“It just so happens that not only am I incredibly good looking, but Iʼm also an expert brownie maker,” he said. “Although, Iʼll need some help.”
Alex and Angel did not follow the directions on the box. When I attempted to point this out, Alex informed me that cooking was an art and he was an artist that didnʼt do paint-by-numbers.
I could only assume that he considered following the tried-and-true instructions that would produce fudgey brownie goodness paint-by-number.
“How about these?” Angel asked, holding up a half-empty bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips and a similar package of peanut butter chips.
Alex squirted some chocolate syrup into the batter as he considered. “What are your feelings on peanut butter, Scout?”
“Peanut butter chips are not part of the directions,” I said, gesturing with the empty blue box.
“Do you always have to follow the rules?”
“Always,” my ever-helpful little sister answered for me. “And she loves peanut butter.” After adding in at least ten different unsanctioned ingredients, the cooks/mad scientists declared their creation ready for the oven. We sat around the kitchen, listening to Angel detail all the first grade drama as an intoxicating smell filled the room. Alex held my hand under the table, his thumb tracing circles on mine.
The brownies were better than I ever believed food could be. We didnʼt even cut them into squares. Alex sat the entire pan in the middle of the table with three spoons. I was entrusted to pour glasses of milk.
I caught Angel sniffing her glass to make sure it was okay before taking a drink.
Conversation lulled as we stuffed our faces. With the exception of the occasional, “Yum,”
“Oh my God,” “This is good,” or moan, the table was silent. I was aware that Angel had been staring intently at Alex, but thought nothing of it. She had never been secretive when it came to her affection for him.
I should have realized what was coming. I should have looked at the situation from her point of view and remembered that God put little sisters on this earth expressively to torture their siblings.
She asked with the same casualness that someone might ask if you would pass something across the table or how your day at school went, but she didnʼt want the salt or to know about a surprise pop quiz in English. Instead, she asked Alex, “Are you in love with my sister?
Chapter 12
A glob of brownie landed on my chest. Shock had made me forget how to feed myself.
“Is it that obvious?” Alex looked only slight abashed.
“You have googly eyes when you look at her.” Angelʼs didactic tone and wise expression would have been humorous if I had been capable of finding anything entertaining. “Boys only get googly eyes when theyʼre in love.”
“The eyes always give it away.” The two of them nodded sagely at one another. Alexʼs attention stayed on Angleʼs face, which meant that he couldnʼt see the way embarrassment colored my own. Of course, the fact that his neck was battling my cheeks for the reddest thing in the room made me feel a little bit better.
“She likes you too,” Angel continued.
“Are you sure?”
“Definitely. When youʼre around she actually smiles instead of looking like this all the time.” Angel puckered her lips, scrunched up her nose, and squinted her eyes.
“I do not walk around looking like Iʼve been eating lemons.” Really, where did she come up with this stuff?
Angel ignored me. “And she was sucking on your neck like a vampire. That means she really likes you.”
Every drop of blood in my body was pooled in my face and the massive amount of brownies I ate threatened to make a reappearance. I barely heard Alex ask, “Scout, what are you doing?” over the roar in my ears.
“Waiting for the ground to open up and swallow me.” My words were slightly muffled by the thick oak table I had planted my face down on.
“So, is that a sign that she likes me or doesnʼt like me?” I swear I could actually hear him smiling.
“Ummm....that just means sheʼs weird.” I lifted my head to glare at her. “See,” she said,
“lemon face,”
The two of them proceeded to discuss the finer points of my lemon face and what activities were most likely to trigger it. When I could no longer keep my expression smooth and un-lemony, I fled the kitchen in the most dignified manner possible.
Alex was immediately by my side. “Hey, youʼre not mad, are you?” Yes, I am, thank you very much. “No.”
“Sheʼs lying,” Angel said from somewhere behind me.
Alex dropped his head and peered at me through his eyelashes. “Iʼm sorry if we hurt your feelings.” He captured my fingers in his hand. “I think your lemon face is adorable, and I like that you only smile for me.”
“Are you going to kiss her now?” Angel was practically standing on top of us with a look that could only be described as lemon-like. “I donʼt like mushy stuff.”
“No mushy stuff, huh?” Alex stepped back, but left one finger hooked around mine. “Is holding hands mushy?”
Angel mulled it over. “A little bit, but itʼs okay if youʼre at the movies.”
“How about watching a movie on TV?”
“I guess that would be okay.”
Alex grinned. “In that case, Iʼm very much in the mood to watch a movie.”
***
Watching Toy Story for the hundredth time gave me the opportunity to get over my humiliation and think. Alex Cole had said that he loved me. Okay, it wasnʼt like he looked into my eyes and actually said the words out loud, but he hadnʼt contradicted Angel. What did that mean? Could he really be in love with me?
What was I thinking? Of course he wasnʼt in love with me. He was Alex Cole, for the love of all things shiny. Alex Cole who had a face that belonged on the cover of a magazines. Alex Cole who had a body that made college girls stop and stare. Alex Cole who actually understood what was going on in AP Calc and genuinely enjoyed Shakespeare. Alex Cole who probably smiled in his sleep and was nice to absolutely everyone, even my bratty little sister.
How could a boy like that be in love with me? At best, I was awkward and plain, though most days I came across as anti-social and freakish.
“Scout?” Alex squeezed my hand, snapping me out of my why-is-Alex-the-Awesome-holding-hands-with-Scout-the-Freak quandary. He motioned towards the end of the couch where Angel lay like a discarded porcelain doll - head lolled to the side, arms and legs scattered about, her unruly curls spilled out in every direction. Sleeping, she actually looked like her namesake. “So, I was thinking,” he said, his voice a husky whisper. “I never did get to finish my tour of the house.”