Emma: Lights! Camera! Cupcakes!

by Coco Simon

  Outside the store, I set out for the pickup area where my dad was waiting for me in the minivan. It was only short walk down the open main stairway and out the front doors of the mall below. I hadn’t gotten ten feet from the front of the store, though, when a nice-looking young man said, “Excuse me! Miss!”

  On instinct I turned around and slowed down a little, still heading for the stairs. My parents had always told me about not talking to strangers. I saw Dad in the car and gave a little wave, so he could see me. I could see him start to get out of the car. The man looked at him and waved.

  “Hi, miss. John Cohane from Celebrity magazine. I just saw you exiting The Special Day. I wonder, could you please confirm for me that is where Romaine Ford’s wedding dress came from?” He flashed a charming grin at me.

  He’d said everything so fast, it took me a minute to process. Celebrity magazine? I stood stupidly frozen for a split second, then I realized what was happening, and I turned on my heel and started walking again, fast. I reached the top of the stairs and started jogging down them at a quick clip. He followed me.

  “Miss! I’m not looking for a quote or a photo or anything, just a confirmation? For Celebrity magazine.”

  I was nearly sprinting now, but he was keeping up with me. I couldn’t think of anything to say to get him away from me. I thought if I opened my mouth, I might give something away, but I felt like such a loser being mute.

  I was scared and wished I could think of something clever to say to get this guy away from me.

  My dad took a look at the guy keeping pace with me, and my fear and anger must’ve been written all over my face, because he came running around the front of the car and yelled, “Hey! You! Back off! You stay away from my daughter right now!” I had only heard him yell like that a few times, and it surprised me.

  The reporter looked over in surprise. He put up his hands in the universal I surrender pose as I bolted into the back of the car.

  “What the heck is going on here?” my dad asked, wheeling to face me.

  “He’s a reporter. From Celebrity magazine. He wanted to know about Romaine Ford’s wedding dress.” I punched the door’s close button, and the door began to slide shut.

  “Stay away from us! And get a life!” yelled my dad. I hadn’t seen him so mad in ages.

  Luckily, the reporter turned on his heel and quick marched back into the mall. My dad was muttering and returned to the front seat and shut his door.

  “That guy had a lotta nerve!” he growled. “Chasing a child!”

  I was shaking a little now. That had been scary, and it all happened so fast.

  “I . . . I didn’t know what to say . . . I was tongue-tied!” I said. I felt embarrassed.

  “Good. I’m glad you didn’t say a thing to that guy. You know you never, ever talk to strangers, and you always run and yell, like we taught you.” My dad looked at me in the rearview mirror. “I’m sorry that happened to you, sweetie. You did the right thing. Exactly the right thing. Never talk to strangers. And especially not to the press. And especially not about Romaine Ford. Mona and Romaine both trust you, and you always have to be true to your word.” He raked his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath. “I can’t wait till this whole premiere thing blows over. It’s ruining this town.”

  “I know,” I agreed, and looked out the window.

  And it’s not just a premiere . . ., I added silently.

  CHAPTER 4

  Know-It-Alls

  I couldn’t wait for my mom to get home from Matt’s game that morning. I was totally on edge, dying to talk to someone about the morning but completely unable to talk to my friends about it. Thank goodness I had no plans with them for the rest of the day or I would have burst.

  Finally, I heard her car in the driveway, and I bolted down from my room, where I’d been practicing my flute, and careened out the back door to see her.

  “Emma! My heavens! Is everything okay?” she said, spying me in my socks and cozy pants out in the driveway.

  Matt clambered out of the front seat in his baseball uniform and looked me up and down from head to toe, then just shook his head and walked inside.

  “Mom!” I whispered loudly.

  “What?” she whispered loudly back with a grin. She shut her car door and came around the back to me.

  “Mom, be serious! I have to talk to you!” I said.

  “Here?” she said, looking around. “Is the house bugged?”

  I sighed. “When you are ready to be serious, then we can talk.” I tapped my socked foot on the blacktop.

  My mom threw her arm around me and gave me a sideways squeeze. “I’m sorry, Emmy. You’re just being so funny. What’s up?”

