“You never told me,” Emily said as the bell rang.
“Told you what?” I whispered.
“If you’re going to the Hot Chocolate Social.”
Mrs. Fox pulled out a box with slides, gloves, and little tubes of liquid. “Okay, everyone, today you are going to bleed for science. We are going to find out our blood types. Please arrange yourselves in partners or groups of three.”
Emily and I didn’t even have to discuss it: We were going to be partners. I went right back to our old conversation. “I’m going,” I told her. “To meet my secret admirer.”
She raised one eyebrow at me, and I told her about the ticket on my front door.
“Oh no,” she said, putting a hand over her mouth. “What if I was right all along? What if, after Alivia said no, Logan decided to give you the ticket he bought for her? What if he never stopped liking you?”
I shrugged. I doubted that. “I’ve pretty much learned that whenever I think I know who likes who, I’m wrong. Whoever it is, I will meet them and tell them I’m not interested. Nicely, of course.”
“Of course,” Emily said. “But isn’t there anyone you like?”
I felt all my blood rushing to my cheeks. There wasn’t going to be any left in my fingers to do the blood-typing test. I looked down at my desk. It didn’t matter if I liked anyone. I had no chance with Joey anymore. I shook my head, but Emily didn’t buy it.
“I knew it,” she squealed. “You don’t have to say who.”
“Please send one person from your group to the front of the room to pick up your lab supplies,” Mrs. Fox announced. I stood, walked to the supply table, and grabbed a box marked Group #6.
“Do you want to come over to my house to get ready together?” Emily asked when I got back. “I could do your hair, if you wanted.”
I nodded. “That sounds like fun.”
“And if your mystery guy doesn’t turn out to be your dream guy, maybe you could do what I’m doing and just ask him yourself.”
My heart skipped a beat at the thought of asking Joey to dance. It hurt so much to think about him saying no. Even after all the couples I successfully fixed up, the thought of trying to make my own match was terrifying. It would be much safer to forget the whole thing. Then I remembered my mother’s advice. If I didn’t try what I like, I might not find what I love.
Could I really be brave enough to ask Joey to dance?
Emily styled her hair in a crown of braids that made her look like a movie star. She gave me a twisted, low side ponytail. It draped softly over my shoulder. We both wore a little bit of mascara and peach-colored lip gloss. My dress was green with a poufy skirt, and Emily said the color brought out my eyes. Emily’s dress was a pale pink and she looked beautiful. I hadn’t realized how fun it would be to get all dressed up.
When Emily’s dad dropped us off at the front of the school, I reached out and squeezed her hand for just a second. There was no one else I’d rather be arriving at the dance with.
We went inside, and the lobby was totally empty. No traces of the ABC or the ticket table anywhere. We could hear the music thumping from the cafeteria. Most of the songs were going to be fast dances, and I planned to dance with Emily the whole night. But first I had to go to the Austen Archer.
“Wish me luck,” I told her, my stomach tightening.
“It’s going to be fine.” Emily giggled. “Keep me posted, okay? Good luck!”
Emily headed toward the cafeteria, where the dance would be, but I didn’t go with her. I waved and headed off in the opposite direction. The Austen Archer mural was over by the gym, and I had a seven o’clock appointment.
My heart began to beat faster the closer I got, but I already knew what I was going to say. No matter who it was. I would say I liked him as a friend, but I didn’t want to go out with someone unless it felt right in my heart.
I turned the corner and saw a boy. He was facing the mural, so his back was to me. He wore black dress pants and a pale green button-down shirt. He definitely looked familiar, but I couldn’t figure out who it was. Maybe that tall, gangly boy in my gym class? I’d forgotten his name.
“Hello?” I said.
When the boy turned around, I gasped. It wasn’t the boy from gym class.
It was Joey.
He smiled shyly at me.
“What are you …” I blinked. “I’m supposed to meet …” My heart thudded. “But what are you doing here?” I blurted.
Joey’s smile faltered. He took a step toward me. “I thought you would have figured that out by now,” he said. “I’m the person who’s been sending you those notes.”
