by Janae Marks
They both glanced up from the television. “What are you baking?” Dad asked.
“Cupcakes.”
“As long as you save one for me,” Dad said. “And don’t forget to use the oven mitts.”
“Thanks.” I ran back to the kitchen before one of them could offer to be my sous-chef.
First, I had to make the cereal milk. I poured one and a half cups of milk into a stainless-steel mixing bowl and added Froot Loops to it. I wasn’t sure how much to add, or how long the cereal would have to sit in the milk to flavor it. At Trevor’s house, it’d only been around ten minutes, so I tried that.
Then I turned the oven on to preheat to 350 degrees and started on my vanilla cupcake recipe. This was my favorite part, because I got to use my stand mixer, which I’d gotten for Christmas the previous year. It was yellow, the color of butter and sunshine. Looking at it made me happy.
I added the sugar, flour, baking powder, and salt to the mixer and turned it on. Once it was all mixed up, I started combining the wet ingredients into a separate bowl. When it was time to add milk, I dipped a clean spoon into the Froot Loops milk and tasted it. It could taste a little stronger, so I left it for another ten minutes before I added the cereal milk to my cupcake batter.
I decided not to bother with the food coloring this time. I wanted to make sure I got the recipe right first.
Once everything was all mixed up, I scooped the batter into my cupcake pan and put it in the oven, setting the timer for twenty minutes.
While I waited, I started thinking about talking on the phone with Marcus. I wondered what he’d sound like. Would he have a really deep voice? Would he sound nice, or scary?
I had to make sure I asked Marcus for his alibi witness’s name, since he didn’t give it to me in his last letter. He may have wanted to leave the past behind him, but I was only getting started. When he heard how much it meant to me, he’d have to give me the name.
When the timer went off, I stuck toothpicks into a couple of the cupcakes to make sure they were done. The toothpicks came out a bit wet, so I added two more minutes to the timer and put them back in the oven.
When they were finally done, I took them out to let them cool. And then I grabbed a cupcake and broke off a piece.
Please taste good.
I took a bite, and then almost spit it out. Way too sweet! Guess the extra sugar in the milk was too much. I’d probably have to add less sugar to the next batch to even it out. Maybe I could ask Ariana or Vincent for their advice. No—I wanted to figure this out on my own. I could do what Ariana did—bake a couple of small batches with different amounts of sugar, so I could see which one tasted the best.
On the plus side, the cupcake did sort of taste like Froot Loops. My recipe was on the right track, and I wouldn’t stop trying until I nailed it.
I put the leftover cupcakes in a Tupperware container so Dad could bring them to work the next day. He once told me that his coworkers would eat any treats that he put in the office pantry.
My parents kept a notebook next to the fridge to write down whatever groceries we needed for the week. I added sugar and flour to the list, since I was running low. Then I remembered Marcus’s macaroni and cheese recipe. I didn’t really know how to cook, but his recipe hadn’t seemed too hard. I bet I could make it. I ran into my room and snapped a picture of the recipe on the back of his last letter before hiding it again.
Mom was refilling her water cup when I got back to the kitchen. Things were still tense between us since our fight outside of J.P. Licks, so I ignored her. But I could sense her watching me as I added the macaroni and cheese ingredients to the grocery list and put the notepad back in its spot.
She picked it up and wrote something on it. “Are you going to bake something with cheese in it?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “I want to make macaroni and cheese from scratch.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Um, with Grandma. We’re going to do it together.” That hadn’t been my plan, but it actually would be nice to make it with her. I could even tell her that it was Marcus’s recipe.
Mom nodded. “That sounds nice. Make sure you save some for Dad and me to try.”
She didn’t deserve Marcus’s macaroni and cheese. Not when she was keeping him from me.
Chapter Twenty-One
Marcus’s call was scheduled for Monday afternoon, so it was all I could think about while at Ari’s Cakes. Even though I got to bake with Vincent again, I couldn’t wait for the morning to be over.
