Truth Game (4 page)

Marisol's eyes practically fall out of her head at lunch the next day when I tell her I'm thinking of quitting the Cooking Club.

“I'm killing myself to start a fashion club, and you're going to quit the one club at school that's perfect for you?”

“We made ants on a log!” I cry. “And next week, Mrs. Da Silva said we're going to be making trail mix.”

“I like trail mix,” Andrew chimes in, not looking up from his camera, which is aimed at a piece of mystery meat. He's been taking photos of the grossest-looking items served at lunch to try to figure out what they're made out of. He's actually going to bring the mystery meat to a science lab at a local college to see if it can be identified.

“Trail mix is fine,” I say, “but how can we be making it for a cooking club when you don't even
cook
anything to make it?”

“Maybe you guys will get into harder stuff later on,” Marisol says, but even she sounds a little skeptical. “Or you can start a baking club instead. Maybe Ms. Emerald would be the adviser.”

“I thought she wouldn't even be yours.”

Marisol smiles. “I overheard her talking to another teacher about needing something to wear to her brother's wedding, so I'm going to make her a one-of-a-kind dress. Then she'll have to help me with the club. I bet I could bribe her for you too.”

Starting my own club sounds even worse. What if no one wanted to join? “That's okay. I guess you're right and I should give the Cooking Club another shot. Maybe it'll get better.”

“Suit yourself,” Marisol says with a shrug. “I'm going to the fabric store with my mom later to get stuff for Ms. Emerald's dress. You want to come? I could really use your advice.”

“I can't. I'm meeting my dad for dinner. I haven't told him about
Pastry Wars
yet.” I gasp, the lightbulb in my brain suddenly glowing with an idea. “I know what you should do! You should audition for one of those fashion design TV shows. They have ones for high school kids, right? Then you won't need to start a fashion club because you'll be famous and everyone will be falling all over themselves to buy your stuff.”

“They'd never pick me,” Marisol says. “I don't have a good story. You know: ‘Marisol was raised by wolves, but now she designs clothes with wolves on them.' That kind of cheesy thing.”

“So you make one up,” I say. “I basically did that, remember?” When Andrew told me that my audition video needed to be more personal, I decided to play up the whole “child of divorce” angle, talking about how food saved me, blah, blah, blah. Corny, yes, but definitely the kind of stuff reality shows eat up. Sadly, it didn't work.

“Um, Rachel?” Marisol says with a laugh. “Have you met me? Since when do I make stuff up? Face it, TV is not for me.”

I have to laugh too. “Okay, well they'd love how honest and in-your-face you are,” I tell Marisol, but I know she has a point. Marisol isn't into fashion because she cares about proving herself or being famous. She just loves designing clothes. I'm not banking on getting famous for my cooking either, but it certainly would go a long way in making me feel like a real chef. Too bad I totally blew my one opportunity to actually make it happen.

I take out my baking notebook and start flipping through, hoping something there will inspire me and make me feel better. But all the recipes seem so boring. I mean, chocolate chip brownies? That's something a little kid would make. I used to spend hours making up recipes and writing them down, but ever since I decided to audition for
Pastry Wars
, I haven't been able to focus on the same old recipes. I'm tired of feeling like I'm playing on the JV team. I want to finally be on varsity. If only someone would give me a chance.

• • •

When I get to the bakery that afternoon, Chef Ryan is on top of a precarious-looking ladder, watering small boxes of mint, rosemary, and sage above the bakery door. The fresh herbs were Cherie's idea, and they are a nice touch, but I don't think she considered how hard it would be to water them every day.

Not surprisingly, Briana isn't there yet. I keep my fingers crossed that she doesn't show up at all.

“You up for helping me make some fruit tarts later on?” Chef Ryan asks.

“Absolutely!” I say, my mood lightening. “I saw this one recipe on TV that I've wanted to try out. Instead of cream cheese you use—”

“Whoa!” He holds up his hands. “I only need help cutting up the fruit. I'll handle the rest.”

“But…but I can do a lot more than cutting fruit.”

“We'll get there, okay? Remember, you've got to crawl before you can walk,” he says.

