The Sweetest Thing (25 page)

“Close enough,” she says, putting her hand on his arm and making googly eyes at me behind his back.

“Just a sec. Let me put these in water.” They walk out the front door as I go to the kitchen. The roses are lush and gorgeous. If I wasn’t in such a hurry, I’d be tempted to sculpt them out of fondant.

I pull a vase out of the cabinet, take it to the faucet, start to fill it. The flowers are beside me, looking perfect. Flaw-less. Kinda like Ethan. I turn off the water.
What am I doing?

Without thinking, I pull out the trash can, flip open the top, and shove the roses to the bottom of the bin. I step back, look at them. Ruined. Too dramatic? Maybe. But somehow 262

it makes me feel a whole lot better.

We get to school and he tries to grab me in the hall, but I see Jack coming from the other direction.

“I’m late. See you later.” I step away from him.

“Why are you still mad?” Ethan asks, frustrated.

“I’m not mad. Just thinking. About chem. I can’t be late,” I say, and walk away smiling.

I slide into Wasserman’s class, just in time, but on the way in, I catch Haley’s eye in the back row. She flashes her usual sinister grin as I take my seat.

While Wasserman drones on about lab safety (one girl lost an eyebrow to a Bunsen burner last week), I make a mental To Do list: finish cake, wait for my mother to call, take a deep breath and let this show happen. Then break up with the most perfect male on the face of the earth?

At lunch I sit with Lori at one of the round tables that are jammed into the cafeteria. Jack walks over. Since I started going out with Ethan, Jack’s been working on some report in the library instead of eating with us.

“Can I sit with you guys?” he asks.

“Moron, you’ve been sitting with us since first grade and
now
you’re gonna start asking for permission? Seriously?”

Lori says. Tuba Dude Jim looks at her with total admiration.

They may just make it, those two.

“Whatever,” he says to Lori.

I smile up at him.

263

As I eat my salad, I imagine what will happen when I end things with Ethan. No one in their right mind breaks up with someone that popular. It’s total social suicide.

Jack nudges me as Lori bosses Jim.

“Are we okay?” he whispers.

I nod. “Yep. Got a lot on my mind is all.”

“Yeah. I know,” he says. I glance at him. Why have I never noticed how sweet he is? And not just to me. He is just a good guy. His head tilts and he meets my stare. I think of our kiss that I can’t forget, surprised at how much I’d like another one. But that would require untangling myself from Ethan first.

Lori clears her throat. “Ahem, don’t let us interrupt or anything.”

I sit up and realize that Jack and I are looking at each other, all moony-like. He takes a bite of his sandwich and moves his eyes over to the table of black-fingernailed Goths next to us. But Lori doesn’t stop. “Why are you two acting so weird?” She looks at me, then Jack, then back to me again.

“Wait a minute.. . . .” She points a finger at us, and her eyes get wide. “Did you two . . . ?” Her eyes meet mine. “Was that the thing with Ethan this morning? Did you . . . ?” She smiles so wide I think her face might split horizontally. “No!

Did you two hook up?”

“Shh!” I whisper, 100 percent mortified.

Lori laughs. “Well, it’s about time! And to think, you’ve both recently been linked to other people.” It’s like sitting 264

next to a reporter for the
National Enquirer
.

“Hush,” I say. I can’t look at Jack.

Lori’s eyes focus behind me. “You hush. Here comes trouble.”

I turn to see Haley and her faithful followers stomping through the center of the cafeteria and up to our table. The hens stop clucking long enough to let their leader speak.

Haley raises her hand like she’s about to swear an oath.

“Hello, Jack.” She doesn’t wait for a reply. The entire cafeteria turns toward us in what seems like one smooth motion. Haley shakes her head. “People who are dating usually sit together at lunch, don’t they?”

“Haley,” Jack says, “we went on one date.”

“Oh, I’m not talking about us. I’m talking about her.” She points to me, and there’s that evil glint in her eye. “Heather Sanchez was working at the T-shirt shop last night. Taking a smoke break in the alley.” Haley’s hands are on her hips, and her elbows stick straight out like the east and west of a compass rose. She talks loud enough for everyone to hear.

“She swears she saw you two. Kissing?”

