The Jock and the Fat Chick Read Online Free Page A

girls, and trust me, you don’t want to be in the locker room and have the guys razz you for your ladylike qualities.
    “Ten more minutes,” Mrs. A announces.
    Claire tastes the rice. “Okay, remove the halibut and cut it into small bits.”
    I use tongs to pick up the fish and half of it breaks and falls back into the pan. Guess I should have used the spatula. Anyway, I place both pieces onto the wooden cutting board, and from the drawer, I grab a big-ass knife, confident I’ve got this. If she wants small bits, I’ll give her small bits. I start chopping the fish, attacking it from all different angles.
    Claire gasps and I stop. Now what?
    She steps closer, examining my work. “Ew. Cut with the meat’s natural grain, Hacky McHackster.”
    “Natural grain?”
    She takes the knife from my hand and uses the blade’s tip, showing me how to do it. “See how it flakes apart?”
    Mrs. A wanders over as Claire flakes. I stand back.
    “Claire,” Mrs. A says, and I detect a hint of irritationin her voice. I guess it’s possible to upset her. “You’re being graded as partners. You need to give Kevin a chance to participate.”
    Claire sets down the knife and swivels the handle so it points toward me. “Sorry.”
    Even though I haven’t done much other than stir and hack, I step to my teammate’s defense. “I’ve been helping,” I say.
    “Oh?” Mrs. A replies. “And what are we making today, Kevin?”
    I tell her, “Rice and fish,” and say it without hesitating, so it sounds like I know what we’re doing.
    Claire bows her head and slumps. “Wild mushroom and halibut risotto,” she mumbles, and I hear a penalty buzzer in my head go ERRRNNNNTT! Game over.
    Mrs. A smiles to say she’s made her point about sharing the workload. She walks off to inspect another group.
    Things turn quiet and serious. Claire adds another glob of butter to the rice, or whatever she calls it, and I continue “flaking.”
    “Listen,” she murmurs in a voice so low I have to bend to hear. “I’m just going to come out and say it. The reason Mrs. A put you with me is because I’m good at this and, well, . . . you’re a lost cause.”
    My spine straightens.
    “You’re not the first guy forced to take this class andthink it was easy, and Mrs. A always sticks the temps with me, and I have to take it without complaining, so I can maintain my A. It’s not fair, because it makes my job ten times harder.”
    I stand there like a giant dummy too stumped for words.
    She sighs. “But at least you’re nice and not a jerk about it.”
    It takes a second for what she’s saying to sink in. She’s basically calling me a charity case.
    “So, I want to propose a deal.”
    I raise an eyebrow, letting her know I’m listening, but I’m not sure where she’s going with this.
    “I tell you what to do and say around Mrs. A, and that way I keep my A and you can pass this class.”
    I consider Claire’s offer. On the one hand, I don’t like her calling me a dumb jock. On the other, she’s amazingly good at cooking and needs to keep her grades high, which means if I do what she says, I’ll pass too. I’ve got nothing to lose, so I nod.
    “Okay,” I say.
    She gives me this big warm smile, like I’ve made her day. “Good.” She motions to the fish. “Keep flaking.”
    I respond with a “Yes, Coach,” as a lighthearted way of sealing our deal.
    When I’m done flaking, Claire adds the fish to the thick rice mixture and then stirs, making my mouth water. Itlooks and smells incredible. There must be a million grams of carbs in there. If I ate all that, I’d slip into a carb coma.
    Claire pulls a large wooden spoon from the drawer and then offers it to me. “Want to taste?”
    She’s surprised when I shake my head, like I have no clue what I’ve turned down.
    “Ugh,” she says. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those carb-counting gym rats.”
    I make a face. “I hate the term ‘gym rat’; it makes me sound