Forty minutes later, the oven was hot, and I was standing at the counter, measuring out ingredients. I tried to follow the recipe in the cookbook but kept thinking about Madison and her stupid friends instead.
Crack went the first egg. I threw the shell in the sink.
Sam marched up to the sink to fill his glass.
I grabbed the second egg. Crack.
“Hey E. What’re ya doing?” he asked.
I stared as the egg yolk and white slid down the disposal. I couldn’t believe it. I’d cracked the egg into the sink instead of the mixing bowl!
“Ha! You pulled an Eliza!’ ” Sam said.
I snapped my head his direction. “You’re not supposed to use that expression anymore,” I said through gritted teeth. I could feel hot tears fill my eyes.
“Yeah. Okay,” he said, throwing his free hand up in the air in surrender. “Don’t freak.”
Freak.
I’d heard that before, too.
My throat felt achy again. Like someone was squeezing it.
I went to the bathroom, splashed cool water on my face, and blew my nose. I didn’t look in the mirror, though. Whenever I was upset, seeing my own splotchy red face made me sadder.
Forget about those mean girls, I told myself. They’re not important.