by Gaby Triana
I jot that down. “Aye, good call, Captain.”
“It’s getting down to the wire. Do you need help with anything?”
“Actually?” I swivel my butt around to face him. “Dr. OD said that we could each have one assistant. Do you want to be mine?”
“You mean on the actual stage or behind the scenes? Do I get to wear an apron and do my hair 40’s style?” He laughs.
“Up to you. But I was hoping you could make me some flyers. Wendy is going to litter hers everywhere, so I’ll need something good. How about using this list here?” I shove my cupcake list at him.
“I think you’ll need something snazzier. I’ll come up with several comps for your approval, darling.”
“Thank you. Hey, any more flavors you can think of?” I ask.
“A S’mores cupcake? Or a Dr. Pepper one?”
Before I can consider it, another commotion bursts through the opposite doors of the hall. Only this time, the happy gazelles are replaced by angry bulls, chasing after Kirk’s flaming mop head, and this time, he’s running. Down the hall, horrified, cursing, angry girls yelling and pulling and poking. One slaps him over the head.
“What in the heck?” Alexandre gawks.
The closer they get, the louder I hear them fuming. “How? How come you look at her and not me?” one girl demands. “I told you to call me, but you make me wait for three days! Do you even know what that feels like?” another yells in his face.
Oh, my. What a difference thirty minutes makes.
Kirk yanks his arms away from the angry mob. “Stop! I said stop! Just…give me a second…will ya?” He parks in front of me, as the girls huddle around him. I hide my face. Hands on his knees, he lowers a bit to stare at me. “I want my money back.”
“What?” I stammer. “How’s this my fault?”
He stands up straight, annoyed with two dance chicks tugging his sleeve for his attention, and pushes them back. “This isn’t what I asked for. You better have my refund tomorrow.” Then he storms off, surrounded by the triggered posse.
I think back to when I made Kirk’s cupcakes. Did I make them all the night of Caleb’s cake? No. I made half that night and half after “the Caleb-Sabrina incident.”
“What was that all about?” Alexandre asks.
“Ugh.” I drop my head into my hands. “An unforeseen glitch.”
“I don’t understand. Didn’t he ask for cupcakes? You gave him cupcakes. I saw them. They looked perfect. What’s there to refund? You laced them with something?”
“Nothing like that.” How much more should I tell Alexandre?
If I tell him about the Cakespell, he’ll think I’m crazy or try to use me like Caleb did. Then again, I have no other friends to talk to. “Alex, I have to tell you something, but not here. Can you come to my grandfather’s after school?”
“Sure, I’ll ask my mom to take me.” He picks up his backpack and laptop. “I have something to show you later, which I hope you’ll appreciate. I have to get to class. Au revoir?”
“Auf wiedersehen.”
“Bye.”
I feel bad about Kirk’s predicament, but then again, I don’t. He deserves what the Cakespell backfired on him. But what about when customers I actually like have a bad experience? Should I return money then? I know there’s no guaranteed results, but I can’t help but feel directly responsible. I mean, they were my feelings.
I toss my garbage away, and that’s when I see it. A bulletin board displaying a bunch of bright pink flyers that say, “EAT THIS!” And there’s Wendy Rivera looking over her shoulder holding a tiny cake, dressed in a sex kitten outfit I would say is highly inappropriate and possibly grounds for expulsion in some schools.
Battle of the Bakers this Friday, Oct. 26th
Help Wendy Win against the Cake Witch!
The Cake Witch? There’s a small pic of what’s supposed to be me, Photoshopped to look like the Wicked Witch of the West from The Wizard of Oz. A fire ignites in the pit of my stomach. I rip off the flyers, crumple them up, and toss them into the trash.
First of all, I will be winning Battle of the Bakers. My cakes were known to make mouths water and tummies tingle long before I ever activated the Cakespell. And second of all, I’m not just any witch. I’m a freakin’ SVAKHA, baby. If anyone is going to insult me, they better get it right.
Eighteen
Whose car should drive by right as I’m getting home to Papa’s? Caleb slows down, waves at me, then drives on. Does he want to talk to me, or just stalk me? I give him the finger and slam the door. Fine, not true. I wave and smile back.
