy to get close to my dad. Cindy knows she needs my approval, so she tries to get it by complimenting my hair and clothes.
3. Cindy and my dad have secrets. Not, like, big secrets or anything. But little secrets. Like, one of them will mention something they did together that I had no idea about. Like, Cindy will be all, “Oh, this reminds me of that bread we ate the other day,” and my dad will be all, “Yes, it does.” And I’ll be like, “Um, what bread?” because I have no idea what they’re talking about. Which means they’re obviously having some kind of secret rendezvous.
4. My dad invited me to go apple picking with him and Cindy. He came up to my room a few days ago right when I was in the middle of a very important conversation with Ellie, and asked me to get off the phone. I got super-paranoid, because my dad’s not really big on talking about emotions or anything like that. So I figured something horrible had happened. But it wasn’t anything horrible. It was just my dad asking me to go apple picking with him and Cindy. My dad hates apple picking. But he was being very insistent, and he was acting all twitchy. Which leads me to believe that today is the day the two of them are going to tell me they’re a couple. Which is why when he asked me to go, I promptly forgot about it. Oops.
“Oh,” I say innocently. “Is that today?”
“Yes.”
“I have a lot of homework.”
“You’re going.”
“Do I have to?” I say. I’m not full-out whining, but I’m close.
“Yes.” My dad looks at his watch. “And we’re already late.”
“Fine,” I say. “Just let me change first, okay?”
“You have five minutes.”
I run into the house and up the stairs to my room. On the way my phone beeps with a text. Brandon!
Hey—what r u doing today? Wanna hang?
I hesitate. I read this book once that said you should never make weekend plans with a guy after Wednesday. But honestly, I think things have changed. I mean, that book was kind of old, and we’re in the information age now. Everyone texts people to hang out at the last minute.
Going apple picking, I text back. I’m in my room now, and I kick off my shoes and open my top dresser drawer. I pull out some skinny jeans and a cute black sweater with sparkly stars on the front. I get dressed, then pull out my soft black boots and slide my feet into them, tucking the bottom of my jeans into the tops of the boots.
I tie my hair back into a ponytail, slick some gloss on my lips, and I’m ready.
Want some company? Brandon texts back.
My heart leaps at the thought of seeing him. And then I think about inviting him. It would be okay, right? I mean, it would only be fair. My dad gets to bring a date. Why should I have to be the third wheel?
My dad and Cindy are going. U still want to come?
I hit send and hold my breath. Brandon and my dad don’t exactly have the best relationship. My dad is kind of hard on Brandon. He’s very suspicious of him, just because the first time they met, Brandon and I were supposed to be staying after school to study and instead we were at the mall. Which wasn’t even Brandon’s fault.
A second later my phone beeps.
I’m in—you going now?
I text him to meet us at the corn maze in twenty minutes, then head downstairs with a spring in my step. Apple picking won’t be so bad if Brandon’s there. And I’m sure my dad won’t mind. After all, if he’s going to tell me that he and Cindy are an item, what better way to make sure I won’t freak out than for me to have a friend there to supervise?
Okay. So I was kind of wrong. And by “kind of” I mean, you know, “completely.” My dad is being totally unreasonable about this whole me inviting Brandon thing.
“No,” he says, shaking his head as he pulls the car out of the driveway. “Please call him back and tell him that he cannot come.”
“Dad,” I say as I pull on my seat belt, “I can’t call him back and tell him that.” Plus I would never call him in the first place. Doesn’t my dad know that all important details are relayed by texts these days? He’s always going on and on about how many texts I send every month. You’d think he’d have internalized this information.
“Why not?”
“Because that’s rude.”
“And you don’t think it’s rude that you invited him along without even asking me?”
Hmm. Good point. “Okay,” I say, sighing. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll text him and tell him he can’t come.”
“Invite him over for dinner tomorrow night,” my dad says. “And give him my apologies.”
“Maybe,” I say vaguely. I will give him my dad’s apologies. I send a text, but there’s no way I’m going to invite Brandon over for dinner tomorrow night. Talk about setting myself up for a disaster.
When we get to the apple farm, it’s a total mob scene, and we have to wait, like, fifteen minutes before we can even get a parking spot. The place is packed—children with their parents, older couples in flannel shirts, young couples eating apple cider doughnuts. Yum. At least the food here is good.
When we finally get a spot, I leap out of the car and right into a mud puddle. Oops. I hope it’s not a sign for how the rest of the day is going to go.
My dad and I walk toward the corn maze, which is where he’s arranged for us to meet Cindy. I start to feel a little better as we walk. I mean, what do I really have to be upset about? I like apple picking. Well, maybe not the actual picking, but I like the eating of the apples. And the doughnuts.
And if my dad is going to tell me that he’s now dating Cindy, who am I to tell him that he’s wrong? I mean, it’s pretty hypocritical of me to judge who he’s dating when I don’t want him to do the same to me. In fact, maybe I can use this to my advantage. If I don’t give him a hard time about who he’s dating, then he’s not allowed to give me a hard time about who I’m dating.
