If I aced my test, and if I cleaned my room so it looked more organized, and if I made a big show of doing my homework at the kitchen table all week long, I might have a chance at going to the concert. But those were some mammoth ifs. And the last thing I wanted to do was ask Mom for a favor when I wanted to stay mad at her, oh, say, for the rest of my life.
Still, I heard myself say resignedly, “I’ll talk to her. But it’s going to take a lot for her to say yes.”
This is what it took for Mom to say yes: one miraculous A-minus on my math test, two hours at the kitchen table every night doing homework (or, doing homework for the first hour and spending the second hour jotting down ideas for new recipes in my binder), one painful Wednesday afternoon organizing my room (by conveniently shoving most of my papers from last semester into the back of my closet), and one extremely lengthy groveling session in which I vowed never to forget another homework assignment ever again (except the latest spelling list that was currently MIA that she didn’t know about).
By Friday afternoon, she’d agreed to the concert. I still felt the weight of our fight between us, though, like a thick San Fran fog that wouldn’t lift.
“I want you to spend time with your friends,” Mom told me. “But … Dad and I are still thinking about whether or not you can go back to work at the Tasty Truck.”
When I started to protest, Mom held up her hand. “We’ll make our decision by Sunday night.”
Even Cleo couldn’t come to my rescue this time.
“This is between you and your folks,” she said to me when I begged her to try talking to them. “You know I love having you at the truck with me, but I can’t get involved with this one.”
I didn’t push her, because ever since the city council meeting, she looked worn out. I’d overheard Dad giving her some ideas for how to cut back on spending, so it didn’t sound like the Tasty Truck was doing any better. I was also worried that, without my help, working at the truck was tough on her. She told me that everything was fine, though.
“Asher’s doing great,” she said. “He’s becoming a real pro.”
At the sound of Asher’s name, my stomach jumped. He and Tristan had stopped by my locker earlier in the week.
“Cleo told us what happened,” Asher had said. “It stinks.”
“Mostly it’s his BLTs that stink,” Tristan added. “They don’t have the magic Tessa touch.” He ruffled my hair, and the instant he did, I felt Asher’s eyes on my face, gauging my reaction.
“I’ll make you a double when I get back next week.” I smiled self-consciously.
When I glanced at Asher, he was looking from me to Tristan thoughtfully, with the slightest frown on his lips. “So …” he began quietly. “Will you be back?” His voice rose hopefully in a way that made my breath catch.
“I’m planning on it,” I said resolutely, then elbowed him. “Don’t tell me you miss me harassing you about your sandwich-making skills.”
“Not really.” He grinned. “Mostly I just miss you doing all the work while I pretend to work. I can’t get away with that when Cleo’s around.”
“Good,” I said. “Maybe I shouldn’t come back, then.”
“Nah,” he said. “There’s a mob of disgruntled customers anxiously awaiting your return. I’d hate to disappoint them.”
But as he walked away with Tristan, I found myself wondering if Asher would be disappointed if I didn’t come back. I realized it wasn’t only the Tasty Truck and Cleo that I missed. I’d actually started to enjoy working with Asher. My afternoons were just way too quiet without an argument or two with Asher to liven things up.
On Saturday, from the moment Mei’s parents dropped us off at the Rickshaw Stop, Mei and Ben were a dynamic duo of snuggliness. They wouldn’t let go of each other’s hands even long enough to walk down the theater aisle, so other kids had to press against the wall to squeeze around them.
“So, which band’s opening?” I asked as we took our seats.
“Huh?” Mei said without looking my way. “Oh, I don’t know. Check the program.”
I flipped through the program and a wrenching feeling of third-wheel-ness swept over me. Here I was, sitting next to my best friend, and suddenly I didn’t know how to act around her. She wasn’t herself anymore; she had become a clingy, giggly Ben magnet.
Luckily, the Young Sliderz took the stage and everyone was on their feet, screaming and clapping as the opening notes to “School Daze” pulsed through the theater. I started dancing alongside Mei and Ben. When the chorus came, Mei grabbed my hands and we belted out the lyrics together in between laughs.
