Hmm…
Ugh, you know what? He probably has a girlfriend. All the cute, nice guys usually do. It’s unfair, really.
Soon he’s coming back downstairs with Lincoln and Kyle trailing behind him, and I force myself to leave my messy hair alone. Like I said, he’s probably dating someone already.
Kyle gives me a pinched look, trying to adjust his bulging duffle bag so it fits better underneath his arm. “Why isn’t Mom picking me up?”
“She’s busy,” I tell him with a forced smile, “did you have fun?”
Is it so wrong that I want Liam to think I’m a wonderful and attentive older sister?
Kyle rolls his eyes as he throws his head back and steps outside. “Let’s just go.”
I try to laugh, but it just sounds like I want to cry. “Well, bye, Liam…and Lincoln.”
“Bye, Megan,” Liam says, giving me a half-wave, “and Kyle. See you guys later.”
Aha! Maybe there is a chance…
Still, I know better than to get my hopes up.
“I hate when you drive,” Kyle whines as we walk to the car. “You never play any good music.”
“Stop whining,” I huff, opening the backseat door for him, “it’s so annoying.”
“You’re annoying” is his petty comeback, and I motion to his booster seat. “Just sit down already.”
“Who was the cute guy?” Hailee asks as I make sure that Kyle has his seatbelt on. “Was he Lincoln’s brother?”
Kyle’s nose scrunches up. “Liam is not cute.”
I roll my eyes as I shut his door. Great, now there’s going to be an argument about how Kyle is a boy and he’s “too little” to understand, and then Kyle will protest in his usual whiny voice.
It’s exhausting just thinking about it.
“You are too little to understand,” Hailee snaps at him as I get into the car, “isn’t he, Megan?”
I buckle my seatbelt. “Whatever…”
This isn’t my problem.
“I’m gonna tell Liam that you like him,” Kyle taunts as I pull out of the Haldons’ driveaway, “and that you want to marry him.”
Hailee scoffs as Kyle proceeds to make kissy noises. “Like he’d believe you.” She flips her hair over her shoulder, well, the best she can with her seatbelt on while obviously sitting in the car. “Besides, I think our new neighbor is mega-hot.”
Kyle’s eyebrows crease in confusion. “What new neighbor?”
Clearly, my brother has been living under a rock.
“The one that just moved in yesterday,” Hailee tells him with an exasperated sigh, “right next to us? Anyway, he is soooooooooo dreamy!” Kyle and I both gag, causing her to cross her arms. “Well, he is!”
“Enough about him,” I finally say, “which of you know where Mom’s blueberry bread recipe is?”
Hailee arches an eyebrow at me. “Why?”
“Yeah,” Kyle agrees, wiping a finger under his nose, “why?”
“Because I want to try and make it,” I reply coolly, “so, any ideas?”
If I can follow the recipe, I can bake another bread, and then take it next door so Mom will never know that I threw the other loaf down to the ground.
I really shouldn’t have done that…
“I know where it is.” Hailee examines her hot pink nails. “But, it’s gonna cost ya.”
“That’s blackmail!” Kyle declares with a horrified gasp. “Mommy says that blackmail is bad!”
“Thank you, Kyle.” I glance at Hailee. “He’s right.”
“It’s not blackmail,” she replies with an eye-roll, “it’s supply and demand.”
I’m desperate.
“What do you want?” I mutter, knowing that I’m going to regret asking.
“You have to be my personal Xuber driver, whenever I want, for the rest of the month.”
Am I that desperate though? Yes, yes, I am.
“Fine,” I give in, “the recipe for your transportation.”
Anything to save my backside from Mom’s lecturing…
——————
Let it be known, I hate baking. And cooking. Honestly? I just don’t want to be worried about following a recipe and hoping that somehow everything turns out okay. Who needs that kind of stress in their life?
However, I made the stupid bread. Well, it’s still in the oven, but it’s pretty much a done deal at this point. And I don’t know why, but I find myself looking over the list of ingredients to make sure that I didn’t forget anything.
