by Chris Cannon
“I like it,” Delia said. “One question. Why do they host a fundraiser for the library, when half the families would probably donate the money outright?”
“I’m sure the answer is something like, ‘Charity work builds character.’”
“Funny,” Delia said. “I bet the people who need to build character won’t be the ones participating.”
Jack came in through the front door, bringing the smell of Betty’s Burgers with him.
“Did you bring food home, or did you man the grills?” I was hoping for the first option.
He held up a family sized carry-out bag. “In honor of you realizing I was right about a certain snob, I brought home burgers and pie.”
In his own obnoxious way, he was being supportive. “Thank you, I think.”
He emptied the contents of the bag onto the counter. “Help yourself.” Once he’d loaded up his plate he headed into the living room.
Delia and I put away the cookbooks and grabbed our own burgers.
“That was oddly civilized of Jack,” Delia said.
“It’s probably more about him being right than anything.” I sighed in frustration. “I still don’t understand why Grant had to be a jerk. He seemed so perfect.”
“My mom says no guy is perfect, you just have to find one that makes you happy seventy percent of the time.”
That was an odd equation. “What about the other thirty percent?”
“That’s the time you fantasize about hitting him in the head with a frying pan.”
I laughed. “So prince charming is a guy you only want to kill a third of the time? That doesn’t sound right.”
“No one’s perfect.” Delia squirted mustard on her burger. “So now that Grant and Aiden are out of the picture, who do you think is cute?”
Well, crap. “You don’t have to stop liking Aiden.”
“How could I like the best friend of the guy who was a jerk to you? That’s against girl-code.”
“It’s not like we need guys to have a good time. Let’s go to the movies this weekend.”
“Sounds good.”
…
Delia and I drove into town to the multiplex. Everyone else seemed to have the same idea. The chick flick we wanted to see was sold out so we decided on an action movie. The usher led us into the theater. “There are only a few seats left together.”
“The closer to the screen the better.” If I came to the show I wanted the larger-than-life experience. Sitting way up at the back wall of the theater wasn’t much different than watching television at home, and I could do that in my PJs.
We ended up a few rows from the front on the aisle. I preferred being on the aisle so if I needed a refill on popcorn in the middle of the movie, I wouldn’t have to squeeze past other people in their seats.
Delia pulled a bag of candy corn out of her purse and poured half of it into our container of popcorn. I took a bite of the sweet/salty mix and sighed in satisfaction.
“I can’t believe you’re eating that,” a familiar male voice said.
“Aiden?” Delia turned around to see him sitting behind us. “Are you stalking us?”
“We were here first,” Aiden said. The seat next to him was empty, but a black leather jacket was draped across the back of the seat. I couldn’t tell if it belonged to a guy or a girl. Was Aiden here on a date or with Grant? I wasn’t sure which would be more awkward.
“The usher led us to these seats.” Delia pointed at the leather jacket. “Who are you here with?”
“Grant went to buy popcorn. Speaking of which, why did you put candy corn in yours?”
“It’s good.” Delia held our tub of popcorn out to him. “Try it.”
“Not a chance,” Aiden said.
The trailers came on blaringly loud, so Delia and I turned back around. What were the odds that we’d end up near Grant and Aiden at the show? It was like some higher power was messing with us. I kept my focus on the screen, even when I saw Grant coming back to his seat.
Once the movie started, I was swept away in the action. Delia and I managed to finish off the popcorn halfway through the film. Since the story was pretty brainless, I went for a refill.
Apparently, everyone else in the theater decided it would be a good idea to hit the concession stand at the same time. Every line was five people deep. No big deal. The plot of the movie wasn’t hard to follow. The good guys were chasing the bad guys who’d committed fraud.
“It’s busy tonight,” the one voice I didn’t want to hear said from behind me.
“It is a Friday.” I was under no obligation to be nice to Grant since we weren’t at school.
“True.” He moved so he stood beside me. “What do you think of the movie so far?”
Should I move to another line to avoid conversation? No. I was here first. If he wanted to make small talk I could play along. “It’s okay. We wanted to see Love Lost, but it was sold out.”
“Really? Us, too.” He said it so seriously, I almost believed him until he laughed.
“I’m sure it’s better than what we’re watching.”
“There probably aren’t even any fight scenes in that movie.”
Had he not read the blurb? “I’m pretty sure the woman shoots the man because he cheated on her.”
“And that’s why it’s called Love Lost—because she killed him?”
“I guess. I’m not sure how it ends.” The line moved forward.
“Why would you want to see something like that?” He seemed to be genuinely asking rather than giving me crap, so I answered truthfully.
“Sometimes it’s nice to get wrapped up in imaginary drama so you can avoid your own real-life problems.”
He shook his head. “I’d rather watch car chases and gun fights.”
The line moved forward and our conversation was dead in the water. I avoided looking at him by reading the marquee style snack menu.
“Zoe, can we talk about what happened?”
Absolutely not. “Sure, why don’t you call me later.”
“We could talk now.”
