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

him, which is exactly the reaction he probably didn’t want me to have and why he hasn’t said anything. But still. He’s ashamed of where he lives, and his grandmother, who looks to be his only guardian, is in poor health. I wonder if this has anything to do with his mood lately and if Jared was just what put him over the edge.

It’s kind of awkward as we wait for the moments to pass, and A.J.’s grandma and sister do all the talking. Finally, the bus is shown to be a few blocks away on the app, and Sammi cheers and runs out the door.

A.J.’s grandma waves as she heads for the door. “So lovely to meet you both, and thank you so much for the shelter!”

“No problem,” Richard says. “Get home safely.”

A.J. kind of lingers and slowly heads for the door. He pulls his hood back over his head and starts to push out the door, but then stops and turns around. I’m startled by how stressed he looks and I know exactly what he’s telling me: Please don’t tell anyone about me. What he says out loud, though, is, “Thanks. See you Monday.” He heads out the door, but then, at the last second, dashes back in. “Oh, and my aunt has a great corn casserole recipe that’s really cheap to make. I’ll hit her up for it. And I can get the turkey and stuffing recipe, of course.”

“Awesome.” I smile. He doesn’t smile back, but he does give me a double thumbs-up before he heads toward the approaching bus.

“What was that about?” Richard says.

“Our home ec project,” I say.

“Good thing he’s not graded on his conversation skills,” Richard says. “He’s not exactly chatty, is he?”

“No,” I say, watching the bus pull away. “But he’s family.”

CHAPTER 22

“… And looking ahead to tomorrow, the Thanksgiving forecast is pretty much perfect. Plenty of sunshine and highs in the low-fifties for the RHHS/Bollingwood football game or for anyone who signed up for the Ringvale Heights Turkey Trot.”

I get all this out, ignoring the nagging voice in my brain that says I sound like I have absolutely no breath control and that I’m probably smiling like a lunatic.

“And that’s the forecast. Back to you, Mia and Chris,” I say and have to stop myself from exhaling loudly and slumping against the green screen.

Willow gives me a thumbs-up from behind the camera as Mia throws to Alisha with the sports report. I give an exhausted smile back. I survived day three of TV weather forecasting. Even my looming physics test today seems like a walk in the park in comparison.

When the show ends, Alisha high-fives me. “If you felt nervous today, it didn’t show at all.”

“My breathless projection was that good, huh?” I say drily.

“Stop. Seriously, for someone on their third day, that was awesome.”

“Holy shit,” Chris says from behind us, making both Alisha and me turn around. He’s staring at his phone and he starts to laugh. “I think The Buzz got hacked. You guys need to see this post.”

Everyone in the room whips out their phones. I huddle close to Alisha as she loads up The Buzz, and there it is: what looks like a video screen shot of a horrified-looking Jared holding a balled-up pair of socks, with the headline:

Stuffing for the Turkey?

Which asshole who just so happens to run this gossip site got caught packing his pecker checker? We’ll just say it rhymes with Mared Burtis.

There’s then a video. It looks like a dress rehearsal for the school play, Julius Caesar, which Jared’s starring in. He’s dressed in an ancient-Roman-looking tunic and carrying a sword. He’s about to deliver his line, when he steps forward and a balled-up pair of socks falls out from between his legs. He goes completely pale and picks it up, and for the briefest second, I feel bad for him. Everyone on stage behind him starts to laugh. But he continues with his lines, tossing the socks into the wings of the stage.

The amount of gasps and hysterical giggles going around the room is something to behold.

“It’s about damn time someone gave him a taste of his own medicine,” Willow says, coming over to Alisha and me.

“Seriously,” Alisha says. “Although, he’s such a sociopath that this could just make him worse.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Is that even possible? Wait, don’t answer that.”

Unsurprisingly, The Buzz post is the most talked-about thing all day. Jared just kind of glowers through home ec, and while no one in the JAILE family addresses him directly, we have a great time snickering about it as we head over to Luke’s house that afternoon to work on our meal strategy for the Feast-Off and finish our monthly budget.

“Socks,” A.J. says, shaking his head. “He keeps socks stuffed in his jock.”

“‘Socks in His Jock’ sounds like a lost Dr. Seuss book,” I say, which makes Luke laugh so hard, he almost falls off his bike.

“Now, now,” Luke says when he’s recovered. “We have to give Jared credit for holding his head high today.”

“Yeah, looks like he really grew a pair,” Isaiah says before dissolving into giggles, and that sets us off again.

We’re still cackling as we approach Luke’s house, which is as homey and inviting as the last time I saw it, the day of the interview. A sudden wave of sadness extinguishes my Jared-related schadenfreude, and I wish we could go back to that day, when nothing had yet been ruined by lies and reckless kissing.

Luke unlocks the front door. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

“This place could be on HGTV,” A.J. says when we step inside. “My grandma watches enough of it, I should know.”

He’s not wrong. The living room is perfectly decorated and charming, with a stone fireplace and built-in bookshelves flanking it, and cozy overstuffed couches, where Luke motions for us to sit down.

“My mom and stepdad had it restored last year. It’s an original Craftsman, whatever that means,” Luke says as he plunks