by Coco Simon
She got me to the restaurant just before eight again, and this time she didn’t come in with me, just waited until she saw that I got inside. I didn’t even see Marc Donald Brown, but Melissa smiled when I walked into the kitchen.
“Katie! Thank goodness,” she said. “Put on your apron. We’ve got a bushel of apples to dice.”
“More tarts?” I asked, tying my apron strings behind me.
“No, apple cake this time,” she said. “With vanilla ice cream and caramel sauce.”
“That sounds amazing,” I said.
“But first, apples,” she said. “Peeled, cored, and diced. Let me see how you handle a knife.”
I picked up a knife she had laid out for me and held it in my right hand, being careful to keep my pointer and middle fingers tucked under my thumb.
“Looks good,” she said. “Let me guess. Did you learn that at cooking camp too?”
I grinned. “Yeah.”
“Wow, I wish they’d had that when I was kid,” she said. “Okay, then, I need the apples diced.”
She picked up an apple, and in seconds flat she peeled it, cored it with her knife, and diced it into pieces that looked like little building blocks of exactly the same size.
I could feel my eyes get wide. “There is no way I can do it that fast,” I said.
“You don’t have to,” she said. “Every apple you chop is one I don’t have to do.”
I started peeling, coring, and chopping. Melissa worked next to me. I took my time with the first one, trying to make sure I got the apple pieces all the same size. By the time I was done, I saw that Melissa had finished three!
So I tried to work faster, and that was my mistake. The freshly washed apple under my fingertips was slippery, and my left hand holding it slipped just as I was cutting through the apple with my right hand.
I felt a sharp pain in my left pointer finger, and when I looked down, I saw blood oozing out. I quickly stepped back from the worktable.
“Um, Melissa,” I said, gripping my injured finger. “I need some help over here.”
Melissa took one look at me and realized what had happened.
“Oh boy, we’ve got a bleeder!” she said. “Come on, let’s get to the sink. We have a first-aid kit.”
I followed her to the sink. My finger was hurting really bad. She ran some cold water over it, and then she frowned.
“That looks pretty deep,” she said. “I think you’re going to need stitches, Katie.”
“Stitches?” I felt the blood drain from my face. I’d never had stitches before. It was a scary thought.
Melissa turned to a guy walking past with a plastic tub. “Get Don for me,” she said. Then she took a clean towel and wrapped it around my finger. “Keep pressure on it with your right hand,” she instructed me.
“I’m so sorry!” I blurted out. “There are all these apples to cut, and I—”
“You mean you never cut yourself at cooking camp?” Melissa asked, and I shook my head. “Well, it’s about time! Everybody who works in a kitchen gets sliced, diced, burned, and banged up. It’s part of the job. You’ll get sewed up and you’ll be fine. And if you’re lucky, you’ll have a cool little scar to remind you of it.”
She held up her left hand and showed me a scar on her palm. “That was a fun one,” she said. “Luckily, I missed my tendons.”
Marc Donald Brown walked in. “Melissa, what’s— Oh, hi, Katie! Is everything okay?”
“She needs stitches,” Melissa said. “You need to get her to the emergency room or an urgent care center.”
Marc Donald Brown ran his hand through his hair. “Oh man, we’re getting ready for the lunch rush right now. Katie, can you call your mother?”
“Uh, yeah, I guess,” I said.
“Okay, good,” he said. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”
He hurried off, and I saw Melissa shaking her head.
“Okay, let’s get your mom on the phone,” she said. I took my cell out of my pocket, and she took it from me. “What’s the number under? ‘Home’?”
“ ‘Mom Work,’ ” I said, returning my right hand to put pressure on my left. Blood was starting to seep through the towel.
“Uh, hi, this is Melissa Stackman, and I’m here at Chez Donald with Katie,” Melissa said. “Can I please speak to her mom?”
Melissa listened and then put the phone on speaker so I could hear too.
“Katie!” It was Joanne. “Your mom’s in the middle of a difficult extraction right now. Is everything okay?”
