by Coco Simon
“Dylan! It’s a party at home, in our living room!” I protested. “We’re not going to a club!”
“Whatever! It’s your party!” she said. “I was just thinking with your boyfriend coming and all. . . .”
“He’s not my boyfriend!” I cried.
“Yet,” Dylan said firmly. “Now sit and let me do your makeup.”
“I don’t want too much. Mom will make me come back up and take it off, and I hate that. It makes my eyes all sting-y and red.”
Dylan scoffed. “Don’t you think I know the limitations we must suffer under around here? We’re doing clear mascara, a hint of brown eyeliner, and pink lip gloss. That’s all.” She sighed as she pushed me down into the chair at her dressing table and studied me critically.
“Would you let me pluck your eyebrows?”
“What? No way! That would hurt!”
“Beauty is pain, but it’s probably too late anyway. We don’t want any redness or swelling this close to the party,” she said, assessing her cosmetics choices.
Redness? Swelling? No thanks!
Dylan spun me around on the chair and set to work.
Fifteen minutes later she said, “Voilà! My work here is done!” and spun me back around to look.
I didn’t look too different to the naked eye, but I could see everything was a tiny bit enhanced. I did look good, I had to admit.
“Thanks, Dilly. I like it,” I said. I smiled at her in the mirror.
She smiled back, pleased with her handiwork. “Leave the hair till the last minute, and we’ll take it down right before everyone arrives. Now scram so I can get ready!”
I passed my mom in the hallway, and she said. “Wow—you look great! Dylan did a wonderful job on your makeup!”
Grrr! Can Dylan do no wrong?
I started down the stairs and saw Katie bustle past. She and the other Cupcakers had come early to get everything ready for the party. She spotted me and scolded, “Back upstairs! Wait for us to come get you!”
Hmm. I turned and went back to my room. I didn’t really have anything to do. I sat in my desk chair and spun lazily, first in one direction, then in the other. I wondered how the party would go and if I’d like it. Who else was coming, I wondered. What had my friends brought to decorate the living room? Maybe some flowers? What kind of music would we dance to? There would certainly be snacks. I know there were definitely going to be cupcakes, but what sort? They couldn’t give everyone plain vanilla mini cupcakes.
I sighed, restless and kind of nervous. What if I didn’t like the party? What if I didn’t think it was fun? Could I fake having a good time? Would anyone be able to tell?
To kill some time and distract myself, I turned on my computer and went to my favorite websites, where I sometimes go to relax: I was just too nervous to focus on my studies. So I checked out Staples and The Container Store. I love how everything on those sites is so organized and neat, ready for people to get to work or just relax. It’s so inspiring. Right as I was studying a sale on folders, there was thudding on the stairs, and my friends bounded into my room to change.
“Lex, you’re gonna love it! It looks ah-mazing down there!” said Emma, whipping off her clothes. Ever since she became a model, Emma has no shyness at all about changing in front of us. She says she’s gotten used to everyone poking and prodding her, and she can’t be too self-conscious. Meanwhile, Katie ducked into the bathroom to change, and Mia was in my closet.
“Don’t give away any secrets, Em!” Mia called out in a muffled voice.
“I’m not!” protested Emma. “You’re going to like it, though,” she whispered. “It looks great.”
I was feeling excited now.
Ten minutes later, the gang was ready.
“Okay, Lex, now we’re going to blindfold you and lead you downstairs,” said Mia.
“Blindfold? Seriously?” I laughed.
“It was Dylan’s idea,” said Emma. “She’s waiting downstairs already. She wants to be the one to take off the blindfold when you get there.”
I raised an eyebrow at Katie, but she just shrugged. “Go for it?” she said, but it was more like a request than a question.
I sighed and turned to let Emma wrap one of Dylan’s gauzy scarves around my head. Then I let them lead me out of my room, down the hall and stairs, and into the living room.
As if on cue they all started singing happy birthday, and I heard Dylan whisper close to my ear, “Happy Birthday, Lexi!” and the scarf fell away.
I opened my eyes and gasped! I couldn’t believe what I saw.
CHAPTER 3
Cakefetti!
