“Care to explain this?!”
Mom turns her phone so I can see it, thrusting it at me like I’ve murdered someone and she’s found a crucial piece of incriminating evidence.
Lit up on my mom’s phone screen, however, is not a bloody murder weapon or some chart showing a perfect DNA match, but a photo of me and Jasper onstage at the New Year’s party, fireworks exploding in a rainbow curtain behind us while we kiss.
“Anything you’d like to tell us?” Mom asks.
My face crinkles in on itself as I shrug meekly.
“Surprise…”
BURNT CAKE AND RAMEN
“Hello?”I lean through Aisha’s open door and glance into her apartment.
“Come on in, dude,” she calls from the kitchen, where she’s leaning over the open oven door, waving steam away with a tea towel. Or maybe that’s smoke? I didn’t know Aisha baked.
As I step inside, Troy emerges from the bedroom wearing gym clothes, with a duffel bag strapped over his shoulder. “Is that Max?”
“Hey Troy.”
“What’s up, bro? Happy New Year.”
He holds out his hand to give me one of those complicated handshakes I’ve never been able to figure out. I copy him as best I can but end up sort of smooshing my hand against his until the inevitable fist bump brings the operation to a close.
“Sounds like you had quite the party,” he says. “Aisha told me all about it.”
“Yeah, it was definitely one for the books.” I rub the back of my neck and can feel the tip of a scratch mark. My wounds have mostly healed in the three days since New Year’s, but they were deep enough that they will probably leave a scar.
“Don’t make him relive his trauma,” Aisha says, coming to join us, holding what looks like a loaf of something cakey on a platter, only it’s so blackened it might as well have been baked on the surface of the sun. “I made banana bread!”
I force a smile. “Looks…great!”
“Damn, I wish I could hang for a bit,” Troy says. “But I was just on my way out. Great seeing you, man.”
I think he’s about to go for another handshake but instead he takes my hand and pulls me in for a cute one-handed hug. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Thanks, Troy.”
“Hey, save me a slice of that…what did you say it was?”
Aisha deadpans, “Banana bread.”
Troy eyes the burnt loaf suspiciously. “Yeah. Save me a piece of that for when I get back.” He kisses Aisha on the cheek and heads for the door, grabbing his coat on his way out. “Have fun you two.”
After the door shuts, Aisha holds up her loaf and smiles. “Want a slice?”
“It’s delicious!” I say, forking another bite into my mouth. It’s not a complete lie: with enough butter spread on top, and if I avoid the corners where the loaf is the most charred, it does actually taste like banana bread.
“It’s burnt.” Aisha drops her plate on the coffee table and flops back on the sofa.
“No, it’s…yeah, it is. What’s up?” I ask, sliding my unfinished slice onto the table as well and pulling a leg up so I can face Aisha properly.
“I’ve just been feeling weird since New Year’s,” she says, fiddling with the hem of her jeans.
I wish I didn’t have any idea why Aisha might be feeling off since the whole Clayton-attack thing, but annoyingly I have a greater insight than I would like.
“Hey, I”—I gulp-swallow and press on—“I need to tell you something.”
