CHAPTER FIVE 
CHAPTER FIVE May didn’t even glance when her phone choo-chooed. That was the sound it made when her mom texted—a train whistle. It made it easy to ignore messages from her mom and still read the ones she wanted, not that she got many.
May wrapped a blanket around herself and wandered from room to room in their home, walking in circles, dragging the blanket train behind her and leaving a trail on the dusty floors. She would never give her mom the satisfaction of knowing, but being home alone was super boring. She ate another brownie.
Her phone dinged. It didn’t choo-choo. But it only ever choo-chooed. She raced to the kitchen table where it sat, sliding on her stocking feet to see who it was.
It was a text from Connor Patel.
A text from Connor.
Connor.
What r u doing?
Connor Patel wanted to know what she was doing. She couldn’t tell him she was dusting the floor with her blanket cape, watching YouTube, and eating bacon caramel brownies. What would an interesting person do while home alone on winter break? Remixing songs or painting or practicing guitar, something effortless and not dorky. Those all sounded cooler. But, then again, she didn’t know anything about guitars to fake a conversation if he asked. She thought about the engine in the garage, her last real project, but the memory was too sharp.
She should call Olivia. Olivia would know what to say. But they hadn’t talked outside of school in months. She’d have to handle this on her own. Her thumbs twitched above the letters as she figured out her response. Okay.
Watching videos and making bacon brownies.
Ugh. That was such a dumb answer. She should have made up something, but his response was almost immediate.
I like brownies and web antics.
OhmyGod. Oh. My. God. Did he mean what she thought he meant? Did Connor Patel want to hang out? With her? A part of her, way down deep where she used to frantically anticipate a new Pixar movie or Santa Claus, stirred, slow at first but picking up momentum until actual butterflies took flight. In just a few seconds, her irritation with her mom seemed more like mild annoyance, the day was less boring, and she had no idea what would happen next. May was excited.
I can share.
Her chest thumped as she waited a few seconds for his response. The emptiness and loneliness from earlier was gone, replaced with Pop Rocks in her stomach.
Cool. Be over in 20.
May dropped the blanket and stared down at herself, taking in her rainbow leggings and old T-shirt. She couldn’t face Connor in this. Racing to her room, she grabbed her best jeans and a blue sweater from the clean pile of clothes. She shook them out and sniffed quickly. These would do. Her body felt like a Katy Perry song come to life. She ran from room to room looking for what to do, but accomplished nothing. No time to shower, she managed to brush her teeth, wash her face, and pull her hair into a bun on top of her head, so it looked casually messy. She slathered on her favorite strawberry lotion and lip gloss just as a knock sounded at the back door.
As she opened it, a flash of worry burst in her conscience—her mom didn’t like it when she had people over while she was home alone—not even friends like Olivia, let alone a boy. If Mom found out, May would definitely be in trouble. Maybe she should send a quick text, just letting her know what was happening. Then she thought about how her mom didn’t even bother to make her get dressed that morning, or even get out of bed. If she really cared, she wouldn’t have left May to fend for herself. She pushed the worry away and opened the door to the cutest boy at school.
Connor Patel played baseball in the spring and performed in the school play in the fall. He was athletic and artsy and smart. He was in all the advanced classes the school offered, and volunteered at the Humane Society on the weekends. Actually, she didn’t really know about that last one, but he probably did—or maybe he spent time reading to the elderly at a local nursing home. He was literally perfect. His dark brown hair swooped above his forehead, his long lashes brushing his cheeks and framing his understanding eyes, one dark brown the other a warm blue. His family must have traveled somewhere tropical for winter break because his skin was more tan than usual. Both his parents were doctors at the nearby hospital, so when they had the time off to travel, they went big.
The collar of his navy-blue winter coat was pulled high around his ears against the cold wind with his hands shoved deep into the pockets. They usually had a bunch of the same classes together, ever since middle school started, so she’d seen him sprout from short and scrawny to taller than she was in just a few years. His lips were a rosy peach that matched the cold-sparked color on his cheeks, and they smiled wide when she opened the door.