“I cut my finger, and Melissa says I need stitches, and it’s bleeding a lot, and I need her to take me,” I said as hot tears sprung up in my eyes.
“Oh, poor sweetie! Hold on a sec.”
We heard the sounds of classic rock for a few seconds, and then Joanne’s voice came back.
“Hon, Jeff’s going to come get you,” she said. “Hold tight.”
“Okay,” I said, and Melissa ended the call.
“Come on, sweetie. Let’s wait outside.”
It seemed like forever before Jeff pulled up, but it was probably only a few minutes. There were no parking spaces, but he put his hazard lights on and rolled down the window. Then he got out and opened the passenger door for me.
“Don’t worry, Katie!” Melissa called out to me. “It only hurts a little bit. You’ll be back in the kitchen in no time.”
Jeff helped me put on my seat belt and then started to drive.
“We’re going to St. Claire’s Hospital,” he said. “Joanne’s sister works in the emergency room there. Joanne is faxing over your insurance information and a consent form from your mom.”
“A consent form?” I asked.
“Well, you’re a minor,” Jeff explained. “So a relative needs to bring you in order for the doctors to help you.”
Like a mom. Or a dad, I thought, and my mind wandered to Marc Donald Brown. I understood why Mom couldn’t take me; she was in the middle of wrenching someone’s tooth from their jaw. But MDB? Was the start of the lunch rush so important that he couldn’t bring me himself? I guess it was more important than me.
Jeff glanced over at my toweled hand. “Does it hurt?” he asked.
“It’s throbbing, mostly,” I said. “I just feel so stupid. My second day on the job, and I made a dumb mistake.”
“I’m sure it happens to the best of chefs,” Jeff said.
“Yeah, that’s what Melissa said.” Then I realized something—Emily wasn’t in the car. “Where’s Emily?” I asked.
“She’s got a soccer game this morning, and then she’s spending the afternoon with her friend Abby,” Jeff explained. “But she’ll be coming with me and your mom later to the magazine launch party.”
“You’re coming?” I asked, a little bit surprised.
“Sure. I’m looking forward to seeing my cupcake bakers in action,” he said.
That was really nice of him, I thought, although part of me was a little worried. I hadn’t told Mom that I’d invited Marc Donald Brown. And now my real dad was going to be in the same room as my soon-to-be stepdad. It sounded like a perfect recipe for awkwardness.
I knew I would have to tell Mom, but I didn’t have much time to dwell on it because we had reached the hospital. Jeff pulled into the emergency room parking lot, and my heart started to beat a little faster as I remembered what I was here for.
Jeff walked me inside.
“St. Claire’s is a small hospital, and a little less hectic than County General,” he told me. “Things should go pretty smoothly.”
We walked up to the desk to sign in, and Jeff gave my name. The woman behind the desk had curly red hair that reminded me of Alexis.
“Oh, Katie! Joanne called and told me you were coming,” she said. “I’m her sister, Brittany. Don’t worry, hon. Take a seat, and we’ll bring you in as soon as we can.”
Brittany had such a friendly smile that I felt a little less nervous. She handed Jeff a clipboard, and then we went to
the waiting room. There were about five people waiting there, and Jeff and I found seats next to each other. Jeff started filling out paperwork, and I tried to distract myself by watching someone install flooring in a home improvement show on the TV. Not exactly thrilling, but it took my mind off my throbbing finger.
I nervously tapped my sneaker on the floor until they called me in. Brittany took me into a room with only curtains for walls and had me sit on this metal table.
“The doctor should be right in,” she said. “Don’t worry. Dr. DeNonno is great with a needle.”
I looked at Jeff. “Did she say needle?” I asked as Brittany walked away.
“You’ll probably need a few stitches, Katie,” Jeff said. “It’s not so bad, honestly. When I was your age, I fell off my bike and had to get seventeen stitches on my forehead. You’ll probably only need a few.”
I nodded, too nervous to talk. Then a woman with short, dark hair came in. Her name tag read DR. DENONNO.
“Hi, Katie,” she said. “So, I hear you’ve cut your finger pretty badly?”
