For the amazing book trailer she made on the side! I just absolutely love it!! Thank you!!
Chapter 15: Sold Out Or Sell Out?
It would be easy for Marshall to kiss me at that point – what with the atmosphere and all the cheesy lines leading up to that moment – so to get things going a little bit faster, I leaned into him and stuck out my lips. To make it easier for him. To get the stupid thing over with. But I kept my eyes open so I could take in everything and lock it in my memory for future references.
Marshall doesn’t exactly react to me at first, and when he finally does, he only narrowed his eyes at me inquisitively as a smile played on his lips. “Camila,” he mumbled slowly. “What are you doing?”
I withdrew my lips, but kept my body positioned the way it was. “I’m waiting for you to kiss me,” I told him.
He laughed. “Now why would I do that?”
“Because it looked like you wanted to.”
Moving away from me so that we were standing beside each other again and not facing each other like before, Marshall grabbed the dirty mixing bowl and started eating some of the leftover cookie dough. “Remember how we had an agreement about me teaching you things? I said it’ll cost you twenty bucks an hour remember?” I nodded and he quickly continued. “Well, kisses are extra.”
“How much are we talking?”
“Ten bucks each.”
I groaned openly at him. “You’re such a sleaze! Why would I pay ten bucks to have you kiss me when the school’s having a kissing booth next week where I can get a kiss for two bucks?”
Marshall, like the good salesman that he is, tried to bring back my business with his charm. “Yes Camila, that’s true. That is definitely true! Why would you spend ten bucks on a kiss when you can get five kisses for the same price next week, but you’re missing the biggest point here!! The standard of those kisses from the kissing booth are like… Wal-Mart! Target!” He patted his own chest twice. “Me? I’m like Prada. Gucci.”
I laughed since the way he was selling himself as a product never fails to amuse me. It was like he was a prostitute, but a proud one. “I’ll think about it,” I said, turning my attention back to washing the dishes in front of me.
Marshall chuckled and swept his finger in the mixing bowl one more time before dropping it into the sink where I was giving everything a soak before loading it in the dishwasher. “I’m just playing around with you Camila.” I turned to face him and found myself staring straight into his eyes – something that I won’t bother denying has a hypnotizing effect on me. “I didn’t kiss you earlier because if I did, it wouldn’t have meant anything. I didn’t want that. But when the right moment comes, I’ll sweep you off your feet and leave you panting.” He leaned into me again, tilting my chin towards him. “I promise.”
My own lips mirrored the slightly playful grin on his face. This is the thing I like most about Marshall – how he intertwines everything together, tells me both the lies and the truth, and lets me pick for myself what I like best. What surprised me though, was that I was slowly losing grip of what’s real and what’s simply nothing more than words. When he said he was only playing around with me, which parts does he actually mean?
Marshall smirked at me – almost knowingly – before he was about to back away, and I say about because that was honestly what it looked like he was about to do if given the proper chance to. Of course, despite his happy-go-lucky personality, luck doesn’t always seem to be with him and when my dad walked abruptly into the kitchen while Marshall was holding me in that awkward about-to-kiss position – his luck dropped down to about negative infinity.
“Y- you! You scoundrel! You son of a– Let go of my daughter!!!”
Marshall backed away from me immediately – like he couldn’t get away fast enough. “No… No Mr. J! You’ve got it all wrong! It’s not what it looks like!”
My dad cracked all of his knuckles before pushing up his shirt sleeve and flexing his arm muscles for Marshall to see. “I’ve been very nice to you boy,” he spat. “Too nice in fact. You seem to have forgotten where your place is around here…”
There was a lot of screaming after, but since I wasn’t interested in the outcome of whatever the two of them were doing, I returned to the tedious job of washing my dishes. Eventually though, my dad managed to kick Marshall out and he left for bed that night after Diana left mumbling about setting up more security around the house. I had no idea what he was talking about, but Thursday after school, I came home to find some big, wooden sign posted outside our front lawn.
My dad must have posted the stupid thing up between the time I left for school and the time he had to leave for work because his car was still absent on the driveway and I don’t recall seeing something as retarded when I left the house earlier this morning. Just as the thought crossed my mind, I heard a honk and turned around to watch my dad pull up into our driveway.
“You’re home a bit early today,” I muttered.
“I’ve missed you too Mila,” he sobbed. “Come give your dad a hug and say ‘daddy, you’re home’ like you used to when you were five!”
“Creep,” I said. “I never once did that.”
My dad laughed and shrugged it off as he walked up to me. “What are you doing standing there if you’re not waiting for me to come home from work then? Ahh… Admiring your dad’s masterpiece.”
I narrowed my eyes at him before heaving a sign. “Take the sign off and take it inside dad,” I groaned. “You’re going to make us the laughing stock of the entire neighbourhood.”
“But I spent so much time on it,” he mumbled, his face turning into an expression of hurt and sadness. “I even used my best handwriting. See? Look at those curves. They’re pretty aren’t they?”
