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

“No, uh, is something happening between you and Luke? I mean, if so, I think that’s awesome, and you don’t have to, like, tell me anything. But a post just went up on The Buzz you might want to know about. It makes it sound like Luke cheated on Greta with you.”

Good lord, Jared works fast. I feel myself force maybe the fakest smile in the history of fake smiles. “No, we’re just friends. Jared’s probably just still pissed at me from a couple weeks ago when I insinuated that he’s balding.”

Alisha nods. “Well, maybe he needs to get better at making up his stupid lies, too. Anyway, I thought I’d warn you, just in case.”

“Thanks,” I say. Then I have to fake a few minutes of enthusiastic conversation about our history class before I can’t take it anymore and pretend to check the time on my phone. “Oh, crap, I have to meet my mom.” I bid Alisha a quick farewell, gather my stuff, and hightail it out of the studio, then duck into an empty stairwell to load up The Buzz. And there it is, the latest post.

Cheaters Never Win

Was this snow bunny done dirty by her beau? Sources say a new lady love might have blown up their amore, resulting in an out-of-nowhere dumping. Sounds Fish-y to us.

A full-on garden of thorny angst blooms in my stomach then, to the point that I have to sit on the stairs and catch my breath. This has to be made up. Luke wouldn’t lie about this.

Then I have another momentary freak out: What if Greta’s already looking for me to tell me off? Or worse? How is this even happening?

When I’ve gotten my heart rate down, I creep out the back exit, and as I round the corner of the building toward the street that leads to the skate park, I see two girls sitting on the curb. One has her head on her knees and the other is rubbing her back as if she’s comforting her. I’m briefly worried that a stomach bug has hit campus, but then the one girl lifts her head, and I almost do a double take. It’s Greta, her blonde hair free from its braids, all wild and curly today. Her face is tear-stained and her eyes swollen from crying. It’s so jarring to see her this beaten down and vulnerable that my first instinct when seeing her is pity, not out-and-out fear.

“But why would he do this to me?” she says in gasping sobs. “Doesn’t he know what I did for him? Why would he lie?”

My heart sinks all the way down to my ankles as the words from The Buzz post practically float in front of me. Done dirty.

“He’s an asshole, that’s why,” her friend says, rubbing her back. “And a stupid one, clearly. Like he didn’t think you’d find out.”

Greta wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and shakes her head. “I mean, he’s with her? And then lies to me about it? What the actual fuck?”

“We could kill her,” her friend says with a snort.

“I’m not going to rule it out. I wish I wasn’t going away because I’d kill him first.”

Greta may say more, but all I can hear is the pounding of my own pulse in my ears. I don’t know if it’s fear that Greta’s going to slaughter me, or knowing that I’m about to start crying myself, but my feet seem to realize this is a situation I don’t need to be part of and steer me back the way I came.

The back of my throat starts to burn and I can’t tell if I’m about to start crying or scream or both. How could he? Luke Burke, the one who is supposed to be nice, is just like every other dude out there with a dream to get with as many girls as humanly possible.

This is exactly what I didn’t want. And now I’m in it. And I’m the Brynn in this scenario. And I’m probably going to get murdered by Greta.

I get a few blocks from school when tears start burning my eyes. I promptly blink them back. I’m not going to be sad about this. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. No, I’m not going to be the depressed victim again.

I stomp to the skate park, my eyes darting around as I head to the back of the building, to a maple tree that’s brimming with burning red leaves. We just kissed under this tree yesterday—and all I could think then was how perfect it all was.

The door creaks open and Luke saunters out, his eyes meeting mine in a way that on other days I’d describe as “flirty” but today it makes my stomach turn.

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” Luke says, smiling devilishly.

“You lied to me.”

He wiggles his eye brows suggestively. “Okay, you got me. I don’t like the smell of your shampoo. I love it. Drives me crazy.”

He thinks I’m kidding.

“Knock it off,” I snap, and his face sobers. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? That I’m stupid or something?”

“Find out what?” He folds his arms, which I know is body language for guilt.

“I saw Greta today. Crying. And from the sounds of it, you guys weren’t exactly as broken up as you made it out to be.”

Now Luke’s eyes narrow. “I don’t know what you heard today, but I can almost bet it’s not what you think.”

The fact that he’d try to gaslight me on this is amazing. Are all guys my age completely deceitful jerks? Or just the ones I’m attracted to? “I’ve done this once, and I am sure as hell not going to be on the other side of it,” I say.

Luke’s face turns a deep shade of red and his jaw clenches. “Why do you think I’m lying?”

“Because it came straight from Greta’s mouth,” I say, throwing my hands up. “And I saw the way she was looking at you when