For one split second, I almost forgot that Ben was there. But then Ben put his arm around Mei’s shoulder and she was gone again, singing in his ear and swaying with him in time to the beat. I tried not to care and let myself get lost in the music, screaming out the words to the songs and with them, all the frustration I’d felt over the last week — at Mom, Mei, Asher, Karrie, Tristan, Mr. Morgan, everyone.
At one point, Mei tapped me on the shoulder and yelled something about going to get a soda in the lobby with Ben. I nodded distractedly and then went right back to dancing. I threw back my head and closed my eyes —
And someone slammed into me.
I felt the sickening sensation of my glasses flying off my face. Instantly, I was on my knees, feeling blindly in the dark around my seat, hoping they hadn’t gone far. I found nothing but the sticky remnants of spilled soda and popcorn bits. I glanced around helplessly, but my close-up vision was a complete blur.
With frazzled nerves, I made my way out to the lobby to look for Mei and Ben, but I couldn’t see them anywhere. I couldn’t see the buttons on my cell well enough to text Mei, either. I wondered then if they’d found a corner somewhere in the theater for that kiss Mei had been wishing for, and my throat tightened.
Mei’s mom had given us strict instructions on where to meet her outside the theater the second the concert was over. I knew Mei’s parents were having dinner just around the block, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember the name of the restaurant. This time of night, droves of tourists and San Franciscans came to Japantown to eat sushi and snap photos in front of the concrete pagoda. I knew my parents would kill me if I went roaming blindly through the packed streets trying to find Mei’s parents.
I resigned myself to the inevitable and started to blindly dial Mom’s cell, but then I heard someone call my name. I squinted at the fuzzy face in front of me, then felt a wave of relief as it gradually crystallized into a smiling Asher.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Foodies are allowed to love music, too, you know,” I said.
“Wow,” he said. “I thought that was you, but …” He tilted his head, then looked surprised and bashful all at once. “You look so different.”
“Oh.” I patted my face. “Yeah. I lost my glasses in there.”
He kept staring. “I’ve never seen you without them on. Your eyes … they’re an amazing green.”
I blushed furiously as my heart jumped. I had no idea what to say. Was Asher really complimenting me?
“Th-thanks,” I stammered. “Too bad I can’t really see much right now.”
“Do you want to go back inside?” he asked, nodding toward the theater doors. “I can help you look for your glasses.”
I gave a short laugh. “There’s probably not much left of them. And I’m not really in the mood for the concert anymore.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Me either. I didn’t really want to come in the first place, but Tristan and Karrie really wanted to, so …”
“You caved,” I said.
“No,” he said defensively. “I did the ‘good friend’ thing.”
“Yeah,” I said, easing off as I realized I’d basically done the same thing. “I came because Mei asked me to, but then she and Ben disappeared. I’m not even sure they remember I’m here.”
“Sorry,” Asher said, and I could tell by his voice that he
meant it.
I held up my phone. “I was just about to call my mom to come get me. Do you need a ride home?”
He shook his head. “My mom’s outside already. I told Tristan and Karrie I was leaving a few minutes ago. There’s something else going on tonight that I finally decided wasn’t worth missing.” He hesitated, then added, “Hey, do you want to come over to my house to see it? It won’t be around again for a while, and I think you’d like it.”
My heart sped up and I gave it a mild, silent scolding. I so needed to get a grip. “Um, I’ll have to check with my mom,” I said. “But if she says it’s okay, then I guess so.” I took a step toward what I thought was the direction of the door, and bumped into the wall.
Asher laughed. “Need a little help?”
I shrugged and smiled in his general direction. “Maybe.”
“Come here,” he said, and before I could argue, he’d slipped his arm around my waist.
I caught my breath as heat jolted through me. I’d never been this close to any boy before. Thank goodness his face was a blur right now, or I would’ve been reminded how cute he was, and then I really would’ve been in trouble.
