Sidekick (9 page)

“Feeling a little homesick,” Keira adds, complete with watering eyes.

“Suuuure,” is all Trent says.

Maybe if Garret was still in the dark about my secret anime life, I could get away with Trent knowing I was into Keira. Izzy and crew wouldn’t really care if I liked her. But if Garr finds out, I’ll have to explain why I almost kissed her after he asked me to help him get her. The last thing I want is a fight with my best friend.

“Where’s Garret?” Trent takes my recliner and grabs his sketchbook.

I curse to myself. “Doing homework.”

Keira’s face scrunches. “Really?”

“Yeah.” I almost tell her what a nerd he is, but I can’t bring myself to do it. There’s already enough guilt in the air. “He’s got a big project due tomorrow or something.”

She nods. “Damn, where’d they go for pizza? The moon?”

Trent laughs. “That’s why I didn’t go. Daph and Izzy have very intense opinions on pizza. It’s an all-out war—Domino’s versus Pizza Hut.”

I groan. “And they both suck.”

“So you’re a pizza connoisseur?” Keira leans on the couch arm, away from me, and focuses on
Haruhi
. She laughs, but I can’t tell if it’s at the show or me.

“There is no good pizza in Clovis. It’s either too greasy or too bland or too metallic.” I glance over at Trent, my insides turning. It feels like I’ve left myself wide open and I have to correct it before I get tackled.

“
Metallic
?” he says, not looking up from his paper.

Keira raises an eyebrow like she thinks I’m crazy.

“Yeah, it tastes like everything came from a can, especially the sauce. It’s gross.” There’s nothing worse than metallic pizza; just thinking about it almost makes me lose my appetite.

“My mom says you can only complain if you can do better,” she says.

I straighten. “I can.”

“Prove it.” She gives me this look like she doesn’t believe me at all. And more than that, she thinks I’m cocky. It makes me feel about three inches tall. Did we really almost kiss? Or is she messing with me now?

“Fine.” I stand, trying to keep cool. “C’mon, Trent.”

He stops drawing. “Wha…? Why?”

“Because.”

He puts his pencil back to the page. “I’m kind of busy with this drawing.”

“Just get in here. Bring the sketchbook.” I head for the kitchen. I don’t need his help; I just need to tell him to keep his mouth shut.

I grab my mom’s pristine cookbook out of the cupboard. I’ve never made pizza from scratch before. It can’t be too hard. The dough will be the biggest problem, but we should at least have the ingredients.

Trent leans on the counter. “Are you really gonna make pizza just because Keira dared you to?”

“Yeah, then I won’t have to eat whatever crap Izzy brings home.” I kind of hate baking because the measurements are so precise, but I’ll make an exception for pizza. I read through the dough recipe. Doesn’t look that hard.

Trent pushes his dark hair away from his eyes. “Is she really that hot? Should we expect the rest of the football team to show up at our lunch table?”

“You don’t think she is?”

He shrugs. “Sure, but she’s got ‘bitch’ written all over her, and she flirts with any guy who’ll let her. And, apparently, make out with them, too.”

I glare at him. “She’s cooler than you. You don’t even know her, and you better keep your mouth shut about what you walked in on.”

“What’ll you do if I don’t?” He sticks his chin out, at which point I realize none of my threats will work on him. He’s got the upper hand and he plans on using it.

“Why would you want to screw me over? Isn’t that bad for you?”

“Maybe.” Trent is pretty good at holding a straight face. I could never tell before if he was cool with me or not. Guess I know now. “But I might also be pissed about you and Garret thinking you can just take over because everyone thinks you’re important at school. Maybe I’d like it if you guys weren’t around.”

He has a point. I never thought about it like that. I sigh. “Look. It was nothing, and I don’t want people knowing—”

“You’re hot for a freak?”

“No. It has nothing to do with that.” I grab a bowl and gather the ingredients.

“So it’s Garret?” He smiles when I pause. “I see. Don’t want your best friend knowing you want what he wants.”

I pull the flour from the pantry, wishing he wasn’t so perceptive. After I slam the bag on the counter, I flex my muscles so he knows I’m serious. “I think you’re cool, Trent, but I will beat your ass if I have to. So you better let me know if there’s another way to keep your mouth shut, because I’m leaning towards the ass kicking.”

