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Eleven
“Do you think Corrine is mad at us?” Kayla asks without looking up from her lyric notebook.
“What makes you think that?” I ask, my arms folded on the table and my head propped on them. “The fact that she gave us the worst bake sale jobs?”
Our table overflows with the kind of baked goods nobody wants. We have the bland table with nuts, oatmeal, and raisins while Sasha and Carmen are so busy selling out of chocolate chip cookies, brownies, and chocolate-covered pretzel sticks, they can’t even sit down. Why did anyone spend time making what’s on our table? I’ll eat practically anything, but nothing here looks appealing.
“Basically.”
“I’m not mad at you guys,” Corrine says, sweeping behind our table and grabbing the clipboard from between our chairs. I swear her ears got injected with the Captain America supersoldier serum. “I just assumed you would be able to sell theunsellable stuff.” She pinches my cheek. “Because you guys are just so darn cute.”
Kayla slams her notebook closed when Corrine turns in her direction. “Why do we even have unsellable stuff if it’s, you know, unsellable?”
“Because there’s bound to be someone out there who wants oatmeal raisin cookies. Look.” She pulls some folded bills from the waistline of her cheerleading skirt and hands it to me. “I’ll take three, please.”
“You are a conundrum of a person,” I say, taking her cash and handing over the cookies. She places one in front of Kayla and then one in front of me with a smile.
“Cheers.” She raises the cookie like a glass and then rushes over to the popular table.
“She’s definitely mad at us,” Kayla says, staring at the cookie. “Or maybeyou.Youdid this to us.”
“Hey, Kayla,” Juniper says, stopping in front of us wearing a Nope. T-shirt—white tee, black Times New Roman font. “Hi, Saine. I’ll take two cookies, please.”
“Why?” I ask. “These are, like, cookies for people with digestion problems. The good ones are over there.”
Kayla swats my arm, smiling at Juniper. “Two dollars.”
“It’sfourdollars—”
“Twodollars. Friends and family discount.” Kayla smiles wide, showing off her slightly crooked canines.
Juniper hands the cash to Kayla, who tucks it into our very unsecure envelope with Corrine’s money. CHHS only has one metal lockbox for fundraisers and it’s been lost ever sincesomeone stole the environmental club’s money.
“Hey, do you guys take credit?” Devon Miles Smith wraps an arm around Juniper’s waist.
“Where do you think you are right now, Buns?” Kayla asks, referring to the bakery we’ve made a bad habit of stopping at before and after school some days. “Cash only.”
He glances at our table with a sneer. “Never mind anyway. These cookies are shit.”
“But I got us some already,” Juniper says, raising the cookies in her hand. “Oatmeal raisin are good!”
“Maybe if your taste buds have all died.” He practically shoves away from her. “Do you have any more cash? I want to get something actually good.”
He wanders off without waiting for her answer. Kayla glares at his back.
“Do you guys think I could have my cash back?” Juniper asks the floor. She sets the cookies back on the table. “Please?”
“Donotbuy that asshole anything, Juniper.” I hand her back her cash. “Keep the cookies. Oatmeal raisin are pretty good if you’re in the mood for them.”
She offers a tight smile and then meets Devon Miles Smart-ass in line for the other table. I take Kayla’s and my cookies and fill the empty spots with them.
“Why are we friends with him?” Kayla asks, flipping open her notebook and writing.
“You tell me.” I lean back in the chair, adjusting my uniform around my waist. “You’re in a band with him. I wouldn’t even know him if it weren’t for you.”
“I didn’t know any other people who play the guitar. If you happen to just pull one out of your luscious booty, let me know.”
“You know I only pull out one per decade, don’t be greedy.” I watch her scribble away, the cafeteria nearly muting itself with its sounds. “Finish your song yet?”
