Read Confectionately Yours #2: Taking the Cake! for Free Online Page B

shorts. Polyester. Our gym smells like gladiator sweat and a bucket of dirty disinfectant water. Isn’t that a romantic place to read a love note?
    Oh, right: No .
    The coach calls time, and now it’s my turn to do sit-ups. We change places, which gives Meghan plenty of time to narrate the rest of Ben’s reactions to her secret-admirer note.
    “He’s folding it up,” she says as I crunch my abdominal muscles. “He’s putting it back in his backpack. Hayley, he’s saving it!”
    “How many sit-ups is that?” I ask the next time I’m upright.
    “Oh, jeez, I have no idea,” Meghan admits. “Five?”
    It’s eight. I roll my eyes. For someone who’s a genius nerd, Meghan isn’t too good at counting sit-ups.
    “I’m going to write him another one,” Meghan gushes as I crunch away.
    “Bad idea,” I grunt.
    “Bad?” Meghan smiles, like I’m teasing her. “Are you kidding? The first one worked out; now it’s time to go bigger!”
    I’m not so sure this is a good idea. Ben is shy. He may get overwhelmed by too much romance.
    “Maybe I’ll write some poetry,” Meghan is saying. “Or make him something. A painting …”
    The whistle blows, and I roll over onto my side, my stomach muscles aching. “Why don’t you wait awhile?” I suggest as everyone gets to their feet.
    “‘You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough.’” Meghan’s round pink face is positively glowing.
    “Did you get that off a bumper sticker?”
    “It’s William Blake!” Meghan grabs my arm and we start toward the locker room. “The English poet. And yes — it’s on my neighbor’s Corolla. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true!”
    “Why don’t you send your letter to William Blake?” I suggest.
    I’m joking, but Meghan rolls her eyes. “He’s been dead for about two hundred years.”
    Well, then, you won’t have to worry about embarrassing yourself, I think, but before I can say anything, Marco comes up to us.
    “Hey, Hayley, I was just wondering —” He casts a sideways glance at Meghan, then angles his body so that she’s behind him. “Um — could I look at your math homework again?”
    “Sure, Marco,” I tell him. “I’ll give it to you after I change.”
    “Thanks.” He’s more than just grateful, I realize when I see his smile, he’s relieved. For a moment, I have a flash of what it feels like to deal with Mr. Carter every day. It feels horrible.
    Meghan doesn’t say anything as we make our way to the locker room. But I feel like I need to offer some kind of explanation, anyway. “He has a lot of trouble with math,” I say.
    Meghan shrugs. “Then he should do the homework.” She pulls open the door to the locker room.
    “He tries; he just needs help.” I keep my voice down, since the locker room is so echoey.
    “Okay,” she says, but the way she says it makes it sound like it isn’t okay, not really, and suddenly I’m annoyed. Who is Meghan to judge? Marco and I have been friends for years. “You don’t know what his life is like,” I snap.
    “What’s it like?” Meghan asks as she sits down on the bench and kicks off her shoes.
    The question hits me like a slap. What’s Marco’s life like? “His parents are …” I’m not sure what to call it. “… strange. And his sister is autistic. Like, very autistic.” I don’t want to say more. I nibble my pinkie nail as our classmates mill around us, everyone trying to get changed while never letting anyone see their bodies. Half of them probably have an ear out for stray gossip. It stinks worse in here than it does in the gym. It’s not a place you can really talk. “It’s not a big deal, Meg,” I say at last. “What’s one homework assignment? It’ll help him.”
    Slowly, Meghan pulls her fresh clothes out of her locker. “Are you sure that you’re really helping him?”
    I picture Mr. Carter’s sneer. “Yes.”
    She looks right at me with her straightforward blue eyes. “Okay,