Breaking Walls

by Tracie Puckett

  Georgia shot into the Sugar High Bakery not thirty seconds after the clock struck eight. Less than a minute after I turned the sign to open, she skipped her way through the door, and I’d just only made my way back around the counter by the time I turned to see her ginger ponytail bouncing off the top of her head.

  Knowing Georgia, the fastidious editor of our bi-weekly school newspaper, I imagined she stood outside in the parking lot, waiting until the moment she saw me flip the sign. If she had business to conduct inside the bakery, she’d be the type to show up the moment I unlocked the door.

  Wearing a smile from one ear to the next, Georgia practically pranced her way up to the counter before stopping just at the other side. She held an ink pen in one hand, and it hovered over the pad of paper she clutched in the other.

  “I need to place an order.”

  “And good morning to you, too,” I teased.

  “Oh, right. Good morning,” she said, bopping herself on the head. “I need to place an order.”

  “Cake?”

  “Yep!”

  “What’s the occasion?” I turned back to the counter to grab an order form. Placing the paperwork between us on the counter, I leaned on my forearms and hovered over the page, ready to write as she clued me in.

  “My grandma’s birthday is next week, so we’re throwing her a little surprise party on Friday evening.”

  “Ah, how sweet. So do you want to see the dessert portfolio, then?” I stood tall again and reached across the counter to retrieve Julia’s portfolio, a binder stockpiled with photographs of the bakery’s best. I flipped it open to the birthday section and turned the folder in Georgia’s direction. “It’s a little overwhelming at first, but don’t let the variety scare you. If you need any recommendations—”

  “Nope.” She held up a hand. “Save your breath.”

  “Okay?”

  “I want a quarter sheet white cake with a touch of almond in the batter. It needs a raspberry mousse filling and a traditional buttercream icing,” she said quickly. “No frills or thrills or eccentric flowery accents. Just a simple Happy 80th Birthday will suffice.”

  “You’re never indecisive are you?” I smirked, checking off the boxes and filling in the necessary information on the order form. “You said you needed it by next Saturday?”

  “Friday. Dad’s gonna pick it up at five, one week from yesterday.”

  “Okay.”

  “That’s six days from today, Mandy. You got it? Six days.”

  “I got it, I got it,” I said, underlining the pick-up date three times for emphasis. I slid over to the cash register. I calculated the price for the quarter-sheet, filling, and tax and read her the total for the order. “Would you like to pay now or when you pick it up?”

  “Now’s fine,” she said, pulling a signed, blank check from her notebook and sliding it across the counter. “Mom says to make it out for the total.”

  I took the check and rang in her order, filling out the necessary lines to complete the payment. I slipped the paper into the cash drawer, submitted the order through the bakery window to the kitchen, and turned back with a smile.

  “That might be the easiest cake order I’ve ever taken.”

  “Life’s all about knowing what you want,” she said, scrawling a line through one of her items on the notepad. She dropped both her pen and paper to the counter and lifted a brow. “Speaking of knowing what you want. Have you heard from— ”

  “No.” My long ponytail brushed against the back of my neck as I shook my head with vigor. “Not once.”

  I looked down to the ground and closed my eyes, hearing the last haunting words I’d said to Gabe.

  You told me to keep fighting for what I want. You said that.

  Three days had passed since I left him standing in the hallway with nothing left to cling to but those words, and I hadn’t seen or heard from him since.

  So I stood up, and I fought, and you clobbered me.

  That’s exactly how it happened, too. I rushed the stage at the park amphitheater, hoping Gabe would appreciate how hard I was fighting for one last goodbye. I wanted to believe he hadn’t meant to hurt me with his reticence. But wanting, and hoping, and wishing didn’t change the fact of the matter: Gabe knocked me down. Hard.

  I should hate you for making me feel the way I feel, but I don’t, okay?

  And I didn’t. I’d already tried too hard, and hatred just wasn’t a feeling I could force or harbor against him.

  I’m here, Gabe. I’m standing right in front of you, and I’m not going anywhere.

  And I wasn’t. Gabe knew where to find me if he wanted to.

