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

always thought there was a little fire in you, but I never thought that would happen.”

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us,” I say, giggling. It feels good to laugh after everything that’s happened today.

“Are you taking the turkey to the church?” he asks.

“Yeah, I told Mrs. Sanchez I’d take it over for her.”

“Here, let me carry it.”

“No,” I say, stepping away from him. “I was such an asshole to you guys and I’m the one who messed everything up, so I need to do this.”

“Jeez, don’t feel that bad about it. Jared totally deserved it, especially after what he said to you.”

“But I let you guys down,” I say, my voice cracking. “We may not have won today, but if our side dishes were good enough we could’ve pulled ahead a little.”

“You’re still worried about the points?” Luke says, his eyes narrowing.

“Of course. Did you end up making the side dishes?”

He shakes his head. “We knew we were getting a zero already, what would the point have been?”

“Ugh. If I’d have just kept myself in check…”

“Agresti,” Luke says, stepping closer and surprising me by tilting up my chin with his finger. “If you didn’t hit him, I would have.”

I look at Luke through the snowflakes. The way he’s staring at me right now is so intense, it makes my heart rate speed up and I have to catch my breath. Then a big flake smacks just below my eye and I shake my head to get it off but it doesn’t budge.

Wordlessly, Luke reaches toward my face, and with his thumb, gently wipes the snowflake from my cheek. A rush of heat goes through me, and I’m surprised the turkey doesn’t start cooking right there in my hands.

I gaze into his eyes, his thumb now caressing my cheek, and I know if he tries to kiss me out here I won’t—

“Arrr, arrr, arrrrrrrr!”

I jump and almost drop the turkey, but Luke laughs. “Way to ruin the moment, Montague,” he says over his shoulder.

Sure enough, beyond the chain-link fence, Montague is terrorizing one of his cinder blocks. And I have to thank him for that, because it completely snaps me out of this dreamy, snow-globe-y moment and back to reality.

Luke’s face falls. “What?”

It takes everything in me to say it. “I can’t.”

His brow furrows and there’s a wounded look in his eyes. “You were just about to kiss me.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I miss you. I’m attracted to you. I just can’t get over the fact that you lied to me.”

“Oh my god,” Luke says, turning around and storming back toward his bike.

“Luke, come on,” I say. “Put yourself in my position.”

He hops off the bike, lets it fall and stomps back, coming toe-to-toe with me, and for a second I think he’s going to grab me in a passionate kiss like in the movies. But instead he throws his hands up.

“You can’t ask me to see something from your point of view when you’re wrong, dead wrong,” Luke says, his face red, his eyes bright. “I’ve told you Greta and I were broken up, but, no, you want to believe a stupid gossip blog over me. But then, you’re still so damn obsessed with beating Hunter, maybe you’re still hung up on him or something, and that’s where this is coming from.”

He doesn’t wait for me to react. Instead, he stomps back to his bike, gets on, and speeds away, his tires leaving a fine black line through the dusting of snow on the pavement.

When he’s gone, it’s so quiet that I can hear the snowflakes lightly hitting the tin foil on the turkey. I look around dazedly and realize that I’m in the parking lot, the same place Hunter dumped me in horrific fashion. Which means it’s the second time in three months I’ve had a guy tell me off right here.

I really hate this parking lot.

CHAPTER 25

I’m numb as I walk home, and I’m not certain it has to do with the blustery breeze and thousands of snowflakes attacking me, nor the fact that I’ve been walking really, really slow. I think my brain may be shutting down and going on strike, considering all the emotions it has had to process in the last twenty-four hours.

I try to count my blessings, like my grandma used to say. I have my health (aside from the inevitable cold I’m going to catch from wandering around outside in the snow for so long). I have three days away from school, so I won’t have to deal with the rumor mill, which, by Friday, will probably have twisted the story into me using clubs and nunchucks to put Jared in a coma.

But if my brain somehow voted to secede from my body, I don’t think I could blame it. Especially since we are going to have to face my parents over the whole suspension thing and that in itself makes me want to crawl into the fetal position in a closet somewhere and not come out till I’m forty-six.

Just as I climb the steps to the porch, the door flies open and my mom is staring down at me, her face flushed, her mouth hanging open.

“What has gotten into you, Mary Ellen?” she asks when she can finally speak, and I can see the veins popping in her neck.

I can turn and run. I’m still not technically in the house and she’d have trouble catching me since she’s not wearing shoes right now.

“And where have you been? We’ve been trying to get you on your phone for over an hour.”

The reminder of my dead phone makes me realize I’d have no means of communication if I did run away, so my only choice is to go inside.

“My battery died,” I say quietly as I walk inside, and I stop short when I see my father sitting on the bottom step of the staircase. Oh my god, he left work early, too.

“You attacked your classmate?” he asks, not even