It Had to Be You Page 5

  Caitlyn had found a pink linen dress that came with a matching jacket that tied with a pink ribbon, a pair of flared jeans, a turquoise blazer, a fake camel-hair skirt, a black pleated skirt, and a silk-and-lace camisole top. (I knew my dad would never let me wear a top like that. Maybe when I was sixteen. But not at fourteen! I had a feeling Caitlyn would be returning the top to the store. Or at least giving it to her older sister, Tess, who would be a senior, once her father saw it. I told her not to buy it, but she wouldn’t listen.)

  As for the shoes…

  The one thing House of Fashion is known for are their cheap shoes. Yes, cheap. But sturdy! Their shoes always last. They’re designer knockoffs that look like the real thing, and from poring over the pages of Vogue, I know the real thing.

  Until the day comes that I can afford a real pair of Jimmy Choos or Manolo Blahniks (yes, I also watch Sex and the City, but the edited version that’s badly dubbed and makes me wonder what Carrie and her girlfriends originally said), H.O.F. will have to do.

  Caitlyn and I were both in heaven! I found a pair of red-and-white polka dot kitten heels, yellow gingham ankle straps (which would have been so perfect with the yellow top from the window!), and light-green crystal-studded slides. Caitlyn found a pair of wedges decorated with ladybugs, striped cotton slides, and flats with a garden print. Neither one of us felt like buying any “practical” shoes.

  “I don’t think I can carry anything else,” Caitlyn said as we headed in the direction of the cash registers at the back of the store.

  “I can!” I exclaimed as I spotted my blouse from the window hanging on a rack with other abandoned clothing.

  I quickly snatched it up and checked the size. It was a small. Yes! Now I could go home extremely happy. I’d gotten everything I wanted.

  I was waiting in line to pay for my clothes when suddenly I felt a poke in the shoulder. Since the store was packed with so many shoppers, I ignored it, figuring someone had bumped into me.

  But then there it was again.

  A poke.

  Only harder than the last one I’d received.

  I turned around, facing a skinny girl with frizzy blond hair, freckles, and round granny glasses. She looked familiar but I couldn’t remember where I had seen her before.

  “I had that first,” she said, pointing to the yellow top I had just found. “You stole it from me.”

  The other girls in line stopped talking, turning to look at me and the other girl, waiting to see what was going to happen next.

  “I didn’t steal it from you,” I said. “I found it abandoned on a rack.”

  “That’s right,” Caitlyn said, backing me up. “She found it.”

  “It wasn’t abandoned. I put it there. I was on the other side of the rack. Now are you going to give me back my top or am I going to have to take it back?”

  Staring into her mean face, I suddenly remembered where I’d last seen Miss Frizz.

  She’d been standing behind me and Caitlyn when we were waiting for the store to open.

  She’d been eavesdropping on our conversation.

  She’d seen Caitlyn point out the blouse.

  I wasn’t the blouse stealer.

  She was!

  “This girl is a blouse stealer!” Miss Frizz started yelling. “She stole my blouse! It’s not like she doesn’t have enough things to buy. Oh no! Look at her! Loaded down with practically half the store! All I wanted to do was buy one measly top and I can’t even have that!”

  I’ve never stolen anything in my entire life and to be accused of stealing in front of complete strangers? It was mortifying!

  I knew I was right and Miss Frizz was wrong, but I just wanted an end to this whole ugly mess. I hate being the center of attention and right now practically everyone in House of Fashion was staring at me. I was just about to hand over the top so Miss Frizz would shut up when I heard a voice behind me.

  It was loud.

  Extremely loud.

  And familiar.

  Very familiar.

  “KYLE! IT’S THAT MEAN GIRL! EMMA! SHE TOOK AWAY THAT GIRL’S SHIRT JUST LIKE SHE TOOK AWAY YOUR COMIC BOOKS LAST NIGHT!”

  I wanted to die.

  At that very second all I wanted to do was disappear.

  All conversations stopped.

  Everyone looked in my direction.

