I glanced up and down the hallways and saw a sea of orange. Orange flyers were posted on the cement columns, and coupons were falling out of kids’ lockers right and left.
“Unbelievable. They’re in every single locker,” I said. “It’s like an invasion. Who put them all here?”
“I’m sure they have lots of minions to do their bidding.” Gwen shrugged.
I leaned my head against my locker. “A free pastry with every drink purchase. I didn’t even know that Perk Up sold baked goods.”
“Yeah, offering free food to a bunch of tweens,” Gwen said. “It’s genius. Kids are going to be flocking to Perk Up like it’s the end of a famine.”
She was right about that. Sarah, Lissie, and Harris were clustered in the hallway with their coupons, and I could hear them planning to meet at Perk Up after school.
“They have this amazing chai acai smoothie,” Sarah was saying to Lissie. “It’s supposed to be great for your skin.”
“Oh, this is so bad,” I said to Gwen. “Where Sarah goes, everyone follows.”
“Hey, I’m not everyone. And I vow to boycott Perk Up products for all eternity.”
I nodded, knowing that Gwen meant what she said, and grateful that she’d do that for me.
“You’re still looking way too depressed, so I’m declaring a subject change!” Gwen tapped her ears. “What do you think of my latest creation?”
I looked at the blue beaded hoop earrings with the tiny silver hummingbirds dangling in the centers. “I love them,” I said. “Can you make me a pair, too?”
“That depends,” Gwen said. “Will it cheer you up?”
I smiled. “Definitely.”
Gwen’s face lit up. “Then absofably, I will. But I think I’ll make yours coral red. They’ll set off your hazel eyes.” The first bell rang, and Gwen patted her bag. “I’ll get started on them right now.”
“But you have history right now,” I said.
Gwen smiled fiendishly. “Exactly. Mrs. Goring is so nearsighted she can’t see more than five feet in front of her. And I picked a seat in the last row.”
I laughed. “Don’t get caught.”
“Never!” Gwen called over her shoulder as she walked away.
I turned down the hallway, feeling better. But as soon as I got to world science, my mood dampened. Because there was Mr. Cake Pop Killer himself.
As I sat down and reached into my bag for my science textbook, I realized I was still holding that horrible Perk Up coupon in my hand. A fresh wave of frustration hit me, and before I knew it, I was ripping the coupon into shreds.
“So I’m guessing you’re not a fan of Perk Up?”
I glanced up into cool eyes the color of mint ice cream. I hadn’t noticed Dane’s eyes before, but now their bright intensity made it hard for me to breathe.
“No, I’m not,” I said shortly. I thought about what my dad had said yesterday about chains, and felt my blood heating up. “It’s awful to have some cookie-cutter franchise taking over Main Street.”
“Taking over?” Dane gave a laugh. “I’d hardly call one store on Main Street taking over. Besides, Perk Up’s profits will boost the town’s economy, which is good for everybody, right?”
I stared at him. He sounded like he was quoting something from Businessweek, for crying out loud.
“What about the smaller businesses?” I asked. “Some of them …” My voice cracked embarrassingly. “Some of them might not survive.”
He shrugged. “Well, if the mom-and-pop stores can’t stand a little friendly competition, they shouldn’t be in business in the first place.” Then he leaned closer, studying me. “Why do you care so much about it, anyway?”
“Because my dad owns Say It With Flour,” I snapped. “That’s why.” I glared at him.
Dane raised an eyebrow. “Say It With Flour,” he murmured. “You mean the tiny bakery across the street from Perk Up?”
“Not so tiny,” I retorted. “My dad’s owned our bakery for twenty years. He never had some big chain name to help it along. And he sells fresh baked goods made from scratch, not prepackaged Perk Up pastries full of nitrates or MSG, or … whatever.” I knew I was unloading on him, a boy I’d only just met. But so far, every single thing he’d said had been insulting, or condescending, or both.
Dane smiled, catching me off guard. “Wow,” he said. “It’s great that you’re so passionate about your dad’s business. It must mean a lot to you.”
I gaped. I was completely disarmed. “It d-does,” I stammered.
