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I need to think about something else.
The white wooden door has a hand-lettered sign: Chamberlain Corner Café. Inside, tiny bistro tables are crowded with students and piled with plates of sandwiches. A few groups of kids call out to Dexter, and a couple to me. I wave and try to smile but am way too aware that I just walked into the student hangout with Dexter Kaplan. A guy. A teacher. This has to look even less appropriate than it is. Surely the kids know teachers are not supposed to date. What if Moreau has spies? What if some of these kids report to her?
I take small comfort from seeing Adam Brillstein, the other new teacher, wedged against the wall in the corner near the counter. He gives an awkward wave, and looks down at a book on his table. At least we’re not the only adults here. And he doesn’t seem to be offering an invitation to join him.
Dexter points to what seems to be the only empty table. I squirm my way around the crowds of seated kids in various stages of gluttony and claim a chair.
“Hey, Miss Harker.” I turn and see Parker Bailey from my film photography class leaning his chair backward toward me. Turned sideways in the seat, he rests his arm on the back of his chair, and his shoulder-length hair curtains his All-American Boy face. “Aren’t you eating?”
I point toward Dexter, who is leaning over the counter in what looks like too intense a discussion to be about cookies. The woman behind the counter wears a food service hairnet and an apron, neither of which disguise her striking facial features. What is it with this place and beautiful employees? As I watch, Dexter turns to point me out. The woman raises a hand in a wave, and I wave back. Dexter points to the woman and mouths “Val.” I get it. I nod.
Parker Bailey is still leaning toward my table, maybe waiting for me to prove I’m human. I tell him, “I think I’m supposed to try a cookie. I guess they’re kind of famous?” Parker and all the guys at his table laugh.
“You’ll think you died and went to paradise,” one of the boys says. “All the good you’ve done in your life is about to be rewarded.”
I half listen as the guys debate the merits of their favorite cookies. After a minute, Dexter starts weaving his way through the tables, fist-bumping and high-fiving a few kids he passes.
“Mr. Kaplan,” one of Parker’s friends calls. “You’re showing the new teacher how to find true happiness and the meaning of life?”
“It’s only fair,” he answers. “With all the meaning and happiness right here on campus.”
The boys revert to some kind of masculine grunt ritual. “Cooookie. Cooookie.” They laugh. I am once again reminded that I am glad to be a woman.
After a couple of minutes, Val slips between tables and around kids, carrying a tray above her head like a waitress in a 50s diner. All that’s missing? Roller skates.
With the tray still over her head, Val puts her hand on my shoulder. “I’m not used to auditioning, but it appears I have to convince you that my cookies are worthy of your Harvest Ball.”
My face burns, and I stare, wide-eyed, at Dexter. Unless he is more blind than I am, he can read the “what have you done?” in my face. This is humiliating. For everyone. How dare he set me up like this? This poor woman is apparently some kind of institution around here, and now Dexter Kaplan has made me look like a snotty debutante, doubting Val’s ability to make cookies tasty enough for a high school dance? I can feel the heat rolling off me.
Dexter bursts out laughing. “Sorry. That was brilliant, Val.” He puts an arm around me in a side hug. “Come on, Joey Harker. We’re just teasing.”
I glare at him and turn to Val. “I don’t know what he told you, but I can assure you it was all lies.”
Val pulls out a chair and sits beside me. “Not all of it, I’m sure. Now.” She sets the huge tray on the table and with a flourish, pulls off the lid. “Let’s get down to business.”
Wow. Just a whole lot of wow. The tray holds about fifteen different kinds of cookies and brownies and bars and wow. They’re beautiful. Each is cut into quarters—for sharing, I guess.
Val points to one of the confections. “Start there,” she says.
I start there. I pick up the piece of cookie and put it in my mouth, where it simply dissolves into sugary, buttery air. I feel my eyes going wide again, and I force my lips to stay closed around a delighted smile. When I am certain there are no more cookie bits in my mouth, I lean across the table and whisper, “Are you a wizard?”
Val smiles and points to another cookie. “This one.”
I know it can’t be as amazing as the last one. I almost reach for a second piece of that first cookie, but I don’t want to appear rude or greedy. I pick up what Val pointed to and slip it into my mouth. Nuts and caramel and absolute heaven.
Two cookies later, and I am ready to propose marriage to Val.
But there is such an audience.
I turn to Dexter. “You win. And obviously I win. And so does everyone who comes to the dance. Val’s cookies. Yes.” I reach over and put my hand on Val’s arm. “I don’t know who’s going to dance, though, when the other option is to stand in the corner and bliss out on this.”
“Why don’t I package these up for you and you can take them home?” Val says, already up from her seat.
“Oh, no,” I try to say. But then I remember who I am. “Oh, yes. I really, really want you to.” When Val walks away, I look at Dexter again, and my heart does this electric surge. The way he looks at me—gazes, really—makes it hard to breathe in and out.
“That,” he says, leaning close to me, “was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” He reaches out his hand toward me, but then seems to realize how many students are in the room and pulls back.
My eyes don’t leave his. His smile doesn’t change. And my breathing doesn’t get any more natural.
“Thank you for the cookies,” I answer. “My mother raised me right, so I know I should offer to share what’s left with you, but I think I want every single bite all to myself.”
He doesn’t look like he’s going to fight me for them.