Grandma took me straight to her house after picking me up. She made me lunch, but I could barely eat.
At 2:55 p.m., I got Grandma’s cordless phone and sat it on the coffee table. I stared at it, my knees bouncing. Finally, at 3:07, the phone rang.
I grabbed the phone as it rang a second time. My stomach flip-flopped.
Grandma rushed into the living room. “Do you want to answer it?” she asked.
I nodded. There was no time for me to build up the courage. The phone would only ring so many times. I pressed the Call button. “. . . Hello?” My voice was as small as a mouse.
The millisecond that passed while I waited for Marcus to come on the line felt like a million years. I held my breath.
But I didn’t hear Marcus. Instead, a recording came on the line, saying, “This is a collect call from an inmate at the Massachusetts State Penitentiary . . . ,” before another person chimed in.
“Marcus Johnson.” Marcus’s voice. My eyes widened as Grandma stood there watching me.
The other voice returned and said the call would be recorded and monitored, and to press 1 if I wanted to proceed. I could barely pay attention. I held on to the phone tighter so I wouldn’t drop it.
“It’s h-him,” I stuttered. “It says I have to press 1.’” But I could barely move. If I pull the phone away from my ear, I might miss something, I thought. I should’ve put it on speaker right after I answered. But it was too late now—I might end up hanging up by mistake. I quickly pulled the phone away from my face and stared at the numbers. Then my brain went blank.
“Let me.” Grandma took the phone, pressed 1, and put it to her own ear.
“Marcus? Hi, it’s Jeanette.” She stopped talking and I could hear a murmur come through the phone—Marcus’s voice. I couldn’t believe I was about to talk to him.
“I’m doing well, thank you.” There was a pause, and more murmuring. “Yes, she’s right here. Hold on.” Grandma rested the phone on her shoulder and spoke softly. “Do you still want to talk to him?”
I nodded.
“You sure? It’s okay if you changed your mind.”
“I’m sure,” I said. “I’m just nervous.”
Grandma gave me a warm smile. “Of course you are, but it’s only a phone call. I’ll be right here. If you don’t want to talk anymore, hand the phone back to me, and I’ll take care of it. Okay?”
I took a deep breath. Grandma was right—it was only a phone call. What was the worst that could happen? Except, I could think of a bunch of things. What if Marcus didn’t sound as nice on the phone as he did in his letters? What if he said something scary to me? Or I heard something scary happening in the prison in the background? I had no idea what prison was like.
But I had to at least try. “All right.”
Grandma put the phone back to her ear. “Okay, here’s Zoe.”
She handed the phone to me and I slowly put it to my ear. “Hello?” I said, tentative and low.
“My Little Tomato,” Marcus said, and he made a sort of laugh, like he also couldn’t believe we were actually talking. “Zoe. I’m so happy to hear your voice.”
His voice was deep, but not in a scary way. More in a comforting way, like Morgan Freeman’s voice when he narrated animated movies.
Tears sprang into my eyes. Even though I couldn’t see Marcus on the other end of the line, I could tell that he might be crying too. He exhaled loudly into the phone, and his breath sounded uneven.
/> I tried to imagine him in his orange jumpsuit, holding the phone. There was noise in the background, though I couldn’t make it out exactly, so he must’ve been in a room with other convicts.
“Me too.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. I wanted to hear Marcus talk some more.
“How are you?” he asked.
“I’m okay. How are you?”
“Really good now that I’m talking to you. You’re making my day. No, my month.”
I smiled, and Grandma gave me a look as if to say, “Everything good?” I nodded at her, and Grandma smiled back.
“I’ve been listening to the Little Tomato playlist a lot,” I told him. “The Jill Scott song has been stuck in my head for the last couple of days.”
“That’s great,” Marcus said.
“I’m going to make your macaroni and cheese recipe,” I told him. “Thanks for sharing it.”
