by Coco Simon
“Stop, Em. I’m just kidding. I’m sorry. You are baking goddesses. The best in the universe, okay? Now just make sure to throw me a few free samples today. That’s all. A growing boy’s gotta eat.”
“Yeah. A knuckle sandwich maybe,” I muttered.
“Mom! Did you hear her? And you and Dad always think she’s the innocent one around here!” protested Matt. He shook his head vehemently. “Always the victim. And we’re always the bad guys.”
“Well, you did start it!” I said.
“Hellooooo?” called someone from the mudroom, and Alexis appeared. A huge grin spread across her face when she spotted Matt.
I glanced at Matt to see his reaction and annoyingly enough, his face had lit up too. He was psyched to see Alexis.
“Hey, Lexi,” I said, bounding off my stool at the counter. “Come see my . . . new winter skirt. In my room. It’s so cute. I made it in my home ec class. I might wear it to the holiday boutique.”
Her smile faded a bit. “Okay . . . cool.”
I didn’t watch to see if she and Matt exchanged any looks of longing, because I would have puked.
We headed upstairs, and soon after, Katie Brown and Mia Vélaz-Cruz came up to meet us. I showed them my new skirt, and Mia, ever the fashionista (even with a homemade skirt to work with!) helped me put together three different looks with it. Since everyone had arrived, we popped down to the kitchen to get to work, with my mom’s chocolate chip pancakes to energize us.
We chatted about how warm it was going to be outside for a change (sixty degrees, which is totally crazy for this time of year) while I gathered our supplies and Alexis busied herself with our ledger, where we keep track of our profits and expenses and plans. Katie laid out her idea book, which was battered and stained and laden with awesome recipes, and Mia pulled up photos of some inspirational cupcakes on her tablet.
“Okay, here’s the key, girls!” Katie withdrew a little bag from her tote and opened it. Inside were a few ingredients. We clustered around while she showed us.
“Dried cherries, pistachios, cherry jam, and—drumroll, please!—pistachio pudding!”
“Okay!” I said enthusiastically. “So what do we do?”
Katie explained how the dried cherries and pistachios needed to be rough chopped, which means chopped really coarsely, and how we would be incorporating the pistachio pudding mix into our yellow cake cupcake recipe, along with some of the cherries. Then we’d swirl the cherry jam though a cream cheese frosting base and sprinkle the frosted cakes with the crushed pistachios. We all took a task and got to work, chatting as we chopped and mixed and measured.
Jake and Sam both arrived and passed through, looking for swabs of frosting on a spoon or a lick of batter, but we shooed them away, with Mia (too generous always!) promising to bring them samples when the cakes were ready.
“Hmph!” I said. “You spoil them.”
“It’s fun.” Mia laughed, her dark eyes twinkling merrily. “They’re so appreciative of our baking!”
The cupcakes were soon in the oven, and I couldn’t stop taking big gulping whiffs of delicious air through my newly cleared nose. It was like I’d been at sea for months and could finally smell land again. The girls teased me, but I didn’t mind. The cherry and pistachio cupcakes smelled wonderful. While we waited for them to come out, and then to cool, we made the frosting and brainstormed about our holiday shopping.
“Everything seems so expensive to me this year,” said Katie, her brow furrowing anxiously. She was whipping up cream cheese frosting in the mixer as I chopped pistachios.
“I know,” I agreed. “I was at the mall the other day because the boys had to go to the sporting goods store, and even the sneakers there . . . it seems like the prices have just jumped all of a sudden.”
“Yeah, we need to make some money. Do you have any modeling jobs lined up, Em?” asked Alexis. (I model for a few local businesses, but mostly for a bridal store at the mall owned by a really nice lady named Mona.)
“Not at the moment,” I said. “I’m hoping Mona will have something soon. I know there’s a new line she’s hoping to get, so maybe. . . . The extra money sure would help.”
“I’m hoping we’ll find some cute things at the holiday boutique,” said Mia.
The boutique is an annual tradition. It’s held in the basement of our local Y, and lots of vendors come from all around with beautiful, mostly handmade and one of a kind, items that make great holiday gifts. Candles, potpourri, customized stationery, needlepoint canvases and yarn, hand-knit scarves and gloves, fabric coin purses, special chocolates, fudge, and more. We would be selling cupcakes this year at a table in the refreshments area on the opening Saturday of the fair. It was a pretty big honor to be asked to participate, and that’s why we wanted our holiday-themed cupcakes to be special.
While we chatted about who was on our lists to buy holiday gifts for (my list had my brothers, my parents, Mona at the bridal salon, and the Cupcakers, of course!), the cupcakes came out of the oven, and Mia placed them carefully onto the wire racks to cool. Meanwhile, Katie carefully tipped three or four drops of green food coloring into the cream cheese frosting, then mixed it until it came out a delicate green.
I set the bowl of chopped pistachios next to the icing, and we were ready to frost. Just then the boys came swarming back though the kitchen.
“Yum! Mia! Can I have a cupcake now? Pretty pleeeeease?” begged Jake.
