Guardian Angel
23 Dude Dating
MY PERSONAL COOKING PROJECT was learning to bake bread. I’d tried twice so far with limited success. Let’s make that no success. My first batch came out of the oven weighing two pounds and about an inch thick. The very center was doughy. I followed the damned recipe. The second batch was a duplicate disaster. Well, repeatable results, anyway. Wednesday, I took all my ingredients with me early to Foods and asked Anne for help.
“Okay. Everybody will be busy blanching green beans for canning today, so why not bake everyone a treat.”
I measured out my ingredients, sifted the flour and prepared the yeast. You just crumble a cube into a cup and add warm water. I turned on the hot water faucet, checked to make sure it was warm and added it to the yeast.
“Okay. Stop,” Miss Sullivan said. She caught me just before I poured the yeast into the dough. “What was the temperature of your water?”
“Warm. Just like the recipe says.”
“How warm?”
“Like… bathwater.”
“Why do we wash our hands with soap and hot water?”
“To get them clean and kill the bacteria.”
“Yeast is very small fungi like bacteria.” It took a minute for that to soak in. Then I figured it out.
“The water is too hot and I killed it?”
“Got it in one,” she laughed. “Let’s get our kitchen thermometer and test the temperature of your yeast water.” My water tested at 140 degrees. Miss Sullivan turned on the water and adjusted it while she ran it over her wrist. She filled a cup and had me measure the temperature. 108 degrees. “You found out a lot about sugar melting and figured out a non-instrumented way of gauging the right consistency. Baking can be a lot like that. You could hold a thermometer in the water and adjust until you got a cup of water that was between 105 and 115 degrees, but most bakers can tell when water is just a little bit warmer than body temperature. You’ll have to practice that. Now dissolve a new cake of yeast and let’s see how your bread turns out.”
Man! They could have put that explanation in the cookbook. Of course, I read about sugar in my chemistry book, so I was wondering what else I should be looking for. Yeast. Fungi. Botany. I wonder if Angela is in science camp this summer?
The bread came out of the oven just as we’d finished sealing the last can of beans. I wondered how Miss Sullivan knew the exact amount of green beans to make seventeen pints. This cooking stuff was beginning to really make sense. I bet there must be a correlation between dry weight and canned volume. We all sat with bread and honey as Miss Sullivan summarized the day.
“Now, as you know, in ten days is your demonstration contest. This should be the same demonstration that you plan to do at the fair, because the top three are the ones who will compete there. We'll practice demos on Wednesday and then you’ll prepare them for Saturday. Do you all know what you are planning?” There was a mix of shrugs and nods.
“How are we supposed to compete against him.” One girl asked. She was tall and I’d dubbed her “Legs.” She wore shorts so short that you could see her butt ledge. I’d spent a fair amount of time watching it. I never expected her to toss out a question like that, though. “It’s no fair. He’s like a professional chemist.”
“Well, you have a point, however I doubt that Brian’s work in chemistry actually gives him an edge over you. He uses it as his frame of reference to understand things, but cooking is cooking. So why is it unfair to compete against him?”
“Everything he does comes out perfect.”
“Almost,” Miss Sullivan said. “But why is that?” Nobody had an answer other than ‘chemistry.’ “Let me ask a different question. How often did you cook at home this week?” The girls and Andrew looked pretty blank.
“My mom does all the cooking. Why would I do it?”
“Did any of you cook at home?” Shorty raised her hand. “How many different dishes did you make?”
“Two. I only know how to make Macaroni and Cheese and Chicken Noodle Soup. It comes out of a can.”
“Brian, how many meals did you make at home this week?”
“Uh… five breakfasts and three dinners. And I tried baking bread twice.”
“Why do you cook breakfast and dinner?” Red asked.
“Well, my mom and dad both work full time. I don’t have a regular job this summer like I did last year, so I do it to help out. And they give me an allowance for completing my chores.”
“You see, it’s not that Brian is a chemist that makes him a good cook. It’s that he practices every day. You could all be that good a cook, if you practiced. But you are still right in a way. It’s not fair to compete with him. That’s why Brian will be competing in the senior division. So, you don’t actually have to worry about it. I’d suggest, though that you prepare your contest food for your family at least once this week if it’s possible.”
