The Secret Recipe for Moving On Karen Bischer (read my book .txt) 📖

she doesn’t fight them on it. Then she turns to my table. “And what about this group over here?” she says. “Have you picked a name?”

I clear my throat. “Not ye—”

“We’re the JAILE family, bitches,” A.J. says, pumping his fist at the rest of the class.

I close my eyes and inhale deeply as the whole class howls with laughter, and to make matters a billion times worse, I can hear Brynn snorting among them. When I open my eyes, I see that Mrs. Sanchez’s head is tilted with curiosity. “And how did you arrive at that name?”

“Because they’re bound for juvie,” I hear Anthony snicker from the Jersey Strong table.

“Why don’t you shoot some more steroids into your brain, douchebag,” A.J. snaps, and Anthony sneers at him.

“Mr. Johnson, that’s enough of that,” Mrs. Sanchez says. Then she looks at us expectantly. She still wants an answer to her question.

“We just mixed up all the letters of our first names and came up with it,” Luke says.

Mrs. Sanchez smiles. “That’s very creative and a very good representation of what your families are supposed to be about…”

Convicts? Felons? Chain gangs? That’s what you’re supposed to think of in a home economics class?

“… Individuals coming together as a unit to learn and get tasks done. And believe me, you will need every member of your family to get points in your weekly rankings. Nice job, JAILE family.”

I peek out of the corner of my eye to see the Synergy family shaking their heads, annoyed. That’s when Hunter rests both his hands on Brynn’s shoulders and gives her a massage, as if to ease her disappointment at not being the “smartest” in the class.

Fighting the urge to simultaneously burst into tears and puke, I force myself to turn my attention back to my table.

Luke grins at me wickedly. “Excited to spend the next nine months in ‘a prison you can’t escape,’ Agresti?”

Seriously. What have I done?

CHAPTER 7

Apparently, there is a right and a wrong way to do dishes, and Mrs. Sanchez is going to make absolutely sure that we don’t ever wash the plates before the forks, so help her god.

“You waste room in your drying rack that way,” she says, scrubbing some spoons from her kitchen at the front of the room, the next day.

Every family is standing by the sinks in their assigned kitchen; one side of our double sink is filled with sudsy warm water, and there’s a drying rack on our counter. We’re supposed to follow along with Mrs. Sanchez as she pulls out utensil after utensil, identifying them, then washing them. It’s about as thrilling as you’d expect.

“In our class, this will be known as a pancake turner, not a spatula,” Mrs. Sanchez says holding up an instrument I’ve called a spatula most of my life. After she washes it, she holds up the thing I use to scrape cake batter off the sides of the bowl. “This is a spatula.”

I look at my family members. Luke seems to be trying to see how long he can balance on one leg, A.J. is making bubbles with our bottle of dish detergent, and Isaiah? Well, he’s at least drying the dishes that I dunked into the soapy water and rinsed with the tap. But he doesn’t say anything the whole time he’s drying, as if he’s completely riveted by Mrs. Sanchez’s lecture.

Though I guess my group seems a little more focused than the guys of Jersey Strong, who appear to be using their Dutch oven and cast-iron frying pan as makeshift weights.

“Okay, kids,” Mrs. Sanchez says, and the tone of her voice gives me hope that something exciting is about to happen. “On to pots and pans.”

I’m about to sigh heavily, when I hear Hannah giggle from Hunter and Brynn’s group.

“We have a lot of pots and pans we’ll be using in this class,” Mrs. Sanchez is saying, but now Hunter and Brynn are suppressing smiles as they glance at each other. Why on earth is this so—

Oh my god.

Pots and pans. Brynn Potts and Hunter “Panz” Panzic. Potts and Panz. They’ve been going out for less than a week and they already have a supercouple name. Maybe this is why they got together, because when your names are just so sickeningly cute when paired, how can you not be dating? I look at Hunter and Brynn and their shmoopy-woopy expressions and I have a sudden urge to yank the hose from my sink and take aim at them with the water on full blast.

It doesn’t help that Mrs. Sanchez keeps uttering the offending term, without seeming to notice the giggles it elicits.

“Now, when you’re putting away your pots and pans, make sure…”

Synergy is now all giggly, even Steve. Hannah adds an “Aww,” when she sees one of the adoring gazes Brynn and Hunter keep sharing.

“Jesus, shut up,” A.J. hisses, momentarily distracted from his bubble making. The group gives him a collective scowl, like, “Who is he to tell us what to do?”, but they do indeed shut up. If Mrs. Sanchez has noticed this quiet outburst, she doesn’t make it known, because she goes on explaining how you store lasagna pans and loaf pans.

Part of me wants to thank A.J. for stopping the madness, but then, he didn’t do it for me. I mean, it’s not like he’s got ESP or something. Plus, he’s back to making bubbles with the soap, and completely ignoring Mrs. Sanchez as she identifies a ginormous roasting pan. I start getting annoyed when I realize that Isaiah and I are probably going to be the only ones to pass the upcoming cookware quiz, which means we’ll be the only ones to get points for the family this week.

Mrs. Sanchez finally wipes her hands on a paper towel, a gleaming mountain of dishes next to her on the drying rack. “Okay, now I want you to put the dishes away, and identify them among yourselves as you go.”

Oh, this should be fun. I