As if cookies would make any difference at all.
Recalling my other peace offering, I adjusted the plate of cookies in my grip so I was holding it with only my left hand. With my right hand, I reached into my pocket and pulled out Brody's old cell phone.
I held it up between us. "Oh, and I brought you this, too."
He spared the phone half a glance. "Keep it."
I did a double-take. "I can't. I mean, it's not mine. It's yours. It's the one you lost." I nudged it closer. "See?"
"So toss it," he said.
I shook my head. "But it's still got service."
Brody still made no move to take it. "It's just a phone."
No. It wasn't just a phone. Not to me. After I'd snagged it from Waverly, I'd finally figured out why she'd called me from that phone in the first place. Not only was I the very first contact in Brody's list of favorites, I was listed under some initials that I didn't recognize.
And now, I couldn’t stop myself from saying to Brody, "And speaking of your phone, why was I listed under 'L.O.L.'?" I tried for another smile. "Was it because we liked to joke with each other or something?"
He stiffened. "You went through my phone?"
If I weren't trying so hard to be civil, I might've pointed out that he'd just offered me this very same phone, which made his reaction now just a little bit ridiculous.
Still, I saw what he meant, so all I said was, "No. I didn't. Waverly did. And she was the one who pointed it out."
It was true. Just before I'd slammed my bedroom door in Waverly's face, she'd demanded to know what exactly I'd done to deserve the top spot in Brody's contact list. And then, she'd made some snide comment about Brody listing me as "L.O.L." because I must've been one big joke to him all along.
This posed a distressing question. Was I?
But then I remembered something. With renewed hope, I looked to Brody and said, "When Mason and I were talking, he also mentioned how you stuck up for me."
Looking almost bored now, Brody said, "How so?"
"You know. How you told him that if he fired me, you'd walk off the show." I searched Brody's face for any sign of warmth. "Is that true?"
Sounding colder than ever, he replied, "It is."
Something in my shoulders eased. "Thanks. I mean, that was really nice– "
"It wasn't."
"Sure it was."
"Forget it," he said. "I wasn't doing it for you."
"Oh." Again, I hesitated. "So, if you weren't doing it for me, who were you doing it for?"
"I was doing it for myself."
Was that good? Or bad? With my heart in my throat, I said, "Really? Why?"
"Because it's my responsibility, not Mason’s."
I blinked. "Sorry, what?"
"The show," Brody said. "It's not his job. It's mine – which means he doesn't fire anyone without my say-so."
"But…" I bit my lip. "You stuck up for me."
"Wrong. I stuck up for myself. Big difference."
As the distinction hit home, heat flooded my face. Yes. It was a big difference. Huge, actually.
And now I felt so ridiculous, I could hardly stand it.
Of course, I understood what Brody meant. From what I'd seen of Mason, he'd be all too willing to steamroll over anyone to get what he wanted, so it only made sense that Brody would need to push back just as hard.
Even so, this latest news was a serious blow to my hopes – and to my pride, too, if I were being totally honest.
And now I couldn’t help but dwell on the other thing I'd learned on Saturday – first from Waverly and then from Mason.
It was a biggie.
Willow was Brody's sister.
But I was still hoping – and maybe praying, too – that there was some reasonable explanation for Brody not telling me about Willow himself.
In my best-case scenario, Brody and I made up, and I got the chance to ask him nicely why he'd neglected to tell me something so important.
But now, judging Brody's demeanor, the opportunity for niceness was fading fast.
With growing humiliation, I realized that my left hand was actually starting to tremble from holding up the plate of cookies for so long in the same position.
Reluctantly, I looked down at my pathetic peace offering. Cookies, what a joke. Still, I really had made them with the best of intentions.
It hadn't been a simple job either.
All of my baking stuff was still in storage near Michigan State – my grandmother's mixer, the mixing bowls, the cookie sheets, everything to make perfectly wonderful cookies.
The stuff was too far away to retrieve in a day, especially with no vehicle. So yesterday afternoon, I'd taken a ride-share to the nearest shopping center, where I'd purchased everything to make homemade cookies at a house that wasn't my own.
I'd even called my mom to get my grandmother's cookie recipe, since I didn't know it by heart. In hindsight, it was shocking that she'd had it at all. The whole time I'd been growing up, she'd never made cookies, not even once.
It wasn't a big deal. I mean, I didn't expect her to stay home and bake or anything, especially when she'd preferred to save her calories for booze and bar snacks.
Great.
Now I felt foolish and depressed.
Oh, screw it. I lowered the cookies to hip level and said to Brody, "Hey, can I ask you something? Why didn't you tell me you had a sister?" I searched his face for clues. "In fact, why didn't you tell me anything about your family?"
With a tight shrug, he replied, "Maybe it's a sore subject."
"You mean because of everything that happened with your parents?"
"That – and what happened with you."
With me? "But wait, I don't get it."
"Yeah. You don't. So let's make a deal. You want the bonus, right?"
It took me a moment to realize what he meant. "You mean for finishing the