“Actually, my mom says I skipped crawling when I was a baby and went straight to walking.”

Chef Ryan chuckles. “That explains a lot,” he says. Then he disappears in the back room.

A minute later, Briana waltzes into the bakery and sits down behind the counter, staring at her phone as always. It's pretty annoying that she thinks this is what “working” looks like. I have no idea why Evan is so worried about her. She seems to be adjusting to her new life just fine.

As I start doing inventory of the pastries in the display cases, Briana lets out a triumphant hoot, still looking at her phone. I don't care about her winning some silly game, but maybe this is a way to get her talking so I can tell Evan that I at least tried to see how she was doing.

“Did you get more points?” I ask.

Briana nods. “I'm the only one who's ever talked my way out of a speeding ticket before even having a driver's license.”

“Wow,” I say because it's obvious that she wants me to look impressed. “So, um, people really don't know who you are on there? You can post anything and it's totally safe?”

“Obviously you don't want to post stuff that would identify you.” Then she explains how the game is set up as a series of questionnaires. Every day or two, you get new questions about a different topic. Today's, for example, is driving. Then you put in your answers and see how they stack up against everyone else's.

“But why don't people lie and say they did stuff they didn't?” I ask. “If it's anonymous, no one will know either way.”

“You can,” she says, rolling her eyes. “But it's more fun to know how you really stack up against people. Anyway, you should try it. If I get you to sign up, I get bonus points.”

Briana apparently thinks it's a done deal because she grabs my phone and starts installing the game on it. She sets me up with a username specially designed to insult me—“neat freak”—and a generic password, and then she tosses the phone back to me.

“Um, thanks,” I say, about to slip the phone back into my bag. Unlike her, I intend to spend my afternoon working instead of clicking away. But Briana won't let me get off that easily.

“You have to at least do one questionnaire,” she says. “Otherwise, what's the point?”

Since the bakery is empty anyway, I sigh and open the app. I scroll through a few questionnaires on things like driving and exercising and finally stop on one called “Dating.” I make sure Briana isn't looking over my shoulder and then I start reading.

1. Are you dating anyone?

I can't help grinning as I select “yes.”

2. Have you ever been kissed?

My cheeks get hot. I feel like I need to cover the screen with my hand as I check “no.” It's certainly none of Briana's business what I've been doing (or not doing) with her brother!

3. Do you plan to be in your current relationship six months from now?

I stare at that question for a minute. Six months ago, Evan and I hadn't even met! Of course I want us to be together in six months, but who knows what will happen. It almost feels like I'll jinx things if I say yes, so I finally select “I don't know.”

4. What's something people would be surprised to know about your significant other?

I think for a second and then write, “He caught me snooping through his sister's underwear drawer, and he still wanted to date me! He's a keeper.”

I smile a little to myself as I submit my answers. Then I realize that if Evan ever read that, he'd know it was about him. So much for being anonymous. But it doesn't matter. Even if Evan did see my answers, there's nothing there I'm ashamed of.

5. Dare! We dare you to kiss someone! Change your answer in the next forty-eight hours, and we'll give you bonus points!

I close the app with a sigh. Evan and I have been trying to make our first kiss happen for weeks. I seriously doubt it's going to happen in the next two days.

When I glance at Briana, I find her staring out the window and wrapping her long ponytail around her hand. For a second, I can't help thinking how sad she looks. That can't be right. Briana Riley doesn't know how to feel human emotions like sadness. But maybe that's why Evan's been so worried about her.

She turns away from the window and catches me staring. “What?”

“Um, nothing,” I say.

At that moment, Cherie bursts out of her office. “It's official!” she yells. “It's really happening!”

“What is?” I ask. “Is this the big news you were talking about?”

“Yes!” Cherie practically jumps up and down. “One of the weddings we're doing is going to be featured on the Cooking Network!”

I almost fall over. The Cooking Network? As in, home of
Pastry Wars
? “No way!” I squeak. “When? How? Where?” I have so many questions, I don't know where to start.

“So what?” Briana says, clearly not impressed.