All the living room furniture had been pushed to the walls, opening up the center of the room, upon which had been laid a plastic dance floor with a hot-pink–and-orange checkerboard pattern. The ceiling of the room was entirely filled with colorful paper lanterns with little illumination sticks inside them, giving the room a soft glow. Each of the lanterns had short ribbons hanging down from them, and a dangling little hot pink cardboard A. The shades were pulled down, and the window frames were outlined in LED strips that pulsed in different colors, and suspended from the ceiling in the middle of the room was a disco ball slowly spinning and reflecting twinkling light all over. Through the doorway to the dining room, I spied a table loaded with drinks and snacks, including platters of cupcakes, some of which appeared to be red velvet, my new favorite.
“Say something!” said Mia, laughing as she made a little heart with her hands.
I realized my jaw was hanging open, and I closed it and blinked back sudden tears. “I . . . I can’t believe you guys did all this . . . for me!”
“It’s because we love you!” cried Emma, grabbing me in a hug and dancing me around the room.
“It’s incredible!” I called over my shoulder to the others. “I love it! Thank you all so much!”
Dylan was beaming, and she clapped her hands and then clasped them in front of her chest while she watched me. “I’m just excited about the playlist!” she exclaimed. “I know how much you love to dance, so we gave it our all!”
“Come see the food!” urged Katie, and grabbed me by the arm and dragged me through to the dining room. “Your mom let us break all the Becker dietary restrictions. There are mini quesadillas with seven-layer dip, and pigs in a blanket, and these tiny pizza bites, plus chips and guacamole. There are three kinds of cupcakes—vanilla; red velvet, since that’s your new favorite; and salted caramel and bacon, for you-know-who, and—look! We have a toppings bar, so people can put whatever toppings they want on the cupcakes! There’s crushed Oreo cookies, and chopped Rice Krispies treats, and candy corn, and Red Hots, crumbled bacon, and M&M’s. . . . And over here we have the drinks. There’s Arnold Palmer, and hibiscus iced tea, and fruit punch with Sprite. . . .”
I couldn’t believe it. Someone had even made note of the fact that red velvet was my new favorite cupcake flavor. I think I had mentioned it only once, two or three weeks ago! I kept shaking my head in wonder. “This is so much work! And so expensive and over-the-top! I can’t believe you did all this!”
“Dylan really knows how to throw a party!” said Mia. Then she clapped her hand over her mouth and laughed. “Sorry,” she whispered.
“No, you’re right. She really does.” I turned and went into the living room to look for Dylan, who was tweaking some of the lanterns in the living room. Quickly, I crossed over and said, “Dilly . . . thanks a milly!” We both laughed as we hugged. “I love this party. It’s amazing!” I said into her shoulder, and right then, the doorbell rang and the party officially started.
About twenty-five kids arrived over the course of the next hour. Matt didn’t arrive in the first hour, but I knew not to expect him early—Emma said he had two games today and would be rushing to make it to the party in between. That made me feel good. Of the kids who came, they were mostly school friends: classmates and associates from the Future Business Leaders of America—all kids I wouldn’t necessarily hang out
with outside of school but who were perfectly nice—and a smattering of Dylan’s friends. Having high schoolers there jazzed up the party and made it feel cooler, which I liked. I’m not much of a small talker—I leave that kind of stuff to Dylan—so I stayed on the dance floor and showed off some of the moves I’ve picked up from my favorite show, Celebrity Ballroom.
I danced a lot and sang until my voice was hoarse. In the middle of one song, about halfway through the party, I spied Matt in the doorway, his hair wet and his cheeks pink, as if he had rushed over. My heart leaped with excitement as my stomach dropped in nervousness. Eek! Matt Taylor is at my birthday party, every cell in my body sang out. Emma danced over and nudged me, making sure I had seen him. I couldn’t keep the stupid grin off my face, even as I tried to twirl around her to block Matt from seeing we were noticing him. It wouldn’t be good to look too eager. I didn’t want to go over there yet. I thought maybe I should let Matt come to me. Emma danced away, and I found myself with my FBLA pals, in a conga line headed up by my friend Nikil.
