Marshmallow Masquerade by Cynthia Blair

Author:Cynthia Blair [Blair, Cynthia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Young Adult Fiction
Publisher: Belgrave House
Published: 1987-08-31T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

As Chris followed Scott up the narrow path that led to the front door of the Stevenses’ house later on that same afternoon, she was still feeling a bit overwhelmed by all that she was finding out simply by pretending to be Charlie Pratt. Even so, she was more enthusiastic than ever about the Marshmallow Masquerade. Why, here it was only Tuesday, yet she already felt as if she were the world’s foremost expert on teenage boys!

And now she was on the verge of embarking upon still one more phase of this adventure. She was about to see where Scott lived, how he acted at home, and how he treated his friends. His male friends.

“Thanks for inviting me over, Scott,” Chris-as-Charlie said as she stepped inside and looked around. It was a nice house, quite simple, but made comfortable and warm by numerous small touches. There was a vase of fresh flowers on the coffee table in the living room, and the smell of freshly baked cookies was in the air. The dining room table was already set for dinner. Everything was neat and clean, from the shining wooden floors to the plumped-up pillows on the couch to the highly polished furniture. Chris could tell that a lot of work—and love—had gone into making this place a real home.

“Anybody here?” Scott called as he walked in, depositing his schoolbooks and jacket on the nearest table.

His mother immediately came in from the kitchen. “Hello, dear. Oh, I see you’ve brought a friend home with you. How nice!”

“Mom, this is Charlie Pratt. He’s the cousin of some girls I know at school. He’s visiting from Chicago, just for the week.”

“Hello, Mrs. Stevens,” Chris-as-Charlie said politely. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, too, Charlie. Would you boys like a snack? I just baked some cookies—”

“What kind?” Scott interrupted her.

“Chocolate chip.”

“Aw, Mom, not again! You always make that kind!” Scott, Chris was astonished to see, was practically pouting.

“I’d love a cookie, Mrs. Stevens,” Charlie ventured. “My mother hardly ever finds the time to bake.”

She was about to add, “My sister and I love to whip up a batch of cookies or a cake on a rainy Saturday afternoon,” but stopped herself. She had forgotten, for a moment, who she was supposed to be. And while a comment like that would have passed virtually unnoticed if Chris said it, having Charlie, a seventeen-year-old boy, say the exact same thing was practically guaranteed to attract a lot of attention.

“Are Paul and Ted home yet?” asked Scott as he headed for the kitchen. “They’re my younger brothers,” he explained to Charlie.

“I just picked them up at the junior high. Paul had a Boy Scout meeting to go to, and so I dropped Ted off in the same neighborhood, at his friend Larry’s house. Oh, I also picked up your suit at the dry cleaners, Scott.”

Mrs. Stevens accompanied her son and his guest into the kitchen. Even though it was apparent from the pile

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