“But don’t bet big, Dad, because you’ll surely lose.” I tried not to insult him—or at least I didn’t want to, but the words slipped out. “I mean, you may be a lot of things, but a musical maven isn’t one of them. You’re too old to play this game.” Once that last sentence came out, prickles of regret started piercing by neck. “I mean …”
“I admire your confidence, Cyrie,” Dad said, at least feigning immunity to my words. He rolled his shirtsleeves up. “But you’re in for a solid month of dishes.”
“Raise the stakes—live big, Dad.” The regret eased as he challenged me. My voice went right back to combat zone. “How about a whole fall of dishes?”
Mom clapped her hands. “Oh—that sounds good. Do that, Dan.”
My father nodded. “And on the slim chance I’m incorrect? What do I have to do?”
I thought about it. I thought about what wouldn’t be so bad that I’d feel guilty, and what would make my senior fall feel special. “Breakfast at Any Time Now, every day,” I said, knowing he’d never go for it.
“I’m not spending your future college tuition on muffins,” Dad said. “How about breakfast brought right to your door—it’ll give you extra time to sleep or primp or whatever you do in the mornings.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
We finished our dinner, and I went home to show him just how correct I was. And since the Tuesday after Labor Day, it’s been a steady tray of eggs, waffles, bagels, cereal and bananas, and even my favorite, chocolate chip pancakes. I suspect that the novelty will wear off soon and by mid-fall he’ll drop a box of Rice Krispies outside my door, but I’m enjoying my winnings so far.
Today my breakfast bounty (or cornucopia) is a bowl of fruit salad with yogurt and granola. Go health!
I spoon in a mouthful and read my emails.
Hey Chief,
Just checking in to make sure you’re really really okay after my klutzy move the other day. I think my sweatshirt’s permanently stained, but I think it gives the article of clothing character—like I play rugby or something. Anyway, I have a bunch of leads for the auction, so we should probably set up a time to meet. Are you free tonight?
Rox
Even though he signs it Rox, I respond with:
Eddie —
From a legal standpoint, you’re safe. My lawyer told me I could sue you for damages, but I won’t—I’m just that nice.
Glad to hear my injury and loss of blood has given your Weston sweatshirt its much-needed character and charm. Always glad to help.
Tonight’s fine—I’ll be working on my essays (and that lab assignment) at home after dinner, so you can come by then.
Cyrie
I press send before I can reread it too many times, checking for signs of giving away my feelings. I think it was safe enough, and hope that telling him to come over doesn’t sound too much like asking for a date. Then I remember that he was the one suggesting we get together, so I won’t worry.
It’s little things, like these emails, that make me want to tell Leyla about my old-fashioned crush on Eddie, just so I can talk to someone and get another perspective. I could tell Hanna at Any Time Now (she’s fairly removed from possible secret-spillage) or even my dad, but part of me feels like if I tell someone, all they’ll say is what I already know—that it’s just wishful thinking, and nothing more.
The first part of the day passes without much of note—except that when I have downtime in the corridors, when I’m swapping one text for another at my locker, my mind drifts to what, if anything, Leyla might be keeping from me. What could her “big secret” be, aside from making the honor roll, which (though I support her in her quest for higher brainage) I don’t think she’s pulled off quite yet. Then again, it could be something more scandalous—like the rumors her old flame Josh spread. (According to him, when Leyla was a cheerleader she was lot more interested in seeing him take off his sports uniforms
“I admire your confidence, Cyrie,” Dad said, at least feigning immunity to my words. He rolled his shirtsleeves up. “But you’re in for a solid month of dishes.”
“Raise the stakes—live big, Dad.” The regret eased as he challenged me. My voice went right back to combat zone. “How about a whole fall of dishes?”
Mom clapped her hands. “Oh—that sounds good. Do that, Dan.”
My father nodded. “And on the slim chance I’m incorrect? What do I have to do?”
I thought about it. I thought about what wouldn’t be so bad that I’d feel guilty, and what would make my senior fall feel special. “Breakfast at Any Time Now, every day,” I said, knowing he’d never go for it.
“I’m not spending your future college tuition on muffins,” Dad said. “How about breakfast brought right to your door—it’ll give you extra time to sleep or primp or whatever you do in the mornings.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
We finished our dinner, and I went home to show him just how correct I was. And since the Tuesday after Labor Day, it’s been a steady tray of eggs, waffles, bagels, cereal and bananas, and even my favorite, chocolate chip pancakes. I suspect that the novelty will wear off soon and by mid-fall he’ll drop a box of Rice Krispies outside my door, but I’m enjoying my winnings so far.
Today my breakfast bounty (or cornucopia) is a bowl of fruit salad with yogurt and granola. Go health!
I spoon in a mouthful and read my emails.
Hey Chief,
Just checking in to make sure you’re really really okay after my klutzy move the other day. I think my sweatshirt’s permanently stained, but I think it gives the article of clothing character—like I play rugby or something. Anyway, I have a bunch of leads for the auction, so we should probably set up a time to meet. Are you free tonight?
Rox
Even though he signs it Rox, I respond with:
Eddie —
From a legal standpoint, you’re safe. My lawyer told me I could sue you for damages, but I won’t—I’m just that nice.
Glad to hear my injury and loss of blood has given your Weston sweatshirt its much-needed character and charm. Always glad to help.
Tonight’s fine—I’ll be working on my essays (and that lab assignment) at home after dinner, so you can come by then.
Cyrie
I press send before I can reread it too many times, checking for signs of giving away my feelings. I think it was safe enough, and hope that telling him to come over doesn’t sound too much like asking for a date. Then I remember that he was the one suggesting we get together, so I won’t worry.
It’s little things, like these emails, that make me want to tell Leyla about my old-fashioned crush on Eddie, just so I can talk to someone and get another perspective. I could tell Hanna at Any Time Now (she’s fairly removed from possible secret-spillage) or even my dad, but part of me feels like if I tell someone, all they’ll say is what I already know—that it’s just wishful thinking, and nothing more.
The first part of the day passes without much of note—except that when I have downtime in the corridors, when I’m swapping one text for another at my locker, my mind drifts to what, if anything, Leyla might be keeping from me. What could her “big secret” be, aside from making the honor roll, which (though I support her in her quest for higher brainage) I don’t think she’s pulled off quite yet. Then again, it could be something more scandalous—like the rumors her old flame Josh spread. (According to him, when Leyla was a cheerleader she was lot more interested in seeing him take off his sports uniforms
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