Page 16 of The Thought of You

“We’ll see,” I joke back, even though there’s a touch of truth to it. I’m starving.

I open each box, and with a deep inhale of the homemade treats, my stomach growls louder.

“How many kids are coming tonight?” Austin points to the cookies. “There are enough cookies here for a small school of juvenile bass.”

Maren and I both stare at him.

“The younger ones tend to swim with each other in groups, unlike the more solitary adults,” he clarifies with a clipped tone.

“I have no idea how I survived my whole life without knowing that,” I deadpan.

“You’re welcome,” he throws back with a grunt.

Maren hooks a thumb over her shoulder and inches toward the door. “On that fascinating note, I need to run.”

“You’re not staying?” I frown.

“I have so much work to do if I have any hope of making it to homecoming stuff tomorrow.” She holds her hands up in a prayer-like fashion. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven. Now, go, you beautiful human with fantastically talented baking hands.” I wave her off to go be the extraordinary girl boss she is.

“Let me know what you think about the spicy pear cookies. It’s a new recipe.”

“Since she’s leaving, can I go too?” Austin nods in the direction where Maren disappears.

“You don’t have to work.”

“You don’t know that.”

I tilt my head in doubt, then hand him a cookie. “Eat this. The sugar should balance your bitterness.”

I bite into my own sugary heaven and groan when it melts in my mouth. It’s almost enough to fix my mood. The fall spices complement the sweetness of the raisins, and the flavors coat my tongue in a blanket of seasonal glory. If I didn’t care so much about the students, I’d hide one whole box away to take home for myself.

They’d deserve to miss out on the treats after the stress they’ve put me through this week, but alas, I’m not evil. I close the boxes and pat the cookies like they’re good little pets.

Then I throw my tote onto the table and rifle through it, skipping past an extra bra I tossed in here in light of last week’s wardrobe malfunction.

Among the first aid and sewing kits, I locate the hand sanitizer, rub a small blob into my palm and around my fingers, then sip from my water bottle. I face Austin again, who frowns at my appearance.

“What’s with the getup?” He waves a finger over me.

In truth, it looks like Sapphire Creek High School threw up on me.

The array of blacks and golds are admittedly disorienting. The tie-dyed headband around my head matches my T-shirt. Long pigtails emerge over each shoulder, cascading over the black vest I lined with gold sequins.

Beyond that, my shimmery leggings are tucked into knee-high socks with glitter covering them, and on my feet, I wear the canvas shoes I decorated with Maren last night. This morning, I painted two black lines under my eyes too, but I washed them off before leaving my house, deciding such additions sent the whole outfit from enthusiastic to psychotic.

“Spirit week.” I shrug, as I figure it’s obvious.

But knowing Austin Kyle and his clueless ways, he probably thought this was some change in trending fashion. When we were in high school, he was not the type to be aware of spirit week, let alone dress up for it.

I study the dim space as a dust bunny skips across the concrete floor like a tumbleweed, and the faint smell of something unknown drifts in and out of my senses. We have got to find more suitable—and odorless—places to build these floats in the future. It can’t be that hard to locate some proper, unoccupied buildings, right?

Since it’s just Austin and me so far, I use the opportunity to make a note for future me to search for open floorplans with less rancid smells. “Ugh!” I hit the end of the pen on the table, but when I try to use it again to write, it still does nothing.

I toss it over my shoulder and dig into my bag for another, because even my backups have backups.

“Are you… well? You’re a bit… twitchy.” The brute doesn’t scare easily, but Austin is suddenly pale as he appraises me like I’ve grown three zombie heads.

---