Donutheart by Sue Stauffacher

Sarah…hello, dear.” She slid in next to Sarah and put her arm around her. “Julia’s been telling us all about your big day.”
    There was something about Mrs. Perkins that let her get away with touching people. She had that rosy-cheeked, Mrs. Santa Claus look, and she always smelled like cinnamon rolls, which—though I avoided them like the plague due to their high fat content—did give off a very nice aroma.
    “Why so glum, everyone? Bad day at school?”
    This completely reasonable question was met with another silence.
    Instead of pressing the issue, Mrs. Perkins stood up, slapped her apron, and said: “I’m just going to have to make you all a chocolate shake. And Sarah, I’m putting a couple of eggs in yours. When Davy was in training for the Pelican View AAU Swim Team, I used to give him a shake with a couple of raw eggs in it every evening. All that extra protein shaved two full seconds off his hundred-meter backstroke.”
    I was about to acquaint Mrs. Perkins with a deadly little germ that lurked in raw eggs called “salmonella” when I happened to glimpse a familiar pair of legs pressed up against the makeup counter.
    “I need the Vermilion Sunset, both the lipstick and the nail polish.”
    There, in a pair of spandex shorts and a GET THE PI PHI HIGH T-shirt, was none other than my sixth-grade health teacher, Miss Mathews, looking to all the world like a college co-ed on spring break, and ordering
lipstick
from a smiling Mr. Perkins.
    Mr. Perkins set two enormous grocery bags on the counter.
    “Those on the EMS account, too?” he asked.
    “Well, I
am
their number one volunteer,” Miss Mathews replied, “but I don’t think the county’s emergency medical service is willing to buy my lipstick ration, do you, Mr. Perkins?”
    I couldn’t believe my ears. Miss Mathews was flirting! With a married man.
    “Franklin, dear? Are you all right?” Mrs. Perkins reached over and pressed the back of her hand to my forehead. “You don’t have a fever,” she said, frowning.
    “It’s the egg thing,” my mother presumed. “You know, raw.”
    “Oh…I suppose you’re right. Egg Beaters then. That will do the trick.”
    I tried to get Sarah Kervick’s attention, using my eyebrows to indicate the direction her gaze should take. She glanced up at me and shrugged, obviously not willing to take the time to see what I’d discovered.
    Having completed her purchase, Miss Mathews struggled past us, carrying her bags full of medical supplies for the EMS. But then, like everybody else, she had to stop to say hello to Mrs. Perkins. I was sinking lower into the booth, my hands on the edge of the table for balance, when she spotted me.
    “Franklin? Sarah? So you two really are friends.”
    Mrs. Perkins performed the introductions, using Miss Mathews’ first name.
    “Hey, Elaine,” my mother said before returning to study her menu. I felt the urge to give her a poke to make her sit up straight and be pleasant.
    But my mother was clearly not in the mood to be social.
    “Did you know Sarah’s a figure skater, Elaine?” Mrs. Perkins said into the awkward silence. “She’s quite talented, I hear.”
    Miss Mathews balanced her bags on the back of the booth and looked at Sarah Kervick with interest. “I love to watch skating on TV. Not much chance of me being a skater, though, growing up in Arizona.” She made a little snort through her nose.
    “Can I come watch you sometime?”
    Sarah tilted her head to look up at Miss Mathews.
    “You can come to the exhibition with Mr. Perkins and me,” Mrs. Perkins said, putting her hand on Miss Mathews’ arm.
    “Sarah’s going to have a whole section of cheerleaders.”
    First raw eggs in the milk shake. Then Miss Mathews in spandex, and now the mention of cheerleaders?!
    “Franklin, there you go with that look again. He might need a couple of cold cucumbers and some time on the sofa when you get home, Julia.”
    Sarah reached across the table and tugged on my