Cassidy Jones and the Secret Formula (10 page)

I kept my eyes on Nate but noticed Emery looking at me. Feeling flustered, I committed myself to something I normally avoided. “Well, you know how I
love
comic books, but I’ll have to pass,” I said with a nice bite of sarcasm. “I’m going to help Mom in the kitchen.”

Nate gave me a suspicious look.

“She’d appreciate that, Cass,” Dad said, impressed.

My heart jumped when Emery abruptly jumped to his feet. Stepping over the comics, he stood in the doorway, his eyes locked on mine. “Cassidy, I didn’t have a chance to talk with you downstairs. It’s nice to see you again.”

I blushed. My awkwardness made me angry. “Thank you,” I replied sharply. Pivoting, I walked away, feeling Emery’s eyes on my back. Reaching the top of the stairs, I heard Nate say, “Don’t take it personally. She’s been an emotional roller coaster all day.”

I bit my tongue to keep from shouting something that would prove Nate right, though he was right. I was not myself, in every which way.

Entering the kitchen, I reluctantly asked, “Would you like help, Mom?”

My voice startled her, causing her to splatter the tomato sauce she’d been stirring on the range top. Wiping the mess with a standby sponge, she smiled. “I’d love the help, Cassy. Why don’t you grate the cheese for the lasagna? It’s on the island.” She continued stirring.

“Sure.” I smiled in return, wanting to kick myself hard.

While rummaging through a lower cabinet for the grater, I glanced up at Mom’s profile. Deep in thought, she had a resolute expression on her face. I had no doubt that whatever she wrestled with now would be resolved. Mom had grit. It would have been nice to have inherited some of it.

As I brooded over my frequent lack of courage, one glaring example of my cowardice came to mind: Jared.

One hundred and thirty-seven days earlier, I had made a mistake that now haunted me day and night. Before my pathetic error, Jared had been a regular fixture in our household. He and Nate were best friends. He had come from a broken family, so ours attracted him like a magnet. His dad seemed to drift in and out of his life, and his mom, struggling to make ends meet, was hardly at home. My parents, being who they were, had taken him under their wing. A welcome addition, Jared had become part of the family.

Though I didn’t recognize it at the time, I had been given a privilege. Popular at school, Jared had the reputation of being nice but tough. He wasn’t the kind of boy other boys messed around with—at least, smart ones didn’t. Maybe because I was rather non-threatening or a deep thinker myself, Jared let me see that side of him. He was very observant, contemplative, and because he trusted me, he shared thoughts only privy to me. We were friends. Good friends. However, at some point, I’m not sure when, Jared’s feelings had crossed the friendship boundary.

There was something I still didn’t get. Why would Jared tell Sunny Chan, the biggest blabbermouth in school, that he liked me? He had to have known he was playing with fire. Maybe he believed that Sunny’s desire to keep his teeth would outweigh his desire to talk. Jared had sorely overestimated Sunny’s intelligence and sense of self-preservation.

Sunny’s style was to wait for an audience opportunity before putting his target on the spot. He chose to corner me in science lab. At our group table of ten, Jared sat four seats away from me, which sweetened the confrontation for Sunny. I can still see his smug smile when he approached me.

“Cassidy, Jared likes you.”

Every head at the table turned my way, including Jared’s. His eyes narrowed on Sunny, but he didn’t intervene.

Instantly full of resentment and mortified beyond belief, I decided to pretend not to hear Sunny. Lowering my face closer to the lab journal, I continued writing, like nothing had happened.

“Did you hear me? Jared is totally into you.”

I couldn’t imagine being in a worse school scenario. All eyes were on me, anticipating a response. I knew what they were all thinking:
Cassidy, really?
Every girl at that table would have killed to be in my shoes, which made me even more resentful.

Infuriated, I continued writing, unintelligibly now.

“Come on, Cassidy. Are you into Jared or not?”

The pressure was too much. I never did well with an audience. The humiliation and rage I felt became misdirected. Instead of aiming my fury at the boy who had put me in the hot seat, I fired at the boy who made me vulnerable to the attack.

Slowly, I lifted my face. My blazing eyes met Jared’s. His were angry, too, but his anger had been properly directed. I’ll never forget his expression when he realized he was my intended target. It is impossible to forget his expression, because it has been seared into memory.

“Not,” I stated, tasting the acid in my tone.

The surrounding witnesses fell into a stunned silence. The unusual occurrence finally caught the attention of the teacher, who told Sunny to get back to his seat and the rest of us to work. Burying my face in the journal, I didn’t look up until the bell rang.

When it rang, I braved a look in Jared’s direction. For a brief moment, he met my gaze. His face was like stone, as were his eyes. Instead of humbling myself and apologizing, I glared before turning away. Since then, we have avoided eye contact altogether.

