The Art of Lainey (13 page)

“At least I don’t look like I was made in a lab,” he says. “Good thing I’m not allergic to yellow number 5.”

“Good thing you’re not allergic to eggs.” I smash one
against his pyramid tattoo.

“Oh, you are a dead woman.” Micah grabs me around the neck and bends me into a headlock.

“Stop,” I beg as he starts to drag me across the prep kitchen to where an entire carton of eggs is waiting. My foot lands in a smear of broken egg goo and we both nearly end up on the floor as my leg slides out from under me.

Cal reappears from the dining room. “What the hell are you two doing?” he barks.

His voice draws my dad out of the manager’s office. Micah releases his hold on me. Dad’s jaw drops a little when he sees the mess. Micah and I exchange a look.

And then a curl of smoke wafts from the oven.

My dad sniffs. “Is something burning?”

“Shit.” Micah yanks open the oven and pulls out a pan of three quiche. They’re black. Not brown. Not just burnt. Black. He reaches out to touch the edge of the nearest one and the delicate fluted crust crumbles into ash.

“Ohmygod.” I have to bite back a giggle. I’ve never seen anything so charred in my entire life.

My dad looks from me to Micah. “Please tell me that’s some kind of experiment and those are chocolate.”

Micah deflates a little as he shakes his head and I immediately feel guilty. It’s a well-known fact I can be a slacker, but Micah actually has a reputation around Denali as a hard worker. He might need a recommendation from my dad someday and here I am messing things up for him.

“It’s my fault,” I say. “I’ve been bothering him.”

Both Micah and my dad turn to look at me with surprise.

“I’ll get this place cleaned up and then head back out front.” I walk to the end of the prep line and grab a broom.

Micah brushes the loose flour from his clothes. Then he pulls a rag from his back pocket, wets it in the sink, and then bends down to mop up the broken egg. “Sorry, Mr. Mitchell,” he says. “It won’t happen again.”

“Good.” My dad polishes his glasses on his shirt. “I’ll grab more quiche shells from the freezer.”

“Sorry,” I mumble as soon as my dad disappears into the walk-in cooler.

“Not your fault,” Micah says. “I should have been paying attention.”

I put the broom back in the corner and head back to the counter as Micah and my dad start re-prepping the quiche.

I make drinks and serve pastries for the next few hours. For once, work doesn’t seem so bad. It’s actually kind of fun trying to keep up on all the orders while Bianca works the register and buses tables. A couple times I catch myself smiling for no reason. I guess there’s nothing like an impromptu food fight to take the edge off a busy day.

My dad pokes his head out of the back a couple times, probably to make sure I’m not destroying the dining room too.

“Don’t worry, Dad.” I set a pair of mango-blueberry smoothies on the far end of the counter where people pick up their drinks. “We got this.”

When things slow down a little bit, I fill Bianca in on the
baseball date. She’s still working on her end of things with the spying and doesn’t have anything to report yet.

“So you’re feeling better?” she asks, her eyes dark with concern. “And hanging out with Micah is still going okay?”

“He’s actually kind of fun,” I admit. “And yeah, I’m feeling better. But even though our plan has been distracting in a good way, I’m still not any closer to winning back Jason. He hasn’t even called.” I wipe at a smudgy spot on the counter. “Maybe Micah was right. Maybe bringing a date to the baseball game was all kinds of obvious.”

Maybe Jason is laughing at me right now.

“Nah. Jason is pretty dense,” Bianca says. “Just give it time. Wars aren’t fought in a day.”

I don’t run into Micah again until a few minutes after six p.m. when we’re clocking out. “Sorry again about the quiche,” I say, waiting behind him as he punches his ID number into the red-and-silver time clock.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” The machine beeps and he scoots out of the way for me. “You’re not
that
distracting. I just forgot them is all.”

“I don’t think my dad was too mad.” I key in my numbers and the machine logs me out. Micah and I head toward the exit.

“He actually got me thinking.” Micah pushes open the glass door, holding it behind him for me. “Chocolate quiche might not be a bad idea.”