My chest was squeezing and expanding, squeezing and expanding, like an accordion. “You? But I thought you didn’t like me anymore. Because I was such a bad friend to Emily?”
“Clara.” Joey reached out and grabbed my hand, just for a second. Then he dropped it and wiped his palms on the legs of his pants. “I really like you. I’ve liked you all year. I was bummed to see you acting like a mean girl, but I never thought that was the real you. I’m crazy about the real you.” His cheeks colored. “But if you don’t feel the same way, just tell me. I’ll never mention it again and we can go back to being friends.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
I reached out and grabbed his hand for a second, then dropped it. “I do feel the same way,” I blurted, feeling the blush in my face. “I think I always have. I do want to be friends again … and I also want to be more than friends.” My heart pounded. I couldn’t believe I had just said that out loud!
Joey smiled at me, his chocolate-brown eyes sparkling behind his lopsided glasses. He reached for my hand again, and this time he didn’t let go. His skin felt warm and dry against my palm. He leaned forward a little bit, and a waft of his coconut shampoo made my heart flip and then stop.
I wasn’t just holding my breath, I was holding everything about me, my breath, my heartbeat, my thoughts, even the cells of my body. Joey leaned a little closer, his exhale warming my cheek. I closed my eyes and then felt the softest, sweetest pressure against my lips. He tasted like a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup.
My first kiss!
When he pulled away, I opened my eyes, and my whole body raced back to life, like I was a video game arcade where the power had just come back on after an outage. Everything was whizzing and buzzing and bleeping and flashing. And Joey was still holding my hand.
Joey and I walked into the cafeteria. The ceiling was covered with glittery snowflakes, and a sideways disco ball made it look like snow was falling down the walls. Joey squeezed my hand and I squeezed back. I decided hand holding was my new favorite thing.
“Okay, everyone,” the DJ announced. “It’s that time, find yourself a partner ’cause we’re going to slooooow things down a bit.”
Joey started pulling me toward the dance floor, but I hesitated because I wanted to tell Emily what had happened. When I searched the room for her, I saw that she was already on the dance floor, dancing with Evan Cho. When I caught her eye, she smiled and gave me two thumbs up.
Joey and I joined them on the dance floor, and when he put his hands around my waist, shivers zinged up and down my spine. I wrapped my arms around his neck and let him sway me back and forth. The music was soft and romantic, the kind of music that might have made me roll my eyes before. But not now. Joey spun me around, and I closed my eyes and let my head rest for a second against his shoulder. For the rest of the slow dance, it felt like we were the only two people in the world.
When the music ended, Joey and I headed over to the refreshment table.
“I have something for you,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a heart-shaped Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup.
“So,” I said. “Peanut butter and chocolate, huh?” I thought back to the snow day, the day he insisted I’d love peanut butter in my hot chocolate. Even though he was constantly challenging me, I also felt more comfortable around him than anyone
else.
He grinned. “What can I say? They’re my favorite.”
I unwrapped the candy and took a bite. I had to agree.
Peanut butter and chocolate belonged together.
Turn the page for a sneak peek at You’re Bacon Me Crazy by Suzanne Nelson!
I could practically taste my new creation already. Lightly toasted bread spread with goat cheese, topped with arugula and diced chicken, and sprinkled with bacon bits for a crunchy finish. My fingertips tingled impatiently. I was eager to start stacking my ingredients into the perfect sandwich. This was how I always got toward the end of the school day, when all I could think about was getting to Aunt Cleo’s Tasty Truck.
Of course, I didn’t see the last step on the hallway stairs. And of course, it was my best friend, Mei Kwan, who rescued me. She grabbed my arm just before I fell head over heels into the throng of kids surging toward the door.
“Tessa!” Mei sighed and gave me the scolding smile she’s perfected over our ten years of friendship. “No daydreaming until we’re in the trample-free zone.”
I blinked, shaking my visions of sandwiches out of my head. “Sorry.” I shrugged, laughing. “You know I can’t interrupt inspiration. When the food muse strikes, I must obey.”