Flour? Please, got it. Sugar? Of course. Baking powder? Baking powder?
I blink and reread the two words: Baking. Powder.
No, I could’ve sworn it said baking soda. Dang it. There can’t be that much of a difference between the two though…right? Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be fine.
“I’m hungry!” Kyle announces, coming into the kitchen. “I want something to eat!”
I let out a loud groan. “Didn’t they feed you over there?”
“But that was breakfast!”
“That was only forty minutes ago,” I drawl, crossing my arms, “so forget it. Drink some water.”
“You drink some water,” he retorts in a snotty voice, stomping out of the kitchen. “Mom lets me have snacks!”
“Yeah, well, I’m not Mom!” I holler after him.
“Blah, blah, blah…”
So. Annoying.
While the bread continues to bake, I watch reruns on TV as my darling siblings thankfully keep to themselves, and then I do the mature thing by cleaning up in the kitchen.
Soon the timer goes off, and I carefully pull the pan out of the oven using Mom’s ridiculous cooking mitts. Not to sound conceited or anything, but this bread smells pretty dang good.
I set the pan down on one of Mom’s matching potholders, and then get rid of the oven mitts before turning the oven off.
“Cool for fifteen minutes in the pan,” I mutter, reading over the final part of the instructions, “and then transfer to a cooling rack so it can cool completely.”
Okay, but why am I letting it cool twice? Whatever. Baking is so weird…
Fifteen minutes later—okay, twenty minutes later—I’m back in the kitchen trying to wedge the loaf out of the pan. Then, all I can do is stare at the stupid thing as it rests on the cooling rack. It’s hideous. And it’s flat.
I guess there is that much of a difference between baking powder and baking soda. Oh well, I don’t have time to mess up another one…so this will just have to do.
Where does Mom keep that plastic wrap stuff?
After looking through almost every darn drawer we have, I finally find it. And even though the recipe says to let the bread “cool completely,” I don’t feel like waiting that long. Plus, I need to get this thing over to the neighbors’ house before Mom and Dad come home.
Wrapping hot bread in extremely clingy plastic wrap is no easy task though.
By the time I’m done wrapping it, the box of plastic wrap is almost empty, and my horrible bread looks like some kind of mummy. See? This, is just another reason why I don’t like being in the kitchen. I’m bad at it all the way around.
Should I tell Hailee that I’m going next door? Nah, she’ll just be really annoying about it and ask a bunch of questions. All I need to do is go over there really quick, hope that he isn’t home, give his parents (or whoever else lives in that house) the new bread, invite them to dinner, and then finally come back here before Hailee or Kyle know that I even left.
It’s a completely foolproof plan.
So, I leave the house and fast-walk next door. Then I ring their doorbell while silently hoping that he’s not here.
Please be one of his parents. Please be one of his parents. Please be one of his—
The door opens, and I feel my heart sink at the sight of him.
Seriously? All that hoping and mental begging for nothing?
“I guess you just couldn’t stay away,” he says, cocking an eyebrow at me, “ay, Feisty?�
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I grit my teeth as I try to convince myself that I cannot rip his head off. And that I cannot throw this bread down like I did with the other one.
Keeping both of those things in mind, I force a tight smile. “I brought this bread to replace—”
“The one you ruined,” he finishes, eyeing the bread with a smirk. “Where ya shipping it to? Russia?”
I. Will. Not. Lose. It.
“Can I speak to an adult?” I ask, using my calmest voice.
“What?” he drawls, leaning against the doorframe. “You don’t like talking to me?”
“No,” I reply without hesitation, “frankly I don’t. Here’s your bread.” I shove it at him, making sure that I’m wearing another fake smile on my face. “And my mom would like you and your family to come over for dinner tonight around six o’clock. We’ll be having spaghetti, please let your parents know.”
Yeah, I can be polite…semi-polite.
I don’t wait for a smart remark, or any other form of a reply, and I leave him standing in the doorway. Maybe I’ll get lucky and they won’t show up because they hate spaghetti.
