Falling in Like #11

by Melissa J Morgan

  “Hi, honey,” he said. He looked at her T-shirt and chuckled. “Alyssa’s your artist friend?”

  “Yes.” She opened the pantry in search of microwavable popcorn. “We all got them. Michael, Kallista, and me. We’re protesting her censorship. Do we have any Cheetos? Michael is an orange-food freak. Or maybe Doritos?”

  “Michael’s here?” her father asked.

  “Yeah. Kallista and I ran into him at the mall. His dad is night-shooting and his mom’s got a thing. Can he stay for dinner?”

  She snagged a bag of microwave popcorn and ripped the protective wrapper from it. As she carried it to the microwave, she smiled expectantly at her father.

  But her father didn’t smile back. In fact, he glanced down at the contract he had been reading, and then back up at her.

  “Tori,” he said slowly, “Michael’s a nice kid. But . . .”

  Tori opened the microwave door. “But what?”

  “His father’s a client of mine now. So it would be best if you two just saw each other around school.”

  Tori’s cheeks burned. “All we did was go to the mall,” she protested. “We’re just going to watch movies and do homework.”

  He gave his head a shake. “Honey, you’re not in trouble or anything. I just want you to keep some distance. You know how things are in this town. Success in the entertainment industry often depends just as much on who you know as much as how good you are at your job.”

  “Are you saying Michael’s a user?” she asked, feeling even more defensive. “Because no offense, Daddy, but his father is a really famous movie star and he does not need to use me or you to make himself more famous!”

  Her father pursed his lips, as if he wanted to say something more but was forcing himself not to. He took a slow drink of Perrier. “I’m not making myself clear,” he said. “It’s okay to be Michael’s friend, but keep it light. Deal?”

  He smiled at her as if he had made perfect sense. Which he had not.

  “Okay,” she mumbled.

  “Besides, you’re only in the seventh grade. That’s a little young for anything besides a casual friendship.”

  She wanted to die of embarrassment. She could not believe she was talking to her father about a boy. While she microwaved the popcorn, she searched through the pantry for more snacks. Her stomach was in a knot, and she didn’t even know why.

  Yes, I do know why. I don’t want to treat Michael as a Friend Lite. I’m crushing on him. I want him to be my first-ever serious boyfriend. Seventh grade is way old enough for that.

  By the time she found a bag of Nacho Doritos and grabbed three sodas, she was actually near tears. But she forced them away and plastered on a big smile, dumping the popcorn, the Doritos, and the sodas on a big tray and trotting back to the screening room as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

  To: Alyssa

  From: Tori

  Subject: FREE ALYSSA

  Dear Lyss,

  Look at us! This jpeg is of my friends Kallista and Michael, and me. We wore these T-shirts to school today to protest your teacher’s unfairness! LOL! Some other kids said they’re going to go to the mall over the weekend and get some made, too!

  FREE ALYSSA!

  Your friend,

  Tori

  To: Tori

  From: Alyssa

  Subject: Re: FREE ALYSSA

  Dear Tori,

  That is so sweet! Thank you. Your T-shirt really cheered me up! Please thank your friends.

  Yours in Art,

  Lyss

  It was Thursday, a rainy, cold day that matched Priya’s mood. She kept her hands stuffed in her dark blue jacket as she and Jordan walked to school together, just like always. Her breath was leaving vapor trails and Jordan was babbling on about Brynn again.

  “Jordan, we still don’t have a topic,” she said, feeling desperate. “Would you please just take a moment out of your total obsession with Brynn and work with me here?”

  “It’s not that hard. We’ll do it on grossness!” he said, snapping his fingers. “Like, why is mucus gross but grape jelly isn’t? They both have a high slime factor, so why do we eat grape jelly but we don’t eat mucus?”

  “Jordan, be serious!” she shouted.

  “I am serious,” he said. “We can get a whole bunch of disgusting stuff and—”

  “We can not! We’ve been over this. No farts, and no mucus. Don’t you get how important this is?”

  “Yeah, I do,” he said, frowning at her. “What is up with you? We can investigate all the stuff we’re really into! Boogers, scabs . . .” He wrinkled his nose. “It’ll be awesome. It’s all good, Priya.”