Mia crouched down, looking at him with sorrow, and said, “They’re not ready yet, Jake! We’re going to frost them, and then you can have a couple, okay?”
“One!” I said sternly.
“But we’re going outside now, to play football . . . ,” pressed Jake.
“I’ll bring them out to you. Now, shoo! Be gone!” I whisked them out the back door before my co-clubbers had a chance to offer any more free food to them. I shut the back door hard and could hear the boys laughing outside. “Scoundrels!” I scoffed.
“You know you’re lucky to have them, Em,” said Mia, laughing.
“Yes, I would love to live with Matt,” joked Alexis.
I rolled my eyes.
Katie said, “It’s nice to have such good eaters around, anyway. When I bake at home, my mom might try a tiny bite, and even if she loves it, she doesn’t have more. These guys go crazy for what we make.”
“I guess,” I said.
“Come on, they’re not that bad,” said Mia. “Remember the time Matt made those flyers for us on his computer?”
“Yeah,” agreed Alexis. “And how he always picks hanging with us over the so-called popular girls?”
“And the time Sam drove us to the mall to get your bridesmaid dress . . .”
“Which Matt paid for!”
I put up my hands, giggling. “All right, all right. I surrender. They’re not that bad. They’re pretty good, actually.”
We were all laughing.
“Now fork over some of them cupcakes, and I’ll bring them out,” I joked to Katie.
Smiling, she quickly frosted six, and then Mia sprinkled them with the nuts. I put them on a plate and headed out the back door, calling, “Cupcakes! Come and get ’em!” to the boys.
But just as I rounded the corner, tragedy struck.
Tragedy in the form of a very large, very hard, very out-of-control football.
It hit me square in the nose, and I remember an instant shock and pain, and that’s all.
Sooner or Later
I came to on the sofa in the TV room, with everyone gathered anxiously around me. I wasn’t sure where I was at first. People around me were speaking in hushed voices.
“Her eyes are open!”
“She’s awake!”
“Okay, okay, shh. Shh, everyone.” My mom sat forward and smoothed back my hair, looking at me carefully as she lifted a cold compress from my face.
“Oh no!” cried Jake.
I sat up quickly, but my mom pushed me back gently. “Stay put. Just rest.”
“What happened? Ow!” I moaned. My face was throbbing, and it felt hot and kind of tight. I reached up a hand to gingerly touch my nose. “OMG. This kills.”
“Emmy! I’m so sorry! I threw it! It’s all my fault!” Jake wailed, in floods of tears now.
“Stop crying!” Matt said sharply. “This isn’t about you!” He looked scared himself.
Jake tried to calm down, but tears kept streaming down his cheeks and he hiccupped. He had obviously been crying hard for some time.
“How did I get here?” I asked, looking around. Everyone’s face was superworried, especially the Cupcakers.
“You were coming out with the cupcakes, and we were having a contest to see who could throw the ball the hardest and Jake was just taking his turn. It hit you square on the bridge of your nose,” said Sam. “I’m so sorry.”
“Oh no!” I groaned. “Is it broken?”
“I don’t think so,” said my mom. With me having three brothers, she’s seen a lot of injuries. “I’m more worried about you losing consciousness. We’ve got to go see the doctor and make sure it’s not a concussion. I already have a call in to him.”
“Wait, I blacked out?” I said. “I’ve never done that before.”
“We carried you in,” said Matt. “It was scary.”
“Thanks. Sorry.” I shrugged.
My mom dabbed at my nose with a wet paper towel. I could see that it already had quite a bit of blood on it. My stomach churned. I hate the sight of blood.
“Do you have a headache, sweetheart?” she asked.
“No, I have a nose ache,” I said.
“Do you feel queasy?”
“Not really.”
“Good,” said my mom, patting my arm.
“Can I look in a mirror?” I asked.
“No,” said everyone all at once. Then they laughed nervously, but I didn’t.
“That bad, huh?” I asked.
The Cupcakers smiled supportively, but I caught Jake nodding before Matt spied him and quickly tapped him on the back of his head. Then Jake started shaking his head.
“Oooh.” I groaned. “Good thing I don’t have any modeling jobs lined up. Hey, how were the cupcakes?” I asked.
“We didn’t have the stomach to try them . . . ,” explained Sam.
“I ate one! I thought it was delicious!” said Jake.
Mia smiled at him and gave him a sideways hug, “You’re our best little customer, aren’t you?”
He nodded, in heaven. “Can I have another?”
Mia laughed. “And an opportunist, too! Sure, come on, let’s go get you another.”
“Hey, wait up!” called Sam. “Feel better, Em,” he said with a wink, and he headed into the kitchen.
Matt trailed behind them, and my mom went to call the doctor again. I was left with Alexis and Katie. “How bad is it?” I whispered, now kind of dreading seeing it.
“Oh, you know . . . ,” said Katie vaguely.
Alexis set her lips in a grim line. “You’re going to look awful for a few days. But then it will be fine. No permanent damage.”
“Alexis!” said Katie, shocked at her bluntness.
“What?” said Alexis, huffy now. “It’s true. Why should I lie to her?”