“The Montelle-Brennan wedding was already going to be exciting, but now it's going to be incredible,” Cherie says.

“Wait…Montelle?” I ask, turning to Briana. “Caitlin Schubert's mom is getting married?”

Briana shrugs. “She met some rich guy like a month ago, and now they're doing this huge wedding. It's pretty gross.” Of course Briana would be disgusted by the idea of her best friend's mother finding happiness.

“Ms. Montelle's daughter is the one to thank for this opportunity,” Cherie chimes in. “She entered her mother in a contest, and their wedding was one of the four chosen to be highlighted in a ‘Lavish Weddings' special. Isn't that incredible? We're so lucky Ms. Montelle and her fiancé decided to go with a local caterer instead of hiring some fancy out-of-town company.”

I'm not surprised Caitlin would enter her mom's wedding into a contest. She's almost as into the Cooking Network as I am, at least judging by all the times I saw her watching
Pastry Wars
when I was over cleaning her house.

“And guess who's hosting the special?” Cherie goes on. “Chip Ackerson!”

I actually scream. “
Chip Ackerson?
”

“God,” Briana says, covering her ears. “Relax.”

“He's like… He's my idol,” I say. “He…” I can't even put into words how amazing he is. He knows so much about pastries that he's like a dessert encyclopedia! A dessertopedia!

“We only have a few weeks to get everything together,” Cherie says, ignoring the fact that I'm melting into goo, “so it looks like we hired you two just in time!”

Briana's eyes widen. “You're not going to have us
do
anything for the wedding, are you?”

“I was hoping Rachel could stay here and hold down the fort that day,” Cherie says. “And, Briana, you'll be with me and my two daughters, setting up tables, serving food, and whatever else needs to be done.”

Wait. This epic wedding is going to be on my favorite TV channel, and I'll be stuck at the bakery the whole time while Briana gets to see it all?

It's clear Briana's not happy about the arrangement either because she furiously shakes her head. “No way. I'm not doing that.”

“Can't we switch?” I say. “I can be with you, and Briana can stay here?”

“I'm afraid not,” Cherie says. “We need someone with experience to man the store while we're gone.”

“But I'm not that experienced!” I say. “I only worked at a café for about a week this summer.”

I expect Briana to flash me a smug look, but she's nodding. “Yeah, and setting up chairs is definitely not for me.”

But Cherie has clearly made up her mind. “I appreciate that you want to help out with the wedding, Rachel, but I think my way makes the most sense.” She turns to Briana. “Setting up for events is part of the job,” Cherie says, pursing her lips. “I'm sure Chef Ryan told you that when he hired you. If you're not up for the task, I can find someone else for this position.”

I expect Briana to throw down her apron and stomp out of the bakery. Instead, she lowers her eyes and mumbles, “Okay, fine.”

Oh my goldfish. I don't think I've ever seen Briana Riley back down from anything. She must really need this job. I guess that means I'm stuck with her. But I don't care. The pineapple gods must have heard me after all. They're giving me a second chance, and I'm not going to let anything mess it up.

When I meet Dad for dinner at Molly's after my shift at the bakery, I find him peering into the display case at the front of the café where they keep all the fancy desserts.

“What do you say, Rachel Roo? Think you could make me one of those?” he asks, pointing to a crème-filled torte on the top shelf.

“For you, anything,” I say. I'm dying to tell him about my plan to convince Chip Ackerson to let me back on the show, but I don't want to jinx anything. So instead, I try to focus on how great it is to finally be back at my favorite restaurant with Dad.

As we make our way toward our usual table in the corner, I hear a familiar jolly laugh echoing nearby. I glance over to the other side of the café, and sure enough, there's Mr. Hammond, my former vice principal and my mom's new boyfriend. And with him is my mom.

Oh no. If they see us, are they going to want us to sit with them? I can't imagine anything more awkward.

“Um, Dad?” I start to say. “Maybe we should—”

But I don't get a chance to convince him to go elsewhere because just then Mom turns toward us, and her face lights up. “Rachel!” she calls, waving. Then she must spot my dad standing next to me because her smile falters. But it's too late. We have no choice but to go over.