  “It’s not all good,” she said. “Jordan, that is a stupid topic and Ms. Romero will tell us it’s wrong and—and I’m going to ask Ms. Romero to get me a different project partner!”

  Whoa, where did that come from?

  “What?” He stopped walking. “Priya, are you kidding me?”

  “No.” Her throat was dry, and she cleared it. She gave her head a little shake and said, “I can’t risk getting a C for the semester. So . . .” She looked back up at him. “I think it would be better if we got other partners.”

  He blinked at her. “Priya, I’m Jordan. Your best friend. Are you actually dumping me?”

  “You haven’t been acting like a best friend!” she said. “Ever since we agreed to do this, you’ve been all, ‘What can I get Brynn for her birthday?’ ‘What can I get Brynn for election day?’ ‘What can I get Brynn for the third Friday of the month?’ ‘Brynn, Brynn, Brynn,’ and IMing her when you’re supposed to be talking to me, and I am really tired of it!”

  He looked at her like she was from another planet.

  “You’re serious,” he said.

  “I am. I totally am. I have been sitting around all week and—”

  “Fine.” He stomped off ahead of her. “No problem!”

  “Right!” she yelled after him.

  And I am right. This is the very best thing for me to do.

  She walked the rest of the way alone. She went to her locker alone. She ate lunch alone.

  Then she got to the science lab early. Ms. Romero was at her desk, grading quizzes from some other class. She looked up and smiled when she saw Priya.

  “Hi, Priya,” she said. “How’s your project going?”

  Priya balled her fists. Going? As in nowhere?

  “Okay, the truth is, we haven’t gotten very far,” Priya confessed. “And . . . I was hoping you might assign me to someone that’s better, I mean, stronger, in science.”

  “It’s not working out?” Ms. Romero asked.

  “No,” Priya said. She raised her chin. “It really isn’t.”

  Ms. Romero looked thoughtful as she nodded. “Okay. Let’s try a new partner. Leslie’s got a great project. I’ve already approved it. But it’s very ambitious and she could use some help. Would you be interested in working with her?”

  “Wow,” Priya blurted. A chance to be on the same team as the queen of the science fair? “Yes, sure!” Then she thought a minute. “Does she want to work with me?”

  “Well, she mentioned to me that she was sorry she signed up to work alone. And I think you two would make a great team. Let’s talk to her during class, all right?”

  Priya licked her lips and glanced at the door. The students were beginning to trickle in.

  “Okay,” she said, “but can we do it so Jordan won’t hear?”

  “Of course,” Ms. Romero said kindly.

  To: Val

  From: Priya

  Subject: My New Partner

  Hi, Val,

  I changed science fair partners today and Jordan is really mad at me about it. I’m going to help this girl Leslie with her experiment on photosynthesis. It’s a very cool project. We are going to use different kinds of light filters, like polarized lenses or UV-blocking sunglasses, to see if it affects how the plants grow. She is the smartest girl in our class and I am really lucky to be on her te
am.

  When J found out, he told Ms. Romero he didn’t want a new partner. He’s going to do “our” experiment alone. He wouldn’t even look at me in class and he didn’t wait for me after school. Whatever! But what if Brynn gets mad at me too, because she’s in loooove with him? This stinks.

  —Priya

  To: Priya

  From: BrynnWins

  Subject: NOT mad at you!

  Dear Priya,

  Val e-mailed me. I am NOT mad at you. I did IM Jordan about it and he said he didn’t want to talk about it. I hope it all works out.

  STILL YOUR FRIEND,

  Brynn

  On Friday in science, Jordan handed Ms. Romero a familiar thick packet and sat all the way across the room from Priya. He didn’t look at her, didn’t say a thing to her.

  Fine, she thought, feeling defensive. Ms. Romero would take one look at his proposal and flunk him for the semester.

  I got out just in the nick, she thought.

  Leslie was sitting on Jordan’s old stool. She looked up from writing down every single word Ms. Romero said and whispered, “I like your blouse.”