“I know you’ll do a good job making it,” he said.
“It’s too bad I can’t send you some in the mail,” I said.
Marcus laughed.
“I wish you could send me a picture of you,” I said. “I have one from when you were in high school, but I want to know what you look like now.”
“You have a picture of me?” Marcus asked. “Which one?”
“It’s you at a Celtics game, wearing one of their sweatshirts.”
Marcus laughed again. “I know exactly which picture you’re talking about. Your mom used to have it in a frame. She gave me the tickets as a surprise for my birthday. The Celtics won, too. It was amazing.”
It was hard to imagine Mom being happy with Marcus, knowing how she felt about him now.
We were silent for a moment, and I wondered if Marcus was thinking about Mom.
“Well, anyway,” Marcus said. “I don’t think I look that different now—just older. Bigger. I was kind of scrawny back then. And I have to shave more now.”
In my mind, I tried to replace the image of Marcus that I knew with the one he described. I wished I could see him in real life.
I was about to ask him if he got to watch any basketball in prison, but then I heard shouting in the background.
“Time to get off,” someone yelled.
“What was that?” I asked, suddenly feeling scared for Marcus. If he was innocent, then he was surrounded by criminals. Unless there were other innocent people in his prison with him. It was still hard to wrap my head around it.
“Zoe, I have to go.” Marcus sounded rushed all of a sudden—and sad. “I’m really sorry, but it’s time for me to get off the phone.”
“You can’t go yet,” I said. “We only started talking.”
Then I remembered. I didn’t ask him about his alibi witness! I didn’t want to wait to ask him in another letter. I needed more time on our call.
“I’m sorry. Those are the rules. We’ll talk again, I promise,” he said.
“Wait. Can you call me again tomorrow, same time? Please?” I said the words as fast as I could.
“Okay, I’ll try my best. Goodbye, my Little Tomato.”
“Okay. Bye,” I said, but Marcus was already gone. There was a click as the call ended.
I put the phone down on the coffee table and looked up at Grandma.
“He said he might call me again tomorrow,” I said, the words rushing from my mouth. “I hope that’s okay. I needed more time.”
Grandma nodded, her smile warm. “That’s fine.”
I hoped nothing prevented Marcus from calling me back.
Chapter Twenty-Two
To help pass the time while I waited for Marcus’s second call the next day, I brought my macaroni and cheese ingredients to Grandma’s house so we could make Marcus’s recipe together for lunch.
“I have no idea what I’m doing,” I told Grandma. “I’m only good with sweet stuff.”
Grandma smiled. “That’s why there’s a recipe. You follow steps just like with baking. Here, let me see it.”
I handed her Marcus’s letter, which had the recipe on the back.
“Why don’t you start grating the cheese?” Grandma asked. “I’ll put a pot of water on to boil and preheat the oven.”
“Okay.”
Grandma took out a cheese grater and I got to work on the huge block of mild cheddar cheese. After that I grated the sharp cheddar and Monterey Jack cheeses. By the time I was done with all that grating, my right arm felt like rubber.
The next steps were easy. As the pasta cooked, Grandma and I made the cheese sauce by adding the grated cheeses to milk and heavy cream in a pot. We added some seasonings, like salt, pepper, and paprika, and mixed it all together.
“Let’s taste the sauce to make sure the seasonings are right,” Grandma told me.
We dipped spoons into the mixture and tasted it.
“What do you think?” Grandma asked.
“Maybe more paprika?” I said. “I’m not sure I taste a lot of spice.” What I tasted was a whole lot of cheese.
“Sounds good to me,” Grandma said, and I shook a little more paprika into the mixture.
Marcus’s recipe said to add a couple of eggs next, so we did that.
When the timer went off for the pasta, I went for the colander, but Grandma stopped me.
“You should always taste the pasta first, to make sure it’s ready.” She used a spoon to scoop a few macaroni noodles out of the pot. She blew on them, and then popped one in her mouth and handed me the other. It tasted pretty good to me.
