Two Naomis by Olugbemisola Rhuday-Perkovich Page B

okay,” I say. “Thanks.” I smile at her. Dad looks so proud that I have to look away.
    Which isn’t hard, because I’m in a bakery! Cookies with sprinkles, black-and-white cookies, chocolate chip, oatmeal chip, five kinds of cupcakes, brownies, blondies.
    Brianna’s putting her fingers all over the display case, making marks—something I feel like I was born knowing not to do.
    â€œAre you going to have a bagel or a croissant?” Dad asks me.
    â€œWe don’t sell bagels,” the bald guy says. “Can I get you a croissant?”
    I see them in a little basket. They don’t look all buttery and delicious.
    â€œCould you tell me what’s making that smell? That, like, apple-y–cinnamon thing. Is it a crisp or a tart or—”
    â€œOur famous sunny-apple-morning muffin.”
    â€œMuffins are cake shaped like breakfast!” Brianna says.
    â€œCan I get you one?” the man asks.
    Before Brianna can start singing about a muffin man, I blurt, “Sure. A muffin sounds great.” I regret it right away. A muffin? I ordered a muffin?
    The other Naomi makes a face like I ordered stewed turtle or something.
    The man—is he Yumi?—puts the muffin on a plate, and I take it to a table with four seats. The table wobbles when I put my plate on it, so I stand to move to another but not before Valerie sits next to me. “Tell me what you thought of the club,” she says. “Did you have fun?”
    Over her shoulder, I can see the other Naomi and Brianna pointing at brownies and cookies. Desserts! And I’m eating a stupid breakfast muffin. A muffin’s better than, I don’t know, toast. But it’s definitely not cake shaped like breakfast. Which is wrong anyway, Brianna. It’s breakfast shaped like a cupcake. Why didn’t I get a cookie?
    â€œWell, I didn’t know anything about DuoTek before the class, so I definitely learned stuff. The teacher, Julie, was nice. Itwas okay, I guess.” But it wasn’t about liking or not liking the class. It was about not liking being tricked into doing it. I didn’t like that at all, and I know I have to wait until Dad and I are alone before I tell him. For now, though, I have to eat a stupid muffin. On a wobbly table.
    The tables at Morningstar don’t wobble.
    Brianna races toward the table and nearly breaks her plate when she slams it down. “I call I get to sit between the Naomis. Naomi, you sit there,” she says, pointing at her sister and then at the chair on her other side.
    The other Naomi takes a deep breath. “I will sit where I want to sit, Brianna.” Then she sneaks a look at her mom and sits in the chair Brianna is pointing at.
    â€œWant anything, Val?” Dad calls from the counter. “Maybe split a doughnut?”
    Who splits doughnuts? Dad could eat three doughnuts in one sitting, easy.
    Valerie has the same idea. “Why split? Let’s get two and share.”
    He comes to the table with one chocolate doughnut and one jelly. Valerie stands and offers Dad her seat.
    â€œVal, please sit,” Dad says. “I’m happy to stand.”
    â€œSo am I,” she says.
    Neither of them sits.
    â€œWhat did you get?” I ask the other Naomi.
    â€œI got a butterscotch cookie,” Brianna says.
    â€œShe was talking to me,” the other Naomi says, but she says it in a calm voice. One that sounds used to an interrupting littlekid. “I was going to get caramel cake. But this place doesn’t have that, so I got a triple-chocolate cookie.”
    â€œTriple?” I say. “What’s the third?”
    Brianna starts singing something about triple being the most chocolate. Naomi talks over her. “There’s the cookie, the chips, and then there’s chocolate frosting on top. Want to try it?”
    I shake my head.
    We’re all quiet. I pull the top off my stupid muffin and eat it, trying not to think