#PatheticSap
Today’s order is small, thank goodness. I’m baking cinnamon vanilla cake with dulce de leche buttercream, making a mental note to add that to my Battle Cupcake List. While it cools, I lie down to decompress my scrambled brains.
My Spanish project is due soon, and I’m only halfway through it. The Rules and Regulations packet, which I haven’t had a chance to read sits on my nightstand. Kirk wants his money back, my best friend and I are still not talking, and the man I’ve loved all my life can’t decide who he wants.
Who needs this mess?
When Alexandre arrives, he’s wearing a buttoned-down blue shirt and he’s brushed his hair. “You look nice,” I say. “Got a job or something?”
He closes the front door behind him. “Actually, yes. Working for you.”
“Ha!” I lead him to my room. Papa waves hello and gives me a wary glance for bringing a boy to my room. I shake my head to show him it’s not like that. Papa’s stink eyes are not convinced.
“What did you want to tell me earlier, Rosie?”
I throw myself on my bed. Alexandre sets up at the desk, sliding my laptop aside to make room for his entire workstation. “You brought a printer? Who goes around with a printer?”
“Everyone makes fun until they need one. Go ahead, what do you have to tell me?”
I close my eyes. I feel like I’m with a therapist. “Remember Kirk today and all the girls who were mad at him? How he came to me for cupcakes?”
“Yes.”
“Well, there’s more to that story.”
“Please don’t tell me the witch rumors are true. I saw that poster. Wendy is going to play dirty. You need to be ready.”
“Did you tear it down for me?”
“No, but I drew a mustache and albatross wings on about twenty of them.”
I laugh, imagining Alexandre sneaking down the hallways with a cape and mask, vandalizing Wendy’s posters. “I love you. So much,” I tell him.
“I know.” He taps at his keyboard.
We’re quiet for a moment. I don’t know how to tell Alexandre that the witch rumors are, in fact, true. I think of my mother telling Papa how she lost her friends when word started to get around. Maybe it’s better if nobody knows for sure.
But I love him. So I’ll tell him some of it. “Alright, this might sound crazy, but… About a month ago, I acquired my grandmother’s old baking stuff. When I did, I unleashed something.”
“Something?” He raises an eyebrow.
“A love spell. My grandmother and great-grandmother could both do it. We’re svakhas—matchmakers. Everything I bake gets infused with love. Well, almost everything.” I wait for a reaction, but Alex only stares at me. It’s like someone has shot him with a tiny stun gun. “That’s what happened at first, but the last two orders haven’t come out that way.”
“Okayyy…”
I explain about my emotions being baked into the cakes. I tell him about Kirk’s cupcake batch coming out half happy, half angry.
“You’re jesting, right?” he says, deadpan.
“I wish. People come to me for my spells, not my cake. Which sucks. Because my cake is really good!” I pout.
Silence. Big brown eyes droop and assess.
“Alex? What are you thinking right now?”
“I’m wondering when was the last time I had your cake.” He blinks.
; I smile, relieved. “It wouldn’t have worked on you anyway. The baker can’t be the giver. That’s one of the rules.”
“There’s rules to magical love spells?”
I sit up, clasp my hands, and explain everything I know about the Cakespell. He doesn’t have to believe me. I only need him to listen. I know how crazy it all sounds, but we can’t continue to be friends unless he’s heard it all. “And so…in a way, it’s kind of witchcraft, but not the Hollywood wart-nose witch kind. It’s just energy,” I say, using Papa’s famous words to my mother.
“So, in essence, your electric mixers are your cauldrons.”
I smile so big, I have to bite it back. “Yeah, something like that. You still want to be my assistant?”
“Of course, but…”
“Watch.” I grab my laptop and log onto my cake email. “See? This lady is complaining she got an upset stomach after eating my cake. This guy is complaining about feelings of ‘severe loneliness’ coming from his slice. What am I supposed to do, Alex? I’ll have to give back all the money.”
