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

go out of my way to joke around and be as easygoing as possible with Isaiah and A.J. to try and keep our group dynamic intact. We’ve even managed to hang on to second place while Synergy has dropped behind us by ten points. It’s my one small joy right now.

But apparently, I’m not getting an Oscar anytime soon, because my mom’s asked if I’m okay at least three times, and then, one day at lunch, Isaiah looks up from the book he’s reading about the racehorse Seabiscuit and fixes me with a solemn stare.

“Are you and Luke fighting or something?” he asks.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Crap. I know I can’t deny it because Isaiah has clearly seen the tension between us and he’s not dumb. But I don’t want to make it anymore soap opera than it already is. “I’m sorry, is it making things awkward for you and A.J.?”

Isaiah wrinkles his nose. “We’re big boys, we can handle it. I just wondered if, you know, you were okay. You’ve seemed sad.”

I give him my most hopeful smile. “Without getting into it, I’m okay, and thanks for asking. And if it does make things weird for you guys, tell me, okay? I don’t want to mess up our group. I’m trying to keep it normal.”

“Like I said, we can handle it. It’s just that you guys … oh, never mind.” He looks back down at his book and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to prod him about finishing his thought. Since it’s Isaiah, I decide to let it go. But I do wonder what he was going to say.

I pretend to be deeply interested in my French homework, but I’m distracted. Have I really seemed sad? I’ve tried to make a point to not wallow, but I guess I’m not that great at hiding my emotions. Though, I thought if anything, I’d probably come across angry or at the very least peeved. But, somehow, I’m projecting sadness? To the point where the quietest person in my life feels the need to ask if I’m okay?

I … don’t know that I want to think about that.

I do know it can’t help that I haven’t even been able to talk to Jodie about it. I’ve only seen her once, at a bowling birthday party for our St. Catherine’s friend Audra, and she was weirdly in this super-enthusiastic state, which, after having known her the last nine years, I knew was totally put-on.

“You hanging in there?” I’d asked. “I know you’re not that jazzed about bowling-alley pizza.”

“Should I not be okay?” she’d shot back. It was confusing because it looked like she was blinking back tears, but her voice was totally angry. So I dropped it.

I silently cursed the fact that USC is a plane ride away, because I’m terrified she’s never going to be the same again and I’m about to lose my best friend.

This all means I need to toe the line for the people who are still speaking to me, so when I get to the school laundry room for that day’s home ec lesson, I try to smile and be as chipper as possible. Even if I still can’t really look Luke in the eye, I make a point to stand next to him as we fold freshly washed towels. He’s wearing a T-shirt today, and I notice he’s got a sizeable bandage wrapped around his left elbow. I wonder if he got it while training, but I don’t have it in me to direct a question to him.

It helps that A.J. is unbelievably grouchy today, grunting responses to questions and downright snarling at Jared, who keeps “accidentally” bumping into our table.

“If he does that one more time, I swear to god,” he grumbles.

“Whoa,” Luke says, holding his hands up. “Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

A.J.’s face gets more snarly. “He’s being more of a prick than usual.”

Jared is on the opposite side of our table, holding court with his group. He’s too busy pretending to do a striptease with dish towels to hear A.J.’s comment.

I don’t get to think about that too long because Mrs. Sanchez claps her hands together. “Everyone, I have an announcement! The Monday after Thanksgiving, we’re going to be doing an in-class Feast-Off. This means you will be responsible for creating your own special occasion menu and those menus have to stick to your budgets.”

Luke and Isaiah both sigh deeply. I know what they’re thinking, that all we can afford on our budget is macaroni and cheese from a box.

“Whoever is the most creative and puts together the best meal for their budget gets up to fifty points.”

The whole room starts buzzing. Fifty points could catapult anyone to the top. And given our limited budget, that would mean anyone behind us could leapfrog us. Like Synergy.

“There are ways to be creative about spending, so don’t think your group can’t compete if your budget is tight.” She doesn’t have to look our way when she says this, but I know that comment is directed at us. “Think about what kind of meal you want to prepare. The more challenging the meal, the more points you’re likely to get.”

I look at my group members and they’re all wearing the same deep-in-thought expression.

“Yo, like, maybe we could do this?” A.J. says suddenly. “Fifty points would put us, like, solidly in first place.”

I don’t know if it’s because that line of thinking is crazy or because grouchy A.J.’s being the optimist here, but we all kind of stare at him blankly.

“But with our budget?” Isaiah says. “Maybe we can get some points but those other groups are going to have the money to make rack of lamb and stuff. Jeez, even the Bakers have more money than we do, and they’re only just behind us.”

“It doesn’t have to be super-fancy. She said ‘the best meal for our budget,’” A.J. says.

“And the most challenging,” Luke says, sounding tired.

A.J. exhales through his nose. “You guys aren’t looking at this the