The next time I looked back at Matt, Dylan was chatting with him, and they were laughing. Oh no! The Taylors were family friends of ours, so Matt and Dylan have spent time together over the years. He’d even been invited to Dylan’s upcoming birthday party. I wasn’t worried about awkwardness—just the opposite. If I knew Dylan, she was talking me up right now, telling some embellished story to make me look like a romantic heroine. “Oh, Matt, did I ever tell you about the time Alexis had to dive into a shark tank at the aquarium to save a baby?” Even worse, it wouldn’t be out of character for her to end the story by saying “And that’s why you need to marry Alexis!”
Dylan has to be stopped!
Frantically, I glanced around to see if one of the Cupcakers was available to interrupt Dylan’s advertising speech before she went too far. I finally caught Emma’s eye and waved to Dylan and Matt, making urgent throat-cutting gestures while trying to be subtle. Emma, bless her heart, saw what was going on and bolted to the dining room. She knew Dylan too well.
I scurried to catch up with the conga line as it snaked through the front hall and around to the kitchen. I realized we were going to end up going through the dining room, and I decided I couldn’t prolong my avoidance of saying hi to Matt. He’d notice. As we sashayed around the kitchen island (and my mom giggled from her perch at the kitchen table), I took a deep breath and steeled my nerves. I vaguely wondered where my dad was, but knowing him, he was probably in the bedroom watching some sporting event. Birthday parties (especially “girly” ones) weren’t his thing.
As Nikil pushed open the swinging door to the dining room, Matt and I locked eyes, and I started grinning like a crazy person as I shimmied my way toward him. When Nikil turned the conga line to go back into the living room, I peeled away and sidled up to Matt.
“Hi,” I said, smiling so hard my cheek muscles hurt.
“Happy birthday,” he said quietly, with a private smile, as his deep dimples appeared and caused my legs to tremble. “You look really nice, Alexis.”
“Thanks for coming,” I said.
“I wouldn’t have missed it.”
We stood there grinning awkwardly.
“Did you have any cupcakes?” I asked.
“Yup. They were delicious,” he said.
Grin, grin, grin.
“Oh, hey, I brought you something. Here,” said Matt, pulling a small wrapped rectangular box from his back pocket and handing it to me. What could it be? A link bracelet? A necklace?
“Oh, wow! Thank you so much. You didn’t need to do that,” I said, my palms sweating suddenly.
“Don’t be silly! It’s your birthday! Go on, open it!” he said, an expectant smile on his face.
“Okay . . . if you’re sure . . . ,” I said. I held the light package in my hands and chanted in my head, Please, be something I like. Please, be something I like. Unlike—ahem—Dylan, for example, I am a terrible faker, and the stress of having to pretend I loved something would be horrible.
My fingers were shaking as I tried to peel back the gift wrapping. I was trying to do it neatly, but Matt interrupted. “Just rip it! The lady in the store wrapped it because I am all thumbs when it comes to that stuff.”
I laughed and tore off the paper, feeling giddy when I saw what did look like a jewelry box. A gift of jewelry would really take things to the next level for us. Lifting the hinged lid slightly, I peeked inside to get a head start on what my reaction would be. I couldn’t quite tell what kind of jewelry it was. . . . I lifted the lid entirely, and inside was . . . a wooden pen.
“Wow!” I said, exhaling.
Matt took the case from me and displayed it on his on his palm, pretending to showcase it while he jokingly gestured lavishly at it with the other hand like a salesperson on the Home Shopping Network. “The lady at the store said wooden accessories are very in right now. I was going to get you a pair of wooden sunglasses, but I knew you’d prefer a useful gift!”
“Thank you so much. I love it!” I said, finding his eyes and smiling warmly. But inside, my heart was crushed. I’d expected something romantic. Something that indicated he really liked me, as a girl. Not as . . . an accountant.
Matt looked at me for an extra second, and then he said, “Well, you need to get back on that dance floor with your guests, and I’m going to have one more cupcake before I have to run. I’m . . . I hope you like the pen. Happy birthday, Alexis.” He put the pen back in the case and handed it back to me.