Finally, he lets go of a breath, rubs his eyes, and cracks his knuckles. “No. First of all, you need a disclaimer at the bottom of your order form saying you are not responsible for people’s sad feelings.” His fingers hook into air quotes. “That’s just…dumb, for lack of a better word. There’s no proof that you can make people happy. Not saying that you’re lying about this Cakespell thing. Just saying, if someone pays you for something they believe in, they can’t get a refund.”
“Okay, good.”
“Second, that Kirk guy got what he deserved for being an idiot. You can’t expect to trick a hundred girls into liking you and not catch slack for it. So, screw him. Third, everybody’s always loved your cake. You have a natural talent, a je ne sais quoi, not only for making it moist and delicious, but for decorating. You’re a beast, and your grandmother’s baking tools did not make that happen.”
“Aww, thanks.”
“So yes, you might be getting more orders because of this magic,” he stresses with finger quotes again, “which I understand you feel is like cheating, but realize you’d be getting those orders with or without the reputation, right? You’re just talented, Rosie.”
I can’t help my big smile. I get up to give him a hug, but he swivels in his chair like he just remembered something and quickly starts tapping away on his laptop. I stand awkwardly next to him instead.
Maybe I should come right out and ask Alexandre if he’s gay. I mean, he’s different from other boys, he’s never mentioned liking anybody, plus every other gay stereotype under the sun, but none of this changes the fact that I am seriously crushing on him right now.
“Observe what I have for you.” He pushes his mouse around. “It goes with your 40’s style. If you don’t like it, please tell me.”
He pulls up the old wartime poster of Rosie the Riveter, when women stepped up to do men’s jobs while they were off fighting in WWII. She wears a blue jumpsuit, red bandana on her hair, and a no-nonsense expression. Only it’s my face he seamlessly worked in, instead of Rosie’s. I’m holding a pink, glittery cupcake. The names of all my cupcakes serve as a light background. “Do you like it?”
Wow. That is insanely amazing. He must have worked a long time on this. I can’t stop staring at it. “Rosie, the Baker. I love it, Alex.” I stare at myself in print. I look strong and confident. “It’s absolutely perfect.”
He nods, happy with his work. “Good. Then I need to work this into a flyer, print ASAP, and post them all over school tomorrow.” He swivels back to his screen, moves around windows, selects print options, and I can only stand here, watching him in total awe.
Alex made that for me. He went through all that trouble for me. I know he enjoys making graphic designs and all, but I couldn’t have done this on my own. I feel so grateful. Whether or not he likes it, I crouch down and give him a bear hug from behind. He stops what he’s doing long enough to reach up and ruffle my hair as a “you’re welcome” then goes back to working his own magic.
I lie in bed, exhausted after finishing baking. The cake will be ready for pickup while I’m at school tomorrow. Further ignoring my Spanish project, I watch Singing in the Rain on my iPad. I just can’t work anymore. Not baking, not homework. It’s been a tiring day. Besides everything that’s happening, no sign of Sabrina either.
It’s been five days since I talked to her.
Maybe I should apologize. It’s not like she can control people falling in love with her.
Still, she accepted the cake from Caleb knowing about the Cakespell, and that wasn’t cool.
I hear Papa and Sheila’s laughter in the living room. I don’t know why, but it sends me into tears. Fat, rolling blobs run down my cheeks and hang off my chin. I blot them with my sleeve, fighting off sleep a few minutes more, so I can watch this scene—Debbie Reynolds saying goodnight to Gene Kelly with a kiss.
Why can’t it be simple like that all the time?
Why does love have to be so complicated?
I’ve never felt this stressed before. Is this how life is supposed to be? Random, sparkling gemstone moments embedded deep inside the dull bedrock of everyday life? Look at Gene Kelly. What’s his secret? How come he got to sing and dance in his dapper coat and hat, swinging off lampposts, spinning his happy umbrella, whereas I got Cake Nazi for a mother, two non-boyfriends, and a best friend who sucks?
Because Gene lives inside his fantasy world, and I live in real life.
Shut up and go to sleep now, Rosie the Baker tells me. Pity party over. Tomorrow is a new day.
