Page 142 of The Fall Classic

“This is the family fun I can’t wait to show you in person,” I tell Georgie.

The look on her face tells a story I can’t quite read. I’ve learned that Georgie processes internally and slowly, and me asking what’s going on in front of my twin isn’t going to contribute to the processing. So I change topics.

“Did you have a chance to call Jane yet?” I ask.

“No,” she says, biting her lip. “But I will. I need to talk to Marlowe first.”

She’s been saying this for weeks. I met Marlowe in passing, but Georgie didn’t introduce us, something I tried not to let bother me and mostly succeeded. I get the sense that she’s intimidated by her stepmother. Certainly uncomfortable with her. They have a boss/employee dynamic, not a mother/daughter one. Families are complicated, and I’ve seen some stepfamilies that feel more real than some biological ones, but that’s not what Georgie and Marlowe have. I wonder if Marlowe knows how badly Georgie wants that. Or if she would even care.

For the record, I dislike Marlowe. If I pretend she’s only Georgie’s boss, I still dislike her. When I think about her being Georgie’s stepmom …

“You gotta talk to her,” I tell Georgie. “She has to want to expand.”

Georgie gives a weak laugh. “She definitely wants to expand.”

“And?”

She sighs. “It’s a long story, and you’re heading to Coop’s house. I’ll bore you with the details another time.”

I want to push, but she’s right. Now isn’t the time to get into a deep discussion, and that’s one more thing that will keep my mind pulled in different directions. “Okay. Maybe tonight?”

“Curfew,” Lucas says. I’m set to pitch tomorrow.

“Crap,” I say. “Tomorrow night?” I ask Georgie.

“I have curfew,” Lucas says after a moment. “But I’ll allow it.”

“Thanks, Lucas,” Georgie and I say in unison. I’m pretty sure she said it less sarcastically than I did, but we still smile at each other.

I roll the last of the mix into a ball and set it on the cookie sheet. Normally we’d put them in the refrigerator for a couple of hours before we dip them in melted chocolate, but we’re out of time for chilling. And Lucas came prepared.

Georgie must be doing the same math in her head. “If you’re making cake pops, how are they going to be cooled in time?”

Lucas cackles next to me, picking up a silver culinary cryo torch from the counter and holding it in front of the screen. It looks like a mix of a soda siphon and a caulking gun, with a trigger and brass nozzle.

“Liquid nitrogen, Georgie.”

The corners of Georgie’s mouth tick into a smile. “So you’re going to flash freeze the balls? But won’t the center still be too warm when you dip them in the melted chocolate?”

“We’ll put them in the fridge for ten minutes to let the chill sink in,” Lucas says.

“That’s really smart,” she says, and she gets that slightly unfocused look that tells me her mind is whirring. “I wonder if I could flash freeze whipped cream for hot chocolate.”

This is my favorite Georgie. Since my stint on the injured list, I’ve seen the dreamer in her more and more. I love watching these unique ideas come to her in real time. I love watching her grow into her own dreams.

Lucas is pulling the trigger on the cryo gun, and a thin jet of white mist hisses out, curling down over the tray of cake pops like it’s trying to escape the pan. The temperature in front of us takes a sharp drop as Logan sprays the balls all along the first row, one by one.

“Molecular gastronomy, Georgie. This is how the pros do it.”

“He’s not a pro. He watched a YouTube video and one-click bought that thing so fast⁠—”

“I watched several videos,” Lucas corrects, bending down to meticulously spray ball after ball. “It’s my whole feed now.”

Georgie’s leaning toward the phone screen. “Um, Lucas, your eyebrows⁠—”

“Do you see the fog, Georgie? That’s how you know it’s working,” he says, leaning over the last row.

“Lucas—”