Prank List (13 page)

Before Chef Ryan announces the winners, he makes a long speech to the TV audience about how happy he is that everyone came and how great our class has been. I want to laugh, remembering how miserable he seemed most of the time.

Then again, he looks genuinely proud of us today. Maybe we've turned out better than he expected.

But suddenly, I stop listening to his speech because I spot someone peeking into the doorway of the kitchen. It's Evan. And if I'm not hallucinating, he's holding a guitar.

What the Shrek?

When he sees me looking at him, he ducks behind the door frame and disappears.

As Chef Ryan marches down the line of desserts and comments on each one for the camera, my mind is racing. Does this mean Evan isn't furious with me anymore? Or did he finally find a way to get over his fear of playing in front of people? I doubt he's wandering around with a guitar for no reason.

Finally, Chef Ryan clears his throat and says: “And the results are in!”

I close my eyes.

“In third place is…Adam Whitney!”

My eyes fly open. I glance over at Whit who does his best to smile, but I can tell he's disappointed. I can't say I blame him. Okay, so he's pretty full of himself when it comes to baking, but then again, I have been, too.

“In second place is…Rachel Lee!”

I realize that I'm not surprised about losing, not at all, not after seeing Mr. Leroy's dessert. And weirder still, I'm not even all that upset. All along, I've been determined to beat Whit to prove to him (and maybe to myself) that I'm good enough to be here. But Mr. Leroy has worked hard all summer. If anyone deserves to win, it's him.

“And that means our winner is…Gordon Leroy!”

Mr. Leroy steps forward, his eyes shining behind his thick glasses, and accepts his prize: fifty dollars and a gift certificate for more cooking classes. When he glances over at me, he looks completely overwhelmed. I reach out and squeeze his hand.

“Your wife would be really proud of you,” I say.

Mr. Leroy nods, clearly too emotional to say anything. And that's when something hits me, like lightning zapping my brain. What if I'd just asked Evan about our relationship all those weeks ago? What if I'd come out and told him I wanted him to be my boyfriend? What if I hadn't let my stupid paranoia about us totally paralyze me and I'd been up front with him about how I feel?

Before I realize what I'm doing, I go up to Chef Ryan and whisper, “Can I borrow this for a second?” Then, not giving him time to object, I pull the microphone out of his hand and go to stand in front of the nearest camera. Clearly, I've seen too many movies where people do big, romantic gestures in public.

I'm shaking from head to toe, but it has nothing to do with the audience that I know is watching. All I care about is that Evan is out there and that he might still feel the same way about me that I feel about him.

“Um, hi,” I say. “Um.” I swallow what feels like a hairball in my throat. “Evan? Evan Riley? If you're watching, which I think you are because I think I just saw you? If you're watching, I have to tell you that I, um…I'm sorry. I should have told you how I felt from the beginning. I'm sorry I messed everything up. I swear that I don't like anyone else. Why would I? I mean, you're perfect for me. You're like my…” My brain stalls for a second. “My penguin.”

Oh my goldfish. Is “penguin” the only word my brain can ever come up with?

I hold the microphone for a minute longer, not sure what else to say. “Sincerely, Rachel Lee,” I finally mumble, because apparently my brain is full of not only penguins but also letter-writing tips. I hurry to give Chef Ryan the mic back before my brain decides to spout my bra size or something.

If this was a movie, Evan would come running into the kitchen and sweep me into a kiss. But, of course, this is my non-Hollywood life, so nothing happens. Chef Ryan thanks everyone for coming and tells them to stay tuned for the fashion show, which will start in fifteen minutes. Then he thanks the businesses that helped sponsor the event, including—sure enough—Ladybug Cleaners.

When I hear the name, I feel deflated all over again. How can I ever make things right with Whit and his sister and the other Ladybugs?

Once the cameras are shut off, Chef Ryan hands me my second-place prize, which is a gift certificate for another class at the bakery.

I stare at it for a moment. “Are you sure you want me to come back?”

He smiles. “If you keep baking like you did today, I might even let you teach a class.”

Then he hurries off toward the back office, probably worn out from having to be nice to so many people. But his words leave a warm, gooey feeling in my chest. Maybe I haven't been kidding myself all this time after all.

•••

As the camera people start moving their stuff to set up for the fashion show outside, I spot Lillian and a couple other Ladybugs coming into the kitchen carrying cleaning supplies. I guess they're going to take care of the mess we made while we were baking.