“Hey, Feisty!” I hear him call after me. “Just so you know, you’re either graying early or you have a butt-load of flour in your hair!”
They better hate spaghetti.
Chapter 4: I Want You To Go Away
As I reluctantly get ready for the “dinner,” Hailee bursts into my bedroom with a glare on her face. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me that he’s coming for dinner!”
“I can’t believe you don’t know how to knock,” I shoot back as I set my hairbrush aside. “So what if I didn’t tell you? Get over it.”
I mean, technically there’s still a chance that they won’t even come…
Her nose flares. “You’re the worst sister ever!” She then storms out of my room, slamming the door behind her.
Great talk.
Does she really think there’s a chance for her and him? Is she that delusional?
“Everyone, come downstairs please!” I hear Mom yell. “They should be here soon!”
Or they won’t be.
Still, I drag myself downstairs and then roll my eyes when Hailee sticks her tongue out at me. So mature.
“Okay,” Mom says, clapping her hands together, “best behavior…and look occupied for goodness sakes! Don’t just stand here!” She heaves a loud sigh. “Randall! Hurry up, please!”
Dad emerges from his study, calm and collected as always. “Audrey, try to relax. I know you’re worried about first impressions, but—”
The doorbell rings, and Mom practically shrieks. “They’re here! Okay, remember what I said!”
My luck absolutely sucks.
While she turns to open the door, Kyle is playing with his stuffed dog (whose name is Hammy for some stupid reason), Hailee is on her phone (shocker), Dad is—well, he’s just being Dad, and I am dreading every second of this.
“Hello!” Mom greets them after throwing the front door open. “I’m Audrey Taylor, and as president of the neighborhood committee, I just want to say welcome on the behalf of our cozy little community! We are just thrilled to have you as our next-door neighbors!”
Way to lay it on thick, Mom.
“Oh, well, thank you so much!” the light-haired woman responds with a smile. “I’m Dawn Knight, and this is my husband Victor.”
Dawn and Victor Knight? Why does that sound familiar? I know I’ve heard those names before…but where? They’re not exactly common.
“And this is my husband Randall,” Mom says, touching Dad’s arm. “And these are our children: Megan, Hailee, and Kyle.”
Of course, she has to introduce us in birth order.
“Well, come in, come in,” Mom urges them as Kyle fakes being shy and hides behind her leg.
As Dawn and Victor step into the house, I realize something very important: He’s not here. It’s a miracle! Maybe my luck isn’t so bad after all! At the same time though, I can’t help wondering why he’s not here…
“Thank you,” Dawn replies in the same sugary tone, “we wanted to bring something, but weren’t sure what would be best, and then our son suggested that I make cheesecake because he knows it’s the only thing I can bake.”
She proceeds to laugh, and I then notice that Victor is holding some kind of covered platter. Huh, this is a first. No one usually brings us stuff when they come over for dinner.
“Wonderful!” Mom exclaims. I know she must be mentally cringing though because she already made dessert. “You said your son suggested it?”
And that would be Mom’s polite way of finding out where their said son is.
“Yes, he did,” Dawn says with a proud smile. “He’ll be here in a few minutes, Brayden just wanted to finish up something he was working on.”
Brayden?
Their son’s name is Brayden?
And their last name is Knight?
No.
It can’t be.
There must be other Brayden Knights in the world, right?
Right. And their son is just one of those other Brayden Knights.
“Oh really?” Mom asks as a reply to something that Dawn must have told her. “You used to live here? How long ago?”
No.
It can’t be.
But when Dawn answers with, “about six years ago,” I know that I’m totally screwed.
“Ah, there he is!” I hear his mom chirp. “Brayden, meet the Taylors! This is Audrey, Randall, Megan, Hailee, and Kyle. I think Megan is probably around your age, honey.”
So. Screwed.
As Mom starts talking about who-knows-what, I just stare at him. At Brayden. And I wish there was a chance that he doesn’t remember me, but he’s staring just as much as I am. This is horrible. We were never supposed to see each other again! What kind of cruel twist of fate is this?!