  So when you’re ready to finally stand up and fight for what you want…just know that I won’t clobber you.

  And I wouldn’t. I swore to myself that I wouldn’t. As soon as Gabe was ready for me—for us—then I planned to be right there waiting for him. Whether it was really the bad exposure he was scared of, or there was a more serious, underlying problem that made him flee, I couldn’t know for sure. But I didn’t care. All I knew was that I was in it for the long haul, however long that may be. I cared for Gabe, and I wouldn’t budge.

  But while I sat waiting for him to come around, going out of my mind missing him, I knew that I wasn’t entirely ready to face him again just yet.

  There were too many risks.

  Of course I wanted to see him, to talk to him, to find out where things had gone awry, but I didn’t know what to expect of myself. I knew that facing Gabe again would be one of the most nerve-wrecking moments of my life. I didn’t want to risk the chance that I’d start talking, start stumbling over my words, only to end up saying something that I would inevitably regret.

  I’d put my heart on the line for him, and his rejection was still too new. The wounds were far too fresh. I knew that I’d never intentionally hurt Gabe, but I couldn’t be responsible for what I’d say or do unintentionally. So maybe his distance was for the best—for now, anyway. Maybe what we both needed was time and space, and maybe it was good that we were both smart enough to acknowledge that.

  “You okay?” Georgia asked, reading into my stung expression.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “Which means you’re not,” she said, leaning closer. “I think you and I both know that ‘I’m fine’ is universal girl code for ‘I’m anything but.’”

  “Yeah, well, what can I say? There’s no place left to move but forward.”

  “Move forward from Gabe?” she asked. “Or the article in this morning’s paper?”

  “What article?” I asked, and her eyes widened as she pursed her lips shut. Not again . . . “Georgia, what article?”

  She took a deep breath and shook her head. “I assumed you already knew. I thought that’s what you were upset about.”

  “I don’t know anything—”

  “It’s not a big deal,” she promised, but her eyes were saying a lot more than her mouth. “It was just a piece about the RI program, and the infamous ‘love controversy,’ and how it may or may not potentially affect the outcome for our district.”

  I dropped my head against the counter. Sugar Creek wasn’t a bustling metropolis, but there had to be more news to share about anything else. Three times the Sugar Creek Gazette had published something about the scandal at the park re-opening—scandal that wasn’t really all that scandalous if you asked me. When did it become such a huge deal for a girl to say a simple goodbye? Why couldn’t any of the local papers let it go? Why did everyone have to keep pressing like it was something that mattered? It didn’t matter! It all boiled down to the fact that Gabe was a somebody, and when somebodies get twisted up in controversy, news outlets just don’t know how to back off. It was getting ridiculous.

  “I thought you guys had a meeting about this on Thursday,” Georgia said. “Didn’t Lashell and Mr. Davies call a meeting, sit the whole team down, and talk about this?”

  Yup. As soon as the news clip went viral and the papers started pr
inting stories about the whole ordeal, the Sugar Creek RI team was called into an emergency after school meeting to discuss our options for moving forward. We agreed the best thing to do was act as though it had never happened, to focus our attention anywhere but on the scandal. It will blow over, Lashell promised. In the meantime, they advised us against taking interviews, talking to the press, or saying anything that could potentially interfere with the school’s chance of winning. Keep your heads up and your lips zipped.

  “Yes, we had a meeting.” But it didn’t matter. Even if all of my teammates listened to the orders we were given by our leaders, the papers were still going to print whatever they wanted—with or without quotes. I guessed living in a small town wasn’t always as quiet and secluded as I wanted to believe. I made a target out of myself with one, stupid misstep.

  I looked down to Georgia’s notebook and saw the words Grandma Ruby’s Birthday Bash scrawled neatly across the top.

  “So, what else is on tap for Grandma Ruby’s big birthday bash?”

  “Oh, well,” she said, looking down at the list.