“Brian?”
“Oh. Hey, Shorty.”
“My name’s Judy.”
“Sorry, Judy. No one ever introduced herself to me? I just had to make up names for people based on outstanding characteristics.”
“You don’t call Sara ‘Boobs,’” she giggled.
“If you mean Red, believe me I thought about it. If I hurt your feelings by calling you Shorty, I’m sorry. I’ve always been kind of sensitive to that myself. Until this spring I was the shortest person in my class. I’m still the shortest boy, but at least I’m taller than a few of the girls now.”
“Yeah. I guess it’s okay if you call me Shorty then since you don’t mean it unkindly. Do you have a girlfriend?” Where did that come from?
“Uh… no. Not at the moment.”
“I could be your girlfriend if you want. Then you’d have a girlfriend who was shorter than you.” No kidding. I was pretty sure Judy didn’t even top four-six.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“Is it because I’m so little?”
“NO! It’s just that I hardly know you and we aren’t even going to be in the same part of the school this fall. You’re going into seventh grade and I’ll be in high school. It’s not about size. We’re just at different stages of our social lives and I bet we’re close to three years apart in age. I was the oldest one in my class until we got to Junior High and met the kids from other townships.” I sounded like Jessica.
“Well, I’m twelve and I’ve begun to mature into a woman. I get my period now and I think my boobs are growing.”
“Gosh, Judy. Why would you want a boyfriend like me? Nobody else in Foods even likes me.”
“They’re stupid. I… just thought that if I had an older boyfriend I wouldn’t get picked on so much.”
“Do kids pick on you?” I bristled. If there was one thing I couldn’t stand from my own experience, it was kids picking on others.
“Some. I don’t have any nice clothes or anything. My parents are divorced and my mom… she’s uh… not around a lot.”
“And that’s why you cook at home. You make your own meals.”
“Yeah. I enrolled in this class to learn to cook something besides mac and cheese. Mom buys big cases of boxes so I’ll have something to eat when she isn’t home. Nice of her anyway.”
“Sounds like you’ve got it pretty rough. Where do you live?” I was surprised to find she went to Range Road Elementary like I did and lived near the school. She’s what those of us who rode the bus called ‘walkers.’ “Do you need a lift home? My mom’s going to pick me up.”
“I rode my bike. It’s not that much farther than it was to school. I’ll see you next week. Just forget about what I said. I don’t really want to be your girlfriend.” She took off clutching her pint of green beans.
A letter from Jennifer was in the mail when I got home. We’d written a few times. Actually, a lot of times since our Christmas cards. I’d told her some things about what I’d done that I just didn’t feel I could tell anyone else because they all knew me too well and I saw them every day. I really had to tell someone about Kirby and his gang. That led to telling about the Kowalskis. I even told her that I had a painful crush on Jessica, but I couldn’t go into any details about that, of course. I guess I talked a lot about how I felt around Hannah, too. Jennifer had asked if we were still together and I had to write back that we broke up at the end of school. Man, once I started writing about that I just went on and on. It was a three-page letter.
In her letter, Jennifer said that she’d talked her parents into letting her go to the dude ranch for her birthday in August. It wasn’t on the exact day, but it was the weekend before. She wanted to know if there was any way I could go the same weekend and rescue her off the barrels again. She had snicker-quotes around the word ‘rescue’ and I immediately sprung a boner as I thought of her bending over to pull her panties up in my bunkhouse and then thanking me for rescuing her. Shit. Girls can lead a guy around by his dick without even being in the same county. I took the letter to my room tucked in my copy of Popular Science before Mom could get curious. I still had a trip to the dude ranch that I’d won. Maybe I should consider that weekend. I’d look at the calendar to make sure it didn’t interfere with the demonstrations or fair.
Thursday morning, I called Hannah to see if she wanted to come over and cook with me.
“What do you need my help for? What are you making?”
“I was going to make that Russian beef dish. You know, stroganoff?”
“You don’t need my help for that! I thought maybe you were making that Greek pistachio we read about.”
“Pastitsio.”
“Yeah. Why don’t we cook that next week?”
“Okay. But you aren’t coming over today?”