“Nope. I paid to watch the movie and that’s what I plan to do.” Luckily, the line moved forward and it was my turn. I asked for a refill on popcorn and then ran back to my seat in order to avoid any more awkward conversations with Grant.
The rest of the movie passed in a blur as my brain spun in circles trying to guess what Grant would’ve said to me. Not that it mattered. Unless he wanted to apologize, but even then, could I trust him?
I leaned over to Delia. “When the movie ends, we need to get out of here as fast as we can so I don’t have to talk to Grant.”
“Got it. If we hadn’t paid so much to see this stupid movie, I’d suggest we leave now. I’m hoping the ending will be worth the wait.”
Fifteen minutes later, the credits rolled.
“So not worth the wait.” Delia stood and we made a beeline for the hallway, which exited back into the lobby. It was jam-packed with people. We shuffled along with the crowd. By the time we made it out of the building, I was ready for fresh air.
“Where to now?” Delia asked as we crossed the parking lot to her truck.
I was stuffed full of popcorn and candy corn, so I didn’t want any more food. “I’m not sure.”
“How about The Art of Tea?” Delia loved the tea shop turned artist’s studio where patrons were free to paint or draw on one of the group projects or create something of their own.
When we arrived at The Art of Tea, the parking lot was half full. Delia pulled into an open spot near the wide front steps which led up to the front porch where people sat drinking tea and working on looms.
“I don’t understand weaving,” Delia said. “Sewing is so much faster.”
“I think it’s supposed to be soothing, like meditation.” I’d tried it, but had quickly become bored when I couldn’t see any results. It takes a lot of threads to weave a blanket. I don’t have that kind of patience.
We ordered raspberry tea
and chose a table next to an easel with a half-finished painting. The canvas was covered in swirling lines of pink and purple. Delia sipped her tea and studied the picture. “This needs some more color.”
She opened the baby food jars filled with paint and dipped her brush into the red. “Goodbye pink.”
Delia would lose herself in the painting, which was fine by me. We came here to relax. I enjoyed the artsy vibe and I liked to people watch. My favorite people to observe were the ones who had no artistic talent but enjoyed the creative process anyway. They seemed so optimistic.
In the corner by the fireplace, I noticed something new. A sign read Crocheter’s Corner. Intrigued, I went to investigate.
There were baskets of yarn, all leftover odds and ends which people probably donated once they’d finished a project. Coffee cups of crocheting hooks sat on an end table by the baskets. This was my type of art. I grabbed a ball of aqua blue yarn and a blue crocheting hook, because I liked to match the yarn to the hook, which I know is weird, but that’s how my brain works.
I carried my find back to the table and made a single chain long enough to be a scarf. Then I double crocheted my way back up the chain.
Delia noticed my project. “We should tell your grandma that they’ve added yarn.”
I doubted my grandmother would want to crochet with odds and ends. She read patterns and bought the exact number of skeins she would need and used the specific hook called for in the instructions. I preferred a more freeform approach, which was probably why she made beautiful afghans, which people paid good money for, and I had a collection of lumpy eclectic scarves that I gave away or donated to charity.
“She doesn’t play well with others when it comes to sharing yarn.” I’d learned as a young child that I was free to use any yarn in the open basket between the two recliners in our front room, but I wasn’t allowed to touch any yarn in the picnic basket she used as a yarn caddy.
“True.” Delia went back to painting, adding slashes of black while I lost myself in the repetitive motion of double-crocheting.
…
Monday afternoon in the school cafeteria Delia and I tossed our backpacks on an open table and went up to make our trays. When we returned to our table Grant and Aiden were sitting there eating pizza like they had every right to join us.
I opened my mouth to ask Grant what he thought he was doing, but Delia breezed by me, pulled out her chair, and sat down like nothing was wrong. Since I had no idea how to handle the situation, I followed her lead.
Aiden held his hand out to Grant. “Pay up.”
Grant pulled a ten dollar bill from his pocket and passed it to Aiden.
“What’s that about?” I asked.
“I bet you’d go sit at another table before I had a chance to talk to you. Aiden said Delia wasn’t the type to be chased off so easily.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Delia said.
“Wait. Should I be insulted?” I asked Delia.
“No. Your flare for drama is well known. Storming off would have been a good bet, but you probably would have yelled at him first.”
Not like I could deny that. “Since we’re being weirdly honest, Grant. What did you want to talk to me about? Keep in mind that I have access to sharp knives in Foods class.”
“I am aware of that fact.” He took a drink of his Coke. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you about what happened between us the other night.”
“And you thought the crowded cafeteria would be a good place to do that?” I gestured at the room full of people.
“No. I thought maybe we could go grab coffee or a soda somewhere after school.”
I teetered on the edge of a decision. If I went somewhere with him and we ended up fighting, I’d have to endure a very uncomfortable car ride home.
“Aiden, what are you doing after school?” I asked.
He blinked at me like I’d just confused the crap out of him. “Why do you ask?”
“Because if all four of us went somewhere, then Delia could take me home, thereby avoiding the quite possibly awkward car ride with Grant if what he says ticks me off.”
“That makes sense,” Delia chimed in. “So, Aiden, want to go grab a soda after school?”