They’d always been friendly, especially in elementary school, but ever since her dad died, she didn’t really talk to many people, and now he was standing on her doorstep all of a sudden. “Come in. Did you walk here?” she asked, nervous in the best way.
He stomped his snowy feet on the rug and nodded. They both lived on the east side of Wauwatosa, not far apart, but far enough that it wasn’t a fun walk in midwinter.
“I may have cut through a few yards to make it shorter.”
“Do you want some hot chocolate or tea to go with your brownies?”
“Hot cocoa. Do you have marshmallows?”
He unzipped his coat. Underneath it he wore a sweatshirt for Tosa (short for Wauwatosa) East High School, where they would both be going next year. She could see a white T-shirt peeking out from underneath. She liked the way it looked against his smooth brown neck. Her cheeks warmed with the thought, and she hoped he didn’t notice.
“Plenty of marshmallows.” She looked at the floor, praying her blush would fade.
Taking his coat, she hung it in the front hall closet like her mom did when guests visited. When she returned to the kitchen, he stood in the middle, studying the pictures on the fridge.
“It smells amazing in here,” Connor said.
“Bacon makes everything better.”
He laughed a little and turned back to the picture. Why did she say something so dumb? He probably already regretted coming over. May warmed the milk and stirred in extra powdered chocolate mix from a large yellow tub, heaping the cup with marshmallows. Connor leaned in closer to study one of the pictures, the one from a few years ago when she, her mom, and her dad had gone to their church picnic. In the picture, she was ten and wearing a white sundress covered in mud, and her dad and mom were almost as dirty.
It had rained that day—no, poured. She could still feel the mud squishing between her toes. Her mom had been volunteering in the beer tent, and May and her dad had been playing the carnival games when the storm hit. It had been one of those summer rains that felt like a warm shower and drenched you before you had time to find shelter. Her dad had picked her up and run—not in the direction of a tent, but into the baseball field on the edge of the parking lot. He stopped on home plate and said, “Race you around the bases.”
She was giggling even before they started running, and the laughter only made it harder. The mud was slippery, and as she turned the corner on third, her dad obviously letting her win, her heel hit a slick spot and she went down. Her eyes widened in worry because she was now absolutely covered in mud. Instead, her dad slid down right next to her, laughing.
“You missed a spot.”
He smeared some mud on her nose.
“You missed a spot, too,” she said, making a streak on his forehead. The falling rain washed some of the mud off, but they would only replace it, laughing so hard her sides hurt.
When the rain stopped, her mom came out from under the tent carrying a roll of paper towels and with a face as dark as the sky.
“Mom looks mad. I ruined my dress.”
“Nah. Sometimes you have to get a little messy. Even Mom.” He winked at her, then stood. When her mom finally reached them, he gave her a big hug, wriggling against her for maximum mud transfer. May jumped in the middle, squishing her mom in a hug against her halfhearted protests. The picture was taken a few moments later. Why couldn’t Dad still be here instead of Mom? The thought pulled her back to the present, shocking herself with the horror of what she had just thought. She blinked, almost missing when Connor spoke again.
“That looks like fun,” Connor said. “I don’t think my parents have ever let me be that dirty. Let alone them, too.”
“Yeah.” Her voice croaked. She moved around him to open the fridge, careful not to touch him. With such an awful thought in her head, she didn’t want it to rub off on him. “That was a good day.”
She pulled out a can of whipped cream to top the cocoa, adding a towering swirl.
“You really know what you’re doing, don’t you?” He stood next to her as she added a drizzle of caramel she had left over from the brownies.
May wasn’t prepared to be funny or clever, never having been alone in her kitchen with a cute boy before, or alone with one anywhere, really. Sure, they were always friendly in class or passing in the hall, or if they were at the same party with other friends, but they didn’t really socialize. Or, to be more accurate, she didn’t really socialize. She was sure he always had plans on the weekend or during school breaks, not like her, who’d become a fourteen-year-old hermit.
The concept of small talk eluded her, so she went for simply answering his question.
“I like to make stuff in the kitchen. Homemade is always better. Besides, it’s sort of fun.”