“No. I’m going to Potawatomi Zoo with Liz and Samantha. I’ve got other friends, you know.” I was a little jealous. But I told Liz to do something with Hannah. Dang it. I wished I was going. “Brian, you should really make some more friends like I have. You can’t depend on me for everything.” What?
“No problem, Hannah. Uh… Why don’t we do pastitsio on Thursday next week. Maybe your family would like to come over for dinner that night.”
“That sounds like fun. I’ll ask. See you. I’ve got to ride over to Liz’s house now.”
“Yeah. ’Bye.”
I was really happy for Hannah. She needed friends and I was glad Liz was making an effort. But for some reason, my eyes kind of stung. I went to my room for a while to try to sort out what I was feeling. I grabbed my Popular Science and Jennifer’s letter fell out. Two-and-a-half weeks. She didn’t give me much notice. The 4-H Demo contest was next weekend. The fair didn’t start for three-and-a-half weeks. Why not?
Monday and Thursday nights were my usual nights to make dinner and Mom and Dad were home right on time. It had been harder on them this summer because they carpooled so Betts could have Dad’s truck on the show circuit. It made for longer days. The stroganoff tasted good but the sour cream kind of separated and looked strange. I was sure Hannah could have helped.
I told Mom and Dad about inviting the Gordons over for dinner next Thursday.
“I’m so glad you are staying such good friends with Hannah,” Mom said. “I really like the Gordons. For a preacher, he isn’t too stuffy.”
“You mean he’s a good card player?” I asked.
“It is nice to find another couple who play pinochle. We won’t be playing much on a Thursday night, though. We all have to work on Friday.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” I said casually. “You know I’ve still got a weekend at the dude ranch from when I was carrying papers and I think it has to be used this summer. I was wondering if I could go for a weekend in August. Say, the weekend before the fair.”
“That sounds reasonable,” Dad said.
“It might even work to everyone’s advantage,” Mom suggested, raising an eyebrow at Dad. What? He nodded.
“Why don’t you call them tomorrow and see if there is room for you. They could be full-up.”
I made the call to Starbridge the next day and they were happy to book me in for the weekend. Then I sent a quick note to Jennifer to tell her I’d see her in two weeks. I suggest that she might need to ‘rescue’ me this time. Wow! The girl was serious enough to want to spend a weekend with me. And seriously cute, too. I’d been in a position to verify exactly how good-looking she was. I spent some time in my bedroom contemplating her image in my mind before I went out to brush down Silk. It took a while to get my breath back.
I did my demo at Rockwell Elementary in the gym. Mostly, each township had its own 4-H club, but some kids participated with friends from a different club. We didn’t have a senior Foods division in our club, but that just meant that I was competing with high school girls that I’d never really met. They were good, too. I demonstrated my three tomato dishes, just the way Miss Sullivan had me practice. You have to have all your food prepared and each item is in a separate little dish. You never mix utensils. One bowl, one scraper. I was amazed our school had so many dishes, but all the girls in high school take Home Ec, so I supposed they needed enough for everybody.
I won second place. The girl who won the contest did a really professional job demonstrating various cutting and dicing techniques. She was a whiz with a kitchen knife! I didn’t see all her demo, but I walked past her station after the competition and looked at how perfectly uniform her slices were and the exact differences between her ‘cubed’ and ‘diced’ vegetables. As I was looking at her food, I overheard two other girls talking.
“You should have got second,” the first said.
“Look at him over there like he’s studying Arlene’s vegetables,” said the second. “What a creep.”
“They just gave it to him because he’s a boy. Whoever heard of cold tomato soup? I think he saw one too many VitaMix demos.”
“I can’t believe he’ll be walking the halls of the high school next year. It gives me the willies.”
“We’ll get Chad to hang him by a belt loop in his locker like he did that kid two years ago.” They snickered and I walked away. It looked like the hassles weren’t going to end just because I was going to high school. Dang it! Maybe they were right. Maybe the judges did just give me second place because I was a boy. Andrew didn’t place in his division, but I was happy to see that Red’s demonstration of when sugar melted for perfect fudge won her first place. She didn’t mention chemistry. She made it look like magic.
Or maybe they just gave it to her because of her boobs. That would make about as much sense as what those girls were suggesting. I won my place. Hell with them.