  Including Kyle, who was staring at me, his mouth hanging open in shock as he looked from me, with my monstrous pile of clothing and my three boxes of shoes, to Miss Frizz, who was standing empty-handed in front of me.

  How much of the conversation had he overheard?

  I wanted to explain myself.

  I wanted to tell him that what he was hearing wasn’t true.

  I hadn’t stolen anything!

  I was innocent.

  Falsely accused of a crime I didn’t commit!

  But before I could say anything, Kyle was joined by an older woman carrying an H.O.F. shopping bag and a little girl around the age of seven. It had to be Kyle’s mother and sister. They all looked so much alike.

  Before I could say anything, Kyle followed after his mother and sister. As they headed out of the store, I could hear Tommy shout, “WHY’S EMMA STEALING THAT GIRL’S CLOTHES, KYLE? WHY’S SHE SO MEAN? MEAN, MEAN, MEAN!”

  At that moment I desperately wished for a lollipop to stick in Tommy’s mouth.

  Chapter Five

  I never wanted to see a yellow chiffon wrap blouse again.

  Unfortunately, I was the proud owner of one.

  As was Miss Frizz.

  While the blouse battle was unfolding, bringing all activity at House of Fashion to a halt, a store manager with silver hair teased into a big poofy cloud, wearing what looked like a real Chanel suit (obviously not purchased at H.O.F.), had ducked into a back storeroom and found another five yellow chiffon wrap blouses, three smalls and two larges. She’d proudly given one to Miss Frizz and one to me, telling us that we could both buy one.

  After all the drama that had gone on, what was I supposed to do? Tell her I didn’t want it?

  I couldn’t.

  She seemed so pleased that she had solved the problem.

  So I bought it.

  And I never planned to wear it again.

  How could I? Every time Kyle saw me wearing it, he’d think I’d stolen it from Miss Frizz! And if he didn’t, I’m sure Tommy’s big mouth would remind him that I had.

  I shoved the top to the back of my closet and took a deep cleansing breath, deciding to focus on my other purchases. One of the best parts of a shopping spree is coming home with your new things and rearranging your closet. The new clothes go in front, the clothes you wear a lot get shifted to the middle, and the clothes you rarely wear get shoved to the back, never to see the light of day again.

  The first thing I decided to try on was the faux cashmere black turtleneck. I paired it with a white miniskirt that I already owned, added a thin chain metal belt around my waist, wide silver hoops to my ears, and slipped into a pair of knee-high white boots. Inspecting myself in the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door, I was very pleased with the results. The look was very mod. Very 60s. A few seasons ago on America’s Next Top Model, the girls had gone to London and in one of the challenges they’d had to outfit themselves in mod fashion. None of them had had a clue! If I’d been on the show, I would have nailed the challenge!

  I was just about to change into another outfit when I noticed a burning smell in the air.

  Opening my bedroom door, I went out into the hallway, where the smell was even stronger. Had one of my brothers left a bag of microwave popcorn in the microwave for too long?

  I headed downstairs to the kitchen, sniffing the air. But when I got into the kitchen, no one was there and nothing was burning.

  So where was the smell coming from?

  All the windows in the house were open, so it had to be coming from outside.

  I stepped out onto the back porch and that’s when I saw it.

>   Smoke coming out of Kyle’s kitchen window!

  I instantly ran inside and grabbed our fire extinguisher, then ran next door.

  By the time I got there, Kyle was standing on his back porch, a funnel of black smoke billowing out of his kitchen, holding a roasting pan with a burnt roast in his oven-mitted hands. Standing behind him, waving at the air and coughing, were Tommy and Megan.

  “What are you doing?” I asked. “Trying to burn your house down?”

  “I’m trying to make a roast,” Kyle said.

  “Do you like your meat well done?”

  “I don’t know what I did wrong. The recipe said to sear the meat at five hundred degrees.”

  “For fifteen minutes,” I finished. “Then you turn the temperature down to about three fifty and cook the roast for twenty minutes per pound.”

  “You’re supposed to do that?”

  “Didn’t you read the entire recipe?”