“It must be nice to not have it just be about money and profit,” Dane added thoughtfully.
What does that mean? I wondered. Dane dropped his eyes to his desk, then brought them back up to meet mine. “But there’s still nothing you can do about Perk Up. It’s in Oak Canyon to stay. Trust me, I know.”
“We’ll see about that,” I said, and then the final bell rang, quieting us both.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Jenkins began. “We’ll be talking about the anatomy of whales today….”
As Mr. Jenkins lectured, I snuck a look at Dane, wondering what his story was. This new boy was proving to be a big mystery.
Normally, I hated phys ed with a passion. The only plus (and I mean, the only plus) was that Tansy and I had it together. Today, though, doing the outdoor obstacle course felt strangely good, like I was sweating out all my frustration.
“Hold up a sec, Ali!” Tansy panted from behind me, where she was still stumbling through the field of tires laid down in the grass. “You’re killing me.”
“Sorry,” I said, jogging in place until she caught up. “I was just thinking about what Dane said earlier.”
“Which part?” Tansy asked. “The rude part or the nice part?”
I laughed as we ran to the climbing wall. “When he said there’s nothing I can do about Perk Up.”
“Yeah.” Tansy grunted as she tried to pull herself up the rope and over the wall to the other side.
“But there is something I can do,” I said. “I can find a way to bring more people into the store. I just have to convince my dad to let me do it.” I clambered over the wall and jumped down as a soccer ball flew past my head.
“Heads up!” a voice called out, and Harris came jogging over. The boys always had a separate gym activity from the girls, which was maybe another (small) plus of phys ed.
“Omigod, how embarrassing,” Tansy whisper-shrieked. “I’m sweating! He cannot see me sweating.” She ducked behind the wall while I retrieved the soccer ball from where it had landed.
“Hey, Ali,” Harris said, then peered around the wall and grinned. “Hey, Tansy.”
“Hey,” Tansy’s muffled voice squeaked back in mortification.
“Sorry about the stray ball.”
“No worries.” I tossed it to him. “We needed a breather anyway. Mrs. Stevens has us running the Gauntlet today.”
Harris groaned. “Yeah, I hate the Gauntlet. I’m glad Mr. Miller has us doing soccer today. My favorite, obviously.” He grinned, started back onto the field, then stopped and turned around. “Hey, are you guys going to the rally?”
Friday afternoon was the Spring into Sports rally, which marked the official opening day for all of the school’s springtime sports, like baseball, track, and soccer. Sports aren’t my thing, but Tansy is on the school dance team, and they were performing at the start of the rally. Tansy is a fab dancer. It is the only exercise she doesn’t mind sweating for. But she always gets horrible stage fright, so Gwen and I promised we’d be there to cheer her on.
“Yeah,” I said. “Gwen and I are going to see Tansy dance.”
“Awesome!” Harris said. “Maybe we can all hang out afterward.”
My heart pole-vaulted into my throat. Harris was asking to hang out? That was a monumental first. Still, I hesitated. “I don’t know. I have to study. I’m supposed to have a pop quiz in math next week.”
Harris cocked his head. “How do you know when it w
ill be if it’s a pop quiz?”
Tansy’s laugh came from behind the wall. “Ali’s figured out Mr. Kim’s schedule. He gives pop quizzes every other week. She’ll study every day so she’s ready whenever it happens.”
I shrugged, giving a little laugh. “I prep for surprises. Can’t help it.”
“Well, you can still study on Saturday and Sunday, right?” Harris smiled, then started to jog away. “Take Friday off!” he called back over his shoulder.
“Okay!” I called back before I could second-guess myself.
When he was safely back in the middle of the field, Tansy peeked around the corner of the climbing wall.
“Did he just ask you out after the pep rally on Friday?” she whispered, her brown eyes sparkling.
“It was a ‘hang out’ not an ‘ask out,’ ” I corrected. “That’s like the difference between vanilla flavoring and vanilla extract. One is just a tease. Besides, he asked all of us.”
“Still. That’s huge!” Tansy clapped her hands excitedly. “Wait until Gwen hears.”