Dad registered me at the dude ranch early on Friday. He’d taken the day off, which was something he ‘never’ did. Not only that, but we spent all morning fixing a nice dinner that he could just pull out of the refrigerator and heat up for him and Mom. He was acting really strange. I baked fresh bread and left it cooling on the rack in the kitchen. It was like he couldn’t get me to the ranch soon enough and I was one of the first weekenders to register.
I tossed my bags on the first bunk next to the door and reported for horse-grooming duty, which meant that I wouldn’t be around to meet Jennifer when she got there, but maybe they’d send her to the barn, too.
What they actually sent to the barn were six handicapped kids and their caretakers. We saddled the gentlest horses on the ranch with kids’ saddles and after their assistants got their gear on, we lifted them into the safety saddles and led the horses out on the half-mile riding track around the front of the ranch. These kids were cool. All I got to do was lead Jingo because each kid had an assistant who walked beside the horse and held onto the him. Jingo is good with children. You’d swear he’d lay down his life for them. They were just happy to be riding. The little girl I was leading spent the entire ride hunched over the saddle hugging Jingo’s neck.
By the time we got back to the barn and the kids stopped loving their horses, a busload from some camp showed up. We changed out the horses and got twenty ready for Hal, Tim, and Theresa to each take a group out on one of the short trails before dinner. I got to ride drag and make sure nobody got left behind. Well, at least I got to ride. I found out the kids were here for the whole weekend, so the idea of having a bunkhouse to myself again was out. Thank goodness I already got my bunk claimed and my sleeping bag on it. I decided on a lower by the door—just in case I wanted to slip out in the middle of the night.
Since I was expecting to see Jennifer, I headed back to the cabin and showered and dressed in clean clothes before dinner. I hung my towel on the line outside so it would be dry when I wanted a shower tomorrow. I wondered if any of the other guys in the bunkhouse even brought towels or intended to take a shower. The weekend here was part of their summer camp, so I figured they must have some stuff with them. Tim told me it was a middle school camp, so they’d be going into seventh through ninth grade. There’d probably be somebody my age in the cabin, but nobody was there when I dressed for dinner.
I checked the mirror before I left and used a Bic razor to zip off the fuzz that was showing even though I hardly had anything to shave. Satisfied that I was ready to meet a girl, I walked into the dining hall. It was pretty much chaos. There were about thirty of us total at the ranch for the weekend. Sometimes more came on Saturday. I spotted a table that only had a couple girls at it and since I didn’t see Jennifer yet I went to it and sat down. I didn’t want to take the last two seats at a table that had all guys at it. I left a seat between the girls and me and leaned it against the table to indicate it was taken.
“You can’t do that!” the girl next to the chair said.
“Were you saving it for someone?” I asked. I reached to turn the chair on the other side of me up.
“No! You can’t save a seat. It’s not allowed.” The girl was cute—for a 12-year-old. She had dark, almost black hair and braces.
“Sure it is,” I said.
“They don’t allow us to save seats at camp.”
“This is the dude ranch, not camp. I’m waiting for a friend and I chose to sit here so she wouldn’t have to sit at a table that’s all boys.”
“Your girlfriend came to the ranch?”
“She’s not exactly my girlfriend. We’re just friends. We met here last fall and decided to come back.”
“Maybe we’ll meet a boy,” the other girl said. She had a mouth full of metal, too, and it affected the way she spoke. Four other girls, a little older than my two companions approached the table. The tables seat ten, so there was plenty of room.
“What’s a boy doing at a girls’ table?” snapped the leader. She was pretty hot and probably the oldest girl I’d seen here. The other girls kind of followed in her wake. Here we go again.
“It’s not a girls’ table. It’s just a table in the chow hall,” I said.
“He’s got a girlfriend he’s saving a seat for,” my new friend defended me. “He’s a real gentleman.”
“Oh, yeah? Well he doesn’t need two seats saved. I’ll take that one.” She headed toward my right, but just then I saw Jennifer walk in. Man. She was even prettier than she’d been last fall. She spotted me right away and pointed me out to… her companion. Oh crap! Jennifer didn’t come alone. Beside her was a very surprised-looking Courtney.
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