Confectionately Yours #3: Sugar and Spice

by Lisa Papademetriou

  Artie looks ready to strangle me with the green wig. “If we let everyone in, the show will be three hours long!”

  “Not if we only give everyone three minutes to perform,” I say. “That’s what we were counting on, right?”

  “I told Seth that he could have five,” Meghan puts in. “And your act might take a little longer.”

  “My act?” I repeat.

  “You’re going to make cupcakes, right?” Meghan’s voice is all like, duh.

  Artie groans. “Mad boring!”

  “Cooking shows are huge!” Meghan snaps. “You just show everyone how you mix it up.”

  “Then wait half an hour?” Artie interrupts.

  “No — then just pull out some that you’ve already baked, to show how they’ll look.” Meghan’s eyes are huge. “Seriously, don’t you people watch the Food Network?”

  “I think that could work,” I say.

  “You would,” Artie snaps, which sounds like an insult, but I can’t really figure out if it is or not. She places the green wig neatly on the foam head where it lives. “Let’s hold auditions.”

  I can’t help feeling like Artie’s trying to get me out of the show. Which I don’t really mind. But Meghan isn’t having it.

  “It’s a talent show, not a contest, Artie.”

  “I just don’t want it to be lame!” Artie protests. “I don’t want it to seem like we’re a bunch of dorky five-year-olds putting on a puppet show behind the couch! Am I crazy?” She turns to me, but I’m lost in a memory of the two of us at age five, putting on a puppet show behind my couch. We used my Barbies to stage an original musical called The Lonely Princess. I thought it was pretty good. You know, considering we were five.

  “The point is to have fun,” Meghan says. “You do know how to do that, right, Artie?”

  Artie sucks in a breath, and her face looks like she’s about to go kablooie.

  “Look, look, the talent show is supposed to be open to anyone who has a talent, and we just don’t have time for auditions,” I say quickly. “So it doesn’t really —”

  “Okay, if you want this to be a mess, that’s fine.” Artie pulls down another wig and starts yanking at the curls as if she wants to teach them a lesson.

  I fiddle with the fringe at the end of my cape, feeling like I’m grasping at straws. “I think the trick is not to take this so seriously.”

  “If we’re not going to take it seriously, then I don’t want to do it at all,” Artie replies. Her eyes are flat, her expression so cold that I’m tempted to wrap the cape around myself. “I’ll perform in the show, but I don’t want to help with it. Don’t put my name on the program.”

  “We’re having programs?” I ask just as Ms. Lang walks into the costume shop to check on us.

  Artie gives her a smile, but Ms. Lang twists her mouth into a pucker-faced frown. “Well, Artemis, I think it’s interesting that you’re already backing out of the talent show. Did you forget that it’s for a good cause?”

  “We were just having a disagreement,” Artie says. “I mean, I’ll still be in the show….”

  “Most shows don’t need more people to star in them.” Ms. Lang’s voice comes down hard like a heavy object. “They need people to make them happen.”

  “Of course, you’re r-right …” Artie stammers. “I wasn’t thinking —”

  “I’m disappointed in you, Artemis, to be honest,” Ms. Lang continues, as if Artie hasn’t said anything. “I thought you understood the performing arts. I guess you still have a lot to learn. Anyway! You three are dismissed. I must say you’ve done a nice job here, surprisingly.”

  I finish stitching up the cape as Artie silently packs her book bag. She leaves in a hurry, red-faced and silent. Meghan puts away her ridiculous hat and claps a hand on my shoulder. “See you, Ms. Lang!” Meghan crows over her shoulder as we walk out the door.

  The drama teacher nods, but she is still looking around.

  “We don’t need Artie’s help, anyway,” Meghan tells me.

  “She made a good poster,” I point out.

  Meghan sighs heavily as she looks down the hall. Artie has already disappeared. “Artie’s smart and she’s organized. She’s talented, too. But she’s not a lot of fun.”

  “She used to be,” I say, thinking of the puppet show.

  Meghan looks up at the ceiling, as if she’s thinking about this. “I can see it,” she says finally, as if it’s taking her a lot of effort to visualize Artie having fun.

  I remember when I could, too.

