100 Days of Cake (21 page)

“That's awesome.” Alex nods. “That can really tie everything else together.”

Our to-do list gets longer and longer, and we divide up the tasks.

It's really hard not to get caught up in the excitement.

O
ver the last few nights, I stayed late at the store for hours sketching a logo for the event.

It was hard to decide what to draw, but in the end I went with the fish that Alex and I had compared to the Golden Girls a few weeks before—idol fish for Blanche, brown clown goby for Dorothy, Rose as a dottyback, and Sophia as a black bar soldierfish (we thought the massive eyeballs sort of looked like her glasses)—as sort of an inside joke.

Above the logo I wrote “Rock the Tanks” in chunky block letters and then filled those in with little fish.

I think it came out really well, but when the little bell on the door chimes and Alex comes in to take over for JoJo, I'm all nervous to show him.

He gets this weird look on his face and doesn't say anything at first.

“You got talent, CCH!” JoJo proclaims, turning away from Jerry Springer interviewing a man who wants to marry his dog.

“Thanks,” I say.

“Cromwell still the art teacher?” she asks.

“Yeah.” Ms. Cromwell, with her paint-spattered smocks and crazy hoop earrings. When I told her I was dropping art last year, she gave me this really sad once-over and asked, “Is there anything I can do to change your mind?” I told her there wasn't, and she promised she would always keep a space open for me.

“Cromwell was cool,” says JoJo.

“Yeah, she really is.”

“This is amazing, Mol.” Alex finally says something. “I had no idea you could do stuff like that.”

Feeling myself blush, I turn away and mumble, “I'm just full of surprises.”

E
lle, Alex, and I spend the whole day plastering flyers all over town (and at least a half hour pulling staples out of Jimmy's fingers; the kid really is a little masochist). When I get home, I practically devour the cake Mom has made, even though I suspect the recipe called for unsweetened chocolate but she improvised with Hershey's.

For once, I feel good.

E
lle wants to go to the theater tonight to see a new documentary all about the evils of commercial farming. Remembering Dr. Brooks joking that I needed to get out and see a movie with friends, I actually laugh.

“What's so funny?” Elle asks, but I just shrug. We are
not
going to get into the whole Dr. B. thing again.

I try to convince her that we should see this new cheesy rom-com with one of the women from
Scandal
instead. It wouldn't normally be my thing, but the
Hot Tub Time Machine
guy from
Say Anything . . .
is the male lead, and it would be fun to tell Dr. B. about it at our next session.

Finally we decide to see both movies and make a night of it.

“We can sneak into the second movie after the first, like we used to,” Elle offers.

“Definitely.” When we were in junior high, we used to do that all the time, and it feels good to think of doing it again, like the old Molly is back in business.

Elle drives (with AC!). At the theater we get cherry Slurpees and a giant tub of popcorn that probably has a week's worth of calories, then we pump the weird liquid butter on top of that.

We buy tickets to the seven forty-five
A Bridesmaid, Always
and plan to sneak into the ten p.m. showing of
E-I-E-I No
, but Elle is trying to convince me that it might be better to see the depressing doc first. “That way we can totally veg out with the rom-com afterward.”

“I don't know,” I counter. “The times work out much better if we see the farming thing second.” This is true; also, we might be tired and just bail on the documentary entirely, but I keep that part to myself.

As we're debating this, one of the theaters lets out, and a wave of people, all squinting in the light and excitedly talking about some action flick, swell toward us.

Smack in the middle of the group is Alex . . . and my sister.

They're not with Chris or Meredith Hoffman or any of the other people they were with the last time I saw them together. It's very clearly only the two of them . . . at the movies . . . on a Friday night . . . standing so close, their arms are almost touching. Alex leans down so she can tell him
something in his ear over the noise of the crowd, and he smiles and nods.

My brain starts doing these rationalization gymnastics. Maybe they came separately and ran into each other? Maybe he's trying to recruit her to do something for his band? Maybe he's . . . Maybe she's . . .

No, maybe nothing.

They are on a date. The datiest date that ever was. The kind of date Dr. Brooks went on in high school when he got to second base during
Say Anything . . . .

