by Coco Simon
“Thanks,” said Olivia shyly. “You never know where your next job is going to come from, right?” She’d been called in to model at The Special Day before, so she probably figured there might be business at hand. Little did she know.
“All aboard!” Mona called, and everyone climbed in. So all the Cupcake girls were aboard plus one, Olivia. Matt decided to sit this one out.
We set off, and people began asking questions.
“Wait, we’re not going to the store?” asked Alexis, noticing our route.
“Is this an off-site thing?” asked Mia.
The girls exchanged glances. Mona and I made eye contact in the rearview mirror and smiled at each other.
Soon, we reached the white gate at the bottom of the Fords’ driveway. There was a guy sitting outside in a white chair with a clipboard, and Mona spoke to him through her window. “Delivery from The Special Day bridal salon!”
He smiled and nodded and opened the gate, and up we rolled.
“Wait, isn’t this . . .?” Olivia looked around, suddenly alert.
“This is Romaine Ford’s house!” cried Katie.
“We’re delivering Romaine Ford’s wedding dress to her house!” Mia yelled.
“To her wedding,” I said.
A hush fell over the van as everyone began to understand what was going on.
“Wait, you mean those cupcakes . . .,” said Alexis.
“Are Romaine Ford’s wedding cupcakes?” Olivia shrieked. (Aha! So she was the one who’d shrieked in the car last night!)
Mona and I laughed as she put the van into park in the back of the driveway.
“Yup,” I said.
“OMG. OMG. OMG!” Katie was bouncing up and down in her seat.
“When did you find out?” asked Alexis.
“About a week ago?” I said.
“But how did you keep it a secret?” Katie demanded.
“Not very easily,” I admitted. “It was soooo hard.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t breathe a word,” Mia said admiringly.
Then Alexis said, “Emma, you should have told us! We could have come up with something spectacular! Something special! These are just standard cupcakes!”
“And we don’t have a special presentation!” wailed Mia.
Suddenly, I felt terrible. Maybe I had handled this wrong. After all, who was my loyalty really to—some random celebrity I barely know or my closest and best friends (and business partners)? Now they felt like yet again they were not putting forward their best work, and it was all my fault.
But then Katie jumped in. “You know what? I think these cupcakes are perfect. Look around. Romaine is getting married in her backyard. It isn’t fancy. And these cupcakes are really pretty; even your mom kept saying so. I think they are just perfect.”
I let out my breath, and suddenly, I felt Mona’s arm across my shoulders.
“I agree,” said Mona. “Simple elegance always is the chicest. Trust me. And I think the bride will agree too.”
And just then Romaine came out onto the porch. She did not look like last night’s glamorous movie premiere star, in fancy makeup with a fancy hairdo and gown. She looked like . . . well, like the girl next door! Fresh-scrubbed face, wet hair, sweats, and a huge, happy smile on her face.
“Hi, Emma!” she says. “Hi, Cupcakers!”
The girls were all speechless and Romaine laughed. “Surprise! Now let’s see the cupcakes. I’ve been waiting all week!”
We climbed the porch stairs, and Romaine sat on one of the wicker settees as I opened the lid of one of the carrying cases.
“OH!” cried Romaine. “They’re absolutely perfect. It’s just what I wanted!” Then she got a devilish look in her eye. “Can I taste one?”
“Of course!” I said. “They’re your cupcakes!”
Romaine bit into one, and her eyes got big. “These are delicious!” she said through a mouthful of crumbs. She eyed the purple frosting, and then she said, “Lime, I think?”
“Yeah, um, about the flavors? They don’t exactly match the colors. . . . I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all my fault.” Katie began to apologize profusely.
“I think it’s genius!” said Romaine. “How boring would it be if the flavors matched the colors? Anyone could do that! This is unexpected; professional cupcakes with a homemade twist.”
“That’s us!” said Alexis proudly. Then she mumbled, “Maybe that should be our motto.” We all rolled our eyes.