Okay, so he remembers me—clearly—but maybe he doesn’t remember that stupid note. After all, it was a long time ago, and guys don’t remember that kind of stuff. He can’t remember that stupid note. My life will be over if he does.
And what happened to his shaggy, Bieber-do? Where are his hipster glasses? Why couldn’t he turn out ugly after all these years?
“I just love the name Brayden,” Hailee gushes to him, completely unaware of the stare-down we’re having, “it’s so edgy.”
Looks like Mom isn’t the only one to lay it on thick…
“Uh, yeah,” Brayden replies, barely glancing at her, “thanks.”
“Oh my gosh, you’re so funny!” Hailee laughs as she takes a hold of his arm. “We should totally sit next to each other during dinner.”
So much secondhand embarrassment right now.
“Well, who’s ready to eat?” Mom asks with a huge smile on her face.
——————
My mother hates me. Yep. I mean, why else would she arrange it so I’d be stuck sitting next to Brayden?
Dang, he smells just as good as he did yesterday.
I. Should. Not. Care. About. The. Way. He. Smells.
And I really shouldn’t care about the fact that he keeps glancing at me. It’s hard to ignore though. Just like it’s been kind of hard to ignore Hailee’s death glares. She should be mad at Mom. After all, it’s not like I picked where everyone would be sitting…
I can’t even enjoy my stupid spaghetti. It’s impossible to. Why does his chair feel so close to mine? Would it be totally obvious if I scooted away from him? When did he stop wearing glasses anyway?
Don’t care, don’t care, don’t care…
“Megan, honey,” Mom suddenly says, gathering my attention, “could you go get the rest of the garlic bread, please?”
Normally, I’d have an attitude about being the “errand girl,” but right now? I’m more than happy to get away from this table.
Away from him.
“Yeah, of course,” I reply, trying not to look too eager as I stand up. “No problem, Mom.”
A brief lo
ok of surprise crosses over her face, but then she just smiles before asking Brayden’s parents about how moving in is going. Whatever.
I make my way into the kitchen and let out a frustrated sigh. You know, if the Palminos hadn’t selfishly moved to flippin’ Alaska, then Brayden and his family wouldn’t be living next door to me…just saying.
I pull my phone out to see if Lora has responded to my “MAJOR EMERGENCY” text, but it doesn’t even seem like she saw it yet. Then again, I’m pretty sure that tonight is when she and Belinda are going to the movies for some sister bonding time. Which would be totally fine if I wasn’t in the middle of dealing with a serious crisis right now.
“Megan Taylor…what are the odds, huh?”
What the crap is he doing in here?
I casually slip my phone into my back pocket as I try to think of how I should respond to him. Or maybe I could just ignore him.
Or, what if I pretend like I don’t know who he really is? It’s probably a bad idea, but I’m willing to try anyway.
“I’m sorry?” I give him a confused look. “Exactly, what odds are you talking about?”
Hey, there’s a reason why Mrs. Croft gave me the lead role in our third-grade play.
“The odds of us being neighbors?” he drawls, raising an eyebrow at me. “After all this time?”
“Uhhh…” I trail off, making sure that I sound completely lost. “Okay? I’m not sure what you mean though.” I then add an awkward laugh, to really sell it.
“Ah,” he comments with a nod, “so you’re trying to tell me that you don’t remember me? Is that what’s happening right now?”
Keep it going, Megan.
“Wait,” I reply, widening my eyes at him, “are you saying that we used to know each other?”
Someone give me an Oscar already.
“Wow,” he says in disbelief, “how stupid do you think I am, Meg? I know you remember me…middle school wasn’t that long ago.”
Would it make things worse if I just continued to play crazy? Probably. So, I decide to go with my earlier idea. I ignore him.
I stride over to the main counter and grab the covered tray of extra garlic bread. Thankfully, it’s not hot enough for me to wear those ridiculous oven mitts…
My Dilemma Page 3
