CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

eye for an eye

sneaking out was either going to go like a heist film or a horror film. i realized this as i spun around in my chair on a continuous loop, my fingers starting to hurt from the repeated crash of them on my desk as accelerators. i knew i had to hit the brakes sooner or later, though. it was nearing four o'clock and getting dizzy was counteractive for formulating a plan, so i jumped up and regained balance.

then, like in the movies, i paced the room back and forth in a straight line. the cliche method proved efficient. within minutes, i was certain that i would be telling mom and dad i need to apologize to aunt lauren. if my excuse for morally wrong actions involves something morally right, there was no chance they could deny me.

at four thirty, i ventured downstairs and fibbed that i was starving and desperately needed an early dinner. they bought it like it was ninety percent off. dad told me it was leftovers night, so i could help myself. i played my part and made my way into the kitchen, where day-old thai food was awaiting me. my stomach hadn't growled once since lunch at school, but i dug in, telling myself that the fuller i was, the less tempted i would be to snatch some cupcakes.

ten minutes later, the tupperware was empty and i found my parents again for more lies. "hey, so i've been feeling pretty guilty about the situation back at aunt lauren's, and jordyn said she's still mad at me, so i think it would benefit us both if i went over to apologize."

"sure," said dad. one simple word and i felt the weight of a million atmospheres evaporate.

since my plan was less of sneaking out and more straight out lying, i didn't have to construct a body-shaped mound of pillows in my bed. i could just walk out and say i got caught up doing chores with jordyn or something. i knew the guilt would actually end up costing me, but i was listening to mom. she told me to be young and stupid.

"see you later," i said at five to five, turning the door handle. to the naked eye, all i had on was a jacket and a guilty conscience. but in my pockets was three dozen cupcake liners, red and black to match the theme we chose for the posters.

as i made my way to the address that walker told me in the library that morning, i felt so dangerous possessing a celebrity's private information. i had his exact location of residence, his phone number, his trust. not many people got to have that. sometimes, ignorance is bliss.

the walk to walker's was very walkable. all this time i'd been living ten minutes away from this guy. his house looked like any other on the street, too. shingled roof, horizontal panels, and brown bricks to spice things up. oh, and some hedges! rocks of varying jagged shapes guided me to the door, which i knocked rapidly. i had no fear, only eagerness. walker said he'd be home alone.

he opened the door not a second later. "y/n! you made it!"

"i did! and i brought cupcake liners." once he let me in and guided me to the kitchen, i set them down on the counter.

"thanks, i completely forgot about those," said walker. he ran his hand along the edge of the surface where all the ingredients were displayed like a buffet. "i got everything else, but i knew something was missing."

"how long do we have? before your family is back?"

he rolled up the sleeves of his black hoodie. "we have three hours. if we don't get done before then, they'll mysteriously be gone by monday ( my brother will eat them all )."

we got to work. well, he did. i wasn't very prepared. i knew i would be ready, though, if i looked ready. i slipped off my jacket and draped it over the dining table right outside the kitchen. then i copied him and rolled up my sleeves as i reentered the room, which i noticed now had the inviting smell of a preheated oven.

i stood directly next to walker, who was already mixing the dry ingredients in a bowl. flour and sugar were all over the counter, the bowl's tin outside rattling against it. he was trying to do this with one hand, the other fiddling with the mini speaker in the corner of the counter. he was just about to add baking powder to his cauldron when i put my hand on his. "i'll do this, you do whatever you're trying to do."

"i'm trying to play some music. are you a jazz fan?"

my heart may as well been inside the oven because it melted to three hundred fifty degrees fahrenheit ( one hundred eighty degrees celsius ). a jazz fan? that i'm baking with? and he's so cute? and he's so sweet and i just want to kiss him?

"is that mesmerized look a 'yes'?" he laughed.

