Good Pie, Bad Pie
“Again, I’m so sorry I lost my temper,” Jackson says. “I shouldn’t have beat the shit out of him, though he deserved it. I feel like this is partly my fault.” He looks at his phone. “I saw the posts, and I’m putting the word out trying to shame those who posted it.” Clearly, the whole school is following the mysterious brown bear on Instagram. He runs his hands through his hair, then takes a sip from his coffee mug.
I shake my head. My brother has so much power, it’s ridiculous. “It’s not your fault, Jackson. It’s Hunter’s fault.” I pause. “Well, yes, it’s true that you shouldn’t have pulverized him.” I stare down into my coffee mug, pull my legs up to sit crisscross-legged on the chair. “I just wish this all wouldn’t have happened. I wish I never even looked at Hunter. Ever.”
“People are disgusting,” Jackson says. “I’ve got friends talking to their brothers and sisters too. This needs to stop. Like now.”
“I wish it would,” I say. I rest my jaw on my hand, look out the window. “Maybe I should just dress like a prostitute for Halloween and be everyone’s self-fulfilling prophecy.” I snort.
“Don’t even go there,” Jackson says with a stern look. “Not on my watch. You don’t deserve this. It’s wrong.”
I don’t want to talk Landra-bullying anymore. “You ready for playoffs?” I ask.
“Yep, I’m ready,” he says with a smile.
“My two children having morning coffee and chatting. What has the world come to?” Dad comes into the kitchen with a giant smile. “Everything OK? You look kinda upset, Landra.”
“I’m fine,” I say. “No worries, Dad.”
Jackson nods, sips his coffee, taps a finger on the table.
“Can I join you?” Dad asks.
“Of course,” I say.
Dad pours himself a cup and carries the container of muffins Christine made to the table. “Muffin? They are really good.” He peels back the lid and shows us perfect-looking blueberry muffins. “Homemade, of course.” He smiles and extends the container to us.
Jackson dives in for one. I wave my hand in a pass.
“You both here tonight for dinner? Christine is hoping to make dinner for us all—champagne chicken, some kind of potato dish, salad, and rolls.” Total perma-grin across his face, like it was painted on.
“Jenna and I have plans, but we could eat here first. What time?” Jackson asks through a mouthful of blueberry muffin. He polishes it off and reaches for a second.
“I’ll ask.” Dad immediately picks up his phone and sends a text.
“How about you, Landra?” Dad asks, not looking up from his phone. He smiles and texts again. “Dinner at six.”
Jackson nods. “OK, that works for us.”
“You can bring that Hunter fella, if you want. I’d like to meet him.”
“No,” I say.
“No,” Jackson says at practically the same time.
“Oh?” Dad asks. “Call me the dad. Something I should be concerned about?”
“Nope,” I say. “Just not with him.” Dad is clearly lovestruck and clueless. He’s forgotten I already told him this.
“Ah,” Dad says. “His loss, then.”
Not really. I’m the one with the losses. “Twins coming this time?” I ask. I need a distraction.
“Yes, Christine has them this weekend.” His face is beaming. “Can’t wait for you all to meet.”
“I’m going on a run,” I say as I stand. I put on my shoes and grab the leash, and Maxie knows it’s run time, so he’s bucking up, jumping with all fours leaving the ground, whining. “OK, ready bud?” I slip the leash on, and we are out the door. I get a text from Becca.
Becca: What time U leave?
Allandra: 4. I couldn’t sleep. Sorry.
Becca: That’s OK. Just wanted to check on U. How did U get home?
I stop running and walk. I text her back.
Allandra: I ran home.
Becca: Geez. Girl … that must have been freezing.
Allandra: I was fine. Thx. Going on a run now with Maxie.
Becca: OK. Better U than me. And slow yourself down and take some couch time today. You need it.
Allandra: I will. Thx. ltr
I slip earbuds in my ears, and it’s a song is about love. I sigh. Why are the good songs always about love? The song makes me think of making out with Hunter, and God help me, I still do miss him even after all the crap this week. I say a quick prayer. Dear God, Please help me get through this, and help me get over Hunter, and help me fix it with Brian. Amen. Can’t hurt to pray, right?
My feet hit the snow-speckled ground, remnants left from the snowfall the other night. I hate running in the snow, but running helps me cope with all this crap, so I’m doing it. My thoughts drift to Brian. I miss him too. I run harder, and the wind is lashing my cheeks red, my lungs set on cold-fire mode. Painful jabs of icy air stab my insides.