“All right, darlings, let’s get going,” says Mona, breaking the spell. She shooed Romaine into the house to get ready and asked me to follow along to help tie bows and zip up dresses after I finished setting up the cupcakes.
In the kitchen, Mrs. Ford asked the caterer to lead us out to the tent to put the cupcakes on the buffet.
There, on the dessert table, were six beautiful, pastel-colored display platters of varying heights. The caterer directed us to put the cupcakes on the pedestals, front and center, and we arranged them as instructed.
“I have an idea,” Katie whispered, and she darted off into the garden.
She came back with an armful of flowers.
“Katie!” I yelped.
“Shh,” she said. “I took them from the back of the garden. It’s fine.”
Then she and Mia began arranging the flowers around the cupcakes, peeling off the petals and delicately placing them all over the pedestals.
Once the platters were covered, we stepped back to admire our handiwork.
“Wow,” said Olivia. “They really look beautiful.”
They really, really did. The cupcakes were pretty, but the flowers made them perfect. It almost looked like the cupcakes were blooming out of them. I beamed, glad to know I could count on my friends.
“I can’t believe it!” I said.
“Didn’t you trust us?” said Alexis, hugging me with one arm.
I fake-glared at her sideways. “Not exactly. But they do look perfect.”
“And I bet they taste great,” said Mia.
“They match with everything in here,” Katie pointed out.
We looked around, and it was true. All the tablecloths and napkins were in mix-and-match variations of the same colors, and the bouquet centerpiece on each table had flowers in the same pale yellow, green, pink, purple, and blue.
“It’s all so pretty,” I said.
“Funny that the cupcakes we slaved over came out sort of crummy, and the ones we just . . . did . . . came out better,” Katie said.
“That’s because we were trying too hard on the other ones,” admitted Mia. I was glad someone else had said it besides me.
“I just can’t believe I hang out with the Cupcake Club for twenty-four hours and get to attend the two most exciting events of the year!” said Olivia. “Thanks, you guys.”
“Yoo-hoo! Emma!” Patricia was calling me from the porch.
“Gotta run, guys. I’ll come find you when it’s time to go.”
“What should we do in the meantime?” asked Katie.
“Um. I’ll send Patricia down to find you, and then maybe we can all stay and spy on the wedding ceremony, okay? Just don’t call the press while you’re waiting. Actually, don’t call anyone!”
“As if!” They all laughed.
CHAPTER 11
A Recipe for Success
I’d been helping Samantha (she signed autographs for all the Cupcakers downstairs!) and Romaine’s sister Florence and niece (who did look a lot like me, by the way), and when it was time for the bridal party to get together at the top of the front stairs for the procession, I saw Romaine fully dressed for the first time. I actually had tears in my eyes, she looked so beautiful.
“Oh!” I said. It was so unexpected. I mean, she’s a beautiful girl, and I’ve seen her dressed up before. But this was different. She looked so, so happy, like she was really about to start a new life and live happily ever after. She looked like a real-life fairy princess.
I grabbed
a tissue from a box on the hall table and blotted my eyes. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I looked up. It was Mona.
“It never gets old,” she said, wiping at her own eyes. “That’s why I keep doing it.”
I smiled up at her. “Do you ever get sick of the brides?” I whispered.
“Oh, honey, you can’t imagine!” Mona laughed. “But not this one. She’s the real deal. Anyway, I like them all by the time I’m looking at the backs of them heading down the aisle. It’s always a fresh start.”
We trailed behind the bridal party as they made their way toward the door that led out to the garden.
“Psst!” we heard, and we turned to see Patricia waving us into the family room.
Inside were the Cupcakers and Patricia, who were awed by their privileged spot at the window. Mona and I joined them and watched as Romaine gracefully made her way through the beautiful garden, upon a white satin runner covered in rose petals, through the rows of white chairs holding only family and friends.
