Page 91
“Thanks,” Jase says, touched.
After we show each other a few more photos and songs, he glances at the flyer for Jian and Alondra’s movie.
It’s perfect for a date night, Jian’s words echo in my head.
A blush scorches my cheeks, and I pray the color has drained when Jase turns back to me.
“So, um,” he glances at the flyer again, and my heart leaps into my throat, “we should celebrate making up our math test.”
“Anything in mind?” I ask.
“We should ... get cookies! They ran out here, so I’m bummed.” The way Jase says this sounds forced, like this is more of an excuse than a suggestion.
I’m wavering between relieved and disappointed that he didn’t ask me to watch Jian and Alondra’s movie with him.
“Yeah, cookies sound great!” I say.
“So, we’re both sugar cookie enthusiasts.”
“And frosting enthusiasts.”
“Right, so let’s get some frosted sugar cookies.”
“Too easy, and convenient” I cock my head to the side. “Let’s make them from scratch.”
****
Jase’s house is a stark contrast from mine, minus the fact that it’s also a one-story building. Opened bags of potato chips slouch on the coffee table, the smell of Doritos and Cheetos clogging my nose with their literal cheesiness. Stains—looks like the Rivers brothers are culprits of soda-spilling—are splattered across the carpet like dry puddles. Socks are strewn all over the couches, and the two plates, both sprinkled with breadcrumbs and scrambled eggs, sit haphazardly on the dining table. Apparently, Jase and Jordan don’t clean up until their mom comes home from work. I’m tempted to clean all of this myself, but it’s their house, so it feels wrong of me to attempt.
Jase and I are baking cookies while Jordan is taking a nap.
“I’m done.” This is the third time Jase has said this.
On the third skeptical check, I confirm that, yet again, he is not done. He just wants to be done. “There are still lumps.”
“Where?”
I point low enough that my finger nearly touches the mix. Jase peers down and squints.
“And here, and here, and here.”
“I don’t see them.”
I circle my finger over each lump.
“They’re small!” Jase says.
“But they exist.”
“Does it matter?”
“Do you want uneven cookies?”
“They’ll still taste like cookies.”
“But they won’t taste as good.”
He stirs the whisk into the yolk and flour mix sloshing inside the bowl. “Can’t decide if it’s a good or bad idea baking with someone who notices little details.”