“I guess so,” I said. “I didn’t really get a good look at it. But it was bleeding a lot.”
“Let’s take a look,” she said. She gently took my left hand and removed the towel. After a few seconds, she nodded.
“You’re going to need a few stitches,” she said. “It’s a good thing your dad brought you here.”
“Oh, he’s not my dad,” I said. “He’s my . . .” I didn’t know how to explain. He wasn’t my stepdad yet. He wasn’t even officially my future stepdad—at least not until my mom said yes to his proposal.
“I’m her mom’s boyfriend,” Jeff explained.
“Well, either way, it’s a good thing you’re here,” Dr. DeNonno said. “So, I’m going to clean up your wound, and then I’m going to use a needle to numb the tip of your finger. That part will hurt for just a second. Then you won’t even feel me giving you the stitches. All right?”
“Okay,” I said weakly. She had lost me at the word “needle.”
“Also, I see from your chart that you’re due for a tetanus shot,” she said. “We’ll take care of that, too.”
Oh great. Another needle! I thought. But I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want Dr. DeNonno to think I was a baby.
Jeff grabbed my right hand. “Squeeze my hand if it hurts, Katie, okay?” he said, and I gave a little squeeze.
Brittany came in to assist the doctor. She gave me another big smile. “You’ll be out of here soon, sweetie.”
And then Dr. DeNonno got to work. I get queasy thinking about the whole thing, but she did give me a tiny shot in my finger and she was right—I didn’t feel the stitches after the shot. I wish I could say the same for the tetanus shot. That hurt!
When we left the hospital, I had a bandage on my finger and another little one on my arm, where I’d gotten the shot. It didn’t hurt though.
“Is your right hand still working?” Jeff asked.
I looked at him curiously. “Why wouldn’t it?” I asked.
“Just wanted to make sure,” he said. “Because you’ll need it to hold an ice-cream cone.”
I couldn’t believe how nice Jeff was being! He was doing everything Mom would have done, and more, because I got a pumpkin-fudge ice-cream cone on the way home.
When we pulled up to my house, Mom was waiting outside.
“Katie!” she cried, running up to me. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t get away. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I replied.
She looked at Jeff. “Thank you so much.”
“You know I’d do anything for Katie,” he said, and I got a little lump in my throat then.
“So, honey, will you be okay to go to the magazine launch tonight?” Mom asked.
“It’s just one finger,” I replied. “I should be fine.” And then I remembered something—I needed to tell her that I had invited MDB to the magazine launch.
I was about to tell her when my phone rang. It was Marc Donald Brown. I was surprised.
“Katie, how’s your finger?” he asked.
“Three stitches,” I said.
“Glad you’re okay,” he said. “So, listen, I’m sorry, but I can’t make the magazine thing tonight. Cecile and Ella have a dance recital, and I forgot about it. But maybe we can make plans to do something else soon.”
“Sure,” I said.
Then MDB hung up.
“Was that your dad? What did he want?” Mom asked.
“He was just checking on me,” I replied.
I didn’t tell her that I had invited him to the launch or that he had bailed on me. Strangely, I didn’t feel upset about it.
Why? I wondered. Why wasn’t I feeling upset? But I didn’t have time to really think about it—I had to start getting ready for the magazine launch!
CHAPTER 13
Emma Saves the Day
Mom dropped me off at Alexis’s house at five o’clock. Inside her kitchen, I found Alexis, Emma, and Mia, staring sadly at a container of cupcakes on the counter.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“It’s the avocado buttercream,” said Alexis. “It’s kind of . . .”
“Icky,” Mia chimed in. “The green isn’t exactly brown, but it’s not bright green anymore. It’s almost . . .”
“Diaper green,” Emma finished. “Trust me: I know from changing Jake’s diapers.”
“That can’t be good,” I said, and I walked over to examine the cupcakes. They were right. The frosting was a dull green, and it wasn’t fluffy like icing.
I frowned. “I thought the lemon juice and the sugar would keep the avocado fresh. But I guess this frosting works best if you eat it the same day.”
“They’re not so bad,” Alexis said.