He holds his hands up. “Fine, fine. Chill out. Let’s cut a deal, then. I’m perfectly willing to keep quiet if you do something for me in return.”

“Like what?”

“Since you like to cook so much…”

I clench my jaw and he cowers.

“Uh…I mean, since you don’t hate it as much as I do, how about you take my shifts at Parker’s?”

“Are you kidding me?” I try to keep my face even. I can’t let on that his offer is something I’ve dreamed about ever since I tasted my first double bacon burger.

“Look, I hate the place. You want me to forget what I saw? Then I deserve a break from hell.”

I let the silence stretch out, make it look like I have to think about this. Then I sigh. “I guess I could deal with that, but you’re pushing your luck, you know that?”

His smile is as twisted as he is. “So it’s a deal?”

“Terms first. How long?”

“A month?”

“A
month
? Do I get your pay check, too?” I pour the yeast in the bowl with some warm water and stir. It smells sour.

Trent rolls his eyes. “Okay, two weeks no pay.”

“I have to be off for my games and practice, and I don’t want people finding out.”

“I’ll make sure it’s all late night shifts.”

I purse my lips, trying not to smile as I picture flipping a few of their signature burgers. “It’s a deal, then.”

“Do we need to shake on it or something?”

“Sure.” When he takes my hand, I squeeze hard to make sure he knows he doesn’t want my fist in his face.

He winces. “Damn, you’re scary sometimes.”

I go back to my pizza dough. Mom has one of those fancy mixers, so the dough is kneaded and perfect in no time. While it rises, I go to the fridge to figure out ingredients. Luckily, we have some mozzarella, but we only have one tomato, which means traditional sauce is out. There is no pepperoni or other usual toppings, so I’ll have to improvise. Barbecue chicken pizza it is. As I grill up some chicken, I hear the garage door open.

“Food’s here!” Izzy comes marching in, triumphant, and Colin follows with two Pizza Hut boxes in hand. She commands him to set them down just as Daphne enters, her arms folded and her blue lips scrunched to the size of a raisin.

Izzy sees me cooking and frowns. “Did you not get the memo?”

“I’m not eating that crap if I don’t have to.” If I’m starving, the rules completely change, but I’ll go for quality if I can get it.

“Do you want a Fanta?” Colin asks Izzy. When she nods, he runs out to the garage where we have an extra fridge just for drinks.

Daphne comes over to me. “What are you making?”

“Barbeque chicken pizza.” I flip the chicken, and it sizzles and spits on the grill.

“Mmm, screw Pizza Hut, I’ll save room for that,” she says.

“Suit yourself.” Izzy’s already digging in, no plate necessary. Colin cracks her drink open and she takes it without even a thank you. “I’ll eat this all by myself.”

“I’d like to see that.” Daphne smiles wide, revealing a big smear of blue on her front teeth.

I laugh. “You’ve got lipstick on your teeth.”

“Shit.” She grabs a paper towel, wiping furiously. “Did I get it?”

I look up from the food. “Yeah, and half your bottom lip.”

She sighs. “Better go reapply.”

“Or you could take it all off.” Her left eyebrow arches, and the heat goes to my ears when I realize how that sounded. “I meant the lipstick! It’ll come off when you eat anyway, right?”

She bites her lip right where the color is gone. “You don’t like it, do you?”

I shrug. Weird colored lips aren’t exactly appealing to me. I can’t help thinking what it’d be like to kiss that and get blue or purple or green smeared all over my mouth, but I don’t want to be rude. “Your normal lip color is nice. I don’t see why you have to cover it up.”

Daphne shoots Izzy this long glance, the kind they give each other when they’ve been talking about something secret. They’ve been doing that forever, and I learned a long time ago not to bother asking. It’s always stupid, like “See? Guys really are shallow idiots.” But she wipes the lipstick off. “Better?”

“Yeah.”

Keira finally makes her way to the kitchen, sitting next to Trent at the bar. Neither of them has any problem grabbing slices from Izzy.

“Better eat now, just in case yours tanks.” Keira smiles wickedly.

“For reals.” Trent takes a bite. “Mmm, greasy goodness.”

I roll out my dough and keep my mouth shut. My pizza could suck, and I’d rather not have to admit it. I don’t need them pointing out more stuff I suck at. Especially since, despite how lame it makes me look, I kind of like to cook. It’s relaxing, and the end result is something good to eat. Usually. I once put a tablespoon of salt into cookie dough instead of a teaspoon. It tasted like play dough.