  “Er, no. I kind of skimmed it.”

  “And that’s why you’re holding a burnt roast in your hands,” I explained, peeking into the roasting pan and pointing at what looked like rocks. “What are those black things?”

  “They were supposed to be baked potatoes.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, why are you trying to make like a chef?”

  “It’s my parents’ wedding anniversary tonight. I wanted to surprise them with dinner.”

  My heart instantly melted. That was so sweet! My parents were lucky if my brothers even remembered to give them a card!

  “What’s she doing here?” Tommy whined.

  I couldn’t believe it. This kid must hate me!

  “What did you come to take this time?” he demanded.

  Ouch! That Tommy sure knew how to deliver a zinger!

  “I smelled smoke and came to make sure everything was okay,” I explained to Tommy, giving him a smile.

  He didn’t smile back.

  “You better not take any of my toys,” he warned.

  “I’m not going to take your toys.”

  “How come you’re dressed so funny?” he asked.

  Why was it every time I got into a conversation with Tommy, I had to explain myself?

  “I think she looks pretty,” Megan said shyly.

  “You look silly,” Tommy said.

  Silly? I looked silly?! I looked fabulous! Models in magazines wore outfits like the one I was wearing! What did a five-year-old know about fashion?!

  “I like your earrings,” Megan said, her first words directed to me so far. “They’re pretty.”

  “Would you like to try them on?” I asked, taking them off.

  “Can I?” she asked, her face lighting up with joy.

  “Sure,” I said, slipping them into her pierced ears.

  At least one of Kyle’s siblings liked me. Now I’d just have to work on Tommy.

  “I guess it’s back to the drawing board,” Kyle sighed, heading into the kitchen.

  “Why don’t I give you a little help this time?” I suggested, following after him while Tommy stuck to Kyle like glue, still eyeing me warily, as Megan followed in my footsteps.

  Old Mrs. Winslow had lived in Kyle’s house until she’d moved to Florida to live with her daughter and grandchildren two years ago. My brothers and I used to visit all the time and she would always have a cookie jar filled with oatmeal cookies for us. Sometimes we’d even bake together. Some of my earliest memories are when Mrs. Winslow used to babysit for me and my brothers. She’d take me into the kitchen and I’d sit on a stool and watch her make a cake or a pie from scratch. I was always amazed at how she could take a bunch of different ingredients and make something delicious. My interest in cooking started with her.

  When I stepped inside, I was totally amazed by the kitchen I was seeing. When Mrs. Winslow had lived in the house, the kitchen had looked like something out of the 1950s, with a linoleum floor, wallpaper decorated with fruit, cabinets with squares of glass, a white rusty sink, an old-fashioned stove and refrigerator, and an aluminum table and chairs.

  Kyle’s parents had totally renovated the kitchen. Now there were stainless-steel appliances, including a huge stove, refrigerator, dishwasher, and microwave. The sink was also stainless steel, but one of those double ones, and the cabinets were cherry wood with shiny brass handles. The floors were gleaming hardwood and the walls were painted a creamy white with yellow trim. There were rag rugs on the floor and, in the center of the room, there was a huge oval table and chairs made of oak with a brightly colored Tiffany lamp hanging over it.

  The kitchen looked exactly like the ones in those decorating magazines my mom always reads.

  Except for one little thing.

  It also looked like a disaster area.

  Every surface of the kitchen was covered with used pots, pans, and cooking utensils. Both sides of the sink were filled with dirty dishes and glasses. An open bag of flour was scattered across the counter. There were piles of chopped vegetables, open bottles of oil, vinegar, and other spices, as well as an overflowing garbage can.

  “What happened in here?” I gasped.

  Kyle ran a hand across the back of his neck. “Things kind of got out of control,” he said sheepishly.

  “I was helping,” Megan explained, tossing her head back and forth so she could swing my earrings.

  “Kyle’s lucky you were helping him,” I said.

  Tommy stuck his head out from behind Kyle’s legs. “I was helping too!” he huffed, scrunching up his face in outrage that Megan hadn’t mentioned his name.