Jared wasn’t the only one hurt by my cowardice. He and Nate had become more acquaintances than friends. Funny thing is, Nate never mentioned the event to me, but I was sure he thought it was funny that I’d never mentioned it to him. Sometimes, we kept our understood alliance silent, and this was one of those times. I do know that, at one point, Nate defended me, confronting backbiting friends. Miriam had picked this tidbit up from the gossip mill, as well as another. After school that day, Jared taught Sunny a valuable lesson in self-preservation.

Of course, the heart-twisting irony is that, after what I call “The Sunny Chan Incident,” I discovered that my feelings had not only crossed the friendship boundary but well exceeded it. To say I missed my friend and my vanished privilege is a gross understatement.

Now, lost in my thoughts as I stood at the kitchen island, I began running the huge block of mozzarella over the metal grater. Cheese grating never thrilled me. It wasn’t the worst food prep duty, but it was right up there. After dragging the block back and forth a few times, a delicious, naughty idea came into my head. Since I was presently inflicted with unnatural speed, why not make it work to my advantage? Why not speed along a lowly task?

I snuck a peek at Mom. She was in the midst of dumping lasagna noodles into boiling water. For the next couple of minutes, she would be preoccupied with the noodles, preventing them from sticking with a wooden spoon. My ears turned their attention to the second floor. The feverish comic book discussion continued. Peeking at Mom one more time, I let the mozzarella rip. Gripping the block, my hand moved at lightning speed across the grater, whittling it down in seconds.

Clearing my throat, I casually informed her, “All done, Mom.”

“Done?” she asked in surprise, turning to look at the pile of cheese. “You did that so fast.”

I shrugged. “Mozzarella is soft.”

“How about putting a salad together?”

To myself, I rolled my eyes. One thing about the kitchen, there is always another grueling task to replace the last. I decided to make the salad the old-fashioned way. I knew my luck wouldn’t hold if I pushed it. Plus, I didn’t want to lose a finger chopping vegetables.

During salad prep, Mom finished her mental deliberation, and we chatted lightly during the remainder of our duties. Together, we set the table. As she pulled the lasagna platter out of the oven, she asked me to get “the boys” for dinner.

~~~

Knocking first, I opened the door. “The boys” burst into laughter.

“What?” I demanded angrily.

“Don’t be so paranoid,” Nate said, trying to catch his breath. “It’s not you. Emery just said something hilarious.” He started laughing again.

Doubtful, I glanced at Emery. Slightly grinning, he watched Dad and Nate laugh. Though Chazz joined the laughter, he looked confused.

“What did he say?” I asked.

Emery turned his face to me. He appeared amused.

Ignoring him, I looked at Dad, waiting for a response.

Dad smiled at me. “Honey, it’s a guy thing.”

A guy thing?

“Well, whatever,” I said. “Mom wants you down for dinner.” Without waiting for a response, I stomped off.

Frowning, I walked back into the kitchen. “They’re coming,” I announced, sitting in my chair. Crossing my arms, I glared at my place setting. For some reason, Emery being well-received, and hilarious on top of it, annoyed me.
So he’s funny,
I pouted.
That doesn’t change the fact that he’s also dangerous.
This I was sure of.

“Feeling left out, Cass?” Mom asked, placing the lasagna on the table.

“Hardly.”
You’re the ones who are being left out,
I added silently. With this thought, annoyance turned to sadness. I had never felt sadness to this depth before.

I am alone,
I realized, wanting to curl up in the chair and weep.
What am I going to do?

~~~

“Mrs. Jones, this is delicious.”

For the first time since he had sat across from me at the table, I looked up at Emery. I hadn’t intentionally snubbed him. Brooding had absorbed all my attention.

Emery smiled at Mom appreciatively.

She smiled appreciatively back. “Thank you, Emery. Cassidy helped make it,” she added graciously.

“I only grated the cheese,” I clarified, not so graciously.

Emery fought back a grin.

Glad to provide entertainment, boy genius,
I thought, scowling and stabbing a fork into the lasagna on my plate.

Dad winked at Mom. “Lizzie and Cassy, the lasagna is incredible. Thank you.”

Feeling compelled, Nate and Chazz agreed and thanked us.

My quiet response was to spear another piece of lasagna.

“This is nice,” Emery commented, looking around the table. “Do you always eat together?”

“We do,” Mom answered, smiling at Dad.

Dad returned the smile.

“Where do you eat?” Chazz asked, looking at Emery curiously.

Smiling pleasantly, he answered, “It’s usually only my mom and me, and neither of us cook, so we have most meals at the university cafeteria.”

“Oh.” Chazz thought for a moment. “Where does your dad eat?”

My fork paused midway to my mouth.

Alarmed, Dad and Mom glanced at one another.

Emery quickly took note of their reactions. “Really, I don’t mind answering,” he assured us, smiling. “My dad is away most of the time. I really don’t know where he has his meals.”

Oh, that is sooo sad,
I thought, softening.