Free Zipped by Laura McNeal Page A

with a pineapple slice topped with a maraschino cherry.
    Janice grinned and said, “The cover’s just the tip of the iceberg. There’s more grossness within.” She skimmed the recipes. “Double Jinx Salad. Invisible Intruder’s Coconut Custard. And I urge you to consider The Wooden Lady’s Walnut Tidbits.”
    â€œLet’s burn it,” Lisa said. “For our country. It’s the right thing to do.”
    Janice laughed. “Can’t. It’s an artifact from my mother’s past. My grandma says little Genevieve loved this book. She even had a rating system for how each recipe turned out.” She flipped a few more pages. “For example, the Mysterious Mannequin Casserole got only two stars.”
    â€œTwo stars too many,” Lisa said.
    But Janice had become interested in something. “Wow, the glossary’s really something.” She read silently for a few seconds, then said, “Okay, automatic response. Who would you like to bake beat blend boil broil and chop?”
    â€œCoach Kapsiak.”
    Janice laughed. “Excellent! Now who would you like to core cube dice fold fry and garnish?”
    â€œThe Nancester.” Nancy Forster, her ice-queen geometry teacher.
    Janice said, “Okay, those were the easy ones. Here’s the biggie. Who would you like to”—she slid her voice into a sultry register—“peel simmer and stir?”
    Color rose in Lisa’s face. She pictured Elder Keesler in his black missionary suit. “Nobody,” she said quietly.
    â€œOh, that’s a little fib,” Janice said grinning.
    â€œNo, it’s not. There’s nobody I’d want to . . . do those things to.”
    Janice kept grinning. “Someday, girlfriend, you’ll cast aside your weighted chains.”
    Lisa, who was looking out the back window, suddenly stood up. Was she seeing what she thought she was seeing?
    Two guys in white shirts, ties, and dark parkas were wheeling bicycles up the walk of the building behind Janice’s. It was Elder Keesler, for sure, and his smaller companion, Elder P-something.
    â€œIt’s the missionaries,” Lisa said. “They just got transferred to Jemison, and I got my mother to invite them to dinner next Sunday. Isn’t Elder Keesler gorgio? He’s from Boston.”
    â€œIf you mean the tall one, he seems potentially peelable.” She was still staring down at them. “Aren’t they kind of young for elders? I mean, shouldn’t they be
youngers
?”
    Lisa laughed. “No. They’re deacons when they’re twelve, teachers at fourteen, priests at sixteen, elders at nineteen, and, as my dad’s always saying, set in their ways by twenty-one.”
    â€œBut, God, Leeze, those haircuts—they look like they could be buying at the commissary.”
    â€œYeah, well, they have to knock on people’s doors all day and say, ‘I have a message about Jesus Christ.’ Who’s gonna open the door for a Hell’s Angel who says that?”
    â€œI might,” Janice said, laughing.
    Elder Keesler pulled out a key, and Lisa made note of the apartment they disappeared into.
    â€œI bet people think they’re gay,” Janice said.
    Lisa whacked her on the shoulder. “Why?”
    â€œWell, they live together and dress very tidily.”
    Lisa laughed. “You should see them up close. Half of them wear clip-on ties. I’m pretty sure there’s a gay rule against clip-on ties.”
    Janice said, “How about Elder Keester? Does he wear clip-on ties?”
    â€œIt’s Elder
Keesler,
you moron. And no, he was wearing this very cool retro tie on Sunday. I’m hoping he wears the same one when he comes to dinner.”
    Janice flopped back down on the floor and picked up a pizza crust. “So, are there any Mormons on motorcycles? I might be able to go for a Harley Mormon.”
    Lisa laughed and then fell