Macarons at Midnight Read online

  Yeah, well, I’ve got one for you. “To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.” Ralph Waldo Emerson.

  RajBat:

  You’re not very subtle, are you?

  FrogPrincess:

  I’m better at straight talk.

  RajBat:

  I thought you hated Transcendentalism, and now you’re giving advice with it?

  Yikes, I thought. I guess I messed that one up. I wasn’t that convincing spouting Emerson as Viv.

  FrogPrincess:

  Well, I guess that quote stuck with me because it made me think of you.

  RajBat:

  So you’re admitting it. You … think about me?

  FrogPrincess:

  Hmmm … maybe a little.

  RajBat:

  Ouch. What would it take to get to a lot?

  FrogPrincess:

  Just … be yourself, and you’ll get there.

  RajBat:

  Hmmm, I may not like Emerson that much anymore.

  FrogPrincess:

  LOL. Hey, I can’t sleep (again). Got any music recommendations for transcending?

  RajBat:

  Try Chopin or Debussy. My painting music.

  I logged in to my iTunes account, smiling at Raj’s recommendations.

  FrogPrincess:

  Okay. Uploading playlists now. Will you listen with me?

  RajBat:

  I’d love to. Give me five minutes to get to my room.

  FrogPrincess:

  Me too … Good night.

  RajBat:

  Sweet dreams, Princess.

  I logged off and hurried upstairs, then crawled into bed and slipped my earbuds in. Exactly five minutes after I’d said good night to Raj, I hit PLAY. Soft, sweet music filled my ears. I smiled, picturing Raj somewhere out there in the darkness, listening, too. As I drifted off, I was finally able to hit the off switch on my tangled-up brain. I listened to Raj’s painting music, letting it lull me to sleep and stream through my dreams.

  If Tuesday morning had a headline, it would read: LISE SANTOS IGNORES WARNING SIGNS; DISASTER STRIKES.

  By disaster, I mean the never-want-to-show-your-face-at-school-again kind.

  I saw Raj come barging out of the school’s main office, a pile of MinuteMan issues under his arm, every muscle in his face and neck taut with anger.

  “Hi—” I started, but didn’t get any further than that. His eyes honed in on mine, darkening, and he swiftly took my arm, steering me down the hall.

  “Pressroom,” he muttered. “Now.”

  “What’s the matter?” I sputtered, disoriented by his bizarre behavior. When his only answer was a disgusted shake of his head, my temper flared. He wasn’t even telling me what the problem was! I pulled my arm from his grip. “I can walk by myself,” I said, just as we reached the pressroom.

  “Really?” he said, slapping one of the issues down on my desk. “Because you seem to have trouble writing unsupervised, so I wasn’t sure about walking.”

  “What are you talking about?” I demanded, fighting to keep my focus on him without letting his cuteness distract me.

  “Page five,” he snapped. “Your review of Thai Me to the Moon?” He flipped through the issue, then stabbed a finger at the middle of a page. “It’s great. Fantastic. Especially the part where you talk about the royal Massaman curry.” He leaned closer, the green in his eyes sparking like jade flames. “That’s not even on the restaurant’s menu!”

  Clammy dread slinked up my spine. Oh, this was bad. Very, very bad. “I—I—” My face was a furnace of embarrassment as I struggled to speak. I stared at the floor. “The thing is,” I finally eked out, “when I went to the restaurant on Sunday, it was closed. I … I didn’t … actually have a chance to try the food yet.”

  Raj threw the paper back on the desk. “That’s obvious. And I suppose you didn’t know that the restaurant was owned by Principal Hinkle’s wife?”

  “What?” I said weakly, barely able to speak over the roaring sound of my academic career getting flushed down the toilet.

  “That’s right.” Raj scowled. “Mrs. Hinkle was born in Thailand. She’s wanted to open a restaurant here for years.”

  Omigod. Of all the assignments to blow off, I’d chosen this one? What was wrong with me? “I didn’t know …”

  “She was one of the first people to read the issue this morning.” Raj sighed, running a hand through his hair. “And I just spent the last twenty minutes in Principal Hinkle’s office trying to apologize for your laziness.”