My sister and Alex are on a date.

Elle sees it too and gives me this super-pained look. I pull her arm, and we duck behind the condiments cart so Alex and V won't see us as they walk past.

“So it's V he's been sneaking off with!” Elle announces like some sort of Captain Obvious. “Wow.”

I want to shrug it off, like I did when I thought he might be seeing Meredith, but I can't—I can hardly move. It's like someone scooped out my chest with a melon baller, just this horrible empty ache.

“That's sooo not right.” Elle is getting all riled up like she usually does when someone with an SUV throws a plastic water bottle out the car window. “I'm going to give them a piece of my mind.”

She's about to charge over, but I hold her hand and shake my head. What good would it do? What could it possibly
change? I'll just be that pathetic little depressed girl crying in front of everyone again.

“But how could they do that to you?” she asks.

I shrug. I don't want to open my mouth, because if I do, I will just scream and I might not be able to stop.

“Should we get out of here?” Elle asks, and I nod.

We don't say a word the entire ride home. Some dumb Taylor Swift song comes on the radio, but we don't bother to change it.

Fuck, I am a Taylor Swift song!

There's a guy who loves hanging out with me, and I love hanging out with him. I was too stupid and scared to take it to the next level. And now he's dating the head cheerleader. (V's not on the cheerleading squad per se, but she did mention something about wanting to audition for the dance team next year.)

She's the pretty, fun girl he deserves; she even has my eyes.

“Do you want me to come in?” Elle asks when she pulls in front of the model home with its completely non-model family. “I could eat whatever cake your mom made today?”

I shake my head. Elle clearly wants to say something, maybe how she knew I liked Alex all along and should have said yes when he asked me out, even if he was kind of kidding. Maybe how my sister is a horrible vapid boyfriend snatcher and everything that is wrong with America.
Maybe just that she really wants to try Mom's Enchanted Black Forest Cake.

But she really is a good friend, so she doesn't say any of that, just squeezes my shoulder and tells me to call her later if I need to talk.

T
here's this episode of
Golden Girls
where Dorothy is so annoyed with her ex-husband that she begs Blanche to go out with him, which Blanche reluctantly agrees to do. But then Blanche and Stan have this amazing time and want to see each other again, and Dorothy is hurt and furious and betrayed.

Not completely the same as what's going on with me and V and Alex (okay, it's actually not the same at
all
), but when I'm slumped on the family room couch watching a
Golden
Girls
marathon and the episode comes on, I find myself really identifying with Dorothy and wanting to smack Blanche in her flirty little face. How could she do that to someone who is supposed to be like a sister to her?

It's been two days since Elle and I saw V and Alex at the movies, and I've successfully avoided my sister entirely. To
be fair, it's not all that unusual, and if I weren't so stomach-churningly angry at her, I'd probably feel really crappy about the fact that apparently it's completely normal for us not to interact for whole days now. She's been out doing something all morning—maybe a coffee date with Alex?

In my pocket my cell phone dings that I've got a new text message—Alex asking where I am and if I'm okay, and I realize that I was supposed to be at FishTopia a half hour ago.

Instead of writing back that he is a jackass or that maybe he should ask Veronica if she wants to work there instead, I shoot Elle a note asking her to text Alex that I have the flu and he has to handle FishTopia on his own today.
Don't say anything about Friday!!
I add.

A few seconds later another message from Alex:
Elle says u r sick. Anything I can do?

The rage bubbles back up in my throat. He doesn't get to do this—act all sweet and normal and into me when he's sneaking off with my sister.

NO
, I write back.

Want me to come by l8r, I can bring lo mein?

I start to type out a message saying I doubt his girlfriend would like that, but think better of it and just write
NO
again.

OK, feel better. :)

Seriously, how can he pull this aw-shucks-nice-guy shit
when he failed to mention that he's dating my sister? MY FREAKING SISTER!

The emoji pushes me over the edge, and I hurl the phone across the room. It hits one of the decorative “accent pillows” on the other side of the sectional, which isn't particularly satisfying.

I can't wait to tell Dr. Brooks that he was right, that Alex is completely immature and I shouldn't have wasted a single thought on him.