Together, Mei and I swept out the door into a cool mist tinged with sunlight. The sounds of the city — car horns and cable cars and the bustle of people — carried over to us on the wind. This time of year in San Francisco, the sun is constantly fighting with fog for attention. This afternoon, it seemed like the sun might stand a chance.
“You need to tell your food muse to stop talking to you during school,” Mei quipped, then stopped, glancing at my hair. “Hey, have you done a bobby-pin check lately? You’re still wearing three.”
“Oh no.” I touched the three rhinestone bobby pins in my curly black hair. Each pin stood for something important I was supposed to remember. When I remembered to do the important thing, I took out the bobby pin. This morning I’d started out with three bobby pins. Now I still had three, and I couldn’t even remember what they were supposed to help me remember!
I began ticking off things I had done right today. “I turned in all my homework, I remembered my gym sneakers. . . .” I gave Mei a help me look.
“What about for tomorrow?” Mei asked.
“My spelling list!” I smacked my forehead and a curl sprang from my ponytail. I spun on my heel and jogged toward the school doors, calling over my shoulder, “Be right back!”
My aunt Cleo says great cooking minds can’t help forgetting things like homework when they’re creating culinary masterpieces. Too bad my teachers and parents don’t agree. Neither does Mei. My best friend is so organized she color-coordinates her nail polish with her outfits . . . every day.
Back outside, I held up the spelling list to Mei, smiling triumphantly. I slid a bobby pin out of my hair and into the front pocket of my overalls. “Bobby pin number one . . . gone!”
“Shhh.” Mei’s eyes were glued to something over my shoulder. “Check it out. Drama . . . stage right.”
I tried to remember which direction stage right was. Mei is in the Theater Club. She speaks Shakespeare; I speak sandwich. It’s a testimony to our friendship that we make it work.
I finally gave up and followed her gaze. Leaning against the low brick wall outside the entrance were three of Bayview Middle School’s “Beautiful People.”
You know the type: When they walked down the hallways, they parted the underling waters. The three we were looking at today were Tristan Maloney, Asher Rivers, and Karrie Lopes. Karrie, with her perfectly sleek, long brown hair, was a goddess with a dark side, striking awe and a certain level of fear into all the girls at Bayview. With one perfectly timed whisper, she could send anyone into social exile.
I didn’t know Tristan or Asher very well; they were both stars of the school baseball team. Tristan was blond and blue-eyed, and actually seemed pretty friendly. As for Asher . . . Well, last year he’d had his birthday party at a fancy hotel, complete with a live band, and I’d heard him call it “subpar.” If that wasn’t the mark of an overprivileged, grade-A pretty boy, I didn’t know what was. Still, he was gorgeous, no doubt about it. I’d never seen his cappuccino skin with so much as one zit, and his chocolate hair broke in wavy, swept-back curls that anyone would envy.
But right now, Asher’s usually flawless cool was cratering into a look of surprised annoyance. Marching toward him, wearing a Burberry raincoat and a frighteningly volcanic expression, was his mom.
“Asher Rivers, you’re grounded,” Mrs. Rivers was barking at her son, “and that’s only the beginning. . . .” She latched on to Asher’s arm and steered him down the sidewalk toward her car, which was parked illegally, hazards blinking, blocking one entire lane of traffic. Over the blaring horns of unhappy commuters, Mrs. Rivers’s voice could be heard launching into a tirade about how money doesn’t just fall from the sky.
I felt a tickle of curiosity as I watched Mrs. Rivers all but shove Asher into the car. And I noticed Asher throw a wink at Tristan and Karrie over his shoulder, as if none of this was a big deal.
There was a single beat of silence as Asher’s car disappeared into the stream of traffic, then Tristan laughed out a low “Busted,” and everyone else burst into excited whispers.
“Wow,” Mei said. “I’m glad you forgot your spelling list. It was worth waiting to see that.”
“Did you see that smug look on his face?” I shook my head. “Whatever he did, he didn’t seem to care.”
“He lives in a penthouse suite in the Presidio and has a country estate in Napa,” Mei said. “How bad can his punishment be?” She sighed. “I want his life.”