  “I’m not lazy!” I blurted. “How was I supposed to know that Whitman turns into a ghost town on Sundays? In Boston, restaurants are open every day!”

  “That’s no excuse,” Raj said, shaking his head. “As a reporter, you’re supposed to do your research, use time management. You had a week to eat there, and you waited until the last minute! You were at the rink with us on Saturday when you should’ve been working on the story!”

  I glowered at him. He’d made it sound like going ice skating was a crime! “Well … I’m entitled to a social life, you know. And a restaurant review is not a story,” I said emphatically. “I told you from the beginning that food isn’t what I want to write about.” I sighed. “I want to report on current events, student government—”

  Raj scoffed. “After what you did? What makes you so sure that you’re even a reporter on this paper?”

  My heart slammed against my ribcage. Was he actually going to fire me? “I—I—”

  “You think you’re above writing about food,” he said, turning away. “You’re never going to get assigned a different beat if you keep up the attitude.”

  Relief poured over me, and I took my first breath in the last few minutes. “So … that means … I’m still on staff?”

  “For now,” he said grudgingly. “But you have to write an apology to Thai Me to the Moon. Today. We’ll print it in the next issue and hope that Principal Hinkle and his wife forget about this.”

  “Fine,” I said flatly, as the first bell rang. I wanted to rail at him, to tell him how unfair he was being. But one of the cardinal rules of reporting was “Seek truth and report it.” I’d broken it, and now I had to follow journalism’s hardest rule. I had to “Be accountable.” It wouldn’t be pretty, but every journalist has to eat some crow sooner or later. “I’ll have it for you by the end of the day.”

  I turned toward the door just as Raj’s cell rang. His hello when he answered was contracted and resigned. I chanced a look back at him and was surprised to see every ounce of confidence erased from his face.

  “I know, Dad,” he was saying as he rubbed his forehead, frowning. “I should’ve caught it before it went to press. It was a mistake. But I already talked to Principal Hinkle about it, and I’m going to fix it.”

  I paused, trying to figure out his end of the conversation. Was he talking about my review? If he was, then I guessed that Principal Hinkle must’ve called Raj’s dad to tell him. So I’d managed to get Raj in trouble with his dad, too. Great. Guilt stabbed me as I watched him. I’d never seen him look so off-balance before, his usual self-assuredness replaced with worry.

  When he hung up a second later, his face was miserable. He caught my eye, and I waited, holding my breath, wanting him to say something that would turn him back into that sweeter, softer Raj of macarons and moonlight.

  “You’re lucky you’re friends with Viv,” he snapped. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be getting a second chance.”

  The words stung. Maybe I was wrong to cling to the hope of a different Raj. Maybe the sweeter, softer guy I’d known that Valentine’s night didn’t really exist at all.

  Kyan and Viv were in the middle of a heated debate over the killer instincts of female praying mantises when I found them in the cafeteria at lunchtime.

  “I will never understand why a female mantis has to eat her mates alive,” Kyan was saying. “She uses them, then kills them.
It’s cruel.”

  “I don’t know,” Viv was arguing. “If she has boyfriends like the ones I’ve had, they probably deserved it.”

  “You say that, but as we speak you’re scouring the school for a date to Winter Formal. Meanwhile, Raj is thinking you like him. Isn’t that cruel, too?”

  “No,” Viv said simply. “I can’t go to the dance alone.” She said alone like it was a repulsive disease of some kind. “Besides, Raj will end up going with Lise, once she tells him who she is.” Her face clouded for the briefest second, then brightened with a photo-ready smile. “See? It’ll all work out.”

  “No, it won’t. I’ll never go to the dance with Raj.” I plunked down my lunch bag and announced decisively, “It’s over.”

  “Wait … did it ever actually start?” Kyan said jokingly, but when he saw I couldn’t even crack a smile, he grew solemn. “Sorry. What happened?”