  Peppermint-Patty Cupcakes

  (makes approximately 12 cupcakes)

  I love peppermint. It always wakes me right up! And when it’s mixed with chocolate … yum!

  INGREDIENTS:

  1/2 cup milk

  1/2 teaspoon apple cider vinegar

  1 cup all-purpose flour

  1/2 teaspoon baking powder

  3/4 teaspoon baking soda

  1/3 cup cocoa powder

  1/4 teaspoon salt

  1/2 cup semisweet chocolate chips

  1/4 cup yogurt

  3/4 cup granulated sugar

  1 teaspoon vanilla extract

  1 teaspoon peppermint extract

  1/3 cup canola oil

  INSTRUCTIONS:

  Preheat the oven to 350°F. Line a muffin pan with cupcake liners.

  In a large bowl, whisk together the milk and vinegar, and set aside for a few minutes to curdle.

  Sift the flour, baking powder, baking soda, cocoa powder, and salt into a large bowl, and mix together.

  In a double boiler, melt the chocolate chips until smooth, then remove and cool to room temperature. If you prefer, you can instead melt the chocolate chips in a small bowl in the microwave, heating it on high for a few seconds at a time, then stirring until smooth. (Repeat heating if necessary, but don’t overdo it!)

  Once the milk has curdled, add in the yogurt, sugar, vanilla extract, peppermint extract, and oil, and stir together. Then add the melted chocolate and stir some more. With a whisk or handheld mixer, add the dry ingredients to the wet ones a little bit at a time and mix until no lumps remain, stopping to scrape the sides of the bowl a few times.

  Fill cupcake liners two-thirds of the way and bake for 18–22 minutes. Transfer to a cooling rack, and let cool completely before frosting.

  With your (clean!) thumb, poke large holes into the center of each cupcake. Alternately, take a small knife and carve out a cone from the center of each cupcake to create a well. (You can discard the cones, or eat them.)

  Fill a pastry bag with the peppermint frosting. (You can also make your own pastry bag by cutting off a corner from a plastic Ziploc bag.) Insert the tip of the pastry bag into each cupcake, and squeeze it to fill the cavity you created. Then swirl the frosting on top of the cupcake to cover the opening.

  Peppermint Frosting

  INGREDIENTS:

  1 cup margarine or butter

  3-1/2 cups confectioners’ sugar

  1-1/2 teaspoons peppermint extract

  1–2 tablespoons milk

  INSTRUCTIONS:

  In a large bowl, with an electric mixer, cream the margarine or butter until it’s a lighter color, about 2–3 minutes.

  Slowly beat in the confectioners’ sugar in 1/2-cup batches, adding a little bit of milk whenever the frosting becomes too thick. Add the peppermint extract and continue mixing on high speed for about 3–7 minutes, until the frosting is light and fluffy.

  “Is it Thursday already?” I tease as I walk into the café. Mr. Malik’s usual Thursday bouquet is already installed by the cash register, and he and Gran are chatting over tea at one of the small tables near the front.

  “I pride myself on my constancy,” Mr. Malik says, and he smiles over the rim of his teacup.

  “A most overlooked virtue,” Gran agrees. “Especially these days. It’s as if everyone has Attention Deficit Disorder.”

  “Gran!” I say.

  “Well, everyone’s checking the
ir little devices and tapping away with their thumbs,” Gran says with a sniff. She frowns at a nearby girl with a lip ring, who is texting madly.

  “Ah, but this is how people communicate,” Mr. Malik says. “This is the new talking.”

  “I prefer the old talking.”

  “As do I, when it is with you, my dear Mrs. Wilson.” Mr. Malik’s mustache twitches into a smile, and my grandmother laughs.

  Mom is behind the counter as I tuck my book bag into a small cupboard and then go to wash my hands. When I get back, Marco is sitting on a stool, eating the last peppermint-patty cupcake.

  “Hey!” I feel unreasonably happy to see him.

  Marco smiles, but he can’t talk because he’s chewing.

  “Hayley, sweetheart, I don’t know if you were planning to make more cupcakes,” Mom begins, and I hold up a hand.

  “On it,” I tell her.

