Truth Game by Anna Staniszewski Page B

“Come in. Evan is in the family room.” Her stiff tone makes it sound like she still sees me as the cleaning lady’s daughter and not like her son’s girlfriend, even though Mom and I haven’t cleaned the Rileys’ house in weeks. “How is your mother?”
    â€œShe’s good,” I say. “Um, busy.”
    Mrs. Riley sighs. “I may have to give her a call again. Our latest housekeeper has been far from stellar.”
    I bite back a smile. If Mrs. Riley tried to hire Ladybug Cleaners, I have no doubt Mom would say no. After Mom found me trying to vacuum up pieces of glass that Briana had oh-so-nicely sprinkled all over her bedroom carpet, she made it pretty clear that we were done putting up with the Riley drama. Thank goodness Evan is nothing like the rest of his family!
    I find him in the family room among mountains of files. “What is all this?” I ask.
    Evan sighs. “My dad asked me to help him clean out his home office. I’m supposed to sort all these files and put them in alphabetical order. It’s taking forever.”
    â€œNeed some help?” I ask.
    He gives me a grateful smile. “I asked my sister, but she laughed in my face.”
    â€œWere you really surprised?” I can’t help asking.
    â€œI know, but I keep thinking the twin thing will kick in sometime.” Upstairs, a door slams, and Evan gives me a crooked grin. No doubt that’s Briana storming around up there.
    As I sit down next to him on the carpet, I realize this is the closest I’ve been to him since our gym class kiss. I’m suddenly really aware of how much (or little) space is between us. Should I sit closer to him? Is that what couples who’ve kissed do?
    I think about those couples I saw making out in the hallway. I don’t want to be obnoxious like they were, but I also don’t want to be afraid of holding hands with my own boyfriend! Now that I’ve been brave enough to kiss him, I can’t start wimping out again.
    I inch toward him on the couch until our knees are less than six inches apart.
    â€œHow’s stuff going at the bakery?” he asks, leafing through a file folder. He doesn’t seem to notice that I’ve moved closer, so I scoot over a little more. Five inches apart. Four. I can practically feel the heat from his knee radiating into mine.
    â€œOkay,” I say, and tell him about Chef Ryan finally letting me help out with one of the cakes this afternoon and about Angela’s cake.
    By the time I’m finished telling him about work, I’m so close to him that our legs are actually resting against each other. Evan doesn’t move his away, so he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mind. I can’t believe I was so freaked out about the idea of kissing Evan at the airport before I went to visit my dad, and now I’m the one making the first move!
    â€œSo I was thinking,” I say slowly, “that I should make my own cake for Angela’s party.”
    Evan’s eyebrows go up. “How will Chef Ryan feel about that?”
    â€œI don’t know,” I admit. “But if I do an awesome job, maybe he’ll see that I deserve to do more at the bakery, and maybe he’ll actually let me help with the Montelle-Brennan wedding cake.” Even if I can’t get on TV, at least something I touched might.
    â€œSo what would you make?” he asks.
    I sigh. “That’s the problem. I’ve been totally uninspired recently. Everything I’ve come up with seems so boring. Want to help me think of some ideas?” I figure since he actually went to birthday parties when he was little—unlike super-shy me—he might have some pointers.
    â€œSure!” he says. “Well, I loved parties when I was a kid because it was the only time I was allowed to eat candy. And the cake was always this huge sheet cake with the kind of frosting that you could pull off in one