Jack and I exchange a glance.

“Ethan found that very interesting when we talked this morning. Especially since you were also with him last night.”

I look at her, and have no idea what to say. I’m just sick of her face, sick of her voice. Everyone around us is dead silent, waiting to hear what Haley’s going to say next.

“Of course, they say the apple doesn’t fall far from the 265

tree. Looks like making cakes isn’t the only thing you got from your mother.” She leans toward me and raises her voice just a little louder. “You’ve turned into a slut, just like she was.”

I’m so sick of her I want to scream. I stand up, feel my face turning bright red. “Shut up. You don’t know anything about me.”

She chuckles with a “that’s all you got?” look on her face.

I wish I could come up with the perfect stinging come-back. But all I can think of is Jack and how he knows I saw Ethan last night. It’s killing me.

Finally, the bell rings for fifth period. The crowd dis-perses; the show is over.

“God, you’re a loser,” Haley says over the din.

Then she turns on the ridiculous high heels she always wears and pushes her way through the crowd. I think of that Moses movie that’s on every holiday, the one with the bad special effects of the sea splitting down the middle. I wish that God would swallow her up right now, just like he did to that nasty Pharaoh. I plop back down into my chair.

Everyone in the cafeteria is off to their next destination, except for Lori, Jack, and me. “Good lunch,” Lori mutters, grabs her bookbag and looks at us.

“Hey.” She snaps her fingers in front of Jack’s face. “
Don’t
listen to her. Sheridan had to break up with that asshole sometime, right?”

I look up at her, so grateful I can’t stand it. Then I turn 266

to Jack, whose eyes are boring into mine. Is that the truth?

That’s what he wants to know. I force a weak smile, but don’t say a word. Well, it was almost the truth. But not quite.

Ethan comes to my locker at the end of the day. He’s not in my lunch period, and I wonder if he’s heard about what happened.

He doesn’t reach for me. Doesn’t try to kiss me.

“You been seeing someone else?” he asks as I change my French book for history and shake my head. “Is that why you acted weird last night?”

“Ethan.” I slam the door with a metallic clang. “It was Jack. Jack is my best friend. I’m always with him.”

“Were you kissing him?”

I can’t quite get the “yes” out.

“Was this after Haley, at my door? Were you trying to get back at me?”

This is so strange. Three days ago, I couldn’t get enough of Ethan. I was wrapped up in him like the filling in a can-noli. But now everything he says sounds wrong.

“I told you, this is going too fast.”

“Well, I just
want
you,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

I look up at him. He wants me. And he’s so handsome.

Unbelievably handsome. I shrug. My brain is so tired it hurts.

“What’s that mean?” His eyes are intense. “Are you breaking up with me?” he whispers.

267

“I don’t know.” Maybe he deserves more of a chance.

Maybe I’m crazy to even consider a romance with Jack.

Ethan slams a locker with his fist.

“Come on,” I say. “I just need some time to figure stuff out. A lot has been going on.”

“Okay. All right. It’s your grandma. And the party, isn’t it?” He instantly brightens. “You just need to get through the party. Let’s just get through the party.” I’m pretty sure it’s not just the party, but I nod my head and he seems satisfied.

As I walk down the hall, he keeps pace with me. “You want a ride home? It’s pretty cold out.”

“No thanks. I have a few stops to make.” Which is a lie.

But this conversation is starting to get on my nerves.

On the way home, I find myself turning into the harbor.

I go and sit on my family’s dock, my legs crossed. I need to think

There’s a sailboat coming in, its passengers bundled up and scurrying about on the deck, getting ready to tie up for the day. They’re a family: a mom, a dad, and a few kids.

They look worn out and cold. But they also seem content, satisfied. I remember that feeling, coming back into the harbor after a long day on the water with Mom and Dad.

Is it too much to ask for one father and one mother who want me to be happy? They don’t have to like each other.

They just have to like me.

I stand up. It’s going to be a long night, with all the 268

preparations for this ridiculous show that I don’t even want to be in. I pull out my cell. I dial Mom’s number one last time, get voice mail. Surprise. “Hello. This is Sheridan Wells again. Please have Margaret Taylor call me back as soon as possible. Thank you.”