“Perfectly al dente,” Grandma said.
“Al what-te?” I asked.
She laughed. “It’s a term chefs use to describe the texture of the pasta. You want it to still be a little firm when you bite into it.”
“Oh.”
We drained the macaroni and then poured it into a baking dish. We poured the cheese sauce on top and mixed it all together. I loved the weird squishy sound the macaroni made as we mixed the cheese in. Finally, we sprinkled some more shredded cheese on top and put the baking dish in the oven.
I helped Grandma clean up the mess while the mac and cheese baked.
“Are you excited to talk to Marcus again?” she asked as she opened her dishwasher.
“Yes. And nervous,” I said. “But mostly excited. It was really nice to get to hear his voice. Thank you for letting me.”
Grandma smiled. “You’re welcome, baby.”
When the timer went off, we took the macaroni and cheese out of the oven. The layer of cheese on the top was a toasty brown color, and more cheese bubbled underneath. It smelled amazing. I took a picture of the dish with my phone. I actually cooked something!
Grandma scooped some onto plates for us, with salad on the side.
“This is delicious,” Grandma said after she took her first bite. “You did a great job.”
It was really good. I couldn’t wait to tell Marcus.
When it got close to the time that Marcus would call, I went into Grandma’s living room, grabbed the phone, and practiced pressing the 1 button. I had my journal next to me so I could write down everything Marcus told me about his alibi witness.
When the phone rang at 3:25, I startled again. It was just like the day before. Grandma rushed into the living room with her mug of tea. I picked up the phone and there was the recorded voice again, saying it was a collect call from Marcus Johnson. I beamed, this time pressing 1 without any trouble.
“Hello?” Marcus asked.
“Hi.” I exhaled into the phone. “It’s Zoe.”
“My Little Tomato,” he said, and I could tell he was smiling again. “I’m sorry we got cut off yesterday like that.”
“That’s okay. I’m glad we get to talk again.” Then I said, “Guess what I made today?”
“What?” Marcus asked.
“Your mac and cheese recipe! Grandma and I had it for lunch. It tasted really good.”
“That’s great!” Marcus said, laughing. “I wish I could taste it.”
“Me too.”
“W
hat else is going on?” Marcus asked.
“Well, I wanted to ask you something.” I took a deep breath. “I know you said you don’t want to talk about the past and whatever, but I want to talk to your alibi witness, and hear her side of the story. Can you tell me her name?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that,” Marcus said. “I don’t want you getting involved in this.”
“If it’s true that you’re innocent, I want to know,” I said.
There was silence on the line.
“Sweetheart,” Marcus said, now sounding sad.
“No,” I said. “Please don’t say that like I’m a little kid who can’t handle things. I’m old enough to understand this. In case you forgot, I’m twelve years old.”
Marcus sighed. “You’re a smart kid, I know that. But this stuff is complicated.”
“I know that people go to jail even when they don’t deserve to,” I said. “I didn’t used to know that, but I do now. Also, I read all about the Innocence Project. Have you heard of them?”
“I have, but—”
“Maybe they can help you,” I said.
“Zoe . . .”
I didn’t want to waste any more time. I needed Marcus to let me do this. But how would I convince him to give me the name? “How am I supposed to know that you’re really innocent?” I made my voice serious. “I barely know anything about you. You could be lying to me.”
“I told you I wouldn’t lie to you,” Marcus said.
“But how do I know you aren’t lying about that?”
He breathed into the phone. “You don’t. I guess you have to decide if you trust me. I hope you do.”
“Well,” I said, “I want to know for sure if you’re innocent. If you don’t tell me who the witness is, then it must be because you made her up. Because you really did kill someone.” My voice cracked. What if he really did make the alibi witness up?
“I didn’t ki—” Marcus started to say, but then stopped. “I didn’t do it.”