As Lillian gives Whit an I'm-proud-of-you hug, I head toward them, knowing I need to apologize.

“Congrats,” he says when he spots me. “Your dessert was way better than mine.”

“Thanks,” I say. “I'm glad Mr. Leroy won, though.”

Whit nods. “Yeah, I guess I am, too.”

I look back and forth between Whit and Lillian. Saying I'm sorry has never been my thing, but considering how many times I've had to do it in the past few months, I'm starting to be a pro.

“So I owe you both a huge apology. I was the one who poured that stuff all over your vans. I'm so, so, so sorry. I'll pay for any damages. I promise.”

Lillian looks surprised, but she nods slowly.

“And I'm sorry about your dad's jacket,” I tell Whit, “and about all the other stupid stuff I did. I was convinced you guys were out to get me and my mom, but it turns out that someone else was messing with me. I'm sorry I blamed you. I'll take down all the bad reviews I posted online. And if I can help you get the jacket fixed, I will.”

Lillian and Whit exchange a look. “Thank you,” she says finally. “I appreciate your offer.”

“If it makes any difference,” I add, “I had nothing to do with that necklace being stolen.”

Lillian looks suddenly embarrassed. “I know. I overheard your conversation with Angela before the Bake-Off. I apologize for eavesdropping, but more than that, I apologize for ever repeating that rumor in the first place. If it helps, I'll make sure to tell everyone that you had nothing to do with the thefts. Maybe then we can safely put all this behind us?”

I nod eagerly. “That would be great.” Maybe my mom won't ever have to know about the whole stupid prank war.

“One more thing,” Whit says, peering down at his shoes. “I'm the one who posted those reviews about you. My sister wouldn't do it, so I…” He clears his throat. “I'll take them down, I promise. It was stupid of me to even…”

He doesn't finish, but he doesn't need to. I totally understand.

“It's okay.” I want to add that we're even, but I know we're definitely not. I turn back to Lillian. “I can come work off some of the money I owe you, if you want. I remember you said you wanted more time to spend with your kids.”

She sighs and puts her arm around Whit. “I think we've decided to cut down on the clients we have around here. I thought expanding into neighboring towns would help business, but it turns out it's too much for us to handle.”

“Really?” I should be glad since that means Mom and I might have more work again, but I feel bad that they're retreating because of all the trouble I caused them.

Whit shrugs and says, “We gave it a shot, right?” And I must admit that in that moment, I don't hate him at all.

Lillian gives me a warm smile and then heads off to start cleaning.

“I still feel bad about your jacket,” I tell Whit. “I want to make it up to you somehow.”

His face brightens. “I have an idea. How about you show me how to make your chocolate glaze. Mine came out gross.”

“Deal.” I stick out my hand to shake on it, but Whit's looking past me at something.

I turn and spot Evan standing in the doorway. Of course, he had to come in during the one minute that Whit and I are actually getting along.

“Sorry,” I tell Whit. “I, um, have to—”

“I totally understand,” he says. “Go get your penguin.”

“Hey,” I say to my penguin.

“Hey,” he says.

We stare at each other for way longer than is comfortable, even for penguins.

“So, um, did you decide to play?” I finally ask. “I thought I saw you with your guitar.”

“Oh, yeah. I'm supposed to do a couple songs during the fashion show. I realized I was being a total wimp. I mean, if you can bake in front of a bunch of people even though it scares you, and if you can get up and model aprons after that, then I don't have an excuse.”

I groan. “I totally forgot about the fashion show.” I can hear music echoing from outside. No doubt Marisol will come get me any second and throw an apron on me, which means that I need to say what I'm going to say now, before I run out of time. “So, um…I meant what I said,” I blurt out. “Not about the penguin part because that doesn't make any sense, but—”

“Actually, it kind of does. Once a penguin finds its perfect other penguin, they stay together pretty much forever.”

I blink at him. “Really?”

Evan nods. “Yeah. I remember reading that somewhere.”

“Oh.” Maybe my brain isn't totally useless after all, because that is exactly how I feel about him.

“So, you really aren't into Whit?” he asks.

“No, not at all. I'm into you.”

Evan's face lights up, and in that moment I can see that he never stopped liking me. So I do something I never, ever, ever thought I would
ever
do. I lean in and I kiss him.

Okay, it's only on the cheek. But hey, baby steps, right?

