Pizza My Heart by Rhiannon Richardson

Author:Rhiannon Richardson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.

On Monday after school, I wait for Justin at the bike rack. When I see him walk out the side door, I get a little excited. I was thinking that maybe for our next pizza lesson we could tackle the Biscuits and Gravy since that was his favorite from art club. Or, if we can gather all the ingredients, we could try making the BBQ rib pizza.

But then Waverly and a couple more kids come out behind him, all of them laughing together and passing around a basketball.

I begin to worry that they’re going to walk with us, but then the guys fall back and Waverly and Justin stop together in front of a black Volkswagen. The way Waverly laughs and runs her hands through her straight hair makes me feel small. I’d never be able to comb my fingers clean through my nappy curls; they’d get caught or make a knot. My box braids even get tangled sometimes.

Waverly has on cat eyeliner that makes her eyes seem friendly, like a girl you’d want to talk to just to get to know. Her outfits never fail to look put together: tank tops with tasteful crew necks, miniskirts, and an array of strappy sandals and chic ballerina flats. She’s not trying too hard, but at the same time simple does so much. Meanwhile, I wear boxy homemade T-shirts and jeans. I like my style, don’t get me wrong, but maybe it could be doing more for me—like make me feel cute … or something.

Clearly, I’m not the cute one. I’m not the one Justin is leaning in to hug. I’m not the one Jeffrey Doman asked to the Snowflake dance—and did, it turns out, text Sasha over the weekend. I’m just the pizza delivery girl.

“Hey,” Justin says when he closes the distance between us.

Waverly’s car pulls off, and she waves to Justin through her rolled-down window before turning the corner and disappearing in the direction we are about to head.

“Hi,” I say, trying to shake off my nerves as we fall in step beside each other.

“Good day?”

“Yeah,” I say, pretending to focus on steering my bike over the cracks in the sidewalk. “You?”

“I got a B on my history quiz,” he says.

“Cool, congrats,” I say, instantly feeling awkward and weird. We don’t do small talk. We never do small talk. We either insult each other or we just regular talk.

I worry that something’s changed, that I made things weird by asking too many personal questions on Saturday. Or maybe Sasha was wrong, and asking about Waverly has led him to believe that I have a crush on him, and now he’s being standoffish because he doesn’t know how to go about “letting me down easy.”

There’s no way he would ask me to the Snowflake dance.

“Listen,” Justin says, pulling me out of my avalanche of thoughts. I glance up at him and he’s looking at me, something intense in his eyes. “I was thinking—”

“Something you don’t do often,” I say, teasing.

Justin laughs a little but gets serious again.

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