Pumpkin Spice & Everything Nice by Katie Cicatelli-Kuc

Author:Katie Cicatelli-Kuc
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.

My baking lesson with Jack replays in my head all morning at school the next day. The warmth I felt from his body when I did dishes with him. The little jolts of electricity I felt when our hands touched. The goofy way he sang to the cream. Even the way he interacted with Pancakes.

And then I think about his advice about somehow turning my pumpkin pie into a pumpkin spice latte, like it’s just that easy. The way he said he cared about me. But then also, how completely complicated and confusing my life has been since he entered it. How his parents’ business decision is affecting my mom’s business, and my mom. Can I really trust anything Jack Harper says or does? Can I trust anything about Jack Harper at all?

I’m so distracted that Ms. Goldsmith has to repeat her question about quadratic equations to me three times before I even hear her. When I finally give her my answer, it’s wrong.

I’m the first one at our lunch table. Amber joins a few seconds later, slightly out of breath. “I know we should wait for Evie to get here, but you didn’t respond to my texts last night and I’m dying to know! How was it?” she says quickly, trying to catch her breath.

But then she looks at me closely, and says, “Oh no, what happened?”

And I want to tell her I hate Jack Harper again, but I’m not sure if I do, and everything is so confusing, and then Evie is at the table, too, staring at me, and it’s all too much.

“Can we not talk about it, please?” I plead.

“Talk about what?” Evie asks.

Amber says, “Oh, yeah, let’s definitely not talk about Spanish class today. I heard there was an awful quiz?”

Evie says, “Yeah, pretty brutal.”

Amber is still watching me as she says, “Thanks for the tip! I have Spanish after lunch!” She takes out her textbook and starts flipping through the book, then takes out her notebook, and we all spend the rest of lunch conjugating verbs. None of us says a peep about Jack Harper. Not even when he waves at me from his lunch table and I don’t wave back.

In English class, I pretend that Jack Harper never existed. It’s annoyingly hard to do, especially because he keeps trying to catch my eye. Not that I’m looking in his direction at all. Not that I’m noticing him or his existence at all.

I’m distracted at Cup o’ Jo, too, and mix up two customers’ orders. It’s a mistake that might happen on a busy day, but it’s not a busy day. It’s another slow day.

Finally, during a particularly long lull between customers, my mom joins me at the registers and asks, “Are you okay?”

Danielle is wiping down the counters for the millionth time, and Sheva went home since we’ve been so quiet.

“I’m … I …” I don’t know what I am anymore. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be fine in a few minutes? Hours? Days? What

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