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

that book so much. Don’t people realize there are better things to read?”

I bite my tongue, not wanting to say what I’m thinking, which is that there has to be a better way for Kim to express her opinion without tromping on Alisha’s.

Alisha shrugs and blows a strand of dark hair out of her face, not seeming bothered. “It’s nice to have something fun to read before delving into the school reading list.”

Brynn takes this moment to jump in. “I read the first ten pages and had to put it down. It was so ridiculous. But I guess tweens like that sort of thing.”

“It’s escapism,” I say, forcing a laugh so I didn’t come off as combative. Because, I mean, Alisha is in all honors classes and is obviously not a tween. “It doesn’t have to be great literature.”

That’s when Kim pulls out her book, Crime and Punishment, and tilts her head, as if daring me to say something.

Alisha smiles, opening her book. “To each her own.”

I move over to where Hunter is, trying to ignore the feeling of annoyance bubbling up inside me. He and Steve are sharing a pair of earbuds again, listening to something on Hunter’s phone.

Hunter smiles at me. “It’s a song we could do as a group.” He hands me his earbud. “What do you think?”

Ever since the Ringtones won the spring talent show with my song idea—Bruno Mars’s “Grenade”—Hunter likes to bounce possibilities off me.

Just as I’m about to put the earbud in my ear, Brynn stands up and walks over. “As the Ringtones manager, I get veto privileges.” She snatches Steve’s earbud from him and scoots between him and Hunter.

Brynn asked if she could manage the Ringtones after they won the talent show and group members had girls throwing themselves at them and asking when their next gig would be. Brynn wants to be a publicist someday, so she viewed this as her first big job, and has since scored them a couple of gigs singing around the area. If you consider nursing homes and the local farmers’ market “gigs,” that is.

I put the earbud in and try not to be bothered that Brynn, with her revealing aqua-color bikini, is practically sitting on my boyfriend’s lap. I remind myself that they’ve been friends forever and probably think of each other like siblings at this point.

“Ed Sheeran,” I say as the music fills my ear. “You guys will kill with this.”

“I know, right? You always get it and I love that,” Hunter says, beaming. Then he looks around. “Did anyone bring food? I’m starving.”

“I brought cookies,” I say, reaching for my bag.

“Oh no!” Steve cries. “I don’t want anything you’ve baked. I’m still remembering your chocolate chip cookies!”

I give him a dirty look and toss a package of Oreos at him. “How many times do I have to tell you? My dad keeps the sugar and kosher salt in unmarked containers. It was an honest mistake.”

Hunter laughs and I want to push him into the lake. He knows my chef father doesn’t label everything in the pantry, and I even showed him the salt to let him see just how much it looks like sugar. At the time, he agreed it could have happened to anyone.

“It’s not like I see you guys baking up a storm,” I mutter under my breath.

“Chill, Ellie,” Hunter says with a grin, and my face flames knowing he heard me. “We’re all taking home ec for a reason.”

“Yeah, an easy A,” Brynn says.

Hunter laughs. “Well, that, too.”

Brynn, Hunter, Steve, and I signed up for home ec as our elective for senior year. Actually, the class is called Applicable Life Skills for Young Adults, but from what I hear, it mostly involves cooking.

Alisha stands up. “I’ve got to get home for a family barbecue. If anyone wants a ride with me, speak now.”

“Ooh, I’d love a ride,” Brynn says. “We’re having my sister’s birthday dinner tonight.”

I glance at Hunter, since we got a ride with Steve, but he’s watching Brynn. “Diana’s home?”

Brynn nods. “Yeah, you should stop by later, she’d love to see you. You’re, like, family.”

I get a twinge in my stomach when Brynn says that. I know Hunter’s known her family longer, but he’s closer to them than I think he’ll ever be to mine. Granted, I don’t bring Hunter around to my house that much because I could tell there was a mutual dislike between him and my mom when they met. Hunter was all, “Does your mom really read tarot cards?” and not in a fascinated way, and Mom was like, “That Hunter seems pretty aloof,” and not in a “but that’s okay” sort of way.

Hunter looks at me. “We should probably go. Cool?”

I nod, since I don’t really want to be here without him.

Kim makes a face. “I’m going to stick around.” She turns to me. “Hey, Weathergirl, is it going to rain? I need to put the top up on my car if so.”

To her credit, Kim sounds like she may be trying to be friendly when she says this. But I think several of my friends seem to think it’s funny that I want to be a meteorologist, like I’ll be some bimbo pointing out smiley-faced sunshines on a big map of the United States. I tell them all the time that I want to do research on weather, not broadcast it, but no one seems to listen. I glance to the west, where the storm clouds were forming before. They’re getting closer now.

“Nope, not that I know of,” I say, plastering a smile on my face.

It’s not like the rain will kill her or anything. Maybe just make for a mildewy smell in her BMW convertible. We’ll call it my revenge for her ripping on Alisha’s book.

I feel a little guilty thinking like this because of Hunter—he obviously cares about his friends, but sometimes I can’t deal with how cluelessly snotty they are.

But when we walk toward the car with Alisha and