Bring it on, world. I run and run and run.
Jackson and Jenna are heading out the door. “Christine, thanks for dinner. It was so amazing,” Jenna says with a flick of her golden, straight hair that might as well be rays of sunshine. Her beauty is a true match to my brother’s handsomeness. They are a true golden couple, movie star worthy.
“Thanks, honey, it was nice to meet you.” Christine smiles as she and Dad side-hug, one arm around each other’s waists.
“Thanks, it was a killer meal,” Jackson says with a smile. He pats his stomach.
“Have fun,” Dad says. “And be careful.”
“Will do.” They are out the door.
I’m playing Jenga with the twins on the coffee table. Dad and Christine enjoy wine on the couch with smiles. They could not get any closer in front of us. Inside I smile because Dad is happy, and I’m getting over my bitterness at having Christine in our home. In fact, I’m kinda starting to like her.
Lauren pulls out a wooden piece, and the whole thing falls. She squeals, and Karen laughs. I even manage a smile. They start setting it up again. I get a text.
It’s Hunter again.
Hunter: I’m sorry someone posted the vote on U.
I delete it. I was having fun. I didn’t want to think about that. Thanks, Hunter, for ruining my mood. I try to smile as the twins begin the game again. I fight off tears with a fake smile and push a little wood piece out. The tower stays intact.
“Good,” I say.
“Mom said you run track,” Lauren says. “I might try it this year.”
“It’s good exercise,” I say, hoping she doesn’t fall into my trap of forever exercising and becoming a workout fiend.
“I like softball,” Karen says with a flick of her hair.
“Not me,” Lauren says with a nose crinkle. “I might try lacrosse. Mom, can I try lacrosse? Or should I do track?”
“You decide, honey,” she says with a smile.
I smile too, a real one.
“Maybe you can come to a game or a meet,” Lauren says to me.
“Sure, I’d love to,” I say.
“Who wants dessert?” Christine asks.
“Me,” Lauren says.
“I do,” Karen says.
“I’m so in,” Dad says.
I even say, “OK.”
“Apple pie or cherry pie? You all get the choice.” Christine gets up and walks toward the kitchen.
After dessert, during which I eat the whole piece of pie and then think I might explode, I head to the bathroom, where I text Brian again.
Allandra: Talking to me yet?
He doesn’t respond, but I can see the little three dots, so I know he’s reading it. But he doesn’t text back.
Allandra: I ate the best apple pie tonight. Bet u can’t beat it.
He texts back.
Brian: Oh yeah?
Yes, success.
Allandra: It was divine. Homemade cinnamon flaky with whipped cream. Apples from the orchard.
Brian: Mine is better.
Allandra: Prove it.
He doesn’t text back for a whole three minutes.
Brian: Who made it?
I text back.
Allandra: My dad’s new girlfriend.
He responds immediately.
Brian: Challenge accepted. Monday. Same time same place.
Allandra: I’m in.
I look at myself in the mirror. Touch up my powder to take the shine off my face—which is showing a real smile because Brian texted me back.
I text Becca.
Allandra: I got Brian to make us apple pie for Monday.
Becca: Strong work, my love! Progress …
Allandra: Yes. For sure.
Becca: Nice.
I text her a smiley face and a thumbs-up.
I stand at the bus stop Monday morning shaking—from the cold and from the fear of seeing all the faces of those who voted on me on Instagram. How did I go from boyfriend-less staring stalker to that very hot guy’s girl to major slut in such a short amount of time? I shake my head as Becca approaches me.
“You OK?” she asks.
“Nope.”
“We’ll get through this together.” She side hugs me. “Your hair looks nice. You liking it?”
“Love it,” I smile. “Thanks for doing it.” I finger the ends of my locks, which are now red.
“My pleasure.” She smiles. “It suits you. You look amazing.”
On the bus, everyone looks at me, then whispers.
Some guy yells, “I think it’s number fifteen.” Lots of male laughter, a few girls too. A whistle.
“Fuck,” I whisper as I slide into the seat beside Becca.
“Ignore,” she says.
“Can’t,” I say.
The rest of the day goes about the same and gets worse when Hunter corners me.
“Landra, seriously, I’m so so so sorry.” His hand is up, slanted with fingertips toward me, palm out. “So sorry.” He shakes his head. His eyes really do look like he is sorry.
