A Recipe for Reunion. Vicki Essex

she’d missed back-to-school shopping.

      She spent some time picking out a pair of jeans, and then added a couple of new spring tops and a pair of espadrilles.

      She walked out of the store and started the drive home. Two out of four things done on her list. Pretty productive, if she did say so herself.

      Before heading back to her apartment, Steph stopped at Maya’s consignment shop. She’d told her briefly about meeting Wyatt, but still hadn’t said anything about quitting Georgette’s. She hoped to get her job back before Maya found out.

      The bell above the door jangled. The familiar mixed scents of old leather, patchouli and mothballs were strangely comforting.

      Steph made a beeline for the back room, where she found Maya steam-ironing a silk blouse. “Hey, you.” The shopkeeper hung up the steam wand. “I thought you’d be at work.”

      “I took a day off to get some errands done.” The lie came too easily, pricking Steph’s conscience. “Actually, I came to ask you a favor. I want to get my diploma—my GED or whatever it’s called now. But I’m not sure how to do it.”

      “That’s great.” Maya’s tentative smile should’ve made Steph feel indignant rather than sad. It’d always galled her when people told her what she could and couldn’t do. But Maya had witnessed her give up on a lot of projects: learning to play the guitar, rock-climbing lessons and knitting classes, to name a few. She had a right to be cautiously optimistic. “I’m sure you can find lots of study guides and stuff online.”

      “I haven’t looked yet. I only made the decision today. What I meant was...”

      “You need someone to help you study.”

      Steph ducked her chin down. “I know you’re busy, but this is something I really want.”

      “Of course I’ll help.” Maya squeezed her friend’s shoulders. “You should totally go for your diploma. To be honest, though, I’m not sure how much help I can be. I wasn’t exactly a straight-A student.”

      “But you know how to get things done, and I need that more than anything.” Steph knew she lost focus easily and would give up in frustration when things got too hard. “I need you to breathe down my neck and make sure I do my homework. It’ll only be one night a week to make sure I stay on track. I promise to keep you in cookies and pies until I pass.”

      Maya gave a snort of laughter. “Wow, my hips won’t thank you for that. But if you promise to stick with it, then you can count on me to scream at you like a drill sergeant.”

      “Thank you.” She hugged her tight. “I really appreciate it.”

      “Don’t thank me yet. You know I can be a taskmaster.” She held her away. “Topic change. You owe me some gossip. Has this Wyatt guy called you yet?” Maya prodded slyly.

      “It’s only been, like, two days. Don’t guys usually wait at least three?”

      “From what you told me, it sounded like he was raring to go.” Maya snickered. “I bet he’ll ask you out sometime this week.”

      Steph shrugged. “Well, he’s nice, but...”

      “Nice butt is all I need to hear.” Maya slipped on her cat’s-eye glasses as she hung the blouse on a rack. “Tell me honestly—is he hideous or something?”

      “No, he’s pretty good-looking. Great body. Kinda like if Bradley Cooper and Hugh Jackman had a love child.”

      Maya gaped and fluttered her lashes. “You’re sure you don’t want to date him? ’Cause if you don’t, I will.”

      “You’re welcome to him. Honestly, I’ve got other things on my mind.”

      Maya peered closely at her. “Like getting your diploma? Does this have something to do with Aaron Caruthers?”

      Steph flinched. “No.”

      Maya waited, crossing her arms over her chest. Steph exhaled gruffly.

      “Okay, maybe. I want him to stop thinking I’m stupid.”

      Her friend frowned severely. “You’re not stupid, Steph. You have to stop saying that about yourself.”

      Steph grimaced. The truth was there were times she felt dumb. Sometimes she had trouble understanding what people were saying. She’d think she was listening only to realize that she wasn’t, and was too embarrassed to ask for clarification. In her freshman year of high school, she’d asked her geography teacher, Mr. Wiltshire, to repeat something she hadn’t understood. He’d called her a “bimbo” and an “airhead” who should stick to cheerleading.

      She got that some people, teachers included, had a hate-on for the “popular kids,” the ones who got special treatment because of their status on sports teams. But Mr. Wiltshire had been exceptionally judgmental. For a moment there, Aaron had reminded her of him, with his disapproving looks and buttoned-up facade. He’d made her remember the difference between her and the other kids in school.

      Maybe that was why she’d left Georgette’s, even after she’d told herself she wouldn’t. She’d thought he was making fun of her, so she’d bolted. It’d always been easier to give up than risk failure and utter humiliation.