  “Mom, I’ve got to tell you something I’m not allowed to tell anyone!”

  My mom looked mock-offended. “I’m not anyone? Gee, thanks!”

  Finally, I blurted it all out in one sentence without stopping. “Mom, Romaine Ford is getting married next Saturday, and she’s asked me to do the cupcakes instead of a wedding cake, but I can’t tell anyone, and now I have to do it all by myself!”

  “Whaaaaat?”

  I stared at her without blinking. She’d heard me right. I wondered what she would say.

  “Oh, honey, that is so exciting! Congratulations!” My mom clapped her hands in celebration, but I didn’t really feel like celebrating. I was too stressed.

  “But, Mom, I can’t even tell my friends!”

  “Oh, I’m sure it wouldn’t matter if you just told . . .”

  “I’m not allowed!” I practically yelled. “That’s the problem. If word gets out, it could ruin the whole thing!”

  I explained to her about Romaine being stalked by the press (I’d decided to wait to tell her about my run-in with the press because she would really freak out) and about how Romaine had specifically staged the premiere here to cover up the wedding and how all she’d ever wanted was a private backyard wedding in her mom’s garden.

  “Oh, that is so sweet and romantic!” said my mom, her eyes all wistful.

  “Yeah, and I can’t be the one to wreck it,” I said.

  “Hmm,” said my mom. “Well, I can help you with the order!”

  “Thanks. It might come to that. I mean, no offense, but I wish it was my friends. I’m not even sure how to price these cupcakes, never mind make them all by myself.”

  “Are they elaborate?” she asked.

  “Mmm . . . well, I think we’re going to do a plain white cake but different-colored pastel frostings. Maybe each with a different flavor.”

  “Pretty!” said my mom.

  “Yeah. Not too hard in terms of assembly. Just a little time-consuming to do all those mini batches of frosting. And she needs more than a hundred of them all together. Ten dozen. I want them to look perfect, though. And Mia and Katie usually do the decorating.”

  “Wow. A hundred and twenty cupcakes?”

  I nodded and watched a beagle mix named Skipper, one of my dog-walking clients, taking a walk across the street with my neighbor. I sighed. Walking dogs was an easier way to make money than baking for celebrity weddings.

  “So what’s your next step?” asked my mom.

  I sighed. “I need to do a pricing e-mail and contract for Romaine and send it out to her today. I’ll just use an old sample of Alexis’s and kind of cut and paste it.”

  My mom nodded. “Smart. Okay. Well, let me know if I can help.”

  “Thanks. I feel better already just having someone to talk to about it. I’d like you to read over the e-mail before I send it, okay?”

  “Sure. Can we go inside now? I’m dying for a cup of coffee!”

  I laughed. “Let’s go.”

  That afternoon I struggled over the e-mail and finally came up with a draft that looked okay. Even though I called Romaine by her first name in person, Mom said I should address her by her last name in the e-mail. It said:

  Dear Ms. Ford,

  Thank you for your interest in Cupcake Club
cupcakes for your event. We propose baking ten dozen white cupcakes, frosted in an assortment of six pastel frostings, each lightly flavored with an extract of your choice (suggestions include: lemon, raspberry, lavender, lime, orange, blueberry, and so forth).

  Frosted cupcakes will be delivered for assembly by the Cupcake Club onto platters at the Ford Residence at ________ a.m. on Saturday, May 4.

  Pricing will be $300.00. (That’s still only $2.50 a cupcake—a bargain!)

  Payment due upon receipt of cupcakes, please.

  Many thanks for your continued business.

  All the best,

  Emma Taylor

  The Cupcake Club

  (555) 555-2129

  I printed out the e-mail and trotted downstairs for my mom to review it again. She thought it looked great, so I went back upstairs and sent it. And then I sat at my computer and stared at my in-box for twenty minutes, hoping for a response.

  I was nervous. Three hundred dollars was a lot of money, but it was a big and stressful job to do alone, and part of the price was for my silence.