The air smells like falling leaves, and I take a deep breath. It’s one of those perfect days where the air is warm enough so that you don’t have to wear a jacket, but cool enough so that it still feels like fall.
My boots crunch through the leaves as we walk toward the maze.
“There she is,” my dad says, pointing toward Cindy. She’s standing outside the maze, wearing a cranberry-colored sweater and a pair of jeans.
I raise my hand to wave, and when I do, Cindy waves back. And so does the person standing next to her.
And then I realize why. It’s Brandon.
“Oh,” I say. “There’s Brandon!”
“I thought you told him not to come,” my dad says.
“I did!” I run toward him. “Hi,” I say breathlessly.
“Hi.” He looks down at the ground sheepishly. He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt under a gray zip-up hoodie. His hair flops over his forehead. “Sorry,” he says, holding up his phone. “I didn’t get your text until just now. I was already here.”
“That’s okay,” Cindy says, giving us a big smile. “I told him your dad wouldn’t mind.”
I can tell by my dad’s face that he’s disappointed. But what can he really do? Is he going to make poor Brandon go home? That would be way too mean.
“Great!” I say brightly. I shoot Cindy a grateful look, beca
use, let’s face it, she’s being pretty cool about this whole thing. Actually, now that I think about it, Cindy’s been pretty cool about a lot of things having to do with Brandon. She was the one who told my dad I should be able to go on my very first date with him, even though my dad didn’t really want me to.
I wonder if that means Cindy’s boy crazy. I mean, look at the way she zoned in on my dad. Of course, being boy crazy usually means you’re crazy about any boy who crosses your path. And Cindy seems like she’s a one-man woman.
“So!” I say happily. “What should we do first?”
Cindy holds up some empty bags. “I bought a couple of bags while I was waiting,” she says. “Maybe we can start by picking some Red Delicious. Those are my favorite.”
My dad beams at her, like she’s just announced we’re going to be spending the afternoon flying off to Paris on a private jet instead of picking apples in suburban Connecticut.
“Or,” I try, “we could go into the corn maze. And then we could have a hayride.”
“Oh, there will be plenty of time for that later,” my dad says. He turns around and starts walking toward the apple trees.
I sigh. Everyone knows that the actual picking of the apples is the worst part of apple picking. The ground is always muddy and gross, and no matter what time you go picking, someone has always gotten there before you and picked all the good apples.
But what can I do?
Brandon and I start following my dad and Cindy. As we walk through the rows of trees, Brandon reaches out and grabs my hand. Hmm. Maybe this apple-picking thing isn’t so bad after all.
For the next hour we pick apples. Actually, my dad and Cindy pick apples. Brandon and I fill our bag up in about ten minutes and then trail after the two adults, walking slowly, holding hands, and chatting about people at school.
When we’ve finally completed the loop back up to the front of the orchard, my dad and Cindy stand under a tree, their heads huddled together, talking. I watch them nervously. They’re probably talking about me. I hope they’re aborting their plan to let me know they’re a couple.
“Hey,” I say, “anyone want to get some apple cider doughnuts?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Cindy says. “Should your father really be eating things like that?”
“He can have half of one,” I say. “Come on. Let’s go wait in line.”
We all traipse over to the snack bar. The line for doughnuts is so long that I have to stand on my tiptoes to see over it. But that’s not going to deter me from getting the doughnuts. They’re that good.
“This place has the best doughnuts,” I tell Brandon. “Especially the ones with the cinnamon and sugar.”
“I love apple doughnuts,” Brandon says.
“Me too.”
He leans in close to me then, so close that I can smell his shampoo. My heart hammers in my chest and I feel my face get warm.
“You look really pretty today,” he whispers, and a million butterflies swarm around in my stomach.
“Thanks,” I say.
In front of us I see my dad reach out and grab Cindy’s hand. I feel my breath catch in my chest. I’ve never seen him hold her hand before. And even though I’ve suspected they were together, something about him holding her hand makes me uncomfortable.
“Hey,” I say to Brandon suddenly. “Do you want to go through the corn maze with me?”
He frowns. “The corn maze? I thought you wanted to get doughnuts.”
“Oh, my dad and Cindy can get the doughnuts for us.” I grab his hand and pull him out of line, yelling over my shoulder at my dad and Cindy as I go, telling them to get us some doughnuts and that we’ll meet them back here in a little while.
“Hey, slow down,” Brandon says as I yank him through the crowd. He’s looking at me like I’m crazy. Honestly, I probably shouldn’t have startled him like that. I mean, he already thinks I’m a little nuts. (There was this totally scandalous thing that happened involving this ghost named Daniella, where Brandon kept finding me in different places, doing weird things—like talking to myself. Or digging up the cemetery. It’s too complicated to get into, but I’m sure it didn’t make the best impression.)
When we finally get to the corn maze, I’m able to relax a little.
“Have you ever gone through this maze before?” I ask as we wait in line to get in. Luckily, this line is moving a lot faster than the one for doughnuts.
