Page 3 of Sugar Coated Secrets

I wipe my hands on my apron and give her a hug. “Thank you, Katie.”

I hope she doesn’t think I’m not grateful for her help. I know she means well, encouraging me to go out and date. But it’s not that simple.

“You’re welcome,” she whispers, pulling me close. “If you ever want to talk, you know I’m here. I worry about you, Dulce. You’re always working and taking care of your grandmother.”

A pang hits my chest. “I’m just grateful she’s lasted this long.”

“That’s because she’s lucky she has a granddaughter who loves her and puts everyone first except herself.”

I pull back, trying to hide the sadness in my eyes, knowing the last thing my grandmother and I have is luck.

“Oh…” She grabs an invoice and hands it to me. “Here is the pickup order for the cookies. There is a name instead of a company this time. I think it’s a coincidence, but I’ll let you be the judge.”

I look at the name on the invoice, and my heart catapults in my throat.

“Ford Keller,” I say softly. I haven’t heard that name in a long time, but I could never forget it, even if I tried. “Yeah, I know him,” I say faintly.

What I don’t know is why he’s returned.

Four Years Ago

DULCE

The bathroom was filled with shouts, echoes, and the sound of toilets flushing like airplanes when I walk in. Girls wasting time after they’ve escaped their last class of the day and are just waiting for the bell to ring so they can go home. Some are laughing and pushing up against each other, trying to use the mirror to apply makeup without getting wet from the other girl washing her hands. Others are leaning on the wall with their attention on their phones.

Before they notice me, I make a beeline for the stall at the end. I wait on the toilet until they leave, then use the bathroom and walk out. Throughout high school, I was considered theoutcast by the popular kids at Airy High even though I went to school with most of the girls since second grade. I wasn’t a nerd or considered an emo kid. I wasn’t what they considered pretty by their standards. My dark-brown hair wasn’t dyed and styled. I didn’t wear clothes two sizes too small or show enough skin. I wore jeans, Crocs, and a band tee. I didn’t wear a ton of makeup to impress anyone, and my parents didn’t have money. My parents were dead. I lived in a small old house with my grandma on the edge of town. I helped her bake and worked at her bakery whenever I could.

And they made fun of me for it.

The stalls rattle from doors opening and closing, followed by latches sliding to lock and unlock. The water turns on and off. The whooshing sounds of a hand dryer go off like the roar of a small jet engine. Conversations bounce off the black-and-white tiled walls.

“So I heard Ford broke up with Summer and is not taking her to prom. She?—”

“I heard he caught her at Trent’s house?—”

“I heard she broke it off with him because he was leaving?—”

“She caught him with Heather like last time?—”

“I heard he got Summer pregnant, and she lost it, and that’s why they broke up?—”

“I wonder who he’s taking to prom?—”

The water shuts off. The hand dryer goes silent. The bathroom door opens with a scream and then silence. They’ve left. All that can be heard are the distant voices of people out in the halls.

The bell rings.

Trying to beat the horde of rushing bodies, I hurry to use the bathroom, wash my hands, and skip the hand dryer. Instead, I wipe my hands on my jeans. I pull the door, the scream drowning the voices of all the bodies rushing to their lockers. Iturn left to head to my own locker, hoping the rest of the senior class leaves before I make the mile-long trek home. My hopes of any of that happening disappear—like when I waved at Ford Keller while walking into English class, thinking he was waving at me, but instead, he walked past me like I was a ghost.

Standing next to my locker is the biggest asshole of Airy High—Trent Walker. He’s lean and tall, has dirty-blond hair, and always smells like gas and motor oil from working on his car. Chris Ellis leans against the wall on his shoulder and watches me approach with a big smirk. According to the female populace, he’s the nicer one of the three boys in a boy-next-door kind of way with his brown hair and high cheekbones. But he always has a look in his eyes that he knows something you don’t.

Trent’s always had a harsh mouth. He’s good with a football but doesn’t have the grades to get into a good college like Ford. When he looks at Ford, I’m unsure if he admires or hates him for it, but he has no problem getting girls. He’s good at other things like fixing a motor or anything to do with his hands, but at times, Ford gets annoyed by the things he says.

Chris looks at Ford curiously. He admires Ford. They met in fifth grade when Ford’s parents moved to Airy. Out of the three, Chris seems to be the nice one. I don’t know much about him because he mostly keeps to himself, but then again, I really don’t know anyone since I don’t have any friends.

Ford Keller, Chris’s best friend, the king, most popular, hottest guy ever created, is listening to the three girls who hate my existence. His eyes are blue like the sky, and he’s the tallest of the three. With a chiseled body, he has arms that fit every shirt he wears and jeans that hang on narrow hips, hinting at the brand of underwear he wears (which is designer). He smells like he came from the men’s cologne section of a department store.

I turn the dial on the lock to my locker as quickly as I can with clumsy fingers. Thankfully, it gives way with a click but catchesVicki’s attention before I can block my face after opening the door.

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