  “What didn’t,” I said glumly. Kyan and I had had a lab test in Bio earlier, so I hadn’t had a chance to fill him in on the disaster with Raj. As I spilled the whole story, Kyan nodded sympathetically, adding in a few “unbelievables” for good measure. Viv, though, stared at her food, staying uncharacteristically silent. I finished with a sigh. “I’m done with this whole Frog Princess thing. He’s not the person I thought he was. And thank goodness he’ll never know who I really was.”

  “But still … that stinks,” Kyan agreed. “I mean, what happened between you guys on Valentine’s Day seemed like the real deal.”

  “I thought so, too,” I said regretfully as I took a bite of my sandwich. “Sometimes when we chat online, it’s like we’re back at Swoonful all over again. But in the pressroom, he’s a complete jerk. I can’t stand him like that.”

  “But … you don’t really think he’s a jerk,” Viv said softly. “I mean, he was right. You shouldn’t have fudged your review.”

  Kyan and I both stared at her. “You’re kidding.” I gave a short, uncomfortable laugh. “I shouldn’t have fudged it, but come on. He didn’t have to get on such a high horse. He could’ve handled the whole thing differently.”

  Viv nodded. “Maybe, but … it wasn’t his fault. You could’ve said you were sorry.”

  “To him?!?” I rolled my eyes. “No way.”

  She squirmed in her seat. “Hey, I don’t get why he’s so crazy about his job, either. But it’s probably embarrassing for him to have a mistake like that in his paper.”

  Kyan narrowed his eyes, studying her intently. “Why do you care so much if he’s embarrassed?”

  For someone who usually overflowed with self-confidence, Viv was looking uncannily timid. “I don’t, I mean, not really.” She shrugged, dropping her eyes. “But … I don’t think it’s fair to rip him apart. I’ve known lots of guys who are losers compared to him. That’s all.”

  “I’m already writing up an apology for the next issue,” I said bluntly. “That’s more than enough.”

  What was going on today? First, Raj explodes, and now Viv was defending him?

  I stood up, flustered and grumpier than ever. I wasn’t sure I could take any more criticism, especially from friends who were supposed to be backing me up.

  “I have to go back to the pressroom,” I said, making a show of checking my watch. “I promised Raj I’d have that apology by the end of the day.”

  “Are you mad?” Viv blurted. “Please don’t be mad. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “No, we’re good.” I smiled, but my muscles felt tight. The last thing I needed was weird tension with the only friends I had here, so I wanted to let this slide. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  I gave them both a wave, then headed for the pressroom with a leaden heart, prepping myself for some serious humble pie.

  My mood hadn’t improved any by the time I got home from school that afternoon. The only saving grace of the day had been that Raj had been MIA from the pressroom when I’d written my apology, so I’d been able to leave it on his desk without facing any more of his lectures.

  When I walked in the front door, the silence surprised me, and so did a smell that was as wonderful as it was familiar. Was I imagining it, or did I smell … Fenway Franks? Mmmmmm. My mouth watered as I walked into the kitchen. Destry and Gail were nowhere to be seen, but then I heard Dad’s voice call from the family room, “Anjinho, is that you?”

  “Dad?” I stared in astonishment at my dad standing in the middle of the family room in full Red Sox paraphernalia, foam finger, jersey, and all. “Um … what are you doing home?”

  He grinned. “I took the afternoon off. And guess what we’re going to watch?” He didn’t wait for me to answer before announcing gleefully, “The 2004 win over the Cardinals!”

  My heart leapt with excitement at the mere mention of that game. It was the game that had won the Sox their first World Series in eighty-six years. Sure, I’d only been three when it had happened, but that didn’t matter. Dad and I had watched the game every year since then to commemorate the historic victory. It had been one of our traditions, way before Gail and Destry had entered the picture.

  I sat down next to him as he started the game on the DVR, then glanced at the coffee table. It was stacked with all of my favorite Fenway snacks—Cracker Jacks, pretzels with mustard, and Fenway Franks.

  “Wow,” I said. “Did you do this?”

  Dad nodded, handing me a hot dog. “Eat up. The smell of hot dogs makes Gail nauseous.” He leaned toward me conspiratorially. “We have to get rid of all the evidence before she gets home.”