  She breathes a sigh of relief. “Good. Okay with you if I go check our supplies in the back? The monthly order is due today.”

  “Sure, Mom. I’m here. And Gran’s right there, if I need help.” I nod over at Gran and Mr. Malik’s table, where they are laughing heartily, probably over some obscure literary reference.

  Mom heads toward the back, and I pull out the mixing bowls and sugar, flour, butter, and cocoa.

  “Refill on the chocolate cupcakes?” Marco asks as he pulls out his video camera.

  “They ain’t gonna bake themselves,” I reply. “Marco, you aren’t going to put this up on YouTube or something, are you?”

  “Why — are you scared I’ll reveal your secret ingredients?” Marco asks, breaking off another piece of cupcake and popping it into his mouth. He doesn’t stop filming, though. “So how’s the talent show going?” he asks.

  “What’s this about a talent show?” Mr. Malik asks, tuning in from his table.

  “Hayley and her good friend are organizing the whole event,” Gran boasts. She really seems proud. It’s so cute.

  Mr. Malik is, of course, the perfect audience for her bragging. He looks genuinely impressed. “Organizing the whole thing?” he repeats. “That’s a big project! And will you be in the show?”

  I laugh a little. “I don’t have any talents.”

  “Cupcakes are your talent,” Marco says.

  I measure out the flour. “Well,” I say as I sift it into a bowl, “Artie doesn’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “So what?” Marco demands.

  “So — I don’t want to embarrass Artie.” I realize as I say this that I’m still hoping she’ll help us with the show. She’s the one who knows the most about theater, after all.

  “I’m not getting this. Cupcakes are your life.” Marco smashes a few chocolate crumbs with his finger and then pops them into his mouth.

  “Yeah … but performing isn’t my life.” The mixer makes a low bumblebee hum as I cream the sugar and butter. “And it is Artie’s life. I don’t want to screw it up for her.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she’s my friend, Marco!” My voice is louder than I intended, but Marco just nods. He turns off the camera. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” I say.

  “You didn’t,” Marco replies. He pushes away his empty plate. “I’ve got to go. I’m meeting Tanisha.”

  “Another movie?” It makes me a little sick to ask.

  “Math homework,” Marco explains. “See you.”

  Well, that was short. Still, it was better than nothing. I work on the cupcakes a little longer, mixing in the flour and cocoa, then adding spices. I fill the cupcake liners and slide everything into the oven.

  I’m wiping down the counter when Mr. Malik says good-bye, and Gran comes to join me. “What a pleasant afternoon,” she says with a soft sigh.

  The bell over the door jingles as Mr. Malik makes his way out into the cold winter air, back to his flower shop.

  “But you don’t look happy, my dear,” Gran says. She peers at me closely, as if she can see through my skin, right down deep into the center of me.

  “It’s hard to be around Artie sometimes,” I confess.

  “Ah, Artie.” Gran frowns.

  “I thought we were becoming friends again, but …” I shake my head. “Ever since she stabbed me in the back, I don’t know what to think.”

  Gran nods. “Well, sometimes you just need to … reevaluate.”

  “What?”

  “Artie used to be your best friend. Then, for a while, she was your enemy.” Gran wipes away some coffee grounds, thoughtful. “Perhaps she isn’t quite either.”

  “What is she, then? My frenemy?”

  “I have no idea what that means,” Gran says. “I think she’s just your friend … with flaws.”

  “Yeah.” I think about that. I think of Marco, who once used me to cheat on a test. I think about Meghan, who has a bossy streak a mile wide. “They kind of all have flaws.”

  Gran reaches out and pulls me into a hug. She smells of cinnamon and vanilla. Like my Reassurance Cupcakes. “We all do,” she whispers into my hair. “The trick is learning to live with them.”

  “The friends?” I ask. “Or the flaws?”

  “Oh, whichever,” Gran says. The timer rings, and I have to pull away to rescue my cupcakes from the oven. “Those look lovely.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Perhaps you should take one to Uzma,” Gran suggests.

  “What made you think of that?”

  Gran chuckles. “Oh … friends with flaws, I suppose.”

