Crush du Jour (15 page)

Whatever. I still had the carnival to worry about, and if I kept up this psychotic obsessing, my brain was going to melt and dribble out my ears.
Highly
unappetizing.

The only person around, actually, was Damien. I hadn’t spoken to him since his illicit lip-lock with Callie, and I wasn’t too keen on adding another heaping dose of awkward tension onto my day. But what choice did I have?

“Hey, Damien, have you, uh, seen Seth around?”

He shook his head swiftly, seeming a scootch more comfortable with me than I was with him. Maybe he was extra-mature because of being in college and all.

“Nope, not yet. But according to the schedule, he’s in later today.”

Okay, then I needed to flee the scene as quickly as possible.

“Cool,” I replied. “In that case, would
you mind giving him”—I dug into my tote bag and pulled out a sheaf of stapled papers—” these?”

I slapped them down on the bar and looked at Damien expectantly.

“No problem,” he assured me.

“Great.” I turned to go, but he reached out and tapped at my forearm.

“Laine—I’m sorry about what you walked in on the other day,” he said, looking sheepish.

I waved my hand at him like it was no big deal. “I should have knocked.”

On the door of the communal break room. Where you were getting inappropriately horizontal
.

Whatever
.

“Well, whatever. I mean, it’s a public space …”

Thank you
.

“But what I really meant was that it wasn’t so cool for you to find us so soon after you and I went out.”

No, no it wasn’t. But …

Somehow, in the face of Damien’s apology, I found myself able to just let it all go. What did it matter, anyway, if he’d turned out to be a little bit slimier than I thought? He wasn’t my boyfriend, and he wasn’t
going to be my boyfriend. I knew what it was like to flit from crush to crush without ever letting yourself get really attached. It was easy. And usually fun. So how could I blame him?

And more than that, I realized with a start, I now knew, finally, that the person who
would
be my boyfriend would not be a making-out-in-the-break-room kind of guy. I could say that for certain, even though it was anyone’s guess when the majestic day that person revealed himself to me would come.

Look at that: I managed to skirt my flirt rules for the summer, but over the course of two-ish months, I’d actually managed to juggle a big-old helping of teen-angst drama.

Yeah, so I hadn’t gotten Seth in the end. That left a sour taste in my mouth. I thought he was special. Or possibly The One. He was my chocolate, after all. But it had all been experience that I could draw on as I went forward.

That sour taste in my mouth didn’t have to be lemons, I decided. I could, if I wanted to, and if I concentrated very, very hard, make lemonade. Lemonade wasn’t very …
sophisticated. But I’d have to make do.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said to Damien, shouldering my bag again and turning toward the exit. “We’re good.”

And with that, I walked out of Hype forever.

Sixteen

I decided to take Anna’s advice about window shopping. Except, instead of window-shopping, I went shopping shopping. At the supermarket. For the ingredients for an apple toffee pie.

Why get store-bought for the carnival? I certainly had nothing better to do than bake away my misery.

On Wednesday afternoon I set about my pastry experiment. Pies were really not my forte. Thank goodness my mother wasn’t around to see my early fumbles, such as a mountainous eruption of baking soda, some spilled milk (how clichéd), and an
eensy
issue separating egg yolks.

I’d clean it all up, anyway.

I was manhandling a mixing bowl when the doorbell rang, making me jump straight into the air with surprise. I certainly wasn’t expecting anyone; Anna was working, and even if she hadn’t been, she was terrified of me when I was cooking (I can be a little intense) and had learned, over the summer, to avoid my kitchen at all costs.

Imagine my utter shock to open the door to Seth McFadden.

Mmmmm
.

“You … don’t have bird flu,” I managed to croak out.

He forehead crinkled. “Was I supposed to?”

“Uh, of course not,” I said, blushing. “This is fantastic news.”

“Great,” he said briskly.

We both stood in the doorway for a moment more. I shifted my weight from one hip to the other. What was adorable Seth doing here? Why wouldn’t he tell me what he was doing here? Was he dying of some other, nonavian wasting disease?

Unlikely.

But he still wasn’t saying anything.

He coughed, making me jolt once again. I was a little bit nervous, having him in my house. I’ll admit it.