The look on Liam’s face was breathtaking as he saw her. His eyes lit up, and he grinned till it looked like his face would break. When he took her arm, he had to accept a hankie from his best man and blot his eyes. It was so sweet. We all sighed in unison, then laughed quietly because we all had the same reaction.
“This is one of the prettiest things I’ve ever seen,” I said.
“Me too.” Mona sighed, and we giggled.
Later, on the way back to my house, with Patricia at the wheel (Mona had stayed to help with wardrobe details, and Patricia would return to help too once she’d dropped us off safely), Alexis burst out.
“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell us!” she chided.
“I felt terrible about it,” I admitted. “And it wasn’t that I didn’t trust you. But if one of us slipped and it got out . . .”
“I’m glad you didn’t tell us,” said Katie. “It would be too much to keep that news a secret. I’m relieved!”
“I agree,” said Mia. “No pressure this way!”
“You can always tell me,” said Olivia. “I’m the quietest of all the Cupcake Club!” and we all laughed.
Two days later I was doing my homework when the phone rang.
“Honey, it’s Alexis!” my mom called.
I sat still in my seat. Did “honey” mean me or Matt? It was really annoying to not know.
“Emma!” my mom called again.
I jumped up, pleased that the call was for me and not Matt. Ha! So there! I thought as I passed the room he was still sharing with Sam.
“Hello?”
“Are you on the cordless?” asked Alexis with absolutely no introduction.
“Yeeeees?” I said suspiciously.
“Go to you computer. Go to celebritymag.com. Go!”
“Okay, okay!” I scurried into my room and did as I was told. On the homepage was a story about “Romaine and Liam’s Wild Weekend!” I rolled my eyes. I would hardly have called that weekend wild, but whatever.
“Click on the Romaine story,” instructed Alexis, so I did. “Scroll to the end of the story. Read the second to last paragraph.” I could practically hear Alexis tapping her foot impatiently while I got to the right spot and read.
“OMG!” I yelled. “I can’t believe it!”
Alexis was screaming through the phone. What it said was:
Desserts for both events were catered by the Cupcake Club, a local company run by old family friends of the Fords’. The bridal cupcake display was spectacular, with an elegant array of pastel-colored cupcakes sprinkled with spring blooms matching the decor. “They make the most delicious cupcakes you’ve ever had,” said Romaine. “Their motto is: Professional cupcakes with a homemade twist.” The same could be said about Ms. Ford.
I shrieked. “This is amazing! Better publicity than we could ever dream of! Are you ecstatic?” I cried.
“Our website has already crashed twice!” said Alexis. “It’s great!”
We laughed and laughed. “We need a cupcake meeting tomorrow to celebrate, don’t you think?”
“Definitely,” agreed Alexis.
The next day we sat around Alexis’s neat kitchen, discussing the Romaine Weekend, as we’d come to call it, for the tenth time.
“Pretty surprising Olivia turned out to be so handy,” Mia remarked.
“Yeah, she’s pretty good with her hands,” I said.
“And she’s got a decent work ethic, too, once you know what motivates her,” agreed Alexis.
“Time for a fifth cupcake member?” asked Katie.
“Nah. Not yet,” I said. “But we do need to make a note to share some of the profits with her.”
Mona had dropped off a check from the Fords for the cupcakes, and Alexis was depositing it, along with the one from Romaine for the premiere cupcakes, tomorrow.
We scrolled through the pictures we’d taken at the premiere and at the wedding with our phones. We had promised Mrs. Ford we’d never e-mail them or send them anywhere, especially to be published.
“I know I can count on you girls,” she e-mailed. “I can’t wait until we have something else to celebrate, so we can hire you again!”
We had all cheered when we read that.
I brought a tray of the “reject” cupcakes—they still tasted delicious, but didn’t look as pretty as the others (I’m guessing they were the ones Matt frosted), so they didn’t make the final cut. Alexis put out a jug of milk and some glasses on the table.
“What next?” asked Mia.