  “Thank you,” Priya replied. It was a black and white Indian print, and one of Priya’s favorites. Jordan said it looked like amoebas.

  “We should get together and start working on the project after school,” Leslie continued.

  “I have to help my mom at the food court for a little while,” Priya replied.

  “Well, I live close to the mall,” Leslie told her. “Maybe your mom could drive you over, and we could take you home.”

  “Great,” Priya said. She added, “I like your blouse, too,” even though it was just a plain red T-shirt and there was a little stain on the arm.

  They walked out of the lab together. Jordan was still on his stool, gathering his books. She could tell he was stalling so he wouldn’t have to walk out with her.

  Fine.

  Kids were gathering in the corridor, yakking about their weekend plans. She and Jordan usually did stuff like watch movies with her brother and shoot some hoops. She didn’t suppose they’d be doing anything like that this weekend. Her throat felt a little funny as she imagined a weekend without Jordan.

  Just then Marco Rubio fell into step beside Leslie. His backpack was so heavy it was pulling his shoulders down. He had more books in his arms.

  “Graff,” he said. “How’s the project?”

  “Good,” she replied, with a little lift of her chin. Her cheeks were red. “Priya has joined my team.”

  He nodded at Priya. “Good thing you dumped Jordan. That guy is going nowhere in science.”

  “Hey, that’s not true,” Priya said. “And I didn’t . . . dump him. He’s still my friend.”

  “Oh, really?” Marco raised his brows. “I see.” He inclined his head at Leslie. “Later, Graff.”

  “Bye,” Leslie said softly.

  Jordan is my friend, Priya thought.

  Just then, Jordan stomped on past her without saying a word.

  She gulped. Okay, maybe he’s not.

  chapter FIVE

  To: Alyssa

  From: Juan Garcia-Paz

  Subject: Ode to a Woman

  Muy estimada Alyssa,

  I am writing you to say that I love your picture, Ode to a Woman. My friend Nani sent it to me. I hope you do not mind that I write to you. Best wishes from Spain!

  —Juan G.P.

  “That was good. Let’s try another one,” Priya’s mother said. They were in Smoothie Town in the food court, and Priya was trying to learn how to mix the beverages on her mother’s vast menu. Mrs. Shah had been unable to narrow down her selections, so she had decided to put them all on her menu until she figured out which ones were the most popular with her customers.

  “Razz-a-coco-rama,” Priya read, trying to decipher the tiny font her mother had used to print out the directions. “Coconut milk, orange sherbet, raspberries.” She crossed to the freezer and opened it. Inside were frozen bags of all the different kinds of fruit required for the drinks. She looked through them, finding blueberries, strawberries, mango puree, and pineapple. “Um, I don’t see the raspberries.”

  “Oh, darn it. I left them in the cooler in the car,” her mother said, tapping her forehead. “I forgot to bring the last load in.” Her mom had been organizing everything for her big opening night, and she was really stressed.

  “I’ll get it,” Priya offered, holding her hand out for the keys.

  “Thank you, sweetheart. You’re a lifesaver,” her mother said.

  Priya put on her coat, took the big red twisty keychain from her mother’s outstretched hand, and ducked under the counter.

  Inside the food court, the other establishments were doing a brisk business. There were stalls for hot pretzels, fancy french fries, Chinese food, hot dogs with all kinds of toppings, pizza and pasta, and an ice cream place. The ice cream place was the only real competition her mom would have.

  Priya jogged outside into the windy parking lot and unlocked the van. She found the green cooler on the floor and hefted it out. It wasn’t very heavy. Then she set it on the ground so she could lock the van.

  As she picked the cooler back up and headed back for the mall, she skidded on a patch of ice.

  She squealed as she tried to find her footing. Then suddenly, a voice behind her said, “Hold on. I’ve got it.”

  A tall guy about her age walked up from behind her and took the cooler out of her grasp. He was seriously cute. His skin was the color of hot chocolate and his eyes were brown with gold flecks in them. There were dimples on either side of his mouth and one in his chin.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “No problem.” He cocked his head at her. “You’re Smoothie Town. I’m Riley.”