  I sensed that she knew my question was only a ploy to move the conversation far from Gabe and RI-related territory, and like the good pal she was, she let me revel in that diversion. We hadn’t been friends for too long, but Georgia knew me well enough to pick up on those subtle hints. It was one of the many things I loved about her. We got each other; we connected, and maybe that’s why our friendship had flourished so quickly.

  “We’re not doing anything too elaborate. I just needed to order the cake today, and I’m driving out to Desden later to do some more shopping for party supplies. I’m keeping it minimal this year—a banner, some balloons, maybe some streamers. It’s a small family affair now that she’s at Evergreen. Mom and I will drive out to the nursing home on Friday, Dad will pick up the cake after work, and we’ll all meet up and have ourselves a nice little celebration.”

  “I think it’s special that you’re doing that for her,” I said, admittedly a little jealous that I didn’t have the close-knit family that Georgia had.

  “Okay, so I should hit the road.” She swept her things off the counter and prepared herself to leave. “So you’ll let me know if there are any problems with the order?”

  “Absolutely, but there won’t be. I promise.”

  “And you’ll be here when Dad picks it up on Friday?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m not scheduled; I specifically asked off for Fletcher’s show that night. Jones and Julia will both be here, though.” Her face grew a little grim. “You need to relax. You’re in good hands now. Julia is the best baker you’ll find for miles and miles, and I know you already know that or you wouldn’t have come here for Grandma Ruby’s cake.”

  She pursed her lips and dropped her shoulders. “Okay, I’ll relax.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes.” She started walking for the door. “Have fun at the clothing drive this evening, and I’ll see you on Monday.”

  “See ya then.”

  “And hey,” she said, spinning back just as she reached the door, “it’s just a stupid paper and a meaningless article. It’s going to blow over before you know it. Don’t think too much on it.”

  “I won’t,” I lied.

  “And if you see Gabe while you’re at the school tonight, try to keep your head on straight. His distance is a good thing, remember?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said, feigning a smile, and then she was out the door.

  Chapter Two

  “Well, there’s a great fit.” I pulled the sides of the coat together. Kneeling down to the ground to fasten the zipper and secure the buttons, I held the stare of a satisfied seven-year-old girl. Adjusting her new winter coat to her slender body, I watched as her tiny smile beamed brighter. She looked down and studied the shiny, pink zipper and the sparkles shimmering off the cuff of her gently used outerwear. “What do you think? Do you like it?”

  “It’s perfect!” she said, wiggling around to get a better feel for it. It was the fourth one she’d tried on in ten minutes, and it was the first that had fit her tiny body. “What do you think, Mommy? You like it?”

  She turned to the young woman standing behind her, a twenty-something single mom who’d fallen on hard times. I only assumed, of course, because I’d seen the two of them around the soup kitchen a lot over the last few weeks. When the cold, autumn air started blowing through town in mid-September, the little girl arrived at the church draped in her mother’s heavily worn coat, and the young mom had no protection from the cold other than an old, frumpy sweatshirt.

  We’d seen a lot of similar cases already that morning—single parents who desperately needed coats, hats, and gloves for their children, and parents who needed it just as much for themselves but would probably never admit it. I guess that’s why Fletcher organized the coat and clothing drive. He knew that Sugar Creek’s less fortunate families could benefit a lot from some free winter clothing, just as they’d benefited from some warm meals down at Carla’s soup kitchen.

  And speaking of Carla, where was she? I looked around.

  “You look amazing, Amanda,” her mother answered, managing a small but genuine smile. My head snapped back to the girl.

  “Your name’s Amanda?” I asked, still kneeling at her level. I tucked the pockets back in place as she turned back to me, still half-dancing in her new coat.

  “Yup!”

  “Mine, too.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” I said, nodding, “but my friends call me Mandy.”

  “Can I call you Mandy?”

  “Sure!”

  She jumped into my open arms and wrung hers around my neck, squeezing me tighter.

  “Thanks for my new coat, Mandy. I love it.”

  I returned her hug before she bounced back a few feet and looked up at her mom.

  “Are you going to get a new coat, too, Mommy?”

