POWER BACK

Chapter 25: Listerine

Listerine

January

I've never been so excited to go back to school. When third period bell releases us for lunch, I still don't see Peyton anywhere, so I go find Marshall at his locker.

"Hey, you seen Thomas?"

He doesn't look at me, just continues putting his stuff inside.

"Marshall, can you hear me talking?"

He throws his head back and exhales as he shut his locker, then he turns to face me. "Hey Chaplin," is all he says.

"Hey. So have you seen her?"

He nods. "She had to meet with the counselor."

"Oh. Why?"

He glares at me and shakes his head. "Don't know."

This guy, I swear. "Marshall, you just had English class with her. I know you know. What's going on?"

When he starts walking towards the cafeteria, I fall in step with him. "All she said was it's something about her schedule. They gotta change it." He shrugs.

"Oh. Why?"

This time he smiles like he's amused, laughing at me. "Just ask her, Chaplin."

I'm sitting in fifth period waiting for class to start when I hear a soft voice ask, "Is this seat taken?" I look up. It's Peyton.

"What are you doing here?" I study her, puzzled as she takes the empty chair next to me. Serious arrythmia ensues.

"What do you mean?"

"You're aware this is home economics, right?"

She gives me the side eye. "Unfortunately."

"Well, I hear it's an easy A."

She sighs. "I wanted to take psychology, but they only offer that third period. The only half-year electives for fifth period are this or health, but I took health at my last school. So, you're stuck with me."

"I'm not mad about it." I wink at her.

She rolls her eyes. "It's probably a conspiracy. I bet they coincidentally make all the girls take it."

"Aw, don't be so salty. Pickle is the bomb. I had her last semester during third period for floral arranging."

She raises an eyebrow and smiles. "Pickle?"

"Yeah, the teacher." I nod toward the back of the room where Ms. Pickle is prepping for class. It's a huge space, part lab, part kitchen. There are several long narrow tables on one end, and on the other is the kitchen area with a rows of wall ovens, cook tops, microwaves, and sinks. There's also a big refrigerator and some sewing machines pushed in one corner.

Peyton sighs. "Homemaking isn't really my thing. I'm a total disaster when it comes to laundry and cooking. Don't even get me started on childcare. I once babysat an infant who cried the entire time except for the ten minutes that she projectile vomited all over me. About the only thing I'm good for is loading a dishwasher. I can also organize a refrigerator like a boss. But that's my limit."

"Okay, people!" Ms. Pickle calls us to attention.

"Cue Pickle," I whisper. "She's super serious about all things domestic."

She's wearing a chef's apron displaying a picture of a big green pickle with legs and a face that stands next to the words "I'm kind of a big DILL." She takes a long deep breath through flared nostrils and then begins her spiel.