“Leave me alone, Hunter.” I cringe. His damaged eye is dark purple and still swollen, but it’s opening up a bit. I can see his gorgeous deep-brown eye through the tiny slit under his eyelid. “Does it hurt?”
“Like a motherfucker, yeah.” He nods, looks at the ground.
I want to say sorry, but I don’t want to say it either, so I keep quiet.
“Coach wouldn’t let me play in the last football game either. Sucks.” He shakes his head. “Season’s done.”
“Oh,” I say.
“Will you please just give me another chance? Please?” He peers intensely into my eyes. His open eye is pleading pretty hard with me right now.
I look down at my chunky shoes, away from those eyes, and twist one foot. “I don’t know, Hunter.” I look up, and he’s so close to me, all I want to do is kiss his mouth right now, but I also want to punch him in the gut. I stare at his chest. It’s too painful to look him in the eyes.
“I know this is all my fault. I shouldn’t have played along with my friends.” He pauses. “I know I’m a dick.” He tries to get me to look at him by moving his head around, dipping low to my level.
My eyes flicker up to glance at him, then down again. I take a deep breath as anger boils inside me. I let our eyes meet.
“I’m a fuckup.” He slumps his shoulders. Looks at the ground. Then his eyes travel up me, landing on my forehead. “I like your hair. It makes you look hot.” He looks at my face. Smiles this seductive smile that catches me.
I fall into a mush pile. He’s so effing sexy, and here he is, pleading with me. Apologizing like mad. Against my better judgment, I smile. “Thanks,” I say.
“So, what do you say? Can we try again? I promise not to fuck up.” His eyes are hardcore begging, even the partially open one.
I sigh. Can’t believe I’m considering this. I nod. Let a grin slip.
He smiles back, and it lights my insides on fire, that smile of his, raging in me like an explosion. He steps close. Our eyes lock. Full on fierce, hot horniness rages in his intense stare, and I’m giving that look right back. Our mouths meet. We kiss. I decide makeup kisses are extra hot. I let his hungry lips envelop mine, his lips tugging on my upper lip. As I dive in for more, someone walking by says, “Repeat number twelve, huh? Must have been good. Twelve, twelve, twelve, twelve.” Some guy is chanting down the hallway.
Ruin the moment much, asshole?
I gasp. That one hurt. “Oh, Hunter, I just can’t do this.” Shame grips my stomach. I peel myself away from him and take a step back, my desire crushed. Hunter’s fully open eye rages, his eyebrows furrowed. Then he runs the other way after the jerk, yelling something I can’t understand. “Run” is all I can make out. Then I stop dead in my tracks. Fuck me. Brian is standing there, and from the split-second look I get at his eyes, I can tell he saw the whole damn thing. He turns and stalks off. Holy shit, I’ve screwed up so bad. Hot tears sting my eyes. Might as well Karate kick Brian in the gut, while I’m at it.
But maybe it’s a good thing he left. This way I’m not forced to see the horrible pain I’ve probably caused him, which is most likely raging in those bright-blue eyes of his. I’m convinced I’m just killing him. I turn my face hard, slowly trudge off to meet Becca.
“Confirmed he saw me and Hunter,” I say to Becca. Confirmed, because Brian doesn’t show up with the apple pie at our usual same-time, same-spot table. And it’s almost time for us to go.
“I’m sorry, love,” Becca says. Her eyes say she hurts along with me.
“Damn, Becca. I can’t do anything right.” I cover my eyes, then lay my hands flat on the table. She puts her hands on top of mine.
“I can’t wait for this day to be over.” Can’t wait for this year to be over.
At my locker, it’s odd. Someone has dragged a garbage can over, and a container of apple pie sits in it like a dead animal in a bed of crumpled-up papers, lid removed so I can see the pie with a fork stabbed in the middle of it. I’m crying, super nauseated as I drag the garbage away from my locker to the other side of the hallway. The pie’s beautiful, flaky, crispy crust looks so good, I want to dig it out of the trash and savor every bit of Brian’s friendship and hard work, but of course I don’t do that. It doesn’t help that I’ve barely eaten a thing since Christine’s pie last night. I can’t even bring myself to text Becca about the pie in the garbage. What a waste, in so many ways. I head to the nurse with complaints of a headache. She ushers me to a bed. At least here I can cry behind a curtain. Alone. Loser style.