Odd Girl In by Jo Whittemore Page B

kitchen table, a ball of flame exploded from the open oven. The three of us screamed and hit the floor.
    â€œRoll!” Emily cried. “Roll! Put out the fire!”
    She started flopping around on the tile like a fish out of water, but I couldn’t see anything burning on her clothes. I glanced down at my own and at Trevor’s. After making sure we were flame-free, I sat up.
    Other than an outward explosion of flour and smoke, the kitchen appeared fine. The fire in the oven had gone out, but all that remained of my carrot cake was a blackened lump.
    â€œEmily.” I coughed and poked her shoulder. “It’s okay.”
    â€œOkay?!” cried Ms. Success from the doorway. “It looks like a nuclear winter in here!”
    â€œSharon!” Emily instantly stopped worrying about her invisible flames and jumped to her feet. “I’m so, so sorry!”
    She lunged forward and hugged Ms. Success, who looked just as surprised as I had been when Emily had hugged me.
    â€œIt’s all right.” Ms. Success patted Emily’s back. “The other kids are safe so we don’t have to worry about a lawsuit.” She raised an eyebrow at Trevor and me. “Do we?”
    â€œNo. And it wasn’t all Emily’s fault,” I said. “We were working on our teamwork assignment. For Champs.”
    â€œReally?” Ms. Success gave a pleased grin and held Emily at arm’s length. “Instead of going out to the dance clubs, you’re here working on my assignment?”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” said Emily.
    I didn’t bother adding that we weren’t old enough to get into clubs.
    â€œFantastic! Well, get this place in order and carry on.” She saluted us and walked away, whistling cheerfully.
    With three people it didn’t take long to return the kitchen to a pre-fallout state. Emily tackled the oven, I took care of the floors, and Trevor handled the dishes. When he went to put them in the washer, however, he stopped.
    â€œWhy are there groceries in the dish rack?” he asked.
    Emily shot me a horrified glance, and I hurried over to Trevor.
    â€œOh, that ,” I said. “Ms. Success asked Emily to put away the groceries and we didn’t have time.”
    Trevor sifted through the bags. “But these are all baking ingredients. You even have cream cheese for the frosting.” He looked at us. “Why didn’t you guys tell me you had this stuff?”
    â€œWell, we … we wanted you to feel comfortable,” I said, rubbing my neck. “You know the old saying, ‘To make a guy feel at ease, uh, let him use his own cream cheese.’”
    I laughed nervously and Emily joined in with a hearty thigh-slapping rendition. When Trevor didn’t so much as crack a smile, I tried again.
    â€œWhat I mean—”
    â€œWait!” blurted Emily. She turned to me. “I’m sorry, but I can’t take another bad dairy rhyme. I’m lactose-humor intolerant.”
    That actually got a chuckle out of Trevor and gave Emily the strength to tell him the truth.
    â€œTrevor, I bought all those groceries because I wanted you to be able to make something you liked,” she said. “Because … because I like you .”
    Trevor stood there frozen for a moment before raising his eyebrows. “You do?” His confused expression cleared. “Ohhh. That explains the cheesocolates … I hope.”
    Emily bit her lip. “I know they were pretty disgusting, but I was trying to share your interests, and it was either that, or rent a Wookiee costume.”
    â€œReally?” he asked.
    She nodded. “But the fur was too hot.”
    Trevor blushed. “I’m not sure what to say.” He paused and shrugged. “I guess I don’t think of you that way.”
    I winced for Emily, but she threw her shoulders back and smiled.
    â€œIt’s fine. Let’s just forget the whole thing.