  I breathe in the thick scent of pistachio and rosewater. Friends with flaws? Hmm. Maybe I should give one of these to Uzma. An Acceptance Cupcake.

  Maybe I should give one to Artie, too.

  “Ah, good, you’re both here,” Mom says as she returns from the back room. Gran loosens her hug, but still keeps one arm wrapped around my shoulders. “Mother, Denise just called.”

  “How’s California?”

  “Great. She’s editing a trailer for the new Clooney movie. But she wants to come for a visit.”

  Yes, just in case you missed it: That’s George Clooney. My aunt is a film editor. She does trailers, which means she gets to watch all kinds of cool movies before everyone else does. Denise lives in a gorgeous house and has the world’s cutest pug, General Tzo, and basically has the best life on earth. Also, she is crazy cool and I love her. “When?”

  “Next week,” Mom announces. “She’s got a little break coming up and was wondering if it would be convenient.”

  “Convenient?” Gran repeats. “It would be delightful!”

  “That’s what I said,” Mom says. “She said she’d get a hotel, but I told her we could share a room.”

  “Even more delightful!” Gran is beaming.

  “I can’t wait!” I do a little dance behind the counter, which is totally not the kind of thing I normally do. But this is the best news I’ve had all week.

  “She’ll be here for the talent show,” Mom says, which makes me so excited that I let out a little squeal. “I was thinking that maybe we’d have a little dinner party while she’s here. We can invite some friends. Mr. Malik and Uzma?”

  “Certainly. That sounds wonderful,” Gran says, which is nice of her. I mean, do we really want to include Uzma? Probably not. But that would be rude.

  “Maybe Ramon,” Mom adds.

  “By all means,” Gran agrees.

  Mom looks at me. “Sure,” I say. I don’t really want to share my aunt with anyone, but if Mr. Malik and Uzma are coming, I guess I don’t really mind. Besides, it was nice to see Ramon for dinner last weekend, and I’m sure Denise will like him. “Chloe will probably want to ask Rupert,” I suggest.

  “Great idea,” Mom says. “Do you want to invite anyone, Hayley?”

  I consider inviting Meghan but decide she’d probably take over the entire conversation. Besides, I have a better idea. “How about Marco?”

  “Fantastic,” Mom says. “Okay, I’ll go over and see what days might work for Mr. Malik.” A
nd she just dashes out into the cold, toward the flower shop.

  “Oh, how exciting,” Gran says. “I’ll have to make roast beef — Denise’s favorite.”

  “Denise has been a vegetarian for three years.”

  “Oh, nonsense.” Gran waves a careless hand at me. “She’s never a vegetarian around my roast beef.”

  I’m too excited to argue. I want to call Marco but remember that I’ll have to wait until later. He’s studying with Tanisha right now.

  I look down at the counter and realize that Mom left her cell phone. She never even took it into the back room.

  That’s weird, I think. Didn’t she say that Denise just called?

  So — wait. Why would she lie?

  I think about the big dinner party, everyone inviting a special friend.

  I think about Denise coming into town suddenly.

  I think about Ramon.

  Then I think about this: I have a wedding to plan.

  Through the window, I see Mom hurrying through the blustery darkness, on her way back from inviting Mr. Malik and his sister to dinner. Mom is smiling. She looks brilliant, like someone has just plugged her in.

  I feel a little ill.

  This doesn’t mean anything, I tell myself. Stop being paranoid.

  But it’s not that easy, is it?

  A few days ago, I was in my mom’s room, looking for her red necklace. She lets me borrow it sometimes, and I was wearing a black shirt that I thought it would look great with. Anyway, you’re not really interested in the fashion recap, are you?

  So I was in her room, looking through the rack of necklaces that she keeps on her bureau. I found the red one and was walking out the door when I spotted a magazine on Mom’s nightstand. Contemporary Bride. A Post-it note was stuck in it, and I couldn’t resist taking a look. I thought maybe she had marked a cool wedding cake, or fancy cupcakes, or something. But no. It was an article called, “Second Time Around: Tips for the Older Bride.”

  I felt like I’d just broken through ice on a frozen pond, shivery and desperate. Tips for the older bride? Why is Mom reading about that?