The Secret Recipe for Moving On by Karen Bischer (ebook reader for manga txt) 📕

“Don’t sweat it. It was kind of cute.”

It’s like everything stops as the word “cute” hangs in the air. What did he mean by that? That the situation was cute? That I was cute? His ears are suddenly red and he goes on with, “And now here we are enjoying a football game together.”

“Amazing what a difference seven weeks makes,” I say, though I’m still stuck on the cute thing.

“Indeed,” Luke says. We’re kind of staring at each other and then we both seem to realize this and look away at the same time. We’re sitting with our hands resting on the bleacher, and if this was a TV show, and Luke was single, and I was interested in him, this would be the moment one of us reached over to take the other’s hand. Instead, we both stare straight ahead and watch the band exit as the cheerleaders take the field.

“So much junk food, so little time,” Jodie says, coming back with two Cokes and a bag of M&Ms. When she sits down, she shoves me, pushing me closer to Luke.

I shoot her a “seriously?” look, but she just bats her eyelashes. Luke can’t slide over any farther because he’s on the end, so now we’re practically sitting shoulder to shoulder. It’s extremely hard to put the cute comment out of my mind when we’re in this position.

Thankfully, the football teams return to the field, and the RHHS team is visibly psyched up. The players sprint out, jumping and punching at the air. I see Rashad and a bunch of other players motioning for the crowd to get louder, and the roar that ensues gives me chills.

The game is really tight after that, but in the fourth quarter, Ringvale Heights manages to score a touchdown, putting them ahead 20–17. There are only three minutes left in the game, and that’s when the rain starts.

“Uh-oh,” Jodie says, noting the giant drops that are plopping on our ponchos. Umbrellas start popping up, and Luke raises his. “You guys want to get under?”

“Ooh la la. What will people think?” Jodie says.

“That I’m a very smart man who figured out how to get two lovely ladies close to me,” Luke says, laughing. “Or that we’re staying dry.”

I’m more worried about what Greta would think, but the rain is starting to splatter on my glasses, so I scoot as close to Luke as possible. And Jodie scoots closer to me, which makes my right arm smash into Luke’s left arm. Since he’s holding the umbrella with his left hand, I can feel the muscles flexed under his long-sleeved shirt. A heat suddenly surges through my right side and I pray he can’t feel it.

The rain starts falling in sheets then and the field is muddy in a matter of moments. No one in the crowd leaves, and as the rain falls harder, it just makes everyone louder. It’s kind of awesome.

With about a minute left in the game, Lawndale gets very close to the RHHS end zone. At this point, everyone’s standing and yelling and looking like drowned rats, but no one seems to care. Even Mrs. Gillroy and her husband are on their feet, drenched and screaming.

As the seconds are counting down, Lawndale has one last chance to score—they are now on the five-yard line. I wonder if the winds, now blowing the rain under Luke’s umbrella, can somehow hold them back. There’s an electricity coursing through the bleachers and everyone is screaming and I don’t want to think about what might happen if this moment ends badly.

The Lawndale quarterback reaches back to throw and I see his target, this guy who is wide open in the end zone. This is it, I think, this is where we lose the game and have to leave dejected and soaking wet in the rain. But out of nowhere, just as the quarterback releases the ball, Rashad comes flying around, jumps up, and swats the ball down, just as the last second ticks off the clock.

The crowd leaps up as one and it seems like thousands of arms are flailing in the air. It’s a wave of humanity and umbrellas.

“Rashad!” I scream, jumping in place. “Ohmygod!”

Luke is jumping too, and bellowing “Yeah!” in a way that makes him seem really dude-like. Jodie and the old guy behind her are high-fiving the bejesus out of each other. It’s total mayhem in the bleachers with everyone celebrating. It’s amazing. I’m soaking wet, I can barely see out of my fogged-up glasses, and yet this is the most thrilling thing I’ve ever been a part of.

Rashad was right. I should’ve done this a whole lot sooner.

“That was so much fun,” Jodie says for the fourth or fifth time as we shrug off our ponchos in my bathroom. “Never in a million years did I think I’d be that into a football game for a school I don’t even go to.”

“We can totally go to another one, if you want.”

“I’m in. Especially if Luke is there to be my love guru again,” she says.

I feel my face grow hot at Luke’s name, so I throw a towel at Jodie before I start peeling my socks off. They are so wet, they are stuck to my feet like a second skin. It’s kind of funny that the game was so intense, I’d forgotten about my hatred for wet shoes and socks until this moment.

Jodie snaps her fingers. “I just realized who he looks like. That old picture of Almanzo Wilder you drew in fifth grade. For that Little House book report Mr. Irwin made you do!”

“Huh?”

“Stop feigning ignorance, Mary Ellen,” Jodie says. “That thing hung on your wall for like four years.”

“Because it was the best thing I’ve ever drawn,” I say, hating the defensiveness that’s creeping into my voice.

“No, it’s because you deep down had a crush on the book version of him. And when you found out what he