“Thanks, Matt. I’ll use it all the time,” I said firmly. “I’m so happy you were able to make it today. I appreciate you coming.” I smiled again, feeling formal and awkward. I wanted to hug him or have him hug me, but he shoved his hands into his pockets and smiled, then he turned away, and the opportunity had passed.
I felt a lump in my throat—not like I was going to cry, but just like a chunk of disappointment was stuck there. Matt had been the person I was most excited about seeing at my party, and it hadn’t gone great. It had also gone really quickly. Why had I stalled on going over to see him and say hi? Dylan wouldn’t have done that if her crush had come to her party, I knew that. I walked the case back into the kitchen for safekeeping.
My mom looked up from her newspaper. “Having fun, honey?” she asked.
I nodded, suddenly wanting to cry. “It’s a really nice party,” I said.
“Dylan and your friends did a wonderful job. . . .”
Dylan, Dylan, Dylan. It was about her all the time!
“I know,” I said. “I’m so grateful.” I stashed the pen in my book bag so I could bring it upstairs later, then I went back to the party, where things were beginning to wind down. Someone had turned down the music a touch, and the dining room was packed with people looking for refreshments. My dad had come through and opened the front door to let the cool air in, and the daylight washed out the disco vibe a little bit.
Dylan was easily chatting away with randoms, cracking people up and gesturing expansively. I smiled and looked around, accepting compliments like “Great party, Alexis!” and “Thanks for having me!” I couldn’t claim any credit for either of those things so I just smiled and nodded and didn’t break stride.
I’d had a really nice time, but now I was tired and wanted to go lie on my bed and rest; maybe do some sudoku.
Suddenly, my besties were at my side in the living room.
“Have you had fun?” Katie asked enthusiastically.
“Totally!” I smiled, trying to amp my energy back up.
“It’s been a great party,” said Mia.
“Thank you so much. It’s a total blast, and I loved all the thoughtful touches. You guys must’ve put a lot of time and effort into this. It shows.”
We had a group hug, and I was grateful that no one mentioned Dylan. I’d obviously thank her later, in private.
Suddenly, the lights came up and the disco birthday song started blaring “It’s your birthday, it’s your birthday!” Dylan shimmied toward
me with a cake shaped like a tall cylinder.
“Whaaat? I thought we were just having cupcakes!” I cried. There was a cardboard Roman candle flaring like a blowtorch on top of the cake. I wasn’t sure how to begin to blow it out. My dad appeared with his phone for photos of Dylan presenting the cake to me, surrounded by my besties. I laughed and tried to put out the flame, but when the song ended, it fizzled out at the same time, and Dylan said, “Now for the best part!”
She put the platter down on the coffee table. Then suddenly Mia was by my side. She produced a knife and presented it to me to cut the cake.
“Dad, keep filming!” Dylan commanded.
“Is this thing going to explode?” I asked in jest.
“Maybe!” teased Dylan. “Be careful!”
I slid the knife into the cake twice, creating a small triangular wedge. Then I slowly withdrew it to put it on a plate. The inside of the cake was rainbow-colored layers, and the cake had a hollow core filled with colorful candies and sprinkles! I was awestruck. The cake did seem to explode onto the plate in a riot of color. Everyone oohed and aahed.
“Wow! This is incredible, Dylan!” I cried.
Dylan smiled in satisfaction. “Cakefetti! I knew you’d like that one! I got it at this new bakery I read about.”
Besides being gorgeous and fun, the cake was delicious. We sliced slivers for everyone, and Dylan scooped the cakefetti onto people’s pieces as she passed them around. I wished Matt had been here to see it. He likes innovations in baking as much as us Cupcakers do.
Soon after, everyone left in a flurry of “thank yous” and “best party evers,” and my friends and I cleaned up the food and drinks and much of the décor. Just the lanterns were left on the ceiling, and the lights tracing the window frames. We hung out in the living room to enjoy it all as we rehashed the party. This is actually the part of parties that I like the best: nibbling on leftovers, discussing what went on, and laughing a lot.
Dylan had gone upstairs to change, and when she came back, she was holding a wrapped beautifully present.