  “What else were you making?” I asked Kyle.

  “Stuffed mushrooms, broccoli with lemon juice, and crescent rolls.”

  I stared at the pile of flour. “You were making crescent rolls from scratch?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Ever hear of the Pillsbury Doughboy? Does commercials on TV? You can buy crescent rolls at the supermarket. No fuss. In ten minutes you have perfect rolls.” I stared at a pile of chopped chocolate. “What were you making for dessert?”

  “Chocolate soufflé.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Think you could have started with something a little harder?”

  “I thought I could handle it.”

  I waved an arm around the messy kitchen. “I think you might have been wrong.”

  “Obviously,” Kyle sighed. “What am I going to do? My mom’s at the beauty parlor for another two hours. I wanted everything to be ready by the time she got back.”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Have you ever cooked before?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then what made you think you could cook an anniversary dinner for your parents? And one that was so complicated!”

  “They make it look so easy on the Food Channel.”

  I laughed. “They’re supposed to—that way people will buy their videos and books. Beware of perky chefs on the Food Channel! Since this was your first time cooking, you should probably have stuck with the basics. That’s the first thing they teach you in cooking class. Then you can work your way up to more complicated dishes.”

  “You’ve taken cooking classes?”

  “Uh-huh. Last fall.”

  “That’s how you knew about searing the meat.”

  “Yep.”

  “So, what should I make instead?”

  I rolled up the sleeves of my turtleneck. “Why don’t we clean up first and then we’ll come up with a menu. If we all work together, I’m sure we can get everything under control.”

  “Thanks for helping me out, Emma.”

  “Hey,” I said, grinning to myself while filling the sink with hot water and adding a squirt of dishwashing liquid that instantly turned to suds, “that’s what neighbors are for.”

  It took an hour, but the kitchen no longer looked like a disaster area. Everything was cleaned up and put away. I, on the other hand, looked a mess. No surprise there. It seemed to be a requirement whenever I was
around Kyle. My new turtleneck was covered with flour, as well as all other sorts of culinary gook. Oh well, it would wash out. And if it didn’t, it had only cost me ten bucks! At least, by some miracle, my white skirt didn’t have a stain on it.

  “I’m going to go home and change into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt,” I said. “Then we’ll head down to the supermarket. It’s on Second Street. Have you been yet?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to do much exploring since we moved in.”

  “I’ll give you a mini-tour on the way.”

  “I don’t want to go to the store,” Tommy announced as he walked over to the refrigerator, pulled up a chair, and took a cherry Popsicle out of the freezer. “I want to stay home and watch TV.”

  “Sorry, Squirt,” Kyle said. “You’re too little to stay home by yourself.”

  I was going to get Tommy to like me no matter how hard I had to try. “They have a motorcycle ride at the supermarket. If you’re good, I’ll buy you a ride.”

  “Two rides,” Tommy shot back, sucking on his Popsicle.

  “Okay, two rides.” If it took two rides to get him to like me, then I would buy him two rides.

  “We’ll meet you out front in ten minutes,” Kyle said.

  I raced out the kitchen door. “See you in a bit!”

  I love grocery shopping.

  Aisle after aisle of bright, colorful boxes and shiny cellophane-wrapped packages.

  Filled with all sorts of yummy treats.

  Whenever I have a cart in a supermarket, I just want to fill it up.

  I couldn’t do that today, though.

  I was here to help Kyle with his dinner, so we had to just get the basics.

  Tommy, however, disagreed. Every chance he got, he would throw something into our cart. And Kyle would promptly take it out.

  “I want this cereal!” Tommy said, racing up to our cart when we were in the cookie aisle and holding up a box of Count Chocula.

  “Mom doesn’t want you eating cereal like that. Only Corn Flakes or Rice Krispies. You know that.”

  “How about these for a snack?” I asked, trying to keep the peace and holding up a packet of Mini Oreos. “My treat.”

  Tommy made a face, like I had suggested he eat garbage. “Yuck! I don’t like Oreos.”