Truth Game (13 page)

When the guests start arriving, everyone is obviously impressed with the location, the decorations, and my cake. I even see people taking pictures of it out of the corner of my eye as I help Briana and Cherie's daughters dish out the food. Cherie even tells me that she's glad to have me here helping, even if it means the bakery is closed for the day. I'm so excited about how everything's turned out that I don't even care that I have to spend the day passing out appetizers and stuff.

From what I can see, the ceremony goes off without a hitch. Ms. Montelle—Mrs. Brennan now—is glowing with happiness, and even Caitlin is beaming. Honestly, I think it's the first time I've seen her smile widely enough to show her teeth.

When the reception starts, guests begin pouring into the food tent, and I get my serving spoons ready to dish out pasta like a fiend. After a minute, I spot a familiar orange dress moving through the crowd. It's the one Marisol was making for Ms. Emerald! Sure enough, when I look more closely, I recognize the teacher standing near the bride and groom. I realize, suddenly, that she looks exactly like Mr. Brennan. Oh my goldfish. This must be the brother whose wedding she was going to! The dress Marisol made came out perfect, as usual. I don't know why I ever bothered doubting her skills.

“Hey,” Briana says, snapping me back to reality. “Cherie asked me to go serve hors d'oeuvres to the wedding party, but I think you should do it.”

“I'm pretty busy here.”

“Please,” she says, her eyes suddenly pleading. “I don't want…anyone to see me like this.”

“Too late.” I point to Caitlin who's staring at us from across the tent. I can tell Briana is tempted to dive behind a nearby table, but Caitlin is already on her way over.

“What are you doing here?” Caitlin asks. “I thought you said you were out of town this weekend so you couldn't come, and now you're hiding in the corner and won't even come talk to me?”

“Um, hello? I'm like a servant at your mom's wedding!” Briana says. “You really want to come over and say hi when I'm, like, waiting on you? It's so embarrassing!”

“Is this why you've been so weird lately?” Caitlin asks.

Briana only looks at the floor.

“I can't believe you didn't tell me about your dad losing his job or about you working at the bakery. I had to find out from Angela Bareli! Now
that's
embarrassing. Why didn't you tell me the truth?”

Briana shrugs. “Because you'd think I was a total loser. Besides, you were so busy with the wedding that I didn't think you'd care.”

“Are you crazy?” Caitlin says. “Of course I care! I mean, we've been best friends forever!”

“After everything that happened between us last year, I wasn't sure you still felt that way.” For once Briana's voice is soft and hesitant.

“Don't be stupid,” Caitlin says. “Next time you're dealing with stuff, tell me, okay? Then we can figure it out together.” She pulls Briana into a big hug, and just like that, everything is okay between them again.

“What are you staring at?” Briana snaps at me, but her usual venom is gone. She's almost smiling as she gets back to work.

As I keep dishing out pasta, I can't help thinking about how oddly similar my and Marisol's friendship is to Briana and Caitlin's. Okay, maybe we're not two semi-spoiled popular girls, but we've had our ups and downs too. And we've both been so busy with our own things recently that it's felt like we were on two different planets. But then I realize that Caitlin is a better friend than I am, because she offered to help Briana with the things she was dealing with, and all I've done is complain about how much the Fashion Club has been taking up Marisol's time. I never offered to help her get it started, and when she asked for my help, I totally blew her off. No wonder she's mad at me. I've been the worst friend.

But maybe it's not too late to fix things. After all, I'm almost as good at fixing mistakes as I am at making them.

I keep dishing out food all through dinner and then watch with a mixture of glee and awe as Mrs. Brennan and her new husband share bites of my cake in front of everyone. Then the cake gets rushed back to us, and Cherie and I cut it while Briana and the other two girls distribute it among the tables. Everyone oohs and aahs over the cake, which feels amazing, but I'm a little distracted with keeping track of Ms. Emerald and hoping she doesn't decide to leave early before I have a chance to talk to her.

Finally, when the cake is all distributed, I beg Cherie to take over my station for a second, and then I run over to catch Ms. Emerald as she's finishing signing the guest book.

“Hi, Ms. Emerald. You probably don't know me, but—”

“I heard you're the one who made the delicious cake!” she says. “It was so good that I snuck back for another piece! You are one talented young lady.”

“Wow, thank you,” I say.

“Are you in the Cooking Club at school?” she asks.

“Um, yeah,” I say. “It's been kind of…different from what I thought. Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“The Cooking Club?”

“No. The Fashion Club.” Then I explain to her how Marisol has been practically killing herself trying to prove to Ms. Emerald that she deserves to have her own club. “I mean, your dress looks great. Isn't that proof enough?”

She laughs. “I have gotten lots of compliments on it. And I admire Marisol's tenacity, but I'm not sure I have the time to take on anything new. I've been put in charge of doing a complete overhaul of the school lunches for next year, and it's taking up all my time.”

I almost laugh out loud. This has to be the pineapple gods again, right? There's no way this is a coincidence. “The school lunches? I know the exact person you should talk to. And if you need some help coming up with new recipes, I'm happy to do it.”