“Sounds kind of gross.” The summer heats wraps around
me like a soggy blanket as I step outside. How can it be so hot this late in the day? A trickle of sweat forms at my hairline and threatens to run down my forehead. I look over at Micah as we head across the parking lot. He’s managed to get his black-on-black wardrobe covered with flour again, all the way down to his studded bracelet. “You’re like this punk-rock baker,” I say, shaking my head.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“A bit of a contradiction, don’t you think?” I wipe the sweat from my forehead, running my hand over my hair to tame the flyaways. I can feel it starting to frizz.

Micah looks hard at me for a moment as we reach our cars. The sun catches his hazel eyes, reflecting ribbons of green and gold through the warm summer air. “Most people are.”

I
can’t shake Micah’s words on the drive home. I’m active and sporty. I hang out with active and sporty people. I like active and sporty things. I’m not a contradiction. I run through everyone close to me: my family, Bianca, Kendall, Jason. They all make sense too. What you see is what you get. Most people are
not
contradictions.

My purse vibrates against my hip as I park the car and head into my house. Just the act of having to fish my phone out from beneath a pack of tissues and a cracked compact feels weird. I used to carry it around everywhere in my hand. That was back when I was always expecting a text from Jay.

It’s Kendall. She hangs up before I can answer. I call her back right away before she can compose a scathing message accusing me of ignoring her. Kendall does not like to be ignored.

“Elaine Mitchell,” she hisses as soon as the phone connects. “What the hell is going on with you?”

I feign innocence. “What do you mean?”

“Were you even going to tell me that you and my brother broke up? What happened?”

This is pretty much the freak-out moment I was expecting. Kendall also does not like change.

“I don’t know, K. One day we were fine. The next day he was telling me he needed to be on his own or some crap.” I twist a strand of my hair around one of my fingers. “I texted you the day it happened,” I finish, a hint of accusation creeping into my voice. “But you didn’t respond.”

Kendall ignores my tone. “I’m only allowed to use the phone here twice a week. Besides, we’ve had a conversation since then and you didn’t even bring it up.”

Her idea of having a conversation is her talking while I listen, but she’s right this time. I could have mentioned the breakup if I had really wanted to. “What did he tell you?” I ask. “What’s the story with the EMT girl?”

“What EMT girl?” Kendall asks. “He didn’t even mention another girl. Just that you guys broke up.”

“He’s hanging around with this redheaded chick named Alex. She’s one of the medics who have been taking him on ride-alongs. You think you can try to find out more?” Part of
The Art of War
was all about spies and alliances, and no one is more powerful to have on your side than Kendall.

She sighs. “Not sure what I can do from here, but I’ll try to sneak an email to him if I run out of phone time. I swear, our dad comes to town and a month later Jay is acting like a deadbeat. Coincidence? I think not.”

“Are you ever going to talk to him?” I ask. “Your dad?” It feels good to focus on someone else’s problems for a second.

“I don’t know. I probably can’t avoid him forever, but he doesn’t get to breeze into my life after seventeen years like nothing happened. Maybe if he’d been around at all, my mom would be less of a psychotic bitch to everyone.” Kendall huffs. “Now that I’m still doing okay on the show she’s saying she won’t pay for me to go to college until I’m twenty-one and have given modeling a ‘fair try,’ whatever the hell that means. Why can’t she accept the fact I’m not her?”

The whole situation sucks. It’s wrong of Kendall’s mom to force her to be a model. I get that she gave up her dream of modeling to be a single mom, but that doesn’t mean Kendall owes her.

“What about applying for student loans?” I ask.

“My mom would have to sign off on them, I think. And she won’t. Besides, why should I go into massive debt just because I refuse to be her little puppet?”

“You could probably get a soccer scholarship somewhere. Didn’t you get scouted last year?”

She sighs again. “Not by anyone good. And I’m not even sure I want to play soccer at college.”

“What? Why?” Kendall is one of those girls who are naturally good at sports. She hasn’t practiced all summer, but when she comes home she’ll still dribble rings around me. I can’t believe she’s thinking of giving it up.