“My parents never let me eat this much sugar.”
May shrugged. “The only perk of living here—all the sugar you want.”
Connor chuckled, then took a sip of his hot cocoa as she started to make a cup for herself.
The longer the silence stretched, the harder May thought to think of something to fill the silence. The more she tried, though, the blanker her mind became. Connor rocked on his feet and rubbed his hands together, then took another sip. The timer dinged on the microwave, letting May know her milk was warm.
“Oh, I forgot to get your brownie.” She stopped mixing her hot chocolate and pulled a plate from the cupboard.
“While you’re doing that, how about I finish the hot chocolate for you? Team effort.”
“Add three spoons of the powder, then the marshmallows and whipped cream.”
Each with their own task, the awkward silence between them evaporated, and soon they sat at the table with the snacks. Ghost-shaped marshmallows bobbed in their hot chocolate, left over from Halloween. Connor pulled his brownie apart, letting the gooey caramel string out.
“This looks amazing.” He took a bite. “It tastes even better. You’re a great cook.”
May looked down at her food. She’d never thought of herself as great at anything. “Baker.” Connor looked confused. Why did she correct him? He’d think she was bossy. But now she had to finish the thought. “Baking is more precise, like science, my dad used to say.”
She sipped her hot cocoa.
“You make great hot cocoa, too.”
“You, too.” She held up her mug. “I’m following you when the zombie apocalypse starts.”
They finished their snacks and put their dishes by the sink. Now what? Why did he even text her? What if this was some joke? Like one of those movies where the cute boy makes a bet he can get the loser girl to fall for him? Her butterflies died just thinking about it, and now that the thought was there, she couldn’t let it go.
“So . . . why are you here?” The words flew out before she could rethink them. She had to know.
Connor rubbed his hands on his jeans. “Besides the food?”
Was he avoiding the question? His joke made it seem like he wasn’t taking her seriously.
“Yes. Besides the food. It doesn’t make any sense. You have plenty of friends. Why did you text me? Are you making fun of me?”
He put his hands in his pockets and looked at the floor. Isn’t looking down one of the signs of a liar? Oh God, was he going to lie? Then he looked right at her, his eyes so big, one blue and one brown, both honest.
“No. Do you really think I would do that to anyone, let alone you?”
“I . . .” His voice squeaked and he cleared his throat. “Remember how we used to play Harry Potter in fourth grade?”
“Hannah always made me be Professor McGonagall, and you would volunteer for Professor Flitwick so I would have someone to hang out with.” May smiled at the memory. “That was nice.”
“Well, I was watching the last movie last night, where McGonagall enchants the castle to fight. It made me think of you.” He shrugged. “I like you. I have for a long time. But you stopped hanging out with anyone after your . . .” His voice halted, and he pointed to the picture on the fridge. She understood why he didn’t want to say it. People always thought not mentioning her dad’s death would make it easier. But it didn’t. It wasn’t just an elephant in the room, it was an entire herd. Even a blind person can’t ignore a herd of elephants, and she wasn’t blind.
“After my dad died. Yeah, having fun wasn’t fun anymore.”
He went back to rubbing his hands on his legs, like he was trying to tuck them in his pockets but kept missing. Could he really like her? Was he nervous? And why wasn’t she nervous anymore? She felt like she was watching the scene from above, knowing exactly what she needed to say—not worrying if it made him uncomfortable. Like a for-serious out-of-body experience.
“Well, that sucks,” he said.
“It really does.” Her skepticism evaporated with his honesty. “Thanks for saying it.”
“So do you still think having fun isn’t fun anymore? Because maybe I could help with that?”
His mouth curved into a half smile, absurdly cute and charming. Did he even know how adorable he was? Her calm disappeared back into a wave of nerves, making her skin twitchy and electric.
“Sure?” Her voice went up in pitch as she spoke the word—turning it into a question. “We have an old Wii. It’s kind of dorky, but . . .”
“Not dorky. I haven’t crushed anyone at bowling in a long time.”
“Dream on. I’m the reigning Zoberski champion—I think I can take you.”