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

true. I like being in class with them. I like hanging out with them. We give each other advice. We laugh a lot (or at least we did before today). Sure, I’m not going to invite them over for a sleepover or go prom-dress shopping, but they’re kind of like my school … family.

And here I am, three months after dreading the sight of them, hoping that they feel the same way about me.

My parents may be pretty cool in that they’re not grounding me, but they’re more than making up for it by leaving me lists of things to do during my suspension. Like cleaning the toilet. And dusting everything from the shelves to the molding on the floor to behind the radiators.

“This isn’t a vacation, sweetie,” Mom says when she wakes me up at 6:00 a.m. the next day.

I can’t argue with her, seeing as how great she and Dad were about my meltdown, so I wait until she’s out of the room to groan into my pillow.

But by 11:00 a.m., I’m kind of glad to have the long list stuck to the fridge with a “Whistle While You Work” magnet because it lets me ruminate things as I go, especially how to make things up to the guys.

I’m pondering this as I vacuum the blinds in the dining room, with Earth, Wind & Fire blasting on the record player. One of my epic moments of procrastination this morning was thumbing through my mom’s old records and deciding which would add the perfect soundtrack for household duties, and I’m humming along when there’s pounding on the front door.

Instinctively, I drop to the ground and kill the vacuum. I’m worried it’s either a kidnapper or a religious group.

Bangbangbangbangbang!

I crawl along the floor on my stomach, wondering if I can peek through the curtains without being seen.

“Ellie!” a voice calls out. “It’s me. I know you’re home because the music is blowing your cover.”

I throw open the door and Jodie is standing there in her coat and backpack and St. Catherine’s uniform.

“How did you—”

“I cut class,” Jodie says, brushing past me.

“You cut school?” Chinese class is one thing, but high school is another animal entirely.

Jodie raises an eyebrow at me. “You got suspended?”

I squint at her. “How did you know?”

“I stopped by the shoe store and Richard told me. He thought I knew.”

I slap my hand to my forehead. I’d been texting last night with Richard and told him about the suspension, and that my parents were still allowing me to work.

“Did you really throw scrambled eggs at that Jared guy for calling you a whore?” Jodie’s eyes are kind of hopeful and it makes me laugh.

“It was deviled eggs and he said I was ‘slutting it up lately,’ if we’re being specific,” I say.

“No!”

“Yes! And before this convo continues, can I just say I’m really sorry for yelling at you about USC?”

Jodie waves her hand. “Thank you, but I know I’ve been an überbitch lately. Even my guidance counselor yelled at me. And I really shouldn’t have gone off on you about Hunter like that. Especially since you hooked up with Luke. Spill.”

We plunk down on the couch and I launch into the whole story of the party and the secret kisses, the lying, and the fallout.

Jodie frowns. “I really wish you’d told me.”

“I wanted to, but you were so bummed about USC,” I say. “And for what it’s worth, no one knew, and that’s probably for the best considering what happ—”

I can’t get the rest out because a sudden torrent of tears grips me and Jodie has to swoop in and smooth my hair from my face.

“Ugh, I thought I was over this.”

“You really liked him,” Jodie says sympathetically. “Knowing you, you’ve been sitting on this and it’s eaten away at you.”

“You’re not wrong,” I say. “I’ve tried being friends with him, but the feelings just keep coming to the surface.”

Jodie scrunches up her face in thought. “You’re a hundred percent sure he was lying to you?”

“The way Greta was crying, I don’t think there’s any way Jared made it up.”

Jodie shakes her head. “I know I only met him that one time, but, for what it’s worth, I wouldn’t have seen this coming, either, so don’t beat yourself up. I’m really sorry he turned out to be such a dude.”

“I guess that’s what I get for taking a risk,” I say, forcing a laugh. “You were right about that, though. I run away from things.”

“I’m so sorry I ever said that. I mean—”

“No. I ran away from middle school, which was probably valid, but after that I just kept avoiding anything tough. It’s half the reason I was probably with Hunter in the first place. I didn’t have to meet anyone and make an effort if I just took on his friends. I mean, I tried to drop home ec to avoid him. What kind of person does that?”

“Someone who’s looking out for themselves?” Jodie says. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, El. You’ll take risks when you’re ready.”

I smile at her, my number one cheerleader since the fourth grade. “I can’t believe you actually cut school.”

Jodie shakes her head. “Well, let’s just say I’ve done some reprioritizing.”

I picture her cutting all of her classes from here to graduation and giving up on college all together. I must have a freaked-out look on my face because Jodie throws her head back and laughs. “I just mean that I’m trying to not be so concerned about school right now and more about myself. You’re right about the college thing.”

I start to apologize again, but she holds up her hand. “I know I’m terrified to fly, but if I’m serious about this TV writing thing, I think I really have to give a long hard think about my options.”

“Could you do NYU or something? Don’t they have a good dramatic arts program?”

“I applied there, Columbia, and Emerson. I’m not going to lie, it’s an adjustment not thinking about USC