Who's That Girl by Blair Thornburgh

Author:Blair Thornburgh
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2017-05-31T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The mood at Tuesday’s bake sale was decidedly grim. Tess was silently chiseling oat bars out of a Pyrex, Tall Zach was jiggling his leg under the table, Zach the Anarchist was doodling in his math textbook, and the cafeteria was beginning to drain of potential customers. And me? I was . . . waiting. Watching. I’d been so worked up about the whole thing that I’d last-minute canceled on Zach the Anarchist the day before, leaving him alone to bake and struggle with his Latin and me to listen to Sam Huang play guitar, presumably with proper wrist technique, and stew in my own freaked-out-ness.

Coming to school didn’t help things, either. Maybe it was just because I spent my time with a small, semi-insular group of weirdos, or maybe it was because the Wister Prep cafeteria was a miserable place for people-watching, but today it felt mobbed. Had there always been this many people at our school?

“Nobody’s going to buy these.” Tess flung the plastic knife she’d been futilely sawing with onto the congealed mass of oat bars. “Our stuff is gross. We need to make a billion dollars, and our product looks like dog food.”

“Not all of it is gross.” Tall Zach primped the waxed paper around his fruity treats. “I already sold one of these to a guy today.”

“Was that guy . . . you?” Zach the Anarchist asked.

Tall Zach said nothing, but brushed at his mouth as a clot of semipopular upperclasspeople squeezed past us—girls and a couple skinny polo-shirt dudes I recognized as cross-country captians from last year’s Wister Wemembers. Tall Zach threw them a nod of greeting, which they returned—without stopping to make a purchase, of course—but I just stared, laser-focused as they trailed out together. Had anyone in this cafeteria—besides Tall Zach and Tess—heard the song? Did any of them follow Sebastian on Pixstagram? Did any of their parents for some reason still get home delivery of the Wister Register and happen to have spotted the ad? I wiped a clammy palm on the front of my jeans. So far I’d been assuming that no one would ever put together that “Natalie” of the song could possibly be me, because besides Tess, no one knew about the Face-Touching Incident. Incidents, plural. But with the news of the album very much out there, maybe, terrifyingly, someone would put two and two together.

“Still. These chia-oat-goji bars, or whatever, that the Cruelty-Free twins dropped off?” Tess glowered at the pan. “I’d pay you not to have to eat this. No wonder we’re not getting any business.”

She picked the knife back up and stabbed it right into the heart of the pan.

“Guys?” Tall Zach ripped a little square of waxed paper from his box of fruity treats. “Do you ever think that maybe it’s not the oat bars?”

“Whatcha mean?” I asked, and dropped a dollar into the cashbox, because the fruity treats were calling to me. And then, for the billionth time that day, I checked my phone.

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