After a lengthy phone chat during which Mrs. Rivers assured her repeatedly that Asher and I would be under parental supervision at all times, Mom agreed to let me go over to Asher’s. But she still said she’d pick me up by nine P.M. sharp.
“I’ll call Mei’s mom to let her know you’re okay,” Mom told me before we hung up. “I’m sure you and Mei just got separated in the crowd, that’s all.”
Or, Mei was too busy getting her first kiss to remember I was there.
I didn’t want to think about Mei anymore tonight. Instead, I looked out the window of Mrs. Rivers’s car as we made our way into the streets of the Presidio, with its jaw-dropping views of the bay and the Golden Gate Bridge. Most of the Presidio was a protected national park. My parents and I had walked through its beautiful grounds plenty of times, but I’d never been inside any of its amazing homes before.
Asher’s apartment was almost as beautiful inside as the park was outside. An enormous glass wall stretched across the entire length of the living room, opening up to a view of the shimmering ocean below.
“Should I take off my shoes?” I whispered, but Asher just laughed.
“Come on,” he said. “We have to go outside to see the show.”
“Show?” I repeated. “Am I even going to be able to see this show without my glasses?”
“You’re farsighted,” he said. “It won’t be a problem.”
He led me out onto the terrace, which had a gorgeous pool and cabana-style lounge chairs.
“Hang on,” he said, “I forgot to get the lights.”
I wondered what he meant until he went inside and flipped off all of the pool and deck lights, plunging the terrace into darkness.
“Asher?” I called hesitantly. “I can’t see.”
Then I felt the lightest flutter of his hand on my back, and he whispered, “Okay … look up.”
And there they were: streams of shooting stars pouring down from the sky. I’d never seen anything so magical.
“There are so many of them.” I gasped. “Like it’s raining stars.”
“It’s a meteor shower,” Asher said. “One of the biggest ones we’ve had in over a century. This one comes every year and starts from a point right around the Big Dipper. That’s called its radiant point.” He leaned closer to me. “Can you see it?”
“It’s incredible,” I said, smiling.
“Yeah,” he said. We were both quiet for a minute, and then he added, “After my parents got divorced, it felt strange in the house without my dad around. So Mom bought me a telescope and I started coming out here, just to get a break sometimes.”
“It must’ve been tough,” I said. “My parents are gone a lot, but at least they get along.”
Asher nodded. “Mom’s been lonely for a while, but she’s dating again now, which is a little weird. But also better, because she’s happier.” He pointed to the telescope in the far corner of the deck. “Do you want to see more? Maybe we can try to find Venus or Jupiter.” Then he hesitated. “But only if you want to …”
“I do,” I blurted faster than I’d meant to. “I’m kind of glad that Mei and Ben disappeared tonight. I mean, I’m still furious at them for basically ditching me, but I would’ve hated to miss this.” I gulped. It was the truth, but I couldn’t believe I’d actually said it out loud. Still, when I risked a look at Asher and saw his blurry grin, I was glad I had. I was surprised at how good I felt about making him smile like that.
We were still bent over the telescope looking for the Horsehead Nebula when Mrs. Rivers came out onto the terrace to say Mom had come to pick me up.
I reluctantly said good night to Asher and got in Mom’s car. On the way home, I told myself that what had happened tonight was a nonevent, just two friends hanging out. After all, this was Asher, the spoiled popular boy I could never seem to stop arguing with. But tonight, we hadn’t argued. He’d been sweet and kind. And my humming pulse and swirling head told me that this might be the start of something new between us. But what it was, exactly, was as mysterious and uncertain as the night sky.
I woke up the next morning to the warm, doughy smell of fresh baking. I tiptoed past Mom and Dad’s closed door and up the stairs to Cleo’s, squinting at the still-blurry world. I found Cleo in her kitchen, adding one last cinnamon roll to a heaping pile.
“I made breakfast for everybody!” she told me.
“Or … breakfast for the entire city?” I teased, pointing to the steaming omelets, pancakes, and fruit salad spread out on her kitchen counter.