“Hey, no. It’s fine. I wanted the truth,” I said. “It’s better to know. I’ll see it, anyway, sooner or later, right?” I reached up to try to feel around, and I could definitely feel the swelling all across my face. “Ugh.”
“Yeah, better if later,” agreed Alexis. “Rather than sooner, I mean.” She glanced guiltily at Katie, who just shook her head.
My mom came bustling back in. “Okay, the doctor can take a look at you if we head over now. Are you okay to try to sit up?”
I swung my legs over the side of the sofa and sat up tall, but I suddenly got a head rush, and things were a little spinny for a minute. I glanced at my mom, and her face was really worried, so I tried to pull it together for her sake, anyway. I took a deep breath.
“Okay,” I said.
Soon I was up on my feet and walking a little wobbly out to the car, the Cupcakers trailing behind.
“We’ll just clean up here, then head out, so you can come home and rest,” said Alexis from the back door.
“And we’ll walk Jake to his playdate,” added Mia. My mom thanked her.
“No, feel free to stay. I won’t be long.” We were supposed to head to Scoops ice-cream shop for grilled cheese and milkshakes later. “We can go after.”
Alexis grimaced. “I don’t know if you’re going to want to go out when you get back,” she said, shrugging helplessly.
I sat down in the backseat of the minivan. “Oh boy,” I said.
Alexis gave a sigh. “Just don’t look in the mirror.”
She was right.
On the way to the doctor’s I couldn’t face my reflection. I was worried if it looked really bad, I wouldn’t want to get out of the car. The doctor was supernice, and he gave me all sorts of funny tests, asking me things like what the date was a week ago on Thursday and to do some simple puzzles and stuff, and he concluded that I did not have a concussion, which was my mom’s main concern.
“The site of the impact is a factor,” he told my mom. “And noses absorb a lot of impact. Two inches higher . . .” And then he shrugged. “One thing’s for sure, Emma. Your brain should be grateful to your nose. It really took one on the chin today!” Then he laughed at his own bad joke.
I smiled. “I guess,” I said. “But how bad is this nose going to look and for how long?” I tried not to whine, but I was worried.
He shook his head. “Hard to say. You’ll probably reach maximum swelling through tomorrow, and then that will start to calm down, but don’t be surprised when the black eyes appear tomorrow or the next day. Those can take a while to fade, too.”
“Oh, great,” I said sarcastically.
He looked at me sympathetically. “I know. It really is a drag, but it could have been a lot worse. Your nose didn’t even break. You’ve been drinking your milk!”
He looked at his watch, and we all stood up.
Then he continued, “I’m very glad you don’t have a concussion, Emma. I’ve had kids out of school for weeks because they’d get a migraine every time they looked at a white sheet of paper. And that meant while they were home, no TV, no computer, and no phone. Nothing to overstimulate or irritate the brain. Trust me, it’s just awful. I hate to see it.”
“I know. I’m glad about I avoided that too.”
“Just ice the nose a lot, drink tons of water, and take aspirin, and you’ll be just fine.”
We thanked him and headed out to the car.
In the car, my mom said, “Well, that’s a relief.”
“I guess,” I said, lowering the visor and flipping open the mirror. I took a deep breath through my mouth and braced myself.
And then I took one look at my bashed-up face and burst into tears. It was awful. I had a huge bump across the bridge of my nose, and the skin was broken and bloody, and a huge dark blue bruise was smeared across my nose, and even starting under my eyes. But what was worse was the swelling. I looked like an alien. The center of my face, including my nose and the area between my eyebrows, was so swollen that the space between the inside corners of my eyes had doubled.
“OMG.” I began to sob, which of course made my nose hurt more and my face look even uglier. “I’m not going to be able to leave the house for weeks!” I wailed.
My mom put her arm around me and hugged me tightly. “I think you’re going to have to wear a hat and maybe some sunglasses for a few days,” she whispered into my hair.
“More like for the rest of my life!” I whimpered.
Want more
Visit CupcakeDiariesBooks.com for the series trailer, excerpts, activities, and everything you need for throwing your own cupcake party!
Coco Simon always dreamed of opening a cupcake bakery but was afraid she would eat all of the profits. When she’s not daydreaming about
cupcakes, Coco edits children’s books and has written close to one hundred books for children, tweens, and young adults, which is a lot less than the number of cupcakes she’s eaten. Cupcake Diaries is the first time Coco has mixed her love of cupcakes with writing.
LOOK FOR MORE CUPCAKE DIARIES AT YOUR FAVORITE STORE!
CupcakeDiariesBooks.com
authors.simonandschuster.com/Coco-Simon
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SIMON SPOTLIGHT
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020
First Simon Spotlight hardcover edition October 2014
Copyright © 2014 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
SIMON SPOTLIGHT and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc. Text by Tracey West
Chapter header illustrations by Maryam Choudhury
Designed by Laura Roode
Jacket design by Laura Roode
Jacket illustrated by Abigail Halpin
Jacket illustrations by Simon & Schuster, Inc.
ISBN 978-1-4814-1864-5 (pbk)
ISBN 978-1-4814-1865-2 (hc)
