Page 24 of Lizzie Blake's Best Mistake

Dragging her body in a defeated trot the final distance to Baking Me Crazy, she prepared for George’s worst.

And when she pushed through the swinging doors to the kitchen, he looked ready to give it to her.

They stared at each other for a moment, and Lizzie watched as the vein on George’s forehead swelled with each passing second until it looked like it would burst through his skin.

She swallowed. “George, I’m so sorry. I can explain. I—”

George held up both hands, silently begging her to spare him. He then pressed his fingers to his temples like he wanted to push through to his brain and swirl it around, his nostrils flaring, and fake wire-rimmed glass fogging as his face turned six shades of purple.

After what felt like a lifetime, he spoke. “We literally had this talk five hours ago.Five. You can’t even keep your act together for a single day?”

“I—”

“I don’t want any more excuses!” he yelled, cutting her off. “How are you this irresponsible? How are you this—this—”

Lizzie knew what word was coming next, and her shoulders coiled around her neck as she braced for the slap of it.

“—lazy?”

Whoop, there it was.

If Lizzie had a dollar for every time she’d been accused of being lazy, she wouldn’t need a job she’d show up late for.

She wasn’t lazy. Shewasn’t.

Lizzie wanted to do well. She wanted to impress the people in her life so damn badly, her bones ached with it. But she couldn’t get her brain to cooperate. Her brain felt like this separate entity tossed haphazardly into her skull, like a toddler she would never have much discipline over.

It twirled and raced and jumped rope up there, never ceasing in its activity, but also never doing what she needed it to do. And then she was constantly running around trying to pick up the pieces of the messes it made, collecting phrases likeyou’re just lazyandtry harderandgrow upthat created a poem of failure branded across her skin.

“You’re fired,” George said, emphasizing the world’s most obvious point. “Empty out your locker and go home.”

He turned on his artfully distressed ankle boot heel and left Lizzie standing there like a hollowed shell of a person.

Chapter 12

LIZZIE went home, stopping in her kitchen to make a batch of pity-party hot fudge sauce before carrying it to her room, throwing on her pj’s, and curling herself into a cocoon of blankets on her bed.

While being fired wasn’t a new experience for her, shame and frustration held her down like a leaden weight. She only left her bed to puke a few more times, her hot fudge long neglected when the usually comforting smell of the rich chocolate turned her stomach.

She heard Indira come in but couldn’t find the energy to get up and greet her. She was so damn exhausted and felt poised between the sharp pang of uncontrollable sobs and projectile vomiting, so she stayed put, hoping Indira would come check on her.

A few minutes later, Indira knocked on the door and pushed it open.

“Hey, sweets,” Indira said, leaning her shoulder on the doorjamb.

Lizzie lifted her head an inch and gave a weak wave before collapsing back down into her mattress.

“You okay?” Indira asked, shuffling forward across Lizzie’s messy floor.

“I feel like shit,” Lizzie admitted, as Indira ran a cool hand over her forehead.

“Oh gross, you’re so sweaty,” Indira said, wiping her hand on her pants.

“Throwing up all afternoon has given me that dewy look.”

Indira took a giant step back. “Ew. You think you’ll be better in time for the Family Reunion on Saturday?”

“I’ll strap on a vomit bag if I need to. I wouldn’t miss it.” The Family Reunion was what Lizzie, Indira, Thu, and Harper had started calling their infrequent but always wonderful meetups.