Tansy and I finished the obstacle course on a Harris high, and when Gwen and I left school later that day, it was all we could talk about.
“Do you think it means something?” I asked Gwen for at least the tenth time.
She shrugged. “Who knows? Deep meaning and boys is like an oxymoron. I wouldn’t read too much into it. But … he could be crushing on you.”
“Or Tansy.” I nudged her and grinned. “Or you.”
“Not too likely. I’m too rough around the edges for a boy like him.” But the faintest trace of red crept across her cheeks.
“Hey, you’re blushing!” I cried, stopping midstride. “Does that mean you want him to be crushing on you?”
The hint of red bloomed bigger. “Okay, okay, you outed me.” She rolled her eyes in exasperation and sighed. “Let’s get one thing straight. He’ll never ask me out. But if he did, I’d say yes.”
“Gwennie!” I hugged her while she grimaced. “You’ve never said that about any guy before.”
She shrugged. “That’s because most of them either think constantly about body parts or make noises with them. Yick. Anyway, we don’t know who Harris likes. Probably none of us.”
“Or all of us,” I teased.
“Now you’re making my head hurt, which is another reason I don’t talk about guys.” We both laughed, and I felt lighter and happier than I had all day.
But that was until I got to Main Street and saw a line of kids from school outside Perk Up. They were all holding their coupons in their hands, ready and waiting.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumbled under my breath.
Sarah, Lissie, and Jane strolled by us in a cluster, each holding a fruit smoothie. Sarah paused in front of us.
“Hi, girls,” she said. “You better hurry up and get in line if you want something to eat. They’re already out of the cinnamon currant scones. I got the last one.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Gwen said, “but we’re spurning the evil chain today and heading to Say It With Flour, where nothing is mass-produced or shrink-wrapped.”
Gwen shot me a “score one for us” look, but then Sarah reached into her Perk Up paper bag and pulled out half of a very fresh-looking, very delicious-looking scone.
“I don’t know about the ‘evil chain’ thing,” she said, “but these are homemade and they’re an original recipe. Dane made them himself.”
“Dane?” I repeated.
Sarah nodded. “Dane McGuire. The boy who just moved here?” She stared at us, then added, “Dane’s the one who brought the coupons to school this morning. Didn’t you know that his dad owns Perk Up?”
“This Perk Up?” I asked, trying desperately to make sense of what I was hearing.
Sarah gave me a tolerant smile, like you’d give a preschooler. “Perk Up, Inc. Michael McGuire owns the whole corporation. How else did you think Dane got permission to advertise on school property? There’s no way Principal Dalton’s going to say no to the son of a multimillionaire CEO. The McGuires moved here to help set up the new store, but of course Dane’s dad doesn’t run it himself. He has managers for that.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Anyway, Dane’s helping out with the baked goods in the store. And they’re amazing.”
“Oh,” I finally managed to say. Suddenly, everything about my talk with Dane this morning made horrible, perfect sense. Except for one thing. Why hadn’t he just told me that his dad owned Perk Up?
“Well, see you guys later,” Sarah said. She sauntered down the street in all her modelesque glory, sipping her smoothie, a poster child for Perk Up.
And all I could think was: Score one for Dane.
Gwen tried her best to cheer me up when we got to Say It With Flour. She even took a break from her jewelry to help me roll out dough for conchas. But it was hopeless. I couldn’t stop brooding over how Dane had lied to me. Well, not lied. But certainly not told me the whole truth! Not even close.
So, at Gwen’s urging, she and I popped over to Perk Up to do some spying. I thought it would be my chance to confront Dane, but he wasn’t there. We stood in the endless line, while I took in the sleek, modern (and dull) orange-and-silver décor. Gwen and I ordered a couple of the pumpkin butter gingerbread beignets, which I suspected had been made by Dane himself. Worst of all, the beignets were melt-in-your-mouth magnificent.
When Gwen and I came back to Say It With Flour and shared the beignets with my dad, he went from smoldering to volcanic. And once we started baking, he took his aggravation out on me.
“Sloppiness,” he said, grabbing my tablespoon of sugar and leveling it off with a knife. “Alicia, how many times have I told you? Too much sugar spoils the flavor of the conchas. Measure exactamente.”
