BY WEDNESDAY, ALEX STILL ISN’T responding to any of my texts. I’d tried my best to summarize the situation, not fearing the consequences of Margaret anymore. I wish he’d let me explain everything in person, but he avoids his locker at all costs and he won’t look in my direction in algebra. When Mrs. Donaldson catches me leaning over to get his attention, she smacks her dry erase marker on her desk.

“One more word out of you, Miss Seneca, and I’m sending you down to the office.”

Then she pairs me with Peter Thompson—one of the smartest kids in our grade—for a Radical Race. As punishment, probably.

Of course I don’t win.

But I think of what Lin said. Try harder.

Alex isn’t the only person I need to try harder with, though. There are other people in the house who deserve better than what I’ve given them. I haven’t exactly shown that I’ve appreciated everything everyone has done for me. Not only Peach, Saylor, and Nonnie, but my dad, too. He’s spent months trying to earn my forgiveness, and what have I done in return? Behaved selfishly. Screamed awful things at him. But he hasn’t given up, and neither has anyone else.

I stop by the grocery store after school and pick up some ingredients. It’s been a while since I’ve made a pizza from scratch. My dad and I used to have pizza Wednesdays where we’d make our own pie and watch the newest episode of Crime Boss. He was always in charge of the crust while I made the sauce, but I figure it shouldn’t be too difficult. Plus, I want to extend a kind gesture to everyone tonight—a first step toward an apology.

No one is downstairs when I get home, which I was hoping for. I pull up a recipe on my phone and get to work.

It’s a fairly straightforward process. After I knead the dough, I start on the sauce. Once both are prepared, I flatten, spread, and top with shredded cheese, oregano, and some sun-dried tomatoes. Then I pop it in the oven, setting the timer before I flop over on the couch. I feel good—like I’ve accomplished something.

I waste time browsing through channels since a new episode of Crime Boss isn’t on until eight. I’m about to settle on watching a ridiculous reality show when the fire alarm blares—no—pierces through the entire house.

CRAP. I jump up and run to the kitchen, flinging open the oven. The sun-dried tomatoes are charred black, and the edges of the pizza are curling with smoke. I flip the oven off, hop up on the kitchen counter, and wave a dishrag in front of the alarm, hoping it will make it stop.

“Kira?”

Peach appears in the kitchen, her eyes wide with worry.

Thankfully the alarm falls silent, and I climb down from the counter and set the dishrag down, feeling tears well up behind my eyes. Why did I have to screw this up, too?

Nonnie is suddenly behind Peach, waving her hand in front of her face. “Is everything okay?”

I nod, my throat tight. “I, uh.” I swallow. “I was trying to make dinner. For everyone.”

Nonnie beams at me, but I can’t meet her eyes. If I do, I know I won’t be able to stop my tears.

Peach takes my creation from the oven and waves my abandoned dishcloth over it. “Do you have more dough?” she asks, her voice kind.

I nod, gesturing to the bowl.

Her magenta lips pull into a gentle smile. “Do you want to try again?”

I meet her gaze. I know she’s talking about the pizza, but it doesn’t stop the tightness in my throat and sting of tears behind my eyes. I can’t seem to find the right words, so I nod my head and hope she understands.

Nonnie squeezes my shoulder. “I’ll help.”

Peach walks us through the steps. The first crust I made was too thin on the outer edges, which is why it burned so quickly. She shows me how to spread it evenly, and I put more effort into it than I did before.

“See, you’re getting it.” Peach says. “You know what would go good with this? My chocolate peanut butter cookies.”

Nonnie grins. “I won’t say no to that.”

While I’m put to work gathering ingredients, Peach explains that they might offer her a full-time position at the bakery. They’ve been impressed with her ideas and management skills so far. I find myself congratulating her alongside Nonnie, but not because it might mean she’ll be able to leave soon. Because I am happy for her.

We’re mixing the cookie dough in a large bowl when my dad comes home.

“Something smells amazing,” he says.

“Kira made us dinner,” Peach tells him.

“I had help,” I add.

My dad smiles at me. It’s the first real smile I’ve seen in days.

We fall into a familiar hum. Nonnie gets out plates and sets the table while Peach finds vegetables in the fridge to prepare a salad. My dad takes a pizza cutter to our second creation.

“Save some for Saylor,” I say, knowing he’s working at 7-Eleven late tonight.

Once everyone’s sitting at the table, I redirect the attention my way. “Listen, there’s an away game on Friday in Little Pine. I wanted to invite you guys… if you want to come.”

My dad’s entire face lights up. “I’d love to see you perform, Goose.”

Peach and Nonnie say they’ll be there, and my dad starts talking about my old performances. He even gets out his phone and pulls up a video of my first routine back in freshman year. Normally I’d groan, but I like seeing him so happy. When Peach compliments my technique, he grins.

I know a pizza and an invitation won’t fix things, but at least it’s progress.