“So … Laine?”

“Yep?” I asked brightly. Lord, I sounded like those customer service women from the computer call centers. “Yes?” I repeated, more evenly this time.

“Can I come in?”

Duh.

“Of course!” I said, nearly tripping over my own two feet to step backward and let him into the house. “Sorry.” I beckoned him and we both hovered anxiously in the foyer.

“Listen, Laine, I don’t know if you noticed, but I’d kind of been keeping to myself the last week or so,” he began, sounding nervous.

Moi?
Notice? Notice what?

“Oh, um, really?” I flubbed, shooting for “casual” and coming closer to “enormous spaz.”

“Yeah, well.” He fiddled with the zipper on his sweater. “I was being an idiot. I just … had no idea what to say to you after everything with our parents, and you, you know, leaving Hype and all.”

He
was an idiot? I was the one who couldn’t carry a tray and a conversation at the same time!

“I mean, your mom was doing her job, and I get that that put you in a really weird position,” he continued. “I would never have asked you to come to Hype if I’d known how uncomfortable it would be for you. And I’m really sorry if it didn’t work out. I know my dad thinks you’re great.”

“Just not a great waitress,” I quipped.

He tilted his head to one side. “Well …”

I laughed, letting him off the hook. “It’s okay. We all have our special talents. I’m still trying to find mine.”

His eyes widened. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, baffled.

“Laine, you have a million special talents,” he said. “I mean, when you cook, you’re totally a natural. You know how to put your own spin on any recipe you try. I could never do that. In case you haven’t noticed, I am obsessed with recipes.”

He was being so gracious, I decided to let that one pass without comment.

But, amazingly, Seth wasn’t even done yet. “And you’re great with the kids at the rec center. Meanwhile, I spend most of the time trying to get Pete to stop giving me noogies.”

“Yeah, he does seem to think of you as the younger brother he always wanted,” I admitted, giggling.

“You’re always fired up to go off in a million different directions,” he finished, hooking his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans. “You know exactly what you want, and you go for it.”

“Do you know what you want?” Now I was back in banterland. This was familiar territory.

“I, uh, hope I do,” he said, suddenly sounding more nervous. “The only thing I was worried about was that, well, I’d never be able to keep up. That’s why, you know, I never said anything …” He trailed off uncomfortably.

“About what?” My heart raced and my palms were slick with sweat. Was this conversation going where I thought it was going? Had my crush du jour finally blossomed into a four-star relationship?

“About how I kind of liked you,” he admitted finally.

“You kind of liked me?” I shrieked.

This was fantastic news. This was butter-cream icing on a devil’s food cake. This was—

Oh, come on. This was way,
way
better than cake.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“I’m just a moron when I’m around a cute girl,” he said, the tips of his ears turning fuchsia.

“Oh, well, in
that
case,” I said, grinning broadly, “you’re totally forgiven.”

“Good,” he said.

He leaned forward.

I squeezed my eyes shut in anticipation. This was totally it. This was my big, real-kiss moment. This was no summer crush; it was my full-blown, all-time, pretty-please-with-a-cherry-on-top fantasy come true in a monstrous, huge, super-sized way.

No
way
was I going to give him the cheek. Nuh-uh.

Seth paused suddenly and sniffed at the air.

“Uh, Laine?” he ventured. “I don’t want to ruin the moment, but … do you smell something burning?”

Yeah, so in the end, we had to toss the first pie in the trash. But I didn’t mind. That gave us a chance to start from scratch—together.

Once Seth and I had confessed our mutual crushage, we realized it was important to make up for lost date-y time. And what better place to turn up the heat than in the kitchen?

The end-of-the-summer carnival was a huge success, by the way. Our planning committee had done Miles Halliday proud, transforming the entire outdoor garden into a festive mass of balloons, colorful booths, and general mayhem and revelry. Seth and I manned the pie-eating booth until it was time for the contest, while the rug rats ran around wreaking havoc and generally making all the
other
instructors’ lives difficult for a change.

As far as first dates went, it wasn’t exactly conventional. But conventional is overrated.

Anna wandered by, sparkling with the creative stylings of the face-painting set.