  The woman’s eyes darted around the bustling gymnasium. The room was crawling with RI volunteers and filled from front to back with donated coats, hats, and gloves. There was even a small section of sweaters, jeans, boots, and scarves organized by the bleachers. The clothing racks, which we’d borrowed from a local boutique for the weekend, filled the center space and showcased the hundreds of coats that Fletcher and I had collected.

  I looked back to the young mother. There was uncertainty in her stare—maybe even a shred of embarrassment as she looked around, so I glanced back down to little Amanda with a smile.

  “Why don’t you take your mommy to the front of the gym where we saw all the big coats earlier,” I said. “My sister Bailey is up there somewhere, and I bet she can help you guys find something really pretty.”

  “Really? Maybe a sparkly coat like mine?”

  “Maybe.” I nodded. “And while you help your mommy look for something warm, I’ll sift through these boxes back here and see if I can find you a hat and some mittens to match that beautiful pink coat of yours.”

  “Yeah!” The little girl grabbed her mother’s hand and started pulling her toward the front of the gym. “This way, Mommy,” she said, determined to help her mother score the second-best coat in the room. Amanda, I was certain, was already convinced she’d found the very best for herself. Just as they walked farther from earshot, I swore I heard her ask, “Can my friends call me Mandy, too?”

  I watched with a smile as Fletcher intercepted them in the adult-sized area, and I was certain they were in good hands. Bailey could’ve helped, sure, but Fletcher was the one who’d spearheaded the whole set-up this morning. He’d know better than anyone where to find exactly what the young mother would need to get her through the cold months ahead.

  I, though, had missed the early-morning set-up because of my shift at the bakery. I’d even missed my weekly Saturday morning stint at the soup kitchen, and it was the first time in weeks that I hadn’t made it down to the church for my weekend shift. Admittedly, though, I was less concerned about the amount of
time I’d missed serving on the line than I was about the opportunity I’d missed to steal a moment alone with Carla Tally, a junior at SCHS and a fellow RI teammate.

  Because I’d turned all of my plans over to Carla for the October dance finale, she still had all of the details for our district’s final fundraiser. I needed to track her down and talk to her as soon as possible because I needed to reclaim my notebook and jump back into the swing of things. She’d taken on a lot lately with RI, and I could only imagine the relief she’d feel knowing that she’d have one less thing on her plate now that I was sticking around Sugar Creek.

  The trick was tracking her down long enough to squeeze in a five-second conversation. She was always too busy at school to stop in the hallway, and she’d quit coming to lunch last week so that she could focus all of her extra time and energy on her projects for the Raddick Initiative. And while I admired her tenacity, I was beginning to get antsy. The RI events were the only chance that I ever had to see her, but even as we’d crossed paths this evening at the clothing drive, she barely stopped moving long enough to look in my direction. She was so focused on winning that, sometimes, I wondered if she remembered that it was okay to stop and take a break.

  Knowing that things would eventually die down, I tried to distract myself by focusing my attention elsewhere until Carla had a moment to spare. The best place to start was by finding a warm hat and pair of mittens for the little girl to take home, so I turned to the back wall and lifted two heavy boxes from the floor: one labeled hats and the other marked scarves and gloves. I dropped them on a nearby empty table. Turning my back to the swarming crowd, I lifted the lid of the first box and began sifting through the hats. Buried beneath the top layer, I found a pink winter hat that would match little Amanda’s coat down to the color, sparkles, and sequins. I set it aside, only to open the second box and find a pink-sequined scarf right on top.

  “Perfect!”

  “My goodness,” a voice said behind me, and I whipped around at the sound of Lashell’s approach. “This is quite a turn out here, Mandy.”

  “Yeah, not too bad, huh?” I managed a smile. It was the first time I’d seen Lashell since our avoid-the-press meeting on Thursday, and it was the first time we’d been alone since I’d rushed the stage at the park on Monday—the day that I’d spilled my guts to Gabe at the park. I hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect when I did see her again, because I didn’t know how my choices or actions had affected the way she felt about me. After the way I’d talked to Gabe, there was no telling what anybody might say or do—especially the people who cared most about him. And after all the trouble with the press . . .