“I didn’t think too much sugar could spoil anything,” Gwen whispered.
“Gwendolyn, no, no, no,” my dad said gruffly. “That’s not right. You don’t beat the dough. You knead it. Watch me.”
He grabbed a ball of dough from Gwen, examined it, then tossed it in the trash. “It’s already ruined.”
“Sorry,” Gwen said, but my dad just waved us both out of the kitchen.
“Enough!” he snapped. “Both of you! Out, out, out! I’ll close up tonight.”
So we packed up our school bags and left. And even though I didn’t want to admit it, I was relieved. Relieved that I didn’t have to see the stress etched on my dad’s face anymore, and relieved that I didn’t have to stay there while he micromanaged my work. I invited Gwen over for dinner, but she passed. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d said no to my grandmother’s enchiladas, but she must have needed a break from the tension, too.
Dinner was quiet without my dad, who’d stayed at the bakery late to crunch numbers. I cleaned up the kitchen while Abuelita tucked Roberto into bed. Then I walked into our living room to find my grandmother sitting on the couch surrounded by photo albums. She patted the cushion next to her and I sank down, laying my head on her shoulder.
“I was looking at some pictures of your mother,” she said softly. She cupped my chin in her hands and smiled. “She was so beautiful. Just like you, niñita.”
I ran a finger over a photo of a lovely young woman with a chocolate waterfall of hair and soft, caramel eyes. My mother had become a mystery of sensations in me, a sense of warmth and a cascade of fleeting, blurry images. “I wish I could remember more of her.”
“Estrella was full of passion,” Abuelita said. “She loved the newness each day brought with it. She used to bake such incredible pastries. She made up all her own recipes. Every week at the bakery there was an Estrella Special.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said. “Why doesn’t Dad do that anymore?”
Abuelita sighed, sadness making the lines in her face deeper. “Alicia, we are all like guitars. Our heartstrings stretch to touch others in the universe. And when we think of people with love, those strings sing out, and the song goes on forever, reaching even to thos
e who aren’t with us.” She closed the photo album. “Your father has tried hard to snap his strings.”
I felt a lump in my throat. All I wanted was to send out a song to my mother, and my father. “Abuelita,” I said, “I want to help Dad and Say It With Flour.”
She kissed my forehead. “Then you will.”
She stood up, said good night, and left me sitting on the couch in the dim light, wondering what to do. So I flipped on the TV in the kitchen and found the latest Renata episode. Together, we whipped up a batch of red velvet cake pops with mocha fudge icing.
“What would you do, Renata?” I asked the TV screen.
She smiled with her perfect teeth and held a beautiful cake pop up to the camera. “Don’t worry if your cake pops don’t look exactly like this your first try. With practice, you’ll get better. Remember, the only real mistake you can ever make in baking is giving up.”
Her words struck like lightning, and suddenly, I knew I had to try again. This time, maybe Dad would listen. I nested my cake pops into a pastry box, closed the lid, and scribbled a note across the top.
Just try one, Dad. Please.
For the sake of our store.
I laid the box in the middle of his bed, and then I went to my own bedroom and fell asleep, hoping that tomorrow would bring some good kind of newness to all of us.
When Dad tapped lightly on my bedroom door before sunrise, I’d already been awake for an hour, trying to force myself back to sleep.
“I’m up,” I whispered when he stuck his head in the door.
“I could use some help with the cinnamon rolls at the shop,” he said, “if you’d like to come along.”
“I’ll be ready in five minutes.” I threw back the covers, wide awake now. My dad never asked for my help in the bakery in the mornings. He was always there long before dawn, heating up the oven and baking the first loaves of the day. Now I wondered why he wanted me to come along, but I knew better than to ask. Dad was like the breads he baked — he needed time to rise to the occasion.
The short walk from our house to the shop was a quiet one, except for the birds chirping out their morning greetings. The bakery sat dark and still, like it was waiting for my dad to open its doors. We lit the fire in the oven, then waited for the fine white crown of ash to form on its arched roof. When the corona appeared, the oven was ready for baking.
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