Okay, I reply. You’re in charge now. Don’t let me down.
Nineteen
It’s only third period, and already, I’ve been called five different names, everything from witch to bitch, to rising star by Sperm-Man, and, because of Alexandre’s early morning flyer-posting session, I’m now “sexy motherbaker” and “pinup poser.”
His flyer came out awesome. It doesn’t bash Wendy like she did to me. That’s just not me, and I believe in karma now. BOY, do I believe in karma. It only focuses on my “old-fashioned delights with a modern twist,” with the supercool composite of myself as Rosie. Hopefully, people will appreciate that I, unlike Wendy, play nice.
I choose to focus on my strengths. So there.
But all this “cake witch” bashing has had an interesting effect on me. I give zero effs now. I’ve started to grow a thicker skin. Negative comments are only people’s reactions and perceptions. They have nothing to do with me personally. So I’ll just wear my red-lipstick smile and keep my eyes on the prize. Which includes—the $250 gift card for baking supplies, positive notoriety and exposure for my kitchen’s creations.
Most of all, the ability to flip my mother off and tell her HA-HA, I TOLD YOU SO!
“Nice poster, Rose. I’m definitely going to vote for you,” someone says just before I walk into class.
It’s a petite girl with a tall, long-haired boyfriend. “Thanks.”
Her boyfriend agrees. “Yeah, but be careful with Wendy. She talks a lot of smack.”
Okay, so maybe I care a little about what people say. “Like?”
“She’s saying you use black magic. She says you made half the school’s girls be mad at Kirk Engle for passing out cupcakes. She says she’ll find a way to disqualify you at the Battle of the Bakers if you keep it up. Honestly, I think she’s just jealous.”
I break into a nervous giggle. “Where does it say I can’t use black magic?” I ask, feeling brave. Not that anyone can prove it. “The Witchcraft and Wizardry Rulebook, Rule VI, Section A, Clause iii?”
The couple laughs and heads off. “Good one, Rosie. See you Friday!”
“Bye.”
“I like her,” I hear the girl say.
“Yeah, she’s funny.”
Whoa. First of all, I made a joke out loud, using my own voice, making not one, but two people laugh. And second, I just made two new fans. I really do feel like a living Rosie
the Riveter “We Can Do It!” poster.
But then, Señora Fuentes has to go and remind us about the Spanish country project due in one day, ruining my euphoria. ¡Gracias, so mucho, señora!
A bunch of us sit on the curb after school to wait for our late bus. I pull out my flyer to admire it. I can’t get over how great it looks. The glittery cupcake is the proverbial icing on the cake. Alexandre is going to be really talented at whatever he’s going to be.
A shadow blocks the sun, darkening the flyer. “It’s really gorgeous.”
I know that voice. I shield my eyes from the sun. “Hey.”
Sabs squats down, her black hair almost touching the ground, and I have to say, it’s nice to see those blue eyes again. “Can I sit?”
“Sure.” I scooch over a bit and fold the flyer.
Sabs holds her hand out. “Can I see?”
I hand her the thick paper and she studies it. “This is the work of Alexandre.”
“Who else?”
“He’s the only other person I know as talented as you.”
“I’m blown away by it, actually,” I agree. “And thanks.”
It’s quiet a few seconds. Then, she pops up, real animated. “I’m proud of you. You had this vision of what you wanted to accomplish, and you did it. Most people I know can’t say the same, including me. So, for whatever that’s worth.” She scans the row of kids waiting, the stop sign, the houses across the street, anything but me.
“Thanks. I couldn’t have done it without you. You believed in me,” I say, because it’s true. Without Sabrina telling me I’m a goddess and buying that dress for me, I might still be pretending it all in my head instead of manifesting it.
Maybe Sabrina’s a witch too. Alexandre, Sabs, and I should all start a coven.
“All the more reason why I was hurt by what happened the other day,” I say.
“Yeah, about that…” She turns to me. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought you knew that I liked Caleb, too. I mean, we’ve always acted like idiots when he’s around. We have for years, haven’t we?”
