The Secret Talent by Jo Whittemore

when it’s snowing she can still get fresh oregano.”
    â€œPerfect,” I said, jotting it down.
    â€œOkay, I’m back!” Brooke dropped into her seat breathlessly. “What did I miss?”
    â€œWe snuck in some gift advice and talked about how lucky Tim’s been that nobody’s ID’d him in the video,” said Heather.
    Brooke narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, I’ve beenmeaning to tell you”—she looked at me—“I’ve got a bad feeling.” She turned to our other two friends. “I’ve been putting my Young Sherlock skills to work.”
    Her skills were at least a week behind, but I humored her with a nod. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
    â€œNow,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “Let’s answer some more requests!”
    At the end of school I found Gabby and asked her to remind Uncle Theo to come back for me.
    â€œYou know he’s not going to be happy about this,” she said.
    â€œI know, but I’ve got a project to work on. And school’s the most important thing in my life.”
    â€œYesterday you said pie was the most important thing in your life,” Gabby said with a frown. “Right before you ate the last piece.”
    â€œI meant pi, the number we use in math,” Iinformed her. “Me eating blueberry pie at the time was just a coincidence.”
    â€œYou’re a terrible liar,” she said with a smirk.
    If only she knew.
    I waited in the student lounge, hoping Ryan wouldn’t show up, but a few minutes later, there was a burst of noise from the hallway as he opened the door and walked in.
    â€œLet’s make this quick,” Ryan said. “I don’t like being at school any longer than I have to.”
    â€œFine,” I said, approaching him. “We’ll start with social skills. Lesson one.” I held out my right hand, and Ryan recoiled.
    â€œDid you pick your nose or something?” he asked.
    I sighed. “No, that’s something you’d do. I’m trying to shake your hand.”
    â€œOh.” Ryan reached out and shook it.
    â€œNow, we try polite conversation,” I said. “How’s it going?”
    â€œNone of your business,” he shot back.
    I closed my eyes. “I’m not asking a personal question. I’m simply asking how you are.”
    â€œOh,” Ryan said again. “Let’s start over.”
    I offered him my hand, and he shook it.
    â€œHow’s it going?” I asked.
    â€œPretty good,” he said.
    Then we stared at each other.
    â€œNow, you ask how I’m doing,” I coached.
    â€œBut I don’t care how you’re doing,” said Ryan.
    â€œIt’s the polite thing to do,” I said. “Even if you don’t care.”
    Ryan rolled his eyes. “Fine. How are you doing?”
    â€œPretty good. Hungry, though. I hope they have good snacks here.”
    Ryan widened his eyes and glanced around. “There are snacks?”
    â€œNo, we’re pretending to be at the party,” I said, “where there will be snacks.”
    Ryan nodded. “Can we have snacks now, though?”
    I was about to say something sarcastic but thought better of it. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.”
    Luckily, the student lounge happened to have both a drink machine and a snack machine. I bought two different types of soda and one bag of chips and carried them back to where Ryan was waiting.
    â€œHere you go,” I said, tossing him one of the soda cans.
    Ryan made a face. “Grape? Gross!”
    â€œOff to a great start,” I said. “If someone offers you something you don’t like . . .”
    He studied the can like the answer might be printed next to the ingredients. Then he held it out to me. “No thank you?” he asked.
    â€œHe can be taught!” I said, taking the can from him. “Now—”
    Ryan swiped the other drink