After some stiff hellos and introductions (even though my dad and Mr. Hammond technically already met at my baking competition over the summer), the dreaded words come.

“We just sat down and haven't ordered yet,” Mr. Hammond says. “Why don't you two join us?”

My dad doesn't even hesitate. “Sure! If you don't mind.”

Mom gives a little nod, but I can tell she does mind. And so do I. Not only had I wanted some alone time with Dad, but I can't imagine what the four of us will talk about. You can't chitchat about the weather through a whole meal, can you?

For the first few minutes, we focus on our menus and some general talk about how great Molly's is. It flows so smoothly that I start to wonder if I was being a paranoid panther. But after we order our crepes, there's a looong silence when we're all staring at our silverware. Finally, Mr. Hammond turns to my dad and says, “Now that you're back, what are you planning to do for work, Ted?”

Dad clears his throat. “That's still a work in progress. But I'm sure something will turn up.”

I can see Mom's jaw tighten. Dad's been paying child support since he left, but I know it hasn't helped out as much as she'd hoped. And now that he doesn't have a job, who knows what will happen? Thankfully, her cleaning business is doing better these days, but I know she's still pretty mad at my dad for leaving us high and dry.

“Have you been looking?” Mom asks.

“I only got back into town,” Dad says, smoothing down his napkin. “I haven't had a chance yet.”

“You could have tried to line something up before you came up here,” she points out. “At least set up some interviews over the phone.”

Dad laughs. “You know planning has never been my forte, Amanda,” he says, which is probably the worst thing he could say since Mom is one of the biggest planners on the planet.

“That doesn't mean you can't try to be better at it,” she says. “Just because we've made mistakes in the past doesn't mean we have to keep repeating them. Think about your daughter!”

Oh boy. It sounds like all the stuff Mom has been
not
saying for years is finally leaking out. I can practically hear the ground rumbling under us, the volcano about to erupt.

“I heard it's supposed to snow tomorrow,” I blurt out. Of course, that's totally untrue, but I can't let this conversation keep going like this.

Mr. Hammond raises an eyebrow. “Really? This time of year?”

“I might have to ski to school!” I say. “Wouldn't that be crazy, Mom? Dad?” But they're not listening.

“Think about my daughter?” Dad repeats. “Do you think I've somehow forgotten about her? I do nothing but think about how I can make her happy. That's why I came back in the first place.”

“You certainly weren't thinking about that when you left!” Mom says, her voice growing louder. People are staring at us, which is mortifying since my family has been coming here for as long as I can remember. The waitstaff knows us all, and now they're watching us have a total meltdown.

I need to do something to make it stop.

“I'm going to be on TV!” I practically yell.

My parents finally stop glaring at each other and look at me. “What was that?” Mom says.

Then, in a tumble of words, I tell them all about the Montelle-Brennan wedding. “If I can show Chip Ackerson that I deserve to be on TV, maybe he'll give me another chance at
Pastry Wars
!”

“Chip's going to be in town?” Mom asks, looking like she might swoon. “Really?” Mr. Hammond rolls his eyes, but he's smiling.

“I don't know if I'll actually be at the wedding,” I admit, “but I'm sure I'll be able to find some way to get my desserts to Chip.”

“That's great, Roo,” Dad says, but for some reason he doesn't sound as excited as I thought he'd be.

“You don't think he should give me another chance?” I ask him.

“Of course I do! I think they were dingbats to reject you in the first place. I don't want you to get your hopes up, that's all. Things like this can be so unpredictable.”

“Your father's right,” Mom says, and I'm shocked to hear them agreeing on something.

“But I've been working so hard at my baking,” I say. “I'm so much better than I was a few months ago. I know if I can get Chip to actually taste one of my desserts, then he'll take me on for sure.”

Dad smiles and gives my elbow a squeeze. “He'd be a fool not to,” he says.

Thankfully, our food comes and my parents go back to having strained but polite conversation. I glance at Mr. Hammond, who looks totally uncomfortable. I don't blame him. Is this what my family is going to be like from now on?