“Nope.” Brandon shakes his head and gives me a grin. “Is it scary?”
“Not really,” I say. “There’s no way to get lost. I mean, they let little kids in, you know?”
When we get to the front of the line, Brandon hands the girl working there four dollars—two for my admission and two for his.
I fumble around in my pocket for my money, but Brandon stops me. “I got it.”
“You sure?”
He nods, and I flush with pleasure. So what if Brandon hasn’t totally said that I’m his girlfriend? He obviously thinks this is a date. Otherwise he wouldn’t be paying for me to go into the corn maze with him.
We walk into the maze, and I inhale the scent of corn and hay. There’s a slight chill in the air, and I shiver for a second and then turn my face to the sun, letting it warm my skin. Brandon and I begin making our way through the huge cornstalks, laughing and debating which way to go. They space you out so that there’s actually not that many people in here with us, which makes it more fun.
We twist and turn and take the wrong way on purpose just to make it more interesting. We get into a playful hay fight at one point, chasing each other around and throwing hay in the air and at each other. It’s the most fun I’ve had in a while.
At one point Brandon chases me into a dead end, and he’s about to throw a handful of hay at me when suddenly he drops the hay. “Why’d you stop?” I tease. “Are you scared or something?”
I pick up some hay and get ready to throw it at him, but before I know what’s happening, Brandon moves close and brushes his lips quickly against mine. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly, looking down at the ground.
Electricity flies through my body. Even though Brandon and I have kissed a couple of times before, it’s still a new feeling for me.
I’m not sure exactly what I’m supposed to do. “Oh,” I say. My lips feel warm. What do I say? Thank you? This kissing stuff is so confusing!
And then I do the last thing you should probably do right after a boy has kissed you.
I scream.
Chapter
3
I don’t scream because of the kiss. The kiss was amazing, obvi.
I scream because at that moment the ghost of Brandon’s mom decides to appear in the corn maze. Actually, she doesn’t even really appear. She just peers around the corner of one of the cornstalks. It’s very rude, when you think about it. I mean, she knows she’s a ghost. Shouldn’t she at least try to be a little, you know, respectful?
Of course, it makes sense when you think about it. I mean, she hates me. So of course she’s going to want to scare me.
“Ahhh!” I scream as soon as I see her glaring at me.
“What?” Brandon takes a step back. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh,” I say. “Um, nothing.” I try to come up with a suitable explanation for why I would just suddenly start screaming. “I think I stepped on some hay.”
“You stepped on some hay?”
“Yeah. I think a piece of it went through my shoe.” I hold up my right foot and pretend to be studying the bottom of my boot.
“A piece of hay poked through your shoe?” Brandon sits down on one of the hay bales and pats the spot next to him. “Here,” he says. “Sit down. Let me take a look.”
“Um, no, that’s okay,” I say. “It wasn’t some hay after all. I just . . . I think I stepped on a rock or something.”
“A rock?”
“Yeah, and twisted my ankle.” God, I really should have used that in the first place. Stepping on a rock and twisting your ankle is t
otally believable. It happens to people all the time. A piece of hay poking through your shoe and spearing you in the foot? So not a good excuse! It doesn’t even make sense.
“Can you walk?” Brandon asks.
“Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” I jump up and down to show him. Mrs. Dunham is still floating around over by one of the cornstalks, her long hair flowing out behind her. She’s giving me a death glare. (A death glare, ha-ha. Get it?)
“Come on,” I say to Brandon, taking his hand and starting to lead him through the maze. I need to get away from that ghost. Of course, she can still follow me if she wants, but at least we won’t be stuck in an enclosed space.
“Where are we going?” Brandon asks.
“We’re getting out of this maze.”
“We are?”
“Yes!”
I rush him through the maze, following all the twists and turns perfectly until we get out into the open air of the apple farm. I glance behind me to see if Mrs. Dunham has followed us. But she hasn’t.
Still. I’m not going to be fooled. She’s definitely not done with me.
“That was fun,” I say to Brandon. “Wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Brandon says. He’s looking a little confused. Okay, a lot confused. And a little upset. Ohmigod. Does he think I’m acting weird because of the kiss?
But before I can figure out what to do, Cindy and my dad come walking toward us across the apple farm. They’re each holding a white paper bag.
“Here you go,” my dad says cheerfully, handing one to me. “We got some doughnuts for you.”
The bag is warm on the bottom, and when I open it, the scent of sugared cinnamon wafts through the air. Yum. I reach in and pull out a doughnut, then hand it to Brandon.
“So, what do you guys want to do now?” I ask, taking another doughnut out of the bag and taking a big bite. Now that Mrs. Dunham has popped up and Brandon thinks I’m acting crazy, I’m kind of glad to see my dad and Cindy. Hopefully, they’ll add some, um, stability to this trip.
“I don’t know,” Cindy says. Her tone is a little clipped. She crosses her arms over her chest and looks at my dad. “Bob, what do you want to do now?”
The Harder the Fall Page 2