“Maybe it will be dark in the room,” I suggested.
“Wait here,” Emma said.
She walked out of the kitchen and came back in holding three cupcake carriers.
“What’s that?” Alexis asked.
“Three dozen vanilla cupcakes with vanilla icing,” Emma said. “I baked them late last night, after I got home. I was worried that not everybody would like the green cupcakes.”
Mia hugged her. “Oh, Emma! You saved us!”
Alexis frowned. “It’s a good idea, but then what’s our story? How are these cupcakes trendy?”
“Simplicity,” Mia said. “White is classic in fashion. Vanilla is classic in cooking.”
“I can work with that,” said Alexis. “We can put out three dozen of each kind, and that way we can appeal to the adventurous eaters as well as the safe ones.”
“That should work,” I said. “Sorry, I didn’t think that doing the avocado in advance could be a problem. I guess I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.”
That’s when Mia noticed my bandaged finger. “Oh wow! Katie, what happened to your finger?”
“Oh, I cut myself at the restaurant,” I explained, and then I told my friends the story. I got major hugs for that! Then it was time to pack up the cupcakes and head to the venue. Alexis’s dad took us in his van.
The party was being held at Ice, a former ice-skating-rink-turned-party-space in Stonebrook. We unloaded the van and walked in carrying our cupcakes, business cards, and flyers. (I should mention that we were all wearing our official Cupcake Club uniforms—black pants and our official T-shirts.)
Alex walked up to a table labeled CATERING CHECK-IN. The woman behind it gave Alex a curious look.
“Alex Becker of the Cupcake Club,” Alexis said in her most businesslike voice.
The woman raised an eyebrow and checked her list. Then she nodded. “You’re in that corner over there,” she said, pointing to a table.
“Thank you,” Alexis said.
As we made our way to the table, I looked around, wide-eyed. There was a big banner across the back wall that read RELISH NJ. Round tables with black tablecloths lined the walls, and each one had the name of a different caterer or restaurant written on a small
chalkboard standing on the table.
“This is the most professional event we’ve ever been invited to,” I said in awe. “Look, there’s Lotus Sushi over there! They make the best sushi!”
“And we make the best cupcakes,” Alexis said confidently.
Alexis had packed up our black cupcake tiers, which matched the slick décor perfectly. We quickly worked to arrange our cupcakes artfully on the tiers. Then Mia used her best handwriting to write our cupcake titles on the chalkboard:
“Green with Envy”
“Classic Vanilla”
“ ‘Green with Envy,’ ” I said. “That’s pretty cool.”
“Emma and I thought that up this morning, when we were baking the proposal cupcakes,” Alexis said.
“I almost forgot—that’s tomorrow!” I cried. “Come on! You’ve got to tell me what Jeff is planning.”
“I absolutely do not,” Alexis said with a wicked grin. “Okay, we’ve got to look alive! People are coming in.”
A small jazz band began to play, and people started to enter the space. It was a pretty cool setup. You could walk around and get small bites of food from each of the tables. Everything looked so good!
My stomach rumbled. “I hope there’ll be some sushi left over.”
I spotted Mom coming in with Jeff and Emily, who was wearing a cute pink dress. Mom and Jeff were pretty dressed up too. Jeff had on a blue suit and a green tie, and Mom had on her favorite black dress.
I waved them over to our table.
“You guys look so nice!” I said.
Emily held out the necklace she was wearing to show me. “I wore my cupcake necklace, Katie,” she said.
“How are you feeling?” Mom asked.
“Well, I could use some sushi,” I said. “Could you please bring me some?”
“On it!” said Jeff, and he hustled away. Mom and Emily followed him.
Then I heard a loud voice.
“Mija!”
It was Mia’s dad. (He calls her “mija,” which is short for “my daughter” in Spanish, and it sounds just like her name.) Behind him were her mom and her stepfather, Eddie.
Mia’s dad gave her a hug. “What a nice event this is. You guys have made it to the big time.”
“There’s so much food!” Eddie said. “I’m going to start at one end and get something from every table.”
