Eli rings my doorbell, and when I open the door, he says, “I am in serious need of some pasta assistance.”

I blush. His hair’s messy and his shirt has a wet spot on the front. “What are you talking about?”

“Please tell me you know something about making pasta.”

Pasta? All I can think about is the kiss. Isn’t he thinking about it too?

“Um … sure.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Thomas and I got this idea we’d make a real dinner, not something frozen. We’re having some … issues.”

I laugh and come outside. “Don’t tell me you’ve decided to leave the dark side and do something good?”

He groans. “We’re just trying to make dinner. Help. Please. Now.”

I walk with Eli, thinking, This is number fifty-one.

“Neen,” he says, “why are you never wearing shoes? Don’t girls have, like, a hundred pairs of shoes?”

I smile. “It’s summer.”

He’s not mentioning what happened, but it’s right there. I feel it. Does he?

Inside the house, Thomas comes running, cape flying. “Mystery Girl!” he shouts.

I grab him and swing him around. “I’m not Mystery Girl.”

He whispers into my ear. “I figured it out. You keep it a secret, just like all the other superheroes.”

I set him down. “So what’s up with the pasta?” Their house looks the same as I remember it. A worn sofa with lots of pillows. Curtains. An old TV.

“Eli made a mess!” Thomas says.

There are broken pieces of uncooked spaghetti all over the stove. “Nice.” I sweep them into a pile.

Thomas climbs onto a stool.

“The pot is too small. And you know you’re supposed to boil the water before you put the noodles in?” I glance at Eli. “There is something called a cookbook. And the recipe is on the box.”

He softly punches my arm.

“Do you have a bigger pot?”

He opens a cabinet and hands me one. I fill it with water and turn on the burner, add some salt.

Eli looks at all the broken noodles. “Should I open another box?”

“It’s fine; they’ll still taste the same.”

He shakes his head and gets another box. “I want the dinner to be good, not … a mess.”

“Do you have another pot for the sauce?”

Thomas stands on the stool. “In there!” He points his sword, and the stool starts to wobble. “Whoa!”

Eli runs and grabs him before he falls. “Sit on the stool, Tom.” Eli plunks him down.

Thomas frowns and crosses his arms. “What kind of superhero has to sit down?”

Eli’s phone buzzes, and he pulls it out of his pocket, then texts someone.

I pour the sauce into the pot. The spaghetti water starts boiling.

“Thanks,” Eli says, coming over to look. “Much better.”

“Put in the spaghetti.”

He does, and I hand him a spoon. “Stir. So it doesn’t stick.”

“Okay.”

“Can I sing you a song?” Thomas asks me.

“Sure.”

“I made it up.”

“All right.”

“Don’t be afraid! Don’t be scared! Thomas Bennett is here! And he can fight a bear!”

He grins, and I clap. “That was great!”

Eli smiles, still stirring.

I glance around. “What else are you making? Garlic bread? Salad?”

Thomas and Eli look at each other. Eli says, “I guess.”

The door to their garage flies opens. Jorie calls, “E?”

E?

She walks in. “What’s going on? You guys are cooking?” She takes the spoon from Eli. “I make amazing spaghetti.”

Since when?

“Eli’s cooking it,” Thomas tells her.

Jorie adjusts the burner. “Now, you want them al dente, not mushy.”

Who is she?

“Oh.” Eli watches her.

Jorie picks a noodle up with the spoon and holds it to Eli’s mouth. “See if it’s done.”

He chews, shrugs. “I think so.”

“Perfect,” Jorie says. “Where’s that strainer thing?”

I want to throw the boiling pot at someone. I’m not sure who.

Eli turns off the burner. “Thomas, where’s the …”

“It’s called a colander,” I say.

“That bowl with the little holes? There.” Thomas points.

Eli takes out the colander, puts it in the sink, and then dumps out the spaghetti. Jorie grabs his arm and takes a picture of the two of them on her phone. “I’m setting this as my background!”

Eli looks at the picture.

“Well,” I say. “I think things are under control now.”

Eli is supposed to say, “Don’t go.”

Nope. He stands there.

I storm over to the pot of sauce and furiously turn off the burner. “This is done!”

That kiss? I was right. Just a moment. What was I thinking? He likes her. They’ve probably kissed a hundred times. I’m just the cook.

Jorie scoots herself up onto a counter, crosses her legs. “Hey, we should make brownies!”

Thomas points his sword in her direction.

“You could really hurt someone with that,” Jorie says.

He growls.

Thomas, I want to say, I couldn’t agree more.

I stomp home, mad at myself. I just let her take over. She stole number fifty-one. He rang my doorbell. But what was I supposed to do, wrestle Jorie for the spoon? Take a cuter picture on my phone?

Eli didn’t exactly seem to be stopping her. Right. Because they’re going to HC. The whole neighborhood knows.

Fine.

I’m so done with this.