  Most of all I hated not being able to tell my friends. I felt like a traitor doing business as the Cupcake Club alone. It was probably illegal, now that I thought about it. Well, I could tell them all after the fact and then hand over the money to Alexis. That made me feel better.

  I was dying to hear back from Romaine, but I finally decided busy celebrities might not even answer their own e-mail, and it was a weekend, after all. I sighed and put my computer to sleep and went downstairs to watch baseball with my brothers. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.

  At dinner my dad told my mom about the reporter who had chased me, and my mom was shocked it hadn’t been the first thing I’d told her.

  “I didn’t want you to not let me make the cupcakes,” I admitted with a shrug.

  “What cupcakes?” asked Jake in confusion.

  “Oh, it’s a long story,” I said, and I widened my eyes at my mom to signal that she couldn’t say anything.

  Luckily, she got the message and nodded. “Well, you did the right thing, Em. The press can be very aggressive and you can see just from that little taste how hard it is for Romaine to preserve any semblance of privacy in her life.”

  I nodded and took a sip of my milk.

  “Any news?” asked my mom.

  I shook my head. “I’ll check after dinner.”

  “News about what?” asked Jake.

  “Long story,” I said again, and Jake sighed in exasperation.

  “Why doesn’t anyone ever tell me anything?”

  “ ’Cause you’re the baby,” I said, and I patted him on the head.

  “Am not!” he said indignantly.

  “Okay, kids,” said my dad.

  “May I be excused?” I asked.

  “Yes, you may,” my mom said, and I dashed up to my computer.

  There in my in-box was a reply from Romaine! It said:

  Hi, Emma—

  Thanks for the contract. Everything looks great. Still need your guarantee of confidentiality—please don’t tell your friends. I know it will be hard for you, but I think I might have an idea to help. Will be in touch tomorrow to discuss. Sleep well!

  Xx, Ro

  PS No need to do a tasting. I totally trust your judgment.

  Wow! “Xx, Ro”! Now I felt like we were really friends. People would die if they knew Romaine and I were e-mailing each other. This was pretty cool. I imagined the look on Olivia Allen’s face—she’s kind of a frenemy of mine—and smiled, imagining her reaction if I told her I was helping Romaine Ford with her wedding. I sighed. It was just too bad I couldn’t tell my friends. And that they wouldn’t be able to help me. How would I pull this off? I shut down my computer with a pit in my stomach and went to take a shower. Sleep well? I didn’t think so.

  As soon as I woke up the next day I checked my e-mail and my cell phone, but there was no new info from “Ro.” The pit in my stomach grew minute by minute as I realized I’d have to face my friends at school and not tell them about seeing Romaine on Saturday or about her wedding and the cupcakes I’d be baking for it.

  At my locker the next morning, I avoided eye contact with everyone. I was just hoping I’d get home to find an e-mail from Romaine with some brilliant plan that would keep my friends happy and give me a little relief from carrying these secrets all alone.

  Unfortunately, Olivia Allen was walking by and stopped to talk to Kim Walker at the locker across from mine.

  “OMG! I heard Romaine Ford is already in town and that Liam Carey is coming tomorrow and is staying at the Stanhope Hotel! We should go stake it out!” Olivia was squealing.

  I gulped and willed myself to be silent.

  “Totally! Let’s go after school!” agreed Olivia’s friend Bella.

  Olivia continued, “I heard Romaine and Liam are eloping to Tahiti. Isn’t that soooo romantic? That’s just what I would do if I were her. You know, my mom’s friend works in a bridal salon, and she said Romaine’s wearing a Vera Wang dress in palest pink for the wedding. . . .”

  I gritted my teeth. Olivia Allen is such a know-it-all, and she’s almost always wrong, wrong, wrong! I wanted to turn around, throttle her, and yell, “She’s not eloping! She’s getting married right here, this Saturday, in a white Jaden Sacks dress from The Special Day!” It was all I could do to keep my mouth shut.

  I slammed my locker door extra hard, though, right as Mia came up alongside me. “Whoa, tiger!” She laughed. “Everything okay?”

  I rolled my eyes in the direction of Olivia and motioned that we should walk away. Mia followed. “What’s up?” she whispered.