I hang up and stuff the phone into my jeans pocket. I feel it crumple the heart-shaped note, which I pull out quickly and flatten as best I can.

She hasn’t called back. And she won’t be here to help me with the cake. It’s too late. That cake was the perfect reason for her to come home. Now the only reason for her to come back is because I need her. I wonder if that will be enough.

269

Thursday night I dream about Mom. She’s standing apart from me, and the closer I come, the farther away she moves.

I wake up at three in the morning and can’t get back to sleep. So I take out my cards. I’ve avoided them the last few days, mad at Mom for not calling. But I need them now.

I dig out number eleven. A cartoon dog on the front.

Inside, the card reads, “Have a doggone Happy Birthday!”

This is
the
card, the one I go back to whenever I feel like maybe she’s never coming back.

I open it slowly now, a little worried that the words may have disappeared, or that I imagined them. No, there they are.

Sheridan, eleven on the eleventh. Your golden birthday. I
remember the day you were born. That was a golden day. They
put you in my arms, your fuzzy red hair sticking straight up.

As long as I live, I’ll never forget that moment. I hope you have
a happy day, Cupcake. And I wish I could be there. I love you,
Mom.

I flip the card shut and lie down, holding it to my chest.

Shortly before my alarm rings, I fall back to sleep.

At school, I am distracted and tired. Ethan thankfully keeps his distance, especially since I haven’t officially broken up with him yet and Jack doesn’t know. In the cafeteria, Lori, Tuba Dude Jim and Jack chat about the show. They’ve had a wardrobe fitting, and Lori has a flowered sarong to wear.

Except she pronounces it “so wrong.” When she says this I force a laugh so they don’t ask me what’s wrong. Jack nudges my shoulder. He knows I’m totally faking it.

After school, I stop by Geronimo’s and order a triple-shot latte, which is necessary if I’m going to make it through the night. It’s Friday, and there’s a huge piece of poster board hanging in our kitchen with a schedule for tonight and tomorrow. There’s not a minute of the next thirty hours that doesn’t have a goal written beside it.

Tonight it’s rehearsal, at five o’clock sharp, and we better not be a minute late, Amazon threatens, or the entire schedule will be thrown off.

I go to the restaurant and stand in the center of the dining room. Dad is by the kitchen door, talking to Amazon 271

and Gray Hair. He looks tired and worried.

Amazon gazes at Dad admiringly whenever he speaks.

I wonder if they’ve moved from just going to a jazz club to something more. They’re acting so
together
. Oh man, if she ends up being the first woman he introduces to me as his girlfriend, I just might vomit.

Enough. I don’t have time for this now. I need to focus on finishing the cake. It
wil
be perfect; it has to be the most perfect thing about this lame party. And it’s almost done, but of course, there’s something still bugging me. Something’s missing, and I can’t figure out what it is.

I step into the kitchen, head out the back door, and walk to the bakery, which is quiet and dark.

The cake stands like a glowing beacon of awesomeness in the center of the worktable. It’s gorgeous. Three tiers covered in turquoise fondant, without a crack or a crinkle. Perfect.

Bright hibiscus flowers wind their way up to the very top.

Tasteful. Colorful. Beautiful.

Still, I fuss with the flowers for ten minutes.
What is
missing? God, I wish that Mom would call right now. She could
tell me what to do.

And then like a lightning flash, it hits me. A butterfly.

This cake needs a butterfly—the one that Mom was supposed to make—perched on the top tier. No big deal. I can make butterflies. Not as good as Mom’s, but I don’t see her around here to do the job.

I whip out the gum paste and work like a maniac to 272

finish a beautiful bright yellow butterfly. It needs time to dry, but it will look perfect. Seconds after I’m done, my cell phone starts to wiggle out of control.

Come to restaurant now.

It’s Amazon. I’ve been here a while, and rehearsal is about to begin. I leave the butterfly to dry.

When I get back to the restaurant, I hear Amazon bark-ing orders and see Surfer hopping around inspecting the room, coffee in hand. He’s in charge of the set.

The main dining room is a mess. I hope they have time to finish, because it looks horrible. There are big potted palms being wheeled in and buckets of bright flowers that have been delivered, but nothing has been put together.