  “Definitely not a problem.” I giggled, then took a big bite of my Fenway Frank.

  As we ate, I forgot about my horrible day in the thrill of watching the game. I forgot about how complicated everything was with Dad and this new life. For a few hours, I stopped overthinking altogether. When that happened, being with Dad suddenly became easy and natural, like the way it had been before. We shrieked and hollered and clapped each time the Red Sox came an inning closer to their win. We spilled Cracker Jacks all over the floor, which I was convinced would freak Gail out, but only made Dad shrug, laughing. And when the final inning ended, we leapt off the couch, screaming and hugging each other.

  “That game will never get old,” I said afterward as we cleaned up the family room.

  “Nope, and neither will watching it with you.” He straightened to ruffle my hair. “You thought I forgot about it this year, didn’t you?”

  “No,” I started softly, then stopped. We’d had such a great night. I didn’t want to end it with a lie. “Well … maybe,” I admitted.

  “Lise,” he said. “There may be a lot going on in this house right now, but I’ll never forget about you. Not ever.”

  I smiled. “Thanks for remembering.”

  “Always,” he said. “If the Red Sox could break the curse of the Great Bambino, I can certainly break this one.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Dad popped a last bite of pretzel into his mouth, then sighed. “Blending families hasn’t been as easy as Gail and I hoped it would be. That’s all.”

  I gulped. “Dad, it’s not my fault. I’ve been trying—”

  “Hey, I’m not pointing fingers.” He held up his hands. “There are four people in this house, and each of us has played roles in misunderstandings. I appreciate that you finished up the nursery by yourself. That was a step in the right direction.” His eyes settled on mine in earnest. “Maybe, instead of trying just enough, we all need to try hard enough to make it work.”

  I stared at the ground, not sure whether the heat in my cheeks was from my usual frustration, or if it went deeper, heading toward shame.

  Dad squeezed my shoulder. “Just … think about it, okay?”

  I nodded. “I … I better do my homework.” I started to turn away. It was the truth, but it was also an excuse to get out of the awkward conversation.

  “Lise, one more thing,” he called when I was halfway through the kitchen. His face was suddenly serious.
“Gail and Destry and the new baby. They aren’t my family. They’re ours.”

  Ours. The word stuck in my head, beating out a guilty rhythm as I stared at my homework, trying to focus. When Destry came in to get ready for bed, I gave up entirely and headed for the family computer. I needed a reality check, and Simone could give those better than anyone else I knew. I wrote her a quick email:

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Hey girl,

  Miss you! It’s late, and I’m thinking way too much. Dad says I’m not trying hard enough with Gail and Destry when I feel like all I do is try! What if I’m not giving them a fair chance? Maybe the problem is that I haven’t been thinking of them as family, even though (gulp) they kind of are. What do you think? (Be brutally honest. I can take it.) Newsflash: RAJ BATIK A CONFIRMED JERK. (Details when we talk tomorrow.)

  XOXO

  Lise

  I hit SEND and was about to log off when I saw a chat invite flashing in my FrogPrincess account. It was Raj. A wave of fresh anger heated my face, and my hand hovered hesitantly over the mouse. I could ignore him, or even end it tonight, right now, by telling him I was shutting down my account. But I was curious to see what was on his mind, to see if maybe I could finally unravel the Raj Batik mystery. I took a deep breath and opened the chat window.

  RajBat:

  Hey you. So glad you’re still awake! Have you talked to Lise today?

  I smirked at the screen. Little did he know.

  FrogPrincess:

  Of course. We’re VERY close. She told me what happened.

  RajBat:

  She probably hates me. I came down on her pretty hard. Maybe too hard.

  FrogPrincess:

  Yeah. What was that all about?

  RajBat:

  I knew my dad would freak when he found out about the review. He doesn’t like mistakes. But this was worse because it had to do with Principal Hinkle. Dad thinks I should’ve fact-checked Lise’s review better, that I wasn’t doing my job. It’s so frustrating. Anyway, it’s my baggage, but I sort of took it out on Lise.

  FrogPrincess: