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

take the stopper out of the sink’s drain and glance at the clock. There’s still twenty minutes left of class.

“Maybe it would be faster if we pair off and put certain things away,” Isaiah says.

“Works for me,” A.J. says, grabbing a dish. “This is a cake pan,” he says.

“No, it’s a pie tin,” Isaiah says slowly.

“I can tell I’m going to learn a lot from you, dude,” A.J. says. “Pie tin,” he repeats to himself as he puts it in a cabinet next to the sink.

Luke comes up next to me. “So, I guess it’s you and me and the utensils,” he says.

“Uh, sure,” I say as I grab a handful of silverware and baking tools from the drying rack. Luke opens the utensil drawer and holds a hand out. “Scalpel,” he demands in a monotone voice.

“We don’t have a scalpel,” I inform him, unable to hide the annoyance in my voice.

Luke slaps his hand to his forehead dramatically. “Man, I knew I should’ve been paying attention.” Then he shakes his head exasperatedly. “I was making a joke. You know, ha-ha?”

“Oh,” I say, feeling my ears get hot. “I didn’t get it.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Luke says with a sigh.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap.

“You don’t seem like the chill type. Can you hand me the measuring spoons?”

I thrust them at him. “You don’t even know me,” I say, hoping my voice sounds measured and not as angry as I’m feeling.

“Fair enough,” Luke says. “But you seem kind of wound up is all.”

Maybe the news of the breakup hasn’t reached everyone after all. Or maybe Luke is just tremendously out of the loop. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly thrilled to be in this class. I have my reasons for being ‘wound up,’ as you put it.”

“Psh,” Luke says, nodding in the direction of Synergy. “Like those losers are worth your anger? I tried to get Brynn away from that table, but you were having none of that, were you?”

I chew my inner cheek, not really knowing what to say. Though deep down, I think I’m relieved he has enough taste to not have a crush on Brynn.

“Anyway, it’s no excuse to be rude to everyone else.”

So he does know. He just doesn’t care. I place the utensils on the counter, afraid I might be forced to commit murder with a butter knife or a grapefruit spoon.

“Don’t tell me how to feel,” I say, irked when tears start forming in my eyes. “And if I’m being rude, maybe it’s because you seem like you’re out to get me or something.”

I’m surprised when Luke’s face falls. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“Whatever,” I say, wiping my eyes. “Let’s just get this done.”

“Okay,” Luke says quietly, turning back to the drawer. “Can I have the spatula?”

I pick it out from the pile and hand it to him wordlessly.

“No, the, uh, spatula.”

I realize I’ve handed him the pancake turner. “Sorry,” I say, my face flaming. Here I’d thought this whole time that he wasn’t paying attention, and now it seems like I wasn’t.

The last of the soapy dishwater is disappearing down the drain, making this nasty, gaspy-sucking noise as it goes.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the sink was making a declarative statement about my life at the moment.

CHAPTER 8

Mrs. Sanchez says the average American spends forty-one minutes a week grocery shopping. It’s probably an ordinary experience for everyone else, because they either share that time with people who are halfway normal, or, even better, get to shop alone. But if the average American had to endure those forty-one minutes with the JAILE family, there’s no way they’d make it out of the produce section without wanting to bludgeon themselves to death with a butternut squash.

This is the only acceptable course of action when one of your “family” members uses fruit to portray the anatomy of a woman.

“Look,” A.J. says in a high-pitched voice, holding two grapefruits up to his chest, then dancing with them in place. “I’m just like Carlina Crawford.”

Of course he’d name-check a former porn star turned YouTube influencer and infomercial queen.

“You’re Canadian?” Luke says innocently. He’s looking at me, as if he knows something like this is just a bit inappropriate with a girl present and also like he’s worried I may go off on them as a result.

“Among other things,” A.J. says, hefting the grapefruit up higher on his chest.

I just close my eyes and shake my head. After Luke’s comment about me being rude, I’m pretty much going out of my way not to say anything. So if the guys are going to behave badly, let someone else call them on it.

I suppose spending last period at the Shop & Save is better than being stuck in a classroom washing and identifying kitchenware. And Mrs. Sanchez certainly seems excited at the prospect of us learning to food shop according to our budget. She’s given us color-coded maps and fake money and even managed to get a cashier to total us all up at the end, even though we’re not really paying for the food and taking it home. She’s been doing this for so many years, the employees know her by name and they tell us to seek them out for any help.

If we come in under budget, we get points added to our group total. We’ve allotted ourselves $100 to buy food for the week. To put that in perspective, Hunter and Brynn’s group has a $300 budget for food, so no, we’re not expecting to get very far, food-wise, or in our little in-class competition.

“My boobs are the biggest in all the land,” A.J. says in his high-pitched voice.

I throw a desperate look at Luke, who’s still in the produce section, but he’s no longer paying attention to A.J.’s antics because he appears to be FaceTiming Greta on his phone. And he also appears to have no sense of an indoor voice.

“Yeah, I’m at Shop & Save!” he practically yells.

I