“What kind of face did he make?”
She does the face. It’s quick and subtle, so I grin. “That’s it?”
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she huffs, and there’s the truth. “We shouldn’t be doing this. You’re like… the worst person I could’ve chosen for this.”
“No, I’m not.”
Her eyes flick forward in annoyance.
“You’re a bad liar,” she says. “I just watched it happen in real time.”
“Alright, you don’t want to lie about the pie, so we don’t lie about the pie.” I shrug.
“No, it’s more than the pie, Ermington. This is so stupid. How did we get here?” She looks around at the airport hallway that we’re walking through. Her face falls into a wince, and then she laughs. “I don’t think we should do this.”
She stops walking.
I pull her to the wall and say, “Don’t worry––”
“Stop saying that.”
I put my hands up. “Okay. Okay.”
“Let’s tell them we’re sick.” She nods. “And then we tell them it’s fake.”
“Aspen, I know you’re freaking out.”
“You think?”
“But,” I say, holding the pie between us. “You know what’s beautiful about this situation? I baked a pie, and nobody said I had to bring it. Would you like to have some with me?”
She looks around at the busy airport and scoffs. “I want to go home.”
I shake my head. “Sorry, princess, but we have a flight to catch and parents to charm.”
She covers her face.
“Do you think I’m that bad of a liar?” I ask.
“Yes!” she says through her hands. “You’re terrible. Are you ever serious?”
I lift up the pie and lift a brow.
She looks at it and says, “Thanks, but I’m saving my appetite.”
She starts walking, so I follow behind her like a lost puppy. We reach our gate ten minutes later. The airport is packed. We board in an hour, and Aspen is still tense. I sit beside her and don’t say another word.
Percy handed me a piece of paper last night and told me not to read it until I’m on the plane, but I figure right now’s a good time to read it. I slide my hand in my pocket and pull it out.
I open it in my lap, below the line of her sight, and I read it.
One. Compliment her mother’s cooking. Twice. One ingredient, one technique. Not the meal.
Two. Don’t bring up hockey. Let Coach bring up hockey.
Three. One glass with Coach. You talk too much after two and you fly back tomorrow.
Four. Eat slow. Match her pace, not your own.