“When will you have time to do all of that?” Ms. Emerald asks. “I imagine the bakery keeps you pretty busy.”

“It does,” I say, “but if it means helping my best friend, I'll make the time.”

“All right,” Ms. Emerald says. “You have yourself a deal.”

The day after the wedding, I'm pretending to pack up my closet while still floating on a fluffy buttercream cloud when Mom pops her head into my room.

“Your dad is here,” she says. “We wanted to talk to you.”

I sit on my bed. “Why? What's wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” she says. “But we thought it was time for us to sit down and have a family talk.”

As I follow her out into the living room, my heart starts pounding in my chest. Last time we had a family meeting, my dad announced he was moving to Florida, and my entire life fell apart.

I find not only Dad but also Mr. Hammond sitting on the couch. Um, okay. I guess Mr. Hammond is part of our family meetings now. It makes sense, I guess, but it's still a little odd. Then again, maybe having him here will help keep my mom calm. We definitely don't want another shouting match like we had at Molly's.

“What's going on?” I ask.

“Your mom and I sat down and crunched some numbers yesterday,” Dad says. “And we think we've come up with a solution for the living situation.”

I swallow and sink down in an armchair, getting ready for bad news. Is Mom selling the house and Dad deciding to move to Australia or something?

“Now that I've finally found a job where I can see myself staying long-term,” Dad continues, “I think it makes sense for me to buy out your mom's half of the house and live here.”

I stare at him. “Say what?”

“That means that you'd get to keep your old room,” Mom says, “and stay here whenever you want. Now that we're both in town, there's no reason you need to be with me all the time.”

“You could even live here if you wanted and visit your mom and Robert,” Dad adds.

Mom bites her lip, clearly a little upset at the idea, but she nods in support. “We think you're old enough to be involved in deciding this with us.”

“So what do you think, Roo?” Dad asks. “Do you want to stay here and live with me?”

“Don't put her on the spot, Ted!” Mom says, but she doesn't sound angry.

“Um.” I think about the old me from last year, the one who stole money to fly down to Florida to convince her dad to come home. She would have jumped at the chance to stay in this house and be with him. But so much has changed since then. Dad and I are still close, but being apart has made our relationship different. And thanks to all we've been through, Mom and I are closer than ever. I can't imagine not seeing her every day, but the idea of living with Mr. Hammond is also scary. Then again, I feel like all I do are scary things these days. From kissing Evan to climbing a rock wall to being on TV! Maybe doing scary things is part of who I am now. Maybe one day I might even learn how to not be scared of them anymore.

“I want to live with Mom and Mr. Ha—and Robert,” I say slowly. “But if I could have my old room here, Dad, then I could stay with you whenever I wanted, couldn't I?”

“Anytime,” he says. He seems a little sad, but he's smiling.

“Then I want to give it a try,” I say. And even though I'm kind of terrified at the idea of living somewhere new, I'm also excited.

“Excellent,” Mom says. “But when you're on TV in a couple of weeks, we're watching it here, okay? It would feel wrong to do it anywhere else.”

“I might not even be on TV. They might have cut me out of the episode or something!” I say, but I'm grinning. As long as my cake is in the show, that's all I need.

• • •

That night, Marisol shows up at my door holding my favorite shirt.

“I was looking for that!” I say. “Where did you find it? And why does it have sequins on it?” Then I realize the sequins are hiding a pretty hideous toothpaste stain.

Marisol laughs. “I stole it from your room right after school started to cover up the stain, since I know it's your favorite. Sorry it took me so long to get it back to you, but I guess I've been a little too wrapped up in my own stuff.”

She holds it out to me, and I realize the sequins are in the shape of a piece of cake. “It's perfect. Thank you.” I look at her. “So…how are you?”

Instead of answering, she pulls me into a huge hug. “Thank you!” she says in my ear. “Ms. Emerald told me what you did. You have no idea how much that means to me.”

“It's the least I could do,” I say as she finally lets me go. “I've been the worst friend, not just recently but for years. I always drag you into crazy stuff and make you listen to all my drama, and the one time you needed my help, I totally wasn't there.”

She shakes her head. “I haven't been a great friend recently either. No wonder you didn't tell me about kissing Evan right away. I've barely been around! I don't blame you for wishing things were like they used to be.”

“But they can't be, can they?” That's certainly something I learned the hard way when I was trying to get my family back together.

“No, but that doesn't mean they can't be good.” She laughs. “I still don't know what you were thinking spilling my secrets on the Internet, but my mom and I had a serious talk yesterday, and she's finally coming around about this boyfriend thing. And thanks to you, Andrew's life is pretty good right now too. Ms. Emerald is going to have the school board watch his documentary. She thinks it'll help them see how much better the lunches can be.”

“Wow, really?”

“You're invited to the screening, if you want to come.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “We might have to pray to the pineapple gods that we don't fall asleep during it.”

