wedding invitations engraved!”
But as I walk to my seat in class, I’m on autopilot and my stomach feels even tighter, like it is trying to fold itself up into an origami bird. The feeling remains through the rest of the day until the Alt meeting, where Gray shows me pictures on his phone of their band’s New Year’s show. He promises to make me a mix CD so I’ll be prepared for their next show.
“I promise I’ll be at the next gig,” I swear, raising three fingers in the Girl Scout salute.
I would have been so much better off seeing the Cryptic Pigs from Hell than at Jason’s party with Jeremy. But since nothing ever really happened with Jeremy, and I never really liked him, it’s not hard to brush aside the whole night. Even if I had discovered a surprisingly sweet side to Michael Endicott.
***
That Saturday afternoon, Michael continues to surprise when he shows up at our house with Trey. While I’m hardly expecting him, it’s not as weird as the first time he showed up and made fun of my groceries. Somehow he and Trey and Tori and I end up in the family room watching the most recent vampire romance flick. Cassie’s the one who loves these movies, but she’s at the mall with her friend Jenny while Leigh declines to watch anything about vampires and other unholy creatures. Dating Alistair the fundamentalist minister’s son has made her even more conservative and Jesus-freaky than she was before, when she was content simply to dress like a rejected character from Breaking Amish .
I excuse myself to go to the kitchen since I can’t really last through the whole movie without making fun of it, and I know that would upset Tori, who can find romance in a can of tuna. Besides, as part of my vegan food allowance from my parents, I have to make dinner for the family once a week, and tonight’s the night. It’s never come in handier as an excuse to leave a room.
But as I pull a tub of tofu out of the refrigerator, Michael pops up behind me, asking, “Can I help?”
I’m startled, and when I recall my breath, I ask, “Don’t you want to watch the rest of the movie?”
He snorts. “No, believe me, I don’t. One more scene of those pale people flying over the trees and I will put my fist through the TV,” he says.
I shrug and hand him the tofu and point to a bowl and potato masher on the table. “You can start mashing the tofu. We’re making dairy-free ricotta.”
He scratches his head a little like a cartoon character and I have to laugh at him. “Mash the tofu?” he asks. “Isn’t it mushy already?” But he literally rolls up the sleeves of his maroon long-sleeved t-shirt to get to work. After a few seconds of consideration, he takes a knife to the covering of the tofu carton, cuts an expert slit around the rim, and then dumps the whole brick of tofu, including its water bath, into the big blue bowl I’d set out. Now I really laugh, and he grins ruefully, shaking out his fingers and wringing out his shirt.
“Um, you have to drain the water first,” I say. He watches me take the bowl over to the sink and let the water stream out as I hold back the thick white brick of soybean curd with one hand. He nods as if very impressed by my mad culinary skills. Moments later, he manages to chop onions well enough and takes a childish delight in squeezing the garlic through the press, then sits to watch me sauté them in a pan and add them to the tofu with some vegan parmesan cheese and olive oil. No one on the Food Network has ever had a more attentive audience, and for once he’s not even making fun of me.
“What is this going to be again?” he asks as he sniffs the bowl of mushed tofu and seasonings.
“Vegan stuffed shells.”
“So … you really like to cook.”
I turn off the burner on the cooked shells and drain them into a colander, releasing a cloud of steam that Michael bats away like he’s in a four-alarm fire.
“Yeah, I do,” I say. “I like making something out of
But as I walk to my seat in class, I’m on autopilot and my stomach feels even tighter, like it is trying to fold itself up into an origami bird. The feeling remains through the rest of the day until the Alt meeting, where Gray shows me pictures on his phone of their band’s New Year’s show. He promises to make me a mix CD so I’ll be prepared for their next show.
“I promise I’ll be at the next gig,” I swear, raising three fingers in the Girl Scout salute.
I would have been so much better off seeing the Cryptic Pigs from Hell than at Jason’s party with Jeremy. But since nothing ever really happened with Jeremy, and I never really liked him, it’s not hard to brush aside the whole night. Even if I had discovered a surprisingly sweet side to Michael Endicott.
***
That Saturday afternoon, Michael continues to surprise when he shows up at our house with Trey. While I’m hardly expecting him, it’s not as weird as the first time he showed up and made fun of my groceries. Somehow he and Trey and Tori and I end up in the family room watching the most recent vampire romance flick. Cassie’s the one who loves these movies, but she’s at the mall with her friend Jenny while Leigh declines to watch anything about vampires and other unholy creatures. Dating Alistair the fundamentalist minister’s son has made her even more conservative and Jesus-freaky than she was before, when she was content simply to dress like a rejected character from Breaking Amish .
I excuse myself to go to the kitchen since I can’t really last through the whole movie without making fun of it, and I know that would upset Tori, who can find romance in a can of tuna. Besides, as part of my vegan food allowance from my parents, I have to make dinner for the family once a week, and tonight’s the night. It’s never come in handier as an excuse to leave a room.
But as I pull a tub of tofu out of the refrigerator, Michael pops up behind me, asking, “Can I help?”
I’m startled, and when I recall my breath, I ask, “Don’t you want to watch the rest of the movie?”
He snorts. “No, believe me, I don’t. One more scene of those pale people flying over the trees and I will put my fist through the TV,” he says.
I shrug and hand him the tofu and point to a bowl and potato masher on the table. “You can start mashing the tofu. We’re making dairy-free ricotta.”
He scratches his head a little like a cartoon character and I have to laugh at him. “Mash the tofu?” he asks. “Isn’t it mushy already?” But he literally rolls up the sleeves of his maroon long-sleeved t-shirt to get to work. After a few seconds of consideration, he takes a knife to the covering of the tofu carton, cuts an expert slit around the rim, and then dumps the whole brick of tofu, including its water bath, into the big blue bowl I’d set out. Now I really laugh, and he grins ruefully, shaking out his fingers and wringing out his shirt.
“Um, you have to drain the water first,” I say. He watches me take the bowl over to the sink and let the water stream out as I hold back the thick white brick of soybean curd with one hand. He nods as if very impressed by my mad culinary skills. Moments later, he manages to chop onions well enough and takes a childish delight in squeezing the garlic through the press, then sits to watch me sauté them in a pan and add them to the tofu with some vegan parmesan cheese and olive oil. No one on the Food Network has ever had a more attentive audience, and for once he’s not even making fun of me.
“What is this going to be again?” he asks as he sniffs the bowl of mushed tofu and seasonings.
“Vegan stuffed shells.”
“So … you really like to cook.”
I turn off the burner on the cooked shells and drain them into a colander, releasing a cloud of steam that Michael bats away like he’s in a four-alarm fire.
“Yeah, I do,” I say. “I like making something out of
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