"yes!" it was difficult for me to do any better with the baking powder because i was sent into an enamored daze.

with his two hands, he managed to click some buttons and connect his phone to the speaker. instrumental music poured out and filled my ears. it was smooth and pleasant, so romantic.

after a while of listening, the jazz turned into background music when walker asked me, "so how'd you sneak out?"

"i lied i was going to my aunt's to apologize," i told him.

he chuckled. "brutal. what do you plan on doing when your parents reference this with her in the future," he said, adding the liners to the pan, "or they ask her if you actually did that, though? i don't know, maybe it's a little risky of an excuse."

i pondered the issue as i finished up stirring the dry ingredients. there was always the possibility of my parents making it seem like they believed me only to verify my intentions later. "you're probably right. i'm probably screwed."

"don't worry, i got you. once the cupcakes are ready, we can spare one and you can bring it over to your aunt as an apology gift, so to speak."

"that's a plan!"

by the time we were done combining the two bowls, walker's hoodie was no longer black but dusted in flour. "it feels great to have a clean shirt," i taunted. "you look like you murdered a cocaine dealer."

"how'd you know i did that?" he played along.

"i know all your darkest secrets."

"oh really? tell me who i secretly admire."

"it's not much of a secret. you're obsessed with walker holmes," i said.

"you got me!" he joked, but his face quickly shifted to sternness as we began pouring the batter in the liners.

once every liner was filled appropriately, i opened the oven door. he slipped on a mitt, placed the pan inside, and the twenty minute wait commenced. i sat down in front of the glass and hugged my knees, observing the cupcakes.

walker joined me, crossing his legs on the tile. i really wanted to put my head on his shoulder. it was like the classic song by paul anka was possessing me. the timing was ideal with him being so near, the jazz music and the warmth emitting from the oven. but i knew that would be too presumptuous.

"i think they're gonna turn out great," he said.

"me too. the only thing we forgot to add to the recipe was the magic potion to make my aunt forget about what i did, but the frosting will probably do the trick."

"the vanilla is really good." he reached up to the counter and grabbed the red and white frosting container.

"i'll be the judge of that," i said, my sweet tooth overpowering my prior oath.

he handed me the can. then he snidely asked, "need me to open it for you?"

"very funny." i knew walker was referencing the gatorade. that little rascal. as lighthearted revenge, once i ( easily ) got it open, i took a spoon and dipped it in the icing. "you know, i need some practice decorating the cupcakes!"

his face went from suspicious to confused, to horrified when i smeared it all over his nose. i burst out laughing as he speechlessly felt for it and got some on his finger. "you did not just do that."

my laughter escalated once he licked it off, but completely ceased after what he did next. he stood up and got the bag of flour that was left out and tilted it menacingly. "don't you dare," i said, playfully pointing up at him.

he was smiling as he tilted it further nonetheless, so it was obvious he was just kidding around, but i didn't find it funny when almost the entire supply of flour flooded out of the bag and onto me.

i sat there frozen for a moment. my eyes were shut, but i knew i now looked like a furious old lady, with newly gray hair and even grayer smoke fuming out of my ears. and it wasn't just on my hair. the powder was all over my shirt and jeans, and my face too. i looked like i took baking my makeup too seriously.

"oh my god. i didn't mean to pour out that much," he said through the hand over his mouth.

"how-- what-- okay." some powder was spewed off my lips as i spoke. i had to laugh, just imagining how ridiculous i looked.

walker took me laughing as an invitation for him to laugh as well. "i'm sorry."

i sighed a powdery sigh. "you're good. i just don't know how the hell i'm gonna go to my aunt's looking like a baker's fetish?" i whined.

"you can use my shower, borrow my hoodie, whatever you'd like," he offered. "it's the least i could do." i opened my eyes and smiled because he looked so desperate but goofy with the frosting still on his nose.

"that would be great!" i got to my feet, leaving behind the faint impression of where i sat in the circle of flour.



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thank you for reading chapter 27!