“I don’t,” I said sincerely. “It might mean trading in my spatula for stilettos. Ugh.”
Mei laughed, then checked her watch. “Ooh, we should get going,” she said. “I really want to stop by Vanity’s.”
She was already a step ahead of me on the sidewalk, weaving through the groups of still-lingering kids. Some of them waited to catch a ride home on the Powell/Hyde cable cars, and others got picked up by parents. Mei and I both lived only about three blocks away, but it had taken years for our parents to agree to let us walk instead of picking us up. We finally got the go-ahead last fall, and now we walk whenever we can.
As we turned onto Hyde Street, the bay, dotted with tiny white boats, stretched out before us in brilliant blue. Russian Hill is one of the oldest neighborhoods in San Francisco, and even though it’s only one of the forty-four hills in the sprawling city, I think it’s the best. Pastel-colored town houses stand shoulder-to-shoulder with bodegas, restaurants, and boutiques, giving every street a feeling of happy chaos. Far below us, down the street’s steep hill, I could make out the Tasty Truck sitting at the corner of Lombard, shining silver in the sunlight. Just the sight of it made me smile.
We made a quick stop at Vanity’s, Mei’s favorite clothing store, so that she could scour the clearance rack. While she shopped, I texted Cleo my new sandwich idea. As soon as the salesclerk handed Mei her shopping bag, I was out the door, itching to get to the truck.
Mei, in the meantime, clutched her shopping bag over her heart, practically squealing with delight. I knew she was dying for me to ask, so I did what any best friend would do, and said, “So . . . show me what you got.”
She lifted a pink, petally skirt out of the bag and held it up under her chin. “Don’t you just love it? It’s so Debbie Reynolds in Singin’ in the Rain!” Mei is obsessed with movie musicals; she’s streamed them all on her mom’s iPad.
I laughed, shaking my head. “Another pink skirt? Really? Your entire wardrobe is pink.”
She sniffed indignantly. “My wardrobe isn’t simply ‘pink.’ It’s fuchsia, rose, champagne, bubble gum . . .”
“Pink, pink, pink,” I sang, until she playfully slapped my arm.
“Speaking of pink skirts,” she said, “where is the one I got you for Christmas?”
Mei’s dark eyes flashed. “Don’t tell me you lost it already.”
“It’s not lost. I think it just . . . took a vacation.” This meant the skirt was buried in the pile of sweet, eyeletty clothing Mei kept giving me in the hopes that I’d transform into a girly fashionista. So far, the bottom of my closet looked adorable.
I shrugged as we waved to the tourists snapping photos from a passing cable car. “Come on, Mei, you know I had to wear my lucky overalls on the first day back from winter break.”
“Overalls.” Mei tried her best to look stern, but she couldn’t keep it up. “And what about your New Year’s resolution to get contacts?”
“Um, I believe that was your New Year’s resolution to convince me to get contacts.” I gave my lime-green-framed glasses an affectionate tap. “You keep trying extreme makeovers, and I keep saying no.”
“You’re hopeless, Tessa Kostas!” Mei giggled, but there was a determined look in her eyes. I hoped she wouldn’t launch into her patented learn-to-love-lip-gloss lecture. “And don’t give me that excuse about fashion and food not mixing. Look at your aunt.”
She pointed toward the Tasty Truck, which was only a few feet away. Sure enough, there was Cleo, leaning out the window. She wore a blue-and-green-printed romper, hoop earrings, and a batik scarf tied around her chestnut hair. My aunt did dress cooler than me, but I was okay with that, because Cleo’s never really fit neatly into the whole “aunt” package. She’s my dad’s sister, but she’s half my dad’s age. At twenty-three, she’s only ten years older than me. So even though she’s an aunt, she feels like the closest I’ll ever get to a big sister.
“Greetings, school-goers!” Cleo called to me and Mei. “Come see the new menu!” she added excitedly, jumping out of the truck. Cleo’s boyfriend, Gabe, who runs the truck with her, was sliding a colorful menu into a slot on the truck’s side.
Playing Cupid Page 14