“So you
do
remember!” I say. “I was afraid you forgot all about them.”

She blushes. “I did at first, but then I prayed to them the other night, and the next day, I got a call from Ms. Emerald saying that my fashion club was a go and that I had you to thank. That can't be a coincidence, can it?”

“Definitely not,” I say. “The pineapple gods never fail us.” After all, my prayers came true too.

“Praise be to their delicious tropical juices,” Marisol and I say in unison. Then we both erupt into giggles.

Just then, my phone beeps. Another Truth Game questionnaire, this one on embarrassing moments.

“Oh boy,” I say. “I have plenty of those to share.”

Marisol wrinkles her forehead. “You're still doing that game, even after everything?”

“No, I just haven't gotten around to deleting it yet. Honestly, it was fun to see how I measure up to people, at least at first. But then I thought—”

“That you don't care about that kind of stuff?” Marisol asks hopefully.

I roll my eyes. “I wish. No, I do care how I compare to others, but that doesn't mean I need to see it in number form. Like, if I hadn't rushed to kiss Evan because I was so paranoid about having never been kissed, I bet our first kiss wouldn't have involved gym shorts!”

Marisol laughs. “I'm sure you would have found some other way to mess it up,” she jokes.

“I'm sure I would have,” I say. “But then I would have fixed it.”

Because that's what I do.

The day after my big TV debut, Dad drops me off at school in the morning. I'm wearing my favorite shirt and actually kind of enjoying how the sequins Marisol put on it are glittering in the sun. My hair is pulled back into a high ponytail so that it actually shows my widow's peak. I figured instead of making my hair do things it's not made to do, I'll try working with what I have. I'm not sure I'm sold on the look yet, but maybe I need some time to get used to it.

“I'll pick you up after I get out of work this afternoon, okay?” Dad says.

I nod. “I hope I don't chicken out.”

He laughs. “You already climbed that wall once. You'll be great.”

Whoever thought that Rachel Lee, gym class disaster, would be looking forward to another rock-climbing session? But I'm actually excited to go back. “Okay, see you then,” I say, hopping out of the car.

“Have a great day,” Dad calls after me. “Oh, and your mom told me to remind you to floss after lunch!”

I hurry away, hoping no one heard him, and spot Angela hanging out with her cross-country friends by the flagpole.

She gives me a little wave and yells, “You were so awesome on TV last night! Your wedding cake rocked!”

“Thanks!” I call back, but I don't slow down to talk to her. I don't think I'll ever totally trust Angela after everything that's happened. She might seem like a different person, but there are things about ourselves that we can't change. Some we might not even want to.

When I get to my locker, the kissing couple is in front of it again. Gross.

“Excuse me,” I say.

They don't budge.

“Hello?” I say.

Nothing.

Finally, I snap my fingers in front of their faces, and they break apart, looking seriously annoyed. “What do you want?” the girl asks.

“Wait,” the guy says. “You were on that cooking show last night. You're, like, famous.”

Wow. I had no idea so many people knew about the Cooking Channel special. Honestly, I was only in it for all of two minutes. They played a clip of me explaining my cake disaster—so embarrassing but actually pretty funny!—and then showed a couple shots of my cake and of people gobbling it up. It was better than I could have dreamed.

“Yup, that was me,” I say.

“Nice,” he says with something like respect on his face. Then he turns to the girl and says, “Come on. Let's go hang out at my locker. It's quieter there anyway.”

And just like that, they're gone. I can't help grinning in triumph, and I'm still grinning when I run into Pierre outside the home ec room.

“Hey, Rachel,” he says. “Great job on the show last night.”

“Thanks,” I say. “How did your sludge come out?”

He sighs. “Not good. I'm going to try a slurry next.”

“Sounds…interesting.”

“Have you thought of a goal for the year yet? I'm thinking I might try a different one, maybe something about gels instead of foams.”

I shrug. With everything that's been going on, I haven't had much time to think about it. I start to say “to get better at baking,” but then I can almost hear Mrs. Da Silva telling me to make it more specific. So I say, “Maybe something about learning the basics. I know most of them already, but I want to know what I don't know, you know?”

Pierre gives me a confused look, but I don't bother explaining. It makes perfect sense to me.

I head to Marisol's locker—finally managing to navigate the endless identical hallways without getting lost—and find her having an animated conversation with Andrew. For once, he's the one doing all the talking. When I get closer, I realize he's going on and on about how much the school board loved his documentary.

“The principal is going to make the whole school watch it next week, all three hours of it. Isn't that great?” he says.

Marisol and I share a look, and it's like the past couple of weeks never happened. We're totally on the same wavelength again, even if we also have a lot of our own stuff going on now.

“Rachel!” I hear Evan call. I turn and see him walking toward me. For a second, the old panic comes back. Should I kiss him? Hug him? Give him a high five?

But then he's in front of me, grinning, and all that goes out of my head. Because it doesn't matter if I get things perfect. Let's face it. Most of the time, I probably won't. But that doesn't mean I won't find a way to get them right eventually.