I rub chalk from my fingertips and mull over the simple-yet-far-from-it question. Between enduring another Kyle and endless Jackie Chan questions, and reconnecting with Nathan only to then deal with my mother’s outright disappointment (Such a nice boy, has always been, but he’s not for you, Holly), there’s only one answer that calls to me right now.

I step out from behind the counter of The Luckiest Wok. “Doughnuts over guys, nearly each and every time. Got the front for a minute?”

The best things that can be said about the Batter Up! on the other side of the Main Food Court are that it’s close by and the doughnuts are still mostly vintage instead of trendy. A dieter’s nightmare, the menu ranges from crullers to fritters to long johns. The smells of fried dough and sugar hit me in rushes as I near the counter, so I can’t tell if I’m more sleepy or buzzed.

“Help you?” the bored-sounding server asks when it’s my turn. His hat’s a giant paper doughnut (everyone who works at the food court agrees Batter Up!’s uniform hats are the most humiliating). “Spring break special is a free doughnut hole with the purchase of a dozen doughnuts.”

(Everyone also agrees Batter Up!’s manager is a cheap ass.)

“Oh, yippee,” I say. “I don’t know how I’m going to resist.”

“I’m supposed to recommend the jelly-filled ones.”

I love jelly doughnuts, but Peak Dough—which closed months ago—was the only place in San Alejandra’s south end that still made them right, true classic style with lots of strawberry filling before rolling the balled dough in sugar.

While Batter Up! here in the mall uses a grape filling. And a cake base instead of yeast. Two strikes.

(It’s also supposedly their worst-selling doughnut, so I guess I’m not alone in being a hater.)

“Why don’t you guys start making them with strawberry?” I ask the server.

He shrugs, still bored. “I’m just recommending what I’m supposed to recommend.”

“Have you even tried your jelly doughnuts?”

“No. They’re made with grape filling.”

I roll my eyes. “Can I just get four sour cream glazed?” It’s Batter Up!’s least messed-up kind, even if they go too light on the glaze. And Vera, Louis, and Anton would never forgive me for returning empty-handed. “Thanks very much.”

The server turns to grab my order from the display case.

“The new shake bar that’s just opened in the Upper Food Court has some pretty amazing ones,” someone behind me says.

I glance over my shoulder. It’s a guy around my age, dressed in black jeans and a dark blue T-shirt that says earl of shake on the chest pocket. He’s smiling, hazel eyes on me, messy hair the color of sand on a beach, and he’s cute as hell.

My mother would approve.