“My mom calls them jelly bells,” she explained, grabbing one for herself. “It’s fried dough stuffed with strawberry jelly and covered in sugar. It was the first recipe she really perfected when she started baking. They were originally called jelly balls but, since they’re my favorite and my mom calls me Bells, she renamed them.”
I was listening, I really was, but I was also starving and these things smelled like literal heaven and I really thought I’d drop dead if I didn’t eat one in the next second.
When Becca took a bite, I shoved the whole thing in my mouth. I may have moaned because this was definitely one of the best things I’d ever eaten.
“Remember when you asked what my favorite food was?” I asked, a cloud of white powder spewing from my mouth. Becca nodded. There was sugar all over her mouth. “I change my answer to these.”
We sat there while the sun began to set, eating the rest. When we were both covered in powder, we dusted ourselves off and I drove Becca home. She was talking about the games, replaying which were her favorite and why. She kept toying with the rose ring on her finger. The blue whale was sitting on the dashboard. When I pulled into her apartment building, she sat there for a minute in silence, staring at the sky. I wanted to ask what she was thinking, but I kept quiet.
After a moment, she turned to me and said, “You’re lucky, Brett, to have a family like yours. Not because of the money. Just having two parents that are there for you and are these role models of what love should look like. And I don’t want to overstep, but I don’t think you should be upset at your dad for missing your football game. It was just one game. Try to think of the hundreds of games he’s been to, all right? All those times he put in the effort to support you—that’s what matters, not the one time he failed.”
Then she got out of the car, waved goodbye, and left.
I sat there for a while thinking about how I had lucked out on choosing a pretty great fake girlfriend.
Becca
MY MOM WAS SITTING AT the kitchen table when I walked inside. The oven was on, she had an apron tied around her neck, and our apartment smelled like vanilla—the three signs that she was beginning a new recipe.
“How was your day?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder and smiling at me.
“Good.” I grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and leaned against the counter.
“What did you and Cassandra do?”
I felt a little twinge of guilt for telling my mom I was spending the day at Cassie’s house, helping her fill out college applications. Some lies were for the greater good, though. Like escaping another Brett fiasco.
“Nothing. Just college stuff,” I answered, looking anywhere but her eyes. My mom (all moms?) had this talent of knowing exactly when I was lying. It’s like she could see it on my face or something. The trick was to say as little as possible and make a hasty exit. I was nearly out of the kitchen, almost to safety, when she called my name.
“I was talking to Cara on the phone before you walked in!” I froze, slowly turned around, and saw That Look on her face. Nothing good could come out of her talking to Cassie’s mom. “She invited us over for dinner tonight. I told her that was so funny, because you were already at her house. And you know what she said?”
I shook my head. Braced for impact.
“Cara said,” she continued, “that you weren’t there.”
I choked out a laugh. “That is very funny, Mom. You know how bad her eyesight is. Come to think of it, I don’t think she was wearing her glasses at all today. And Cassie and I spent the entire day in her bedroom, so it’s possible she didn’t even see—”
“Becca.”
I unraveled like a spool of string.
“Fine! I wasn’t with Cassie.” I sank down in the chair across from her, defeated, and let the truth spill out. “I was with Brett,” I mumbled under my breath.
I didn’t know it was physically possible for my mother’s face to go from upset to unbelievably happy in under one second. Now she was beaming. She was even sitting up straighter, leaning across the table.
“The boy from the bakery?” She whispered it like Brett was in the other room eavesdropping.
“Yes.”
“What did you two do?” She said it calmly. Casually. I appreciated that she was at least trying to restrain herself. I told her about the arcade (she was equally surprised it was still open), and about the jelly bells, which, yes, Mom, Brett loved. Duh. And no, Mom, I do not like him like that. We are friends. At that point I could see her about to bubble over—she was bouncing in her seat—so I needed to leave the room ASAP.
“Can we postpone the interrogation till tomorrow? I need to study for my calculus test.”
The timer on the stove went off and she slipped on a pair of oven mitts. And, oh my god, it smelled amazing. I almost decided to continue the interrogation right then just to eat whatever was creating that heavenly smell.
“Speaking of tomorrow,” my mom said, placing a toothpick into a muffin and nodding when it came out dry, “I need you to pick up a shift in the morning. Don’t give me that face, Becca. It’s just an hour or two to help open the store, then you can come home and study.”
“Mooooooom,” I groaned.
“I’ll make you fresh jelly bells for school on Monday morning. Feel free to share them with whoever you choose,” she added, winking. No doubt a not-so-subtle reference to Brett.
I caved anyway. It was the power of the jelly bells. “Fine. But two hours and then I’m out of there. Promise?”
“Promise.”
I retreated to my room, snuck back into the kitchen ten minutes later and stole a muffin, which, honestly, changed my life, then actually began studying like I should have done two days ago. Having a fake boyfriend may have been a little exciting, but I wasn’t about to stop being a straight-A student, especially with college applications coming up. I still had no idea what I even wanted to do. The only thing I really liked was reading. Maybe I’d study English literature. Or creative writing. Half the time I told myself I’d take a year off like Cassie, stay home and help my mom out with the bakery, and then figure out this whole college thing later. If I didn’t score a scholarship to help my mom with tuition, I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to go to college at all.
But as long as I was out of high school, that was what mattered.
It wasn’t even like I really hated high school or anything. I mean, I disliked it the average teenage amount, but it just felt like Crestmont was this little part of the world and there was so much more out there to be seen. And I wanted to explore more than just the blue lockers of Eastwood High.
When I was in my pajamas, lying in bed with the lights off, my phone rang. I glanced at the screen, lowered the brightness after it burned my eyes, and saw a text from Brett. It was a selfie of him lying in bed with his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep.
Another text came right after. Dreaming of jelly bells, it read.
I smiled, placed the rose ring on my nightstand, and went to sleep.
My mom and I had a routine for opening up the bakery. She handled the kitchen—warming up the ovens, making the cupcake batter, unfreezing the cannoli shells—while I set up the rest of the place. I unstacked the chairs, wiped down the tables and counters, did another quick sweep of the floors, made sure the register had change, and, when it was eight o’clock, flipped over the open sign and unlocked the door. This morning there were two women waiting outside right on the hour. They each had an order waiting for pickup. I called out to let Mom know.