  Once we’d gotten halfway down the hall, I exploded. “Olivia Allen is such a know-it-all! It’s always a bragathon with her about how much she knows and what an insider she is! It makes me crazy!”

  Mia nodded. “I agree. Totally. What was it this time?”

  I sighed heavily. I couldn’t tell Mia anything, so my hands were kind of tied. I needed to be vague. “Just . . . she thinks she knows everything about Romaine Ford. It just bugs me.”

  “And you really do know her, so it must be doubly annoying!” said Mia.

  I looked at her sideways to make sure she was being serious. Suddenly, I had the feeling that maybe people thought I was as bad as Olivia!

  “Wait, do people think I’m annoying about Romaine?” I asked urgently.

  Mia looked at me in surprise. “What? No! Not at all! The opposite! You’re always so closemouthed about it. Romaine Ford could be at your house and you wouldn’t tell anyone!”

  “Okay, ha-ha.” I fake-laughed a little because Mia had kind of hit the nail on the head. “Phew. I just don’t want you guys to think I’m, like, possessive of her or something.”

  Mia shook her head vehemently. “No. Totally not. In fact, most of the time we wish you’d tell us more! You kind of keep it all to yourself.”

  We’d stopped outside the English classroom where Mia was heading; I was walking on to social studies. “Is that bad?” I asked.

  “No, we understand. It just leaves us hungry for more! We just sometimes wish you could trust your best friends enough to tell us. We can keep a secret, you know.” Mia laughed. “Bye!”

  “Okay,” I said weakly. “Bye.”

  “We understand”? “We can keep a secret”? That means they’ve been talking about me, I thought as I continued down the hall. My best friends have been talking about me and Romaine Ford, and they understand my secrecy but wish I’d tell them more. Oh boy.

  And it was only about to get worse. Way worse.

  CHAPTER 5

  Major

  At lunch I ducked into the library and checked my e-mail. Sure enough, there was an e-mail from Romaine:

  Hey, Em—

  What if we hire the CC to bake cupcakes for the premiere on Friday night? Say ten dozen. Something jazzy. That way you can include them in something and not feel like you totally left them out. You can bill me directly
and I’ll have the studio pay me back. Let me know.

  Xx, Ro

  “OMG!” I said loudly.

  “Shh!” warned the librarian with a smile.

  “Sorry,” I whispered. I quickly exited my e-mail and jumped up, knocking my chair backward in my haste.

  I glanced guiltily at the librarian who was now wagging her finger at me. Sorry! I mouthed with a shrug as I righted the chair.

  She winked and I waved good-bye.

  Out in the hall I broke into a run to reach the cafeteria. I fervently hoped the Cupcakers were still there. Luckily, they were!

  I ducked through the crowds and beelined for our table.

  “Where were you?” asked Katie.

  “Are you sitting down?” I asked.

  They all laughed because obviously they were.

  “I have MAJOR news. MAJOR!”

  Their eyes opened wide, and they all began smiling hopefully.

  “What?” asked Alexis.

  I sat down and said, “Romaine Ford has asked the Cupcake Club to bake ten dozen cupcakes for her premiere on Friday night.”

  There was a stunned silence, and then the girls started shouting and whooping so much that everyone in the cafeteria turned to stare, but we didn’t care.

  We jumped up and hugged and danced in place, and I swear I almost cried, I was so overjoyed. It just felt great to be able to share any news with my besties. It was a huge relief.

  And guess who walked right up to us to ask what was going on? Yup! Olivia Allen!

  “What are you people celebrating?” she asked, with a smirk on her face.

  I’d already had the joy of delivering the news once, so I turned to my friends as if to say, “You tell.”

  Katie beamed proudly and said, “We’re baking cupcakes for Romaine Ford’s movie premiere on Friday!”

  Olivia’s jaw dropped, and she was speechless. It was so classic; it was right out of a movie. She gulped and stammered, “W-wow. Wow. That is so . . .”

  “We know,” said Alexis, and turned away to continue celebrating. Olivia staggered away in shock.

  We sat back down to talk details, but it was getting toward the end of lunch, and we all had somewhere to be next period.