“Okay.” Aiden still looked like he wasn’t quite sure what had just happened but decided to accept his fate.
Grant and I walked to Foods class together. Not like he was walking me to class, we were just walking in proximity. Once we were back in our kitchens mixing up a batch of cranberry orange muffins, I did my best not to ask him what he wanted to talk to me about.
“It’s killing you, isn’t it?” Grant ladled batter into the muffin tins with the ice cream scoop.
I pretended not to know what he was talking about. “What?”
“You want to know what I have to say.”
I rolled my eyes. “Right, because my world rotates around you.”
I let my brother know that Delia was giving me a ride home, which was not a lie. I just didn’t mention the part about spending time with Grant because I didn’t want to listen to him gripe at me again.
Delia and I met Grant and Aiden at a coffee shop named Hallowed Grounds. Grant and I sat at a table in the back while Delia and Aiden sat at a table up front by the windows.
I stirred sugar into my café mocha and spoke in a quiet, calm tone. “So what’s up?”
“The other night when I dropped you off, I was trying to be honest, and you freaked out on me.”
“I did.” And where was he going with this? I’d had every right to freak out.
“Why did me telling you I wasn’t looking for a full-time girlfriend make you go ballistic?”
I stopped stirring and gaped at him. “That’s not what you told me.”
“Yes, it was.”
“No. You said I was just someone to have fun with and you had no plans of asking me to be your girlfriend.”
“Which is what I just said.”
“No. It’s not.” How could he not see this? “You basically said I was the Ringer: someone you could have a good time with, but I wasn’t real girlfriend material.”
Grant squinted like he was trying to figure something out. “That may be what you heard, but that’s not what I meant.”
Hope bounced around in my chest. I did my best to flatten it. “Let’s try this again. What exactly did you mean?”
“I have no plans to ask any female on the planet to be my girlfriend. I wasn’t judging you or saying you were like the Ringer.”
“Oh.” That painted him in a much better light. “Well then I retract my freak-out.”
“You can do that?” he asked.
I nodded. “My world. My rules.”
He shook his head. “You are a strange girl, Zoe Cain.”
“But not boring.” I took a big gulp of my café mocha and waited to see what would happen next.
“So is there anything else we should talk about?” He said this like he expected me to make some sort of confession. What was he getting at? And then I remembered. Crap. This was going to be awkward. I abandoned my drink in favor of turning my grandfather’s watch around and around on my wrist. “When I was under the impression that you told me I wasn’t up to your standards, I might have told Lena you were a dick, during first hour class…and other people heard me. I’d like to retract that, too.”
He glared at me.
“Sorry.” I stopped fiddling with my grandfather’s watch, sipped my mocha, and waited to see how he’d respond to my apology. What I’d said hadn’t been that bad. He couldn’t be too mad, right?
The glare turned into a grin. “Actually.” He slapped his hand down on the table. “I already heard about that.”
“Lena told you?” Were they talking again? Had I inadvertently pushed him back into her arms? Cause that would totally suck.
“No. Amber.”
Still sucked, but not quite as much. “Oh, I never would have guessed that one.” I swirled my coffee around in my cup
and waited. This moment, right here, was why I hated the whole dating system. I should be able to say, “So do you want to go out this weekend?” but if I asked him on a date I’d be labeled pushy. And I know Delia asked Aiden out earlier but that had sort of been a joke. So, I played with my drink, biding my time and waiting for him to make the first move.
He finished off his Coke and smacked the plastic glass down on the table. “Glad we straightened this out.”
“Me, too.”
He pushed away from the table, waved at Aiden, and then sauntered out of the coffee shop without looking back once. What the heck? That was so not how I hoped this encounter would end. Darn it.
Delia came to join me at my table while Aiden made his exit.
“What just happened?” she asked. “Aiden and I were talking and laughing and then Grant left and it was like Aiden had fulfilled some social obligation and he was done. He just said, “See you tomorrow,” and bailed on me.”
“That’s weird. It’s not like they rode together.”
“Makes me think they planned it this way.” Delia frowned. “Maybe he didn’t want me to accidentally think he was interested.”
“That’s crap. But, I’ll one up you on weirdness.” I explained my conversation with Grant and how we had straightened things out.
“So you apologized to him, and then he just left.” Delia added creamer to her coffee. “At this point, I wonder if they’re both just messing with our heads.”
“Maybe. I do know one thing—your mom’s frying pan theory is beginning to make a lot more sense.”
Chapter Seven
Zoe
I gauged the emotional temperature of the room in first hour the next morning. Lena seemed content to ignore me, which was good news. I was afraid she’d hear that I’d been out with Grant. Not that we’d really gone out together, like a date, but someone could have seen us together in public and interpreted it that way.
As we walked down the hall after class, I asked Delia, “Want to practice making our book cake tonight?”
“Sure. I can give you a ride home. Do we need to stop at the store?”
“Have you met my grandmother?”
Delia laughed. “I know she’s canned enough fruits and vegetables to last out the apocalypse, but I didn’t know if she stocked up on flour and vanilla too.”