Cleo shrugged. “So … I went a little overboard. I couldn’t sleep.” She motioned to a stack of papers scattered over her kitchen table. “I’ve been looking over the sales for the Tasty Truck.” She sighed. “They’ve actually gone down over the last couple of months.”
“Huh,” I said. “Well, maybe it’s been that way for all the truckers.”
Cleo shook her head. “I’ve been talking to them.” She bit her lip, staring forlornly at the papers. “It’s our truck, Tessa. The other trucks are all doing better than we are, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why. And now with no Flavorfest, I don’t know how we’re going to break out of this slump.”
I felt the first stirrings of an idea. “Well, maybe there’s a way we can still bring Flavorfest back. We just need to fight for it….” Suddenly, I had a vision of Ansel Adams and the apartments he’d pasted in his photo of the Golden Gate hillsides. If he could fight for what was right through his art, then I could do it through my food. I snapped my fingers. “I know what we should do! We need to have a Save Flavorfest rally. Our own little protest against Mr. Morgan’s Taste of San Fran. We can get everyone involved. Our neighborhood, the school … maybe the whole city! We can have it at the Tasty Truck and give away samples of our Bacon Me Crazy BLT to anyone who comes. It’ll be perfect!”
A flicker of hope lit up Cleo’s eyes. “If we can get the word out to all the food truckers, they’ll spread the word to their customers….” She bit into a piece of toast and chewed thoughtfully.
“We can have it next Saturday!” I said. “That’ll give us a week to get everyone on board.”
Cleo nodded, grinning, and I saw some of her spunk returning. Then her face fell. “But, Tessa, your mom and dad still haven’t said yes to you coming back to work. They might not be happy about you getting involved in something like this….”
My heart sank. In all my excitement, I hadn’t even thought about that. “Well, maybe we don’t have to tell them about the rally?” My voice was pleading. “Mom’s flying to New York Tuesday morning on business and she won’t be back until Saturday, and Dad’s busy at a conference downtown this week, so we won’t even really have to lie. We can just, I don’t know, forget to mention it.”
“That’s a big thing to forget,” Cleo said hesitantly. “They’l
l be upset if they find out, especially your mom. She told me the other night that she wanted to build more ‘Tessa time’ into her schedule.”
“Really?” I asked, surprised. I often felt like I fell at the bottom of Mom’s priority list. “Well,” I said, “there won’t be any openings in her schedule this week, not with her thousands of miles away.” There was a hint of sarcasm in my tone, and Cleo picked up on it, frowning.
“Come on, Cleo,” I persisted, “we can tell them about the rally after it’s over.”
“Okay,” she said. “We won’t mention it … for now. But they still have to agree to you coming back to work before you start helping me with the rally. I’m not budging on that.”
“I’ll go ask them right now,” I said, already hurrying toward the stairs.
“Wait!” Cleo held out the platters full of omelets and cinnamon rolls. “Take these with you. Bribery might help.”
I laughed. “Good thinking.”
Mom and Dad were stumbling bleary-eyed toward the coffeemaker when I flew into the room.
“Breakfast!” I said enthusiastically, waving Cleo’s platters under their noses.
“Mmmm,” Dad said. “Looks delish.”
“Thanks, sweetie,” Mom said, taking a cinnamon roll. Then she peered into my face, her brow creasing. “Hey, what happened at the concert? I know you didn’t want to talk about it last night, but I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding of some kind with Mei….”
I saw the concern on her face, and just like that, I spotted my chance. I let my expression droop listlessly. “I don’t know,” I said morosely. “I’m not sure Mei and I are friends anymore.”
It wasn’t really an exaggeration. Mei had texted me about ten times since the concert, but I hadn’t responded. We had our report on Ansel Adams due on Wednesday, but maybe there was a way we could finish it without actually speaking. Because after what happened at the concert, I didn’t want to talk to Mei. Not today. Not tomorrow. Possibly not ever again.
You're Bacon Me Crazy Page 7