  “Hi,” she said, a little shy. “I’m Priya, actually.”

  He grinned at her. “My uncle owns Simpson’s Hot Dogs. I help out now and then. So we’re food-court neighbors.”

  “Oh.” She liked that. She pulled the big glass door to the mall open for him and he drew back, allowing her to go in first.

  They wiped their feet and then headed for the brightly lit, red-and-yellow-themed food court. Priya’s mother looked up, then smiled when Riley set down the cooler and said, “I’m Riley Simpson. My uncle owns the hot dog place.”

  “How nice,” she said, sounding distracted. Then she turned to Priya. “Honey, I just got a call from Sam. He’s been injured at hockey practice. I have to go get him.”

  “Oh, no,” Priya said. “Is it bad?”

  “Well, they’ve got his leg iced and elevated and he could talk to me on the phone, but he sounds like he’s in a lot of pain. I can drop you off at your friend’s,” she said, “but it may be a while until I can pick you up.”

  “Maybe she can come here,” Priya suggested. “That way, if you’re really late, I won’t be in her family’s way.”

  “I don’t want to leave you here unsupervised,” her mother said.

  “Mom, it’s just the mall,” Priya protested.

  “I have one kid down,” Mrs. Shah said. “I’m not letting anything happen to my other one.”

  “Hang on a sec,” Riley said. He bounded over to the hot dog place and spoke to an older man with a dark complexion and a thin mustache. He pointed to Priya and her mother.

  The older man came over. “Hi, I’ve been meaning to welcome you to the food court,” he said. “I’m Martin Simpson. Riley and I would be happy to entertain your daughter while you check on your son. Riley can give you a hand with setting up your smoothie bar if things get slow at our hot dog counter,” he added.

  “Oh, that’s very generous,” her mother said, looking so relieved that Priya gave her a quick hug. Her mom was already so nervous, and now this.

  “Hold on,” Priya said. “Let me call Leslie.”

  She had written Leslie’s address and phone number on a piece of paper. She quickly dialed while her mother started putting on her coat.

  Lesl
ie answered the phone right away.

  “Hi! Are you on your way?” she asked Priya.

  “Leslie, I’m so sorry, but can you come to the mall to work?” Priya asked her. She explained the situation, including the fact that her mom had to leave.

  “Okay,” Leslie answered after checking with her mom. “We can use one of the food court tables as a desk.”

  “Great. See you soon.”

  Priya disconnected and nodded at her mom. “Leslie’s coming here,” she told her.

  But Mrs. Shah still looked a little worried.

  “It’ll be okay, Mom,” Priya said.

  “I’ll . . . all right,” her mother said finally. “Keep my cell and call home if you need anything, all right, honey?”

  “I will,” Priya promised.

  Her mother left and suddenly she and Riley were by themselves. “Alone at last,” Riley said, and Priya almost got the nervous giggles. But she kept herself pulled together as they both ducked under the counter and entered the land of Smoothie Town.

  “What can I do?” he asked.

  She just stared at him. And smelled him. He smelled really good, as if he had freshly showered, and his dark hair was really shiny.

  He said, “What?” and pulled his chin in slightly, like he was trying to see what she was staring at. He lifted the tub of frozen raspberries out of the cooler.

  “I was . . . just wondering what school you go to,” she said. Good save!

  “I go to Waggenheim.”

  “That’s my school,” she said.

  “Huh. I’ve never seen you in any of my classes,” he told her.

  “Maybe you just never noticed me,” she replied.

  “No way.” His tone was warm, and she went all mushy inside. “Are you an eighth-grader?”

  She shook her head. “Seventh.”

  “Then that explains it. I’m an eighth-grader.” He sounded very proud of that fact.

  “Cool,” she said.

  “Not as cool as this.” Before she knew what was happening, he reached around her and slipped a piece of ice from the cooler down her back!

  “Evil!” she cried, grabbing at her back with both hands, trying to stop the sliver of ice from making a ski run down her backbone. When she gave up in defeat, she picked up a cup of water on the counter and flung it at him. Then she realized that it wasn’t water—it was coconut milk!