“Hey,” she said, leaning forward to investigate our selection. “Do you think I’ll ruin my makeup job if I participate?”

“Without a doubt,” I replied.

“Awesome,” she said. “Sign me up.”

I pushed the bright pink sign-up sheet toward her. “Sign yourself up,” I chirped. “I’m on a date.”

She rolled her eyes but picked up a Sharpie and scrawled her name with a flourish.

My mother, who’d taken a few hours off from her writing schedule to come out and support me, came up to the booth.

“Laine, I think there’s a kid named Pete off terrorizing the ring-toss people,” she informed me.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” I said. I wasn’t going to let anything interfere with my good mood.

Anything, that was, except for Seth’s father, whose shadow passed over us all at once, like a summer storm cloud.

Seth’s dad.

My mom.

Me.

Seth.

Me and Seth.

Awkward.

Mr. McFadden cleared his throat. “Madison, hello. Good to see you again.”

My mother’s eyebrows arched slightly, as though she hadn’t been anticipating a warm reception, but she eagerly jumped on the manners bandwagon.

“Likewise,” she said warmly. “How is the restaurant doing?”

“To be honest,” Mr. McFadden said, “it seems it’s true that there really is no such thing as bad publicity.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” My mom smiled.

“And,” he continued, “we’ve been lucky enough to come upon some very constructive criticism that I think will go a long way toward helping the place live up to its potential.”

“Perfect,” my mother said, and I couldn’t have agreed more.

Behind my mother, Anna made a gagging face. I ignored her. Sticky-sweet adult etiquette was
so
preferable to the alternative.

Was it possible that we were going to all end up living (and cooking and eating) happily ever after?

“And Laine,” Mr. McFadden said, turning back to me, “if you’re still looking for a job, we’ve got a position open for a new hostess.” He coughed discreetly. “It’s a little less complicated than waiting tables.”

Seth poked me in the side. “All you’d have to do is stand at the front door, looking pretty.”

The gears of that big electric coffee grinder in my brain kicked into motion again. A job would be fun, and it would also
mean more time with Seth. Besides, as a hostess, I didn’t have to wear a uniform, and I could get cuted up every evening and strut around in sheer lipstick to my heart’s content. My hair could show Callie’s a thing or two, even if mine wasn’t caramel colored. I could make some extra cash for college, too, seeing as how those waitressing tips hadn’t exactly panned out.

“Excuse me,” Anna said abruptly, stepping forward. “But no.” She smiled at Mr. McFadden. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Why ’no thanks’?” I asked, jolted from my sugar-plum dreams of tiptoeing through the two-tops like a floaty fairy hostess.

Anna managed to roll her entire body at me. “Laine, you just told me that you and Seth signed on for another semester of teaching the cooking class. After school, this time.
And
you told me that you would consider going out for the school newspaper this year—”

“Laine, sweetie, that’s great news,” my mom cut in, clearly proud that I was—maybe—following in her footsteps.

”And”
Anna went on, ticking each point off on her finger as she made it, “it seems to me that you may have a few unforeseen social
obligations cropping up in the immediate future.”

She jerked her head meaningfully in Seth’s direction.

He and I both had the good sense to look abashed, though I, personally, still felt pretty moony. I think Seth did too—in a boy way, of course.

I paused, considering everything Anna had said. I really took a moment to turn the ideas around in my head. I took one more deep breath and turned back to Mr. McFadden.

“She’s right,” I admitted. “It sounds great, and I really appreciate you thinking of me, but I just don’t think it’s going to work out right now. As much as I’d love to do it, the thing is”—I reached out and grabbed Seth’s hand, and he gave mine a little squeeze—”right now, I think I’ve got more than enough on my plate.”

Acknowledgments

Thanks to Michelle Nagler and Sangeeta Mehta for fabulous editorial expertise, Jodi Reamer for enduring my nervous breakdowns (emphasis on the plural), my brother David for loaning me his computer when mine was on the fritz, Noah for endless pep talks (and for stumbling his way through couples cooking class with me), Kathi Appelt and the faculty of Vermont College for kicking my butt (and expecting me to cite sources!), Aimee Friedman for letting me borrow her funny, and all of my extended family and friends, just because they’re very extra awesome.