“Isabel Gormley’s birthday!” said Alexis, looking at a list.
“Oh, the cupcake competition with the kits!”
“That’s going to be so cool!” said Katie.
“And so easy,” added Mia, “compared to a movie premiere.”
“Not so fast!” I cautioned, wagging my finger at her.
She laughed and put her hands in the air like I surrender.
Alexis picked up where I’d left off. “Remember, our best clients, like the Gormleys—and Mona—are the most important ones to please. And our simplest cupcakes are the ones we need to work on the hardest. It’s all the opposite of what you’d think.”
“A recipe for success if ever there was one,” I said admiringly. I held up a cupcake for a toast. “To Romaine and Liam.”
“And to the Cupcake Club!” Mia added. We all clinked cupcakes together and laughed. It was the perfect end to a perfect (not wild!) weekend.
Want another sweet cupcake?
Here’s a sneak peek of the twentieth book in the
Cupcake Diaries
series:
Alexis
the icing on the cupcake
Growth Spurt
My ankles were freezing.
It was a cold and rainy morning, even though it was almost Memorial Day, and the weather was a little fluky: hot and muggy one day, chilly and cool the next. So maybe that explained my cold ankles. But the rest of me wasn’t chilly. My ankles felt . . . bare, despite the fact I had on long pants. I stretched out my foot at the breakfast table and looked down. Wait, why was there suddenly so much ankle showing from the bottom of my pant leg? These pants weren’t capris! Had they shrunk?
I stood up and shimmied the pants down a little so that they covered more of my ankles. My older sister, Dylan, gave me glance over her teapot and then looked back at what she was reading. Now my ankles were covered, but my pants were riding too low for comfort. They were practically falling off my hips, actually.
“Argh!” I cried in frustration.
“What’s the matter, Lex?” asked Dylan in a slightly annoyed tone. “I’m trying to have a peaceful morning here.” Dylan’s been trying to be all mature these days, drinking tea and acting really patient and calm no matter what the situation. She took this relaxation and meditation class, and now she goes around telling us that the house has to be her “Zen place.”
“My pants don’t fit!” I cried very un-Zenlike. “And they’re not that old! I just bought t
hem with Grandma over spring break!”
Dylan rolled her eyes. “You must’ve shrunk them. You’re supposed to line dry cotton pants like that.”
“I do!” I protested. “Always!”
Dylan thought for a minute, then she sighed and shook her head. “Then it could only be one thing,” she said, returning to the fascinating back of the cereal box.
I guess she wasn’t going to tell me unless I asked. And I really, really didn’t want to ask. But the suspense was killing me.
“What?”
Dylan sighed again, as if it was all so obvious and I was such a nitwit. “Hello? Growth spurt!”
“What?”
“You grew! Happens all the time. That’s why they call it ‘growing up.’ ” She shook her head.
“But that fast?”
She nodded. “It can happen overnight sometimes. You come down in the morning and suddenly you can see things on the top shelf of the fridge that you’d swear you couldn’t see when you went to bed the night before.”
“Really?” I walked over to the fridge and opened it. I glanced around the top shelf: yogurt, pickles, mustard . . . Wait, had that temperature dial always been back there? I knew I’d never seen it before because I would have had some fun tweaking it to see if different temperatures saved us money or made things icy. Had the fridge really come like that? I didn’t dare ask Dylan.
Feeling slightly freaked out, I shut the door and stood with my back to it, hands still on the handle.
There was no doubt about it.
I had grown.
“So what should I do?” I asked Dylan.
“About what?”
I gestured helplessly at my naked ankles.
Dylan stood up to wash her cup in the sink. “Buy new pants,” she said.
Before I could go to school, I had to change my pants, but I had to try on two other pairs before I found one that fit. At school I ran into my best friend, Emma Taylor, on the way to my locker.
“I grew,” I said, falling into step beside her.
“I know,” she agreed.
I stopped dead in my tracks. “Wait! Really? You could tell?”
