Page 32 of Summer Lessons
Whateverthiswas—but it would have to do.
Cookies and Curry
THEY MADEtheir way downstairs in a subdued sort of quiet, only to be stopped by voices—and the smell of baking.
Terry’s eyes got big and Mason grimaced, shrugging. They knew both those people.
“I’ll sneak out the front,” Terry hissed.
Mason rolled his eyes. “Do you think Dane hasn’t told him?”
That brought Terry up short, and he didn’t actually make any sound, but Mason had been able to lip-read “fuck” since the fourth grade.
“Mason!” Clay Carpenter called excitedly. “Jefferson! Is that you guys? Come in here—we’re baking cookies.”
“C’mon,” Mason said philosophically. “They smell pretty good.”
Carpenter’s broad, semibearded face peeked around the corner. “You guys—chocolate chip! What are you, inhuman?”
They walked into a disaster of flour and cookie dough and chocolate chips. Dane was on his hands and knees wiping off the sides of the cabinets, and as they entered, he looked up guiltily like a little kid.
“You weren’t supposed to see it until it was clean.” He grimaced.
“Isn’t Carpenter supposed to be helping?” Mason asked, and Carpenter grinned.
“I’m on for dishes, but Dane knew where the cleaning supplies were.”
“Why baking?” Terry asked, bouncing on his toes. “I mean… Subway has really good cookies.”
Carpenter’s palpable disgust made them both laugh. “For one, the smell is half the pleasure. For two, this is a step on the Make Carpenter Less Fat plan. I’ve been anawesomedieter for the last week, and my carrot on a stick was homemade cookies. Dane promised me. So here we are, making cookies. And when I’m done doing dishes, we’re going to sit down with some milk and gorge like ten-year-olds. I’ve earned this.”
“You’re not fat,” Dane said staunchly, pushing himself up on the counter. “This is Make Carpenter Healthy, not Make Carpenter Less Fat.”
Mason took in Carpenter’s husky form and had to concede that he’d slimmed down since Thanksgiving. Then he looked anxiously at his brother to see if his hope had spilled over into infatuation yet.
Mason couldn’t tell, but Dane looked happy, and Mason wouldn’t shit on that. “Well, I’ll just take my cookies and run, then,” he said, amused. There were two-dozen misshapen but warm and gooey cookies cooling on racks on the counter, and the stove timer said more were baking. He pulled out some paper towels and, hissing at the heat, loaded them up with cookies. “I’ll be back in half an hour,” he said, bumping Terry’s arm with his own and holding out the cache of purloined cookies.
Terry took them without a word, big-eyed and a little shell-shocked.
“Hey, Jefferson,” Carpenter said as they were leaving. “You going to practice Thursday?”
Terry nodded, suddenly a little more comfortable. “Yeah, why?”
“’Cause we need you. Jimenez is on a business trip, and Singh and his family are in Hawaii. Without you, we’re fucked.”
“Mason’s playing too,” Terry said, and Mason met Carpenter’s surprised gaze.
“You play?”
Mason grimaced. “I stand around looking awkward and occasionally kick the ball.” Honesty—nothing beat it.
“He’s a toe-poker,” Terry said matter-of-factly. “But then, put him on defense and all he’s gotta do is look scary.”
Mason smiled with all his teeth and Carpenter cracked up.
“Yeah. You’re terrifying. But we still need you, so practice.”
“We’re gonna get creamed,” Jefferson said, but he didn’t sound like he was put out about it. “But who cares—we’ll be playing!” He bumped Mason this time, and they made it out the door.
