"Actually," I said, "I don't care if those are ninja brownies. I'll take any brownie I can get, if the truth be
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known. My mother is making carrot-pecan burgers for dinner."
Meghan handed me the tray of brownies and got into the Jeep, unlocking my side. "Take whatever you want."
"But don't we need to save them for Parents' Day on Friday? Why is Finn giving them to us now, anyway? They're going to get stale."
Meghan started the Jeep and pulled out of the Tate parking lot. "They're not for Baby CHuBS, Roo. They're for me."
I choked on my mouthful of ninja deliciousness. "Finn made these for you?"
Meghan nodded. "That's what I wanted to ask you. Finn invited me to Spring Fling and I said yes. So I was wondering if you wanted me to see whether he has a soccer stud-muffin manly baking friend who could take you."
Oh.
All that blushing Finn did in the B&O Espresso. And the baking.
And the recruiting of soccer players. It wasn't for me. It was for Meghan.
And I must be an egotistical wench, because even though I should have been happy for Meghan that she was going to the dance with a great muffin who obviously liked her if he made her ninja brownies, some part of me still thought, Wait, he's liked me since second grade! He's mine! You're not allowed to steal him even if I do think he's a muffin, and another part thought, It's so unfair that
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Meghan has a real romantic date when she's been flitting around planning Operation Sophomore Love, and I have nothing and nobody and all I'm trying to do is be a good person.
However, I am at least sane enough that I didn't say any of that out loud. Instead I asked, "What about Dan and Dave and Don and Mike and Mark?"
Meghan shrugged. "They'll survive. They're way too young for me, anyway, even if they are tall. I mean, I don't think I can fall in love with someone who hasn't even taken the PSAT."
"It must be love if Finn is making you brownies."
That made her smile. "Nora and I went to the B&O two days ago to do homework, but she could only stay for an hour, and I stayed until six, which is when Finn got off work. Then he asked me if I wanted to go walk down Broadway with him and look in Marco Polo, you know, the travel store? So I did, but then I had to go into Rite Aid, so he came with me."
"And?"
"He asked me to Spring Fling and I said yes and then I kissed him in the middle of the drugstore!"
"You were still in the drugstore?"
"Yeah. I was just buying Noxzema. Not anything personal," Meghan said.
Ag. I would never wander the aisles of a drugstore with a potential boyfriend. It's like a minefield in there. Tampons! Zit medicine! Dandruff shampoo! Condoms! I don't know how we'd look each other in the eye after
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parading past all that stuff, much less start making out in an aisle full of diapers.
"That's great," I told Meghan.
"So do you want Finn to find you a date? I'm sure he would."
Suddenly, I didn't want to go to Spring Fling. Not with someone who was only escorting me as a favor to his buddy from the soccer team. Not with some bland muffin I didn't even want to talk to, much less slow dance with.
"Nah, that's okay," I said.
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
"You know you have to go dress shopping with me anyway."
"Of course I will."
"Thanks. Oh, and I have news of Noel," Meghan said, almost like it was an afterthought.
"What?" My heart jumped. Maybe he wasn't mad at me anymore. Maybe he was sorry he'd assumed I was a giant slut instead of believing what I told him about Jackson. Maybe he'd decided he loved me even if I was a giant slut. Or maybe, at the very least, he'd been asking about me.
"Nora asked him to Spring Fling," Meghan said, crinkling her nose. "And he said yes."
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18.
I Fight the Tyranny of Cute
Parents' Day, Meghan and I got to the Baby CHuBS table by seven-thirty a.m., when the baked goods were scheduled to start arriving. Later on in the day, Archer and some other senior girls from CHuBS would take over sales; then Finn and some soccer muffins were doing the late-afternoon shift; then we closed for the teacher presentations in the auditorium. Meghan and I were returning for the hour after the presentations, when people would be milling around shaking hands in the main lobby. That was also when Jackson would be paying out to the people who'd bet on the winner of the Parents' Day Handicap.
We'd painted fresh Happy Paws signs, plus one that said DELICIOUSNESS! and one that said TATE BOYS BAKE. I
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had made little stickers to put on wrappers of things brought in by the guys: "100% Boy Baked."
The more breakfasty items were for early morning: ginger scones, chocolate chip muffins, oatmeal-raspberry bars, sour-cherry squares, cream cheese coffee cake. The serious dessert items we had scheduled for later delivery. Meghan was in her element, flirting with the soccer boys and any other male who was bringing in supplies, asking their advice on pricing, licking her lips provocatively whenever anything good came across the table.
Me, I was keeping track of how much attrition my roly-poly slut reputation had caused us. Nora, who hadn't shown up for anything Baby CHuBS-related since I'd gotten caught kissing Noel, did deliver her promised molten chocolate cakes and a tray of coconut-chocolate squares, because she's never been the sort to back out on a charitable commitment. Besides, she was still friends with Meghan. Varsha Lakshman and the girls I knew from swim team brought their stuff, as did Finn and the soccer muffins. But Ariel, Heidi, Kim and Katarina-all of whom had signed up to bring things because it was Nora's project-not one of them delivered what they'd promised. Neither did several girls who knew Nora from basketball. Neither did Ariel's crew-team cronies.
And neither did Noel. He was supposed to bring his pain au chocolat first thing in the morning, but he never showed up.
Not really a surprise.
Still, I did feel proud looking at the long table all spread with deliciousness, knowing I had been a big part
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of making it happen and that we'd raise a lot of money for Happy Paws. Parents started trickling into the main hallway about ten minutes before first period would normally begin. More moms than dads. Dads in suits or khakis and cheerful sweaters; side-parted hair; checking cell phones. Moms with blond streaks or well-cut bobs, expensive jewelry and deceptively casual jeans. The lawyers, doctors and stay-at-home parents of Seattle.
My mother arrived, dragging my dad by the hand, wearing a black cotton dress over black leggings with her hair frizzing out in wild curls. She was holding a tote bag that read: "If it's not a Great Dane, it's just a dog."
My dad, with gardening dirt still under his nails, wore a T-shirt that said simply: "The DogFather," with a logo like the movie poster for The Godfather.
"'That is what you wear to Parents' Day?" I asked him, pointing at the shirt.
"We mail-ordered the both of them," my mother said, indicating her bag. "They came this morning after Meghan picked you up."
"Oh, Ruby, of course I'm your father too." My dad put his hand on my shoulder and gazed sincerely into my eyes. "I'll always be your daddy."
"My father too? You mean to say that you think of yourself as Polka-dot's dad now?"
Kevin Oliver looked at me with complete noncomprehension of the insanity of his statement. "He's a member of our family group, Ruby. You know that."
Mom said, "You shouldn't be jealous because we're celebrating Polka-dot. Polka-dot needs to be celebrated.
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Goodness knows, he never got any personal attention while he was living at Juana's with twelve other dogs."
"Do you think he understands that you're celebrating him with T-shirts and tote bags?" I asked them. "How can he even tell?"