“Me?”
Mac was watching me as I stood up. “You know what that was about?”
“No,” I said, picking up my backpack. “But I have a hunch.”
I checked the girls’ bathroom first, as it was my go-to place for taking refuge, but the only people there were a group of dance team members busy doing a makeup tutorial. Out in the hallway, I thought for a second, then headed to Layla’s locker, my next best bet. On the way there, I found her sitting on the stairs. When she saw me, she bit her lip.
“Okay,” I said, joining her. “What’s going on?”
She sighed, stretching her legs out in front of her. “Spence has just been . . . into some stuff lately. That he shouldn’t be doing, with his history. Basically.”
“Drugs?”
A slight nod. “Just pot. Some pills. They make him different. But when I nag him, he gets mad, then doesn’t answer my texts. Then I don’t know what he’s doing, which is worse.”
“You’re not going to be able to fix him,” I told her.
“I know, I know.” She pulled her knees to her chest. “It sucks, because if I say something, he disappears. If I don’t, I have to watch him sabotage himself. It’s like I can’t win.”
A couple of guys carrying instrument cases pushed past us on their way up the stairs. I said, “I hate that feeling.”
This wasn’t particularly wise of me, or enlightening, at least as far as I was concerned. But hearing it, Layla exhaled, then leaned her head on my shoulder, closing her eyes. I tried so hard, so often, to say just the right thing, only to come up short. It felt good to get it right for once, even if it was by accident.
*
“Okay,” Mac said as I climbed back into the truck. “Work your magic.”
I looked down at the order in my hand. Four fettuccine alfredos, four salads. “Someone’s pretending they’re cooking dinner. Five dollars says they already have serving dishes ready to dump this stuff into.”
“You’re on,” he said, cranking the engine.
Usually, I was confident enough about my predictions that they were accompanied by trash talk. Today, though, I just wasn’t in the mood. Between knowing I’d have to tell Mac (who’d have to tell Eric, who would be crushed) about the studio being a no-go and Layla’s confession earlier (which she’d sworn me to secrecy about), there was a lot I was having to keep in. That this meant holding back from Mac just made it worse.
When the door at the house was answered by a young woman in a dress and pearls and heavy makeup, wearing a shiny diamond ring and a new-looking gold band, I could barely muster a pat on my own back. Even though it was pretty cool.
“Oh, thank goodness,” she said, untying the apron she was wearing, which said KISS THE COOK (still sporting crease marks—its first use, I guessed). “My in-laws will be here in twenty minutes.”
“Enjoy your meal,” I told her, handing off the food. She gave me a grateful look and a big tip before shutting the door.
Mac, who had been watching from the truck, just looked at me as I returned. “Okay, I used to think this was impressive. Now it’s getting sort of creepy.”
I managed a smile as I got in the cab. “Leave me alone. I have few talents.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s true,” he replied, shifting into reverse. “You manage to get Layla to talk to you.”
I knew he’d been waiting for me to tell him what had upset her at lunch. Because I’d made a promise, though, I only said, “That’s relationship stuff. All girls have a knack for that. It’s part of our genetic code.”
“Really.”
“Yep.”
It was obvious I was dodging the issue, but thankfully, he let it go, instead handing over the next order. “Good luck with this. It’s a real doozy.”
I took it, glancing at the ticket. “Two large cheeses, four garlic knots? What’s complicated about that?”
“Read what it says at the bottom.”
“ALLCOUP?” I asked. The word was underlined. Twice. “What does that mean?”
He put on his turn signal, switching lanes as we approached a light. “All coupon. That means they have enough discounts that it’s free.”
“Free?” I looked at the ticket again. “How is that possible?”
“It’s not supposed to be,” he told me. “We run a special on Thursdays. The ad’s supposed to say if you buy a cheese pizza and knots, you get a pizza and order of knots for free. But about a year ago, the copy for the ad got messed up. Badly.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning,” he continued, turning onto a side road, “they left off the first part and only printed the second.”
I had to think for a minute. “So it said you could get a large pizza and a side of knots for free? No purchase required?”
“Yup.”
That was a lot of dough. Literally and figuratively. “How many were given out?”
“They were sent in the mail,” he replied. “To every listed address in city limits.”