Even brushing my lips against his cheek is enough to make my whole body tingle.

When I step back, he's grinning back at me like he just won the lottery. I'm totally speechless but in a good way, for once.

Of course Marisol chooses that moment to come rushing up to me.

“There you are!” she says, throwing an apron over my neck. I can tell she's trying to ignore the fact that Evan and I are obviously back together, but her grin tells me she's as happy as I am.

“You guys have five minutes before you're both on, okay?” she says. “And thanks again for coming, Evan. We can really use the help. I mean, Andrew's doing the best he can, but…” She rolls her eyes as “Monster Mash” starts playing outside, but I can tell she's thrilled to have her own penguin back in town.

She waggles her eyebrows at me and then rushes off to wrangle Whit into his apron.

Evan takes my hand and walks me to where the other models are lining up. I can feel him shaking, which means he's as nervous as I am.

“You'll be great,” I tell him.

He smiles. “You too.”

As he goes to take his position at the edge of the stage, I notice Andrew Ivanoff in the back of the crowd, wearing headphones and DJing the event. He looks totally stressed out. His entire head is so pink that it reminds me of a watermelon. It's definitely a good thing Evan came, for lots of reasons.

I also spot Evan's three friends from the other night sitting in the audience. Yesterday, I would have been mortified at the sight of them, but today I feel okay. Yes, I almost poisoned them, but it was an accident. And now that I know for sure that I'm a good chef, I'll have to ask Evan to set up another time for all of us to hang out so I can wow them with a non-soapy recipe.

Marisol comes up and welcomes everyone, and the fashion show starts. Then Evan plays a few chords. His eyes are closed and he looks so pale that his skin is actually kind of bluish. But he keeps strumming on the guitar, and after a second, he starts singing. His voice is soft but clear, and the song starts to get faster and faster so that it has a strong beat for us to walk to.

As Ms. Gomez sashays across the stage in a pink apron, I'm barely thinking about having to strut my stuff in front of everyone. I'm too busy beaming with pride at how great Evan sounds, especially when he seems to get more comfortable and his voice grows louder. After a minute, he even opens his eyes and glances out at the audience.

Whit heads out on the stage in his apron, and I take a deep breath, knowing I'm next. But as I peer out at the crowd, I spot my mom and Mr. Hammond sitting in the front row. And beside them is…my dad?

I stumble back, and my eyes blur like they can't process what they're seeing. But before I can react, someone taps me on the shoulder and whispers, “You're on.”

My brain is still swimming as I step out onto the stage, keeping my eyes on my dad. What is he doing here? Why didn't he tell me he was coming? Did Mom know he was going to be here? Is he staying for good? Is he—

Suddenly, I realize I'm not on stage anymore. Miraculously, I made it across without wiping out or embarrassing myself. I was so busy obsessing about my dad being here that I barely even noticed my legs moving. So much for my big modeling debut. I sleepwalked right through it.

I stand on the other side of the stage, half listening to Evan playing and half watching my dad enjoying the show. I'm so excited to hug him that my body actually aches.

Finally, the fashion show is over and Evan finishes his second song. The crowd goes nutso. Everyone cheers when Marisol comes out to take a bow, and they cheer again when she points to Evan and he gives a little bob of his head.

I'm so happy for both of them that my chest feels like it's about to burst. Even Chef Ryan is grinning like crazy. I guess that means the event was a huge success.

When it's finally over, everyone starts milling around and chatting. I give Evan a huge hug and tell him how great he did.

“Thanks to you,” he says.

“Me?”

“I was about to give up and run off the stage, but then I heard this voice in the back of my head, telling me I was doing fine. It sounded just like you.”

I gawk at him. “I…I heard you in my head, too, during the Bake-Off. Do you think we're psychically connected or something?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Either way, I think we have each other to thank for rocking it.” He grins. “You looked like a real model out there!”

I roll my eyes, unbelievably relieved it's over.

The whole time I'm talking to him, my eyes keep wandering to where my dad is talking to my mom and Mr. Hammond. Evan must notice that I'm distracted because he asks: “Is that your dad?”

I nod. “He must have just flown up. I had no idea he was going to be here.”

“Then go see him!” says Evan. “But after that, make sure to come back so my friends can say congrats. They can't believe they ate soap cookies made by someone famous.”

I give him another hug and then I rush off the stage toward my dad, who's waiting for me with his arms wide open.