Baking sucks.

“Russ!” I look up from my work to find Izzy all pissed. I figure maybe that wasn’t the first time she called my name.

“What?” I put on the last of the toppings and slide the pizza in the oven.

“Are you coming Friday night with Mr. Party Crasher?”

I stop myself from cursing. I forgot that if I’m working for Trent, then I won’t be at anime night to prevent Garret from sinking his teeth into Keira. “I won’t be there.”

Daphne frowns. “Why not?”

“Promised I’d go to this party after the game.” That’s vague and believable enough. Trent still laughs a little. Working at Parker’s obviously isn’t his idea of a party. “Garret’ll probably still come; he said he had a good time last week.”

“Oh, joy…” Izzy takes another slice of her pizza.

“You might want a napkin, Iz,” I say. “You have sarcasm dripping down your chin.”

She fights back a smile.

I pull my pizza out when the timer beeps, and it looks good. The crust is golden brown and the barbeque chicken smells smoky and rich. Before cutting into it, I brush the crust with garlic butter to make it taste that much better. Everyone stares at it.

Keira pouts. “Okay, maybe I’m regretting the Pizza Hut now.”

“Told you.” I cut slices, hoping it’s as mouthwatering as it looks. I blow on my slice and then take a bite. Damn. I’m good. The pineapple was a good choice. The tang contrasts just right with the barbeque sauce.

They each take a piece, and I wait nervously for their opinions. Daphne nods. “Wow, totally worth the wait.”

Izzy scrunches her face like she doesn’t want to admit she likes it. “Not greasy enough, but it’s good.”

“I can’t believe you made this,” Trent admits. “Tastes pro.”

But none of their opinions matter. Keira’s still chewing. She’s the only one I want to impress. If she says it sucks, then it does. As lame as it is, this might be the only edge I have over Garret at this point.

She swallows and then looks me up and down. “You know, it’s pretty sexy that you can actually cook.”

I smirk. Just what I wanted to hear.

Chapter Twelve

Trent and I pull to a stop behind Parker’s. Trent swears he told his dad I was coming, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy about it. The Old Man constantly yells loud enough that customers can hear him from the dining area, and until now I found that part of the classic charm. Not so much when I could be the target.

“Are you sure this is okay?” I say as we get out.

“Well, he’s pissed at me, but that’s nothing new. The way you cook, you should be just fine.” He lets out a short laugh. “Hell, my dad will probably like you more.”

When Trent opens the back door, we walk into a hot bacon haze. The scent is strong in the dining area, but it saturates everything in the kitchen. When I breathe through my mouth it tastes like bacon.

Awesome.

The kitchen is bigger than I imagined, but it’s quiet this late at night. The grill takes up practically a whole wall, leaving just enough room for a few fryers in the corner. The adjacent wall is home to what looks like a giant mixer and racks of fresh-baked buns as well as two massive refrigerators. A long metal table stands in the center of the room with three big guys huddle around it like they’re deciding on a play.

I know them all. The two big dudes with brown hair are Trent’s older brothers Buck and Charlie. Buck’s fifteen years older than Trent, but his receding hairline is the only thing that gives it away. Charlie graduated a few years back; he was a starting linebacker when I was a freshman.

And then there’s Old Man Parker. His real name is John, but no one calls him that. He doesn’t mind the “Old Man” thing, probably because it’s not an insult. People say it with respect, like he knows his stuff and they admire that. With his silver hair, six-five stature, and forearms that look like clubs, he’s intimidating to say the least. 

“Dad,” Trent says, but none of them turn. “I brought that guy who likes to cook. The one who wanted an internship?”

My head snaps to him. Internship? What the crap did he tell them about me? Trent shakes his head, silently begging me not to ask. I kind of want to wring his skinny neck.

“Dad?” Trent tries again. I get the feeling they ignore him like this a lot. “C’mon.”

We head to the other side of the long table, and now I can see that they’re looking at a burger cut in several pieces. Old Man Parker rubs his chin, staring at it like it’s some kind of mind-bending puzzle. Charlie is chewing, and Buck leans down to get a better look at it.

Old Man Parker finally breaks his death glare at the burger and blinks twice when he sees me. “Who’s this?”