“I don’t know. I feel like soccer is a high school thing. I want college to be a whole new life, you know? But I want
to go someplace cool, like NYU,” she says. “We did a shoot with some of their photography students yesterday. It was amazing.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re having some fun at least.”

“What? Hang on.” Kendall says something harsh to someone in the background. She’s probably giving the finger to one of her housemates or some poor production assistant. “
Apparently
my time is almost up,” she says. “But, hey. My mom’s doing the annual trip to Costa Rica again this August. Ask your parents if you can come. You could crash in my room . . . or my brother’s. The time-share is paid for so all you’d need to do is save enough for the airfare. Maybe the right atmosphere would heat things up again between you and Jay.”

I imagine a full week partying on the beach with Kendall and Jason while their mom downs glasses of expensive champagne on the veranda. Me in my tiniest bikini. Jason just buzzed enough to find me irresistible. Sun. Surf. Sand. Sex. Talk about exploiting my enemy’s weaknesses. Not to mention dividing and conquering. It would work, but there’s no way I can afford it.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I can’t come up with that kind of money. But that doesn’t mean I’m giving up. Bianca and I are kind of working on a plan.” I’m glad Kendall is out of phone time. I don’t feel like listening to her make fun our Dead Chinese Warlord strategies. Better to wait until they work and then tell her the good news.

“Bianca? What does
she
know about dating?”

“She’s really smart, Kendall. She knows a lot about everything. We’ve been practicing soccer together while we strategize, and her footwork has really improved too. I’m trying to get her to try out for the Archers with us this year.”

Kendall makes a snorting sound. “Smart doesn’t make you good at dating, Lainey. Or soccer. Bianca seems nice and all, but she’s only been on varsity for a year—not exactly select team material.”

I start to protest, but Kendall swears under her breath. “I have to go,” she repeats. “They’re threatening to take my phone or kick me off or some shit. Stupid rules. I swear! Anyway, do what you have to do, but do it quick, because the longer you and Jason stay apart, the harder it’s going to be to get back together.”

She’s right. I know it.

I have to step up my game or I could lose Jason forever.

T
wo days pass and Jason still doesn’t call. I spend my downtime at work rereading highlighted passages from
The Art of War
. I remind myself not to be reckless or afraid or prideful or obsessively worried.

“Get this.” Micah slides a tray of Death-by-Chocolate-Moose Brownies in the pastry case. They smell like my grandma’s house, warm and sweet. My mouth starts to water.

“Yeah?” I shake the contents of the blender into a tall eco-friendly cup and top it with an uneven spiral of whipped cream.

“Leo and I both worked last night, and I might have told him about our plan.” Micah shuts the case with a click.

The can of whipped cream slides out of my fingers and rolls across the counter, leaving a trail of white foam behind. The girl waiting for her blended ice coffee taps her
dark purple fingernails on the counter and stares at me.

“Micah!” I hiss. “Wasn’t that rule number one? This was supposed to be our secret.” I put a lid on the drink and hand it to the girl.

“Straw?” she asks, as if I’m the world’s biggest idiot.

“Over by the napkins,” I snap back, like she’s not very smart herself.

Micah pulls a towel out of his back pocket and swipes at the trail of whipped cream. “What’s the big deal? You told Bianca.”

“Bianca basically came up with the plan. The big deal is that if word gets out this isn’t real, it’ll get back to our exes and we’ll look like idiots.”

“I’m sorry, but he knows we’ve been hanging out,” Micah says. “Would you rather I told him some of those PG-13 stories?”

My face gets hot. I glance quickly around the front of the coffee shop. Ebony at her usual table, sipping a latte and reading the
Riverfront Times.
Monochrome Girl rocking a mix of plum and indigo hunched over her computer. Five tribal masks grinning demonically. No one is paying us any attention.

“Okay. So you told him. So what?” I start mentally calculating how many people Leo could tell, and how many they could tell, and how many degrees of separation there are between practically invisible Leo and soccer superstar Jason Chase.

Micah picks up on the look on my face. “No, it’s cool. He
was actually wondering if you might be willing to fake-date him too.”