“Yes,” I said, as if I was talking to a child. “They’re very pretty, but that doesn’t change the fact that the sign says ‘Beware! All trespassers, especially those whose name starts with a Marshall, will be shot immediately. So go home! And stay away from my daughter you no good blockhead!’”
My dad pressed his lips together in deep thought and after a moment of reconsidering, only offered me a shrug. “I still think it’s a very nice sign.”
“Right. Whatever. Do what you want. It’s your house and it’s your dignity.” I stomped inside the house after with my dad still trailing after me.
“Oh don’t be so grumpy Mila,” he grumbled. “Did you have a good day at school at least?”
“Same old,” I said, and for the most part it was true minus Brooklynn’s dreadful rehearsal after school. It wasn’t so much the rehearsal that bugged me today since I was a tree and didn’t even stay for longer than 15 minutes, but the fact that I had been picked to give up my lunch tomorrow to sell cookies with Tyler and another boy from my class, James. It doesn’t matter that Mr. Hudson had randomly pulled our names out of a hat since nobody was volunteering to give up their lunch to work the cookie stand – load and behold, I was still stuck with Tyler like some sort of sick, twisted game that I can’t quit.
Brooklynn was, of course, just as pissed as I was about the results and in her almighty highness, even argued with Mr. Hudson and begged for a recall. “What are you going to do if Tyler, the star quarterback, breaks his arm?!”
“While selling cookies? Nice try Brooklynn, but I don’t think so.”
“You’ll regret this! God is going to strike you down!”
“I don’t think God’s going to bother with something so minor, but thanks for the concern.”
In the end, nothing changed, and so I headed home with a stormy cloud over my head. On the bright side, at least I was finally going to meet Austin tomorrow, and I for one, was hoping he’d turn out to be a decent human being that didn't contain the IQ of an ant.
Since I had a lot of things to prepare for, I didn’t keep my dad entertained for long and quickly did all of my homework and my daily practices before heading for the kitchen. It was a good thing I started taking lessons for acting and singing when I was a kid, and in turn, pretty much maxed everything out. Otherwise, I’d be so busy meeting up with instructors that even a single additional activity could disrupt my entire day.
Still, I was a bit pressed for time since I had to double my rehearsals from skimping out on them the day before so I won’t deny rushing the baking process a little bit. For one thing, what’s the point of sifting flour? I saw it as a complete waste of time even though Marshall had insisted upon it. So I skipped it. There was also the time required to bake the cookies, 20-25 minutes. I have no idea why nobody thought of it, but if you increase the temperature of the oven, wouldn’t the cookies bake faster? It’s simple math. All I have to do is remember that if I do something to one side, I must do it to the other: meaning if I’m going to increase the temperature, then I’m going to have to decrease the time proportional to it since the two are inversely related.
Simple. I could do this. And after a little bit of calculus in my head, it worked out to something like 7.38 minutes, give or take a couple of sig figs.
Okay. So I cheated a bit. But that doesn’t mean 7.4 minutes in the oven after, the cookies come out looking nothing like the ones Marshall made last night! “I couldn’t have gotten my numbers wrong,” I shouted. “I don’t have ninety-eight percent in calculus and a 4.0 GPA for nothing!”
“I don’t think baking works the same way math does,” my dad mumbled as he nibbled on one of the last few cookies Marshall made the night before. I threw a glare at where he was sitting in the dining room and he quickly clamped his mouth shut since he wasn’t exactly blessed in the kitchen department either.
Roaring in frustration, I grabbed the phone and screamed into Marshall’s ear 15 seconds later. “They didn’t turn out like yours damnit!!”
“Ow. Ow. Ow. My ear! What didn’t?!”
“The cookies!!”
“Okay. Calm down Camila. Are you sure you followed the instructions correctly?”
“How old do you think I am?” I taunted. “Four? Of course I did!”
“And you sift the flour?”
“Yes!”
“Are you sure?” He pressed, unconvinced.
“Yes!!” I paused. “No…”
“Oh god... Well, they couldn’t have turned out that bad.”
“They’re black on the outside and raw in the middle.” I could hear my dad laughing in the background, which only provoked me even more.
“How did that even happen?” Marshall moaned. “Are you sure you got the temperature right and everything?”
“Yes. Well… I twitched it a little but…”
“Wait. What do you mean by twitched?”
“Well I thought it might bake faster if I…”
“Oh god Camila. You can’t do that!”
“Why not?!”
“Well… actually I don’t know, but you just can’t. You’ll have to redo it.” I groaned, but didn’t complain since I knew it would come down to it sooner or later. Marshall ended up staying on the phone with me, walking me through everything as I started from the beginning, but the most frustrating part was that even after all of Marshall’s annoying lecturing and following the instructions exactly, they still came out a bit burnt. I was so mad that if my dad hadn’t gone to bed half an hour ago, I’d stomp around and break something.
“You know what, I’m sure they’re not as bad as you make them sound,” Marshall muttered on the phone before letting out a yawn. “You don’t even eat stuff like that. You just think they look horrible. Maybe they taste great?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t give up halfway and I’m not satisfied with these. Let’s start from the beginning again.”
