Read Online The Sweetest Thing by Christina Mandelski - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christina Mandelski
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God, what you do?” he asks, taking the bag of muffins out of my hand and passing them to Ethan. Mr. Roz revolves around me like he’s trying to pinpoint a location on a globe.
74
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” I glance at Ethan, his mouth set in a concerned frown.
“Go, go, sit down for a minute,” Mr. Roz insists. “Go, sit with your friend.”
Friend? That may be a bit optimistic. But suddenly here I am, taking a seat across from Ethan Murphy. He is one arm’s length away, with only a lemon-yellow vinyl tablecloth, a tiny pitcher of cream, and a plastic container stuffed with sugar and sugar-substitute packets between us. I rub the bump on my head.
“That sounded like it hurt.”
I flash a coy smile. “Kind of.”
I notice that the line of customers is shrinking. “You don’t have to sit with me,” I say apologetically.
“No, it’s okay with me. If it’s okay with you.” He pushes the bag of muffins to the side.
I tear my eyes off the tablecloth and meet his. They are brilliant. He is a god. And I am a . . . muffin bagger. No makeup, old blue jeans, big old pink polka-dotted apron, hairnet. Oh no—the hairnet!
Like he’s inside of my brain listening in on my thoughts, Ethan Murphy reaches across the table, pulls off the hairnet, and drops it in the center of the table. I feel my ponytail slither down my back; a shiver trickles down my spine.
My brain is telling me to buck up. I am a confident, talented person who can hold her own in any social situation. Except this one. I am floating outside of my body, 75
unable to act normal.
Then Ethan’s hand reaches up, and he touches the top of my head. Oh God, why is he touching me?
“You might want to get some ice on that.”
Oh right, that’s why.
“I’m okay.” My eyes drop again. I am mad at myself for acting all shy when I am not shy at all. I am Cake Girl. Fear-less. Confident. Capable.
“You’re probably gonna have a nice goose egg there.”
I shake my head. Grab my hairnet. Nanny doesn’t like us to have them off, ever, in case the health inspector drops by.
I scan the bakery. Nanny’s nowhere in sight.
Roz is working on the last of the customers. I sit up in my chair and open my mouth once or twice, hoping something comes out. Nothing does.
“Hey.” Ethan speaks first. “What are you doing this weekend?”
I stare at him.
“Um . . . why?”
“I thought maybe if you weren’t busy we could hang out.”
So I’m being punk’d. That’s it. This is some kind of ExtremeCuisine TV joke. I look around for a camera. The Surfer suit did mention that they would be shooting some footage of us later today.
“Hang out?” I ask.
“Yeah. You know, like, you and me?”
I swallow. “Do you even know my name?” I say softly, totally serious.
76
“Yes, I know your name.” His voice is so smooth; not shaky and squeaky like most of the boys at school.
“Well?” I smile. “What is it?”
He lowers his gaze and his lips curl up. “Suzy? No. Sa-vannah? Sybil?”
Is he kidding? He doesn’t look like he’s kidding. I can’t tell.
After a long pause, he rolls his eyes. “Your name is Sheridan Wells.” Another killer grin. “There, do I pass?”
But I don’t buy this quite yet. “You just want to hang out?”
“Yeah.” His body shifts, uncomfortable now. “You could call it hanging out. Or you could call it a date. . . .”
I laugh and instantly regret it. He looks surprised.
“So is that a no?”
I clasp my hands on the table in front of me. “You have a girlfriend.” Who happens to hate me.
He sits back, looks out the window. “Nope. Broke up with me.”
“She did?” Really? I saw them making out in front of her locker yesterday at school.
“Yep. We broke up. Last night.”
I pick out a sugar packet, flip it back and forth. What do I say?
“But it’s not like we were serious or anything.” He reaches over, puts his hand on top of my flapping sugar packet and leans in close. “So whaddya
74
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” I glance at Ethan, his mouth set in a concerned frown.
“Go, go, sit down for a minute,” Mr. Roz insists. “Go, sit with your friend.”
Friend? That may be a bit optimistic. But suddenly here I am, taking a seat across from Ethan Murphy. He is one arm’s length away, with only a lemon-yellow vinyl tablecloth, a tiny pitcher of cream, and a plastic container stuffed with sugar and sugar-substitute packets between us. I rub the bump on my head.
“That sounded like it hurt.”
I flash a coy smile. “Kind of.”
I notice that the line of customers is shrinking. “You don’t have to sit with me,” I say apologetically.
“No, it’s okay with me. If it’s okay with you.” He pushes the bag of muffins to the side.
I tear my eyes off the tablecloth and meet his. They are brilliant. He is a god. And I am a . . . muffin bagger. No makeup, old blue jeans, big old pink polka-dotted apron, hairnet. Oh no—the hairnet!
Like he’s inside of my brain listening in on my thoughts, Ethan Murphy reaches across the table, pulls off the hairnet, and drops it in the center of the table. I feel my ponytail slither down my back; a shiver trickles down my spine.
My brain is telling me to buck up. I am a confident, talented person who can hold her own in any social situation. Except this one. I am floating outside of my body, 75
unable to act normal.
Then Ethan’s hand reaches up, and he touches the top of my head. Oh God, why is he touching me?
“You might want to get some ice on that.”
Oh right, that’s why.
“I’m okay.” My eyes drop again. I am mad at myself for acting all shy when I am not shy at all. I am Cake Girl. Fear-less. Confident. Capable.
“You’re probably gonna have a nice goose egg there.”
I shake my head. Grab my hairnet. Nanny doesn’t like us to have them off, ever, in case the health inspector drops by.
I scan the bakery. Nanny’s nowhere in sight.
Roz is working on the last of the customers. I sit up in my chair and open my mouth once or twice, hoping something comes out. Nothing does.
“Hey.” Ethan speaks first. “What are you doing this weekend?”
I stare at him.
“Um . . . why?”
“I thought maybe if you weren’t busy we could hang out.”
So I’m being punk’d. That’s it. This is some kind of ExtremeCuisine TV joke. I look around for a camera. The Surfer suit did mention that they would be shooting some footage of us later today.
“Hang out?” I ask.
“Yeah. You know, like, you and me?”
I swallow. “Do you even know my name?” I say softly, totally serious.
76
“Yes, I know your name.” His voice is so smooth; not shaky and squeaky like most of the boys at school.
“Well?” I smile. “What is it?”
He lowers his gaze and his lips curl up. “Suzy? No. Sa-vannah? Sybil?”
Is he kidding? He doesn’t look like he’s kidding. I can’t tell.
After a long pause, he rolls his eyes. “Your name is Sheridan Wells.” Another killer grin. “There, do I pass?”
But I don’t buy this quite yet. “You just want to hang out?”
“Yeah.” His body shifts, uncomfortable now. “You could call it hanging out. Or you could call it a date. . . .”
I laugh and instantly regret it. He looks surprised.
“So is that a no?”
I clasp my hands on the table in front of me. “You have a girlfriend.” Who happens to hate me.
He sits back, looks out the window. “Nope. Broke up with me.”
“She did?” Really? I saw them making out in front of her locker yesterday at school.
“Yep. We broke up. Last night.”
I pick out a sugar packet, flip it back and forth. What do I say?
“But it’s not like we were serious or anything.” He reaches over, puts his hand on top of my flapping sugar packet and leans in close. “So whaddya
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