“Camila! It’s one AM! Just go to bed. It’ll work out fine tomorrow. I’m sure of it!”
“Start from the beginning Marshall.”
“Buzzz…” He suddenly mumbled on the phone. “Oh no Camila! I’m losing connection! Buzz. Buzzzzz!!”
My jaw fell at his obvious attempt to free himself from me. “You’re not doing this to me Marshall,” I shouted.
“Buzz. Camila! Buzz. Buzz. I can’t! Buzz. Buzz. Hear! Buzz. Buzzzzzz.” Then he hung up on me.
I wanted to smash my phone into smithereens, but I couldn’t because I had to call him back. Impatiently, I waited until the phone picked up before screaming into it. “Marshall!!”
“The number you have dialled is unavailable at the current time. Please hang up and try your call…”
I hung up at that point, and though I was by myself, I continued baking until around 3 in the morning. That said, I still only ended up making two more batches of cookies. They didn’t improve much, but I made just enough to be able to pick out some of the better ones for the bake sale anyways.
The next day before lunch started, James, Tyler and I met up ten minutes before to set up tables by the cafeteria. Some of the girls from our class had made a huge sign for the cause and while Tyler stuck it up on the wall behind our spot, James and I grabbed the baked goods from the staff room where they were being stored. The cruel part of it was that some random person had decided it would be a great idea to make mini tags to display what the item was and also, the name of the person who brought the food in.
I didn’t even realize someone had been noting down everything when I brought the cookies in this morning, but there it was, my last shred of dignity. I couldn’t even pretend they weren’t mine, what with my name on it and everything.
Still, even though I was giving up my lunch hour to stand there and sell cookies, I actually really didn’t do anything. The reason could have been I was intimidating and nobody wanted to talk to me, but then again, I doubted the long line of girls waiting in front of Tyler and trying to hold his hand every time he handed them something would have come to me even if I didn’t have a permanent scowl on my face. Interesting enough, James was apparently pretty popular with the girls too, but if Tyler was rank one, and Marshall was a smidge behind with rank two, I wasn’t sure how close or how far his title was from the two.
Fifteen minutes into lunch, the two lines in front of the table just separated and shifted to the side as if they were all water and Moses was coming through – except for in this case, Moses was Brooklynn. Head held high with a couple of girls trailing behind her, she walked up and stood near the middle of the table, directly in front of Tyler before flashing him a smile. “Hi Tyler.”
“Hey…” He said awkwardly. “Are you here to buy one of my mom’s brownies?”
She pouted sadly at him, but shook her head. “As much as I love them, and your mom, I don’t want something so filling today. Um… let’s see. Instead I’ll have…” Her eyes glanced delightfully at everything until they found the tag that had my name. “That one,” she said cheerfully, pointing at one of my cookies.
Tyler hesitated and I felt his gaze resting on me before his attention shifted back to Brooklynn. “Are you sure?” He asked. “You could get something else.”
“Why would I? I want to try Camila’s cookies, is there something wrong with that? They look really golden and crispy. You know how I like my cookies with a crunch.”
Tyler tried to think of a way to deter her, but without much wit, he gave up in the end, took a dollar from her and gave her what she wanted. “Mmm… I’m really excited to try this!”
I could feel something coming on, but only glared at her from where I was standing and watched as she took the tiniest, teeniest possible nibble before her expression twisted and she spat everything out on the floor. “Ewww…” She cried loudly. “This is disgusting! How could you even sell these to people?!” Then she dropped the cookie she was holding onto the floor and with two hands, angrily pushed my entire container of cookies off the table. “Even my dog wouldn’t eat this stuff! It’s gross how you would even bring those to school. They taste like shit!”
I slammed my fist on the table. “And you would know what shit tastes like,” I snapped, “since your mouth is always filled with it.”
Brooklynn laughed, but no amount of acting classes can ever hide that she was seething inside. “What did you say?” She hissed.
“Camila!” Tyler warned, but I continued anyways.
“I said, is that why you spend so much time in the washroom? Licking up poop from the toilet bowls.”
Brooklynn’s hand swung at me, but I was surprised her hand never contacted my face. “Let go Tyler! It’s none of your business!”
His hand gripped onto her wrist. “Stop it Brooklynn! Calm down. People are watching.”
“So?!” She tried to rip her hand away from him, but failing against Tyler’s strength, she reached up and yanked a lock of my hair with the other. I clenched my teeth at the pain, but didn’t flinch or make a sound.
“Brooklynn! Stop it!”
“Let go,” I hissed. “While I’m still being civil.”
“Civil?! Aren’t you being a little full of yourself?! Just because you’re a little smart, a little pretty, and a little talented, you think you’re top dog! You’re just like your mother! And look where she’s now!”
“Brooklynn!!!!” Tyler screamed, and his voice is so loud that it’s murderous, but Brooklynn’s voice still thundered over it.
“She’s dead! That’s right! She’s f– ing dead!”
I didn’t even think. Or bothered to reply.
I just smashed my skull into her nose. As hard as I can.
Whatever.