Cake Pop Crush

by Suzanne Nelson

  Dad must have picked up on the frustration in that sigh, because he came over to me.

  “Vete,” he said, giving me a quick kiss on the forehead. “Go take the rest of the day off. It’s slow again this afternoon, and there’s no reason for two of us to sit around feeling sorry for ourselves.” He said it in his Eeyore voice. It was the voice he’d had as long as I could remember, but when my cake pops had taken off, he’d lost it. Only now it had returned again with a vengeance.

  I wanted to tell him to snap out of it, not to give up. But I didn’t have the heart to fake it, either. So I quietly nodded, then picked up my school bag and headed for the door.

  “Call Gwendolyn or Tansy and do something fun!” he hollered after me.

  But I didn’t feel much like hanging out with friends. Instead, I went home and snuggled on the couch with Roberto to read some books. After the third picture book, Roberto fell asleep, his mop of curls tucked under my chin. So I nestled deeper into the couch and turned on the latest episode of The Baking Guru.

  I was still sitting there an hour later, jotting down Renata’s recipe for apricot popovers in my notebook when Abuelita Rosa came in from the kitchen. She cuddled up next to me.

  “How was the bakery today?” she asked.

  I groaned. “Deserted. Dad told me we can’t lower the price of our cake pops, so half the town is camped out at Perk Up again.”

  She nodded, clucking her tongue. “It’s a shame. But you might still be able to turn the tide.”

  I sighed. “Dane has the advantage.”

  Abuelita studied my face. “How so?”

  “He comes up with his own stuff,” I said. “I just use Renata’s.”

  “Ah, well, that can be fixed with time.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “Whenever I try to come up with something on my own, it falls apart. I’d have to find a way to give my cake pops something special … something his don’t have.”

  “And you will.” She smiled and brushed my hair back from my face. Then she stood up, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “I have something for you. I’ll be right back.”

  I watched her go, wondering what she was up to. A minute later, she returned, holding a worn clothbound book in her hands. “This,” she said, sitting down next to me again, “was your mother’s recipe book.”

  My eyes widened as she slid the book into my lap. I held it tentatively, afraid that it might wisp away into thin air at the slightest touch.

  “But where did this come from? I didn’t know she had a recipe book….”

  “I know.” Abuelita sighed, her lips pursing like they did when she was trying to hide her irritation at something. “When your mother left us, your father put her things away. He didn’t want reminders around the house. He said it wasn’t good for you and Roberto. But really, it wasn’t good for him. He didn’t like the pain that came with seeing her jewelry, her clothes, or this.” She patted the recipe book gently. “He gave everything away. Or thought he did. I saved a few things that I thought she’d want you and Roberto to have some day. This book, I saved for you.”

  I stared at its faded yellow cover, its fraying and dented spine. I opened the book, and saw that the first page was filled with a lovely, fluid cursive. Recetas por Estrella, it read. Recipes by Estrella. Sudden tears burned at the corners of my eyes. I hadn’t seen anything belonging to my mother in years, and I wasn’t ready for the pang of longing that came with it.

  “I told you that your mother made up her own recipes,” Abuelita said. “Now you can read them for yourself. Try them, if you want. Maybe you’ll find something that inspires you.”

  “This is amazing,” I whispered. “Gracias. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She wagged a finger at me, her eyes playful but serious all at once. “Now, your father doesn’t know we still have this. Let’s you and I sit with it for awhile, before we show him. No use getting him all in a huff when he has so much to worry about already. ¿Comprende?”

  “Sí, sí,” I said. “Yes.” I was already itching to read the whole book.

  I went into my room, curling up on my bed with this treasured secret. My mother’s book. I carefully opened it, feeling the fragile crackling of the pages between my fingers. There was the first recipe, one for pastel de dulce de leche, caramel cake. I read the two-sentence description:

  Make this cake on days when you can’t find your smile. Eat it warm with fresh cream drizzled over the top, and you’ll find the sweetness in things again.

  I brushed my fingers lightly over the words, marveling that my mother’s fingers had once touched the same paper. I put my nose close to the paper and breathed in, and I thought I could smell the faintest trace of chocolate and … was it roses? I smiled, turned the page, and kept reading.

  “Is it done yet?” Gwen asked for about the fiftieth time. She and Harris peeked around the door of the kitchen. “Just the smell has got my mouth watering.”

  “Not yet,” I practically growled, but I couldn’t blame her for her impatience. The cooling cake on the counter had a rich caramel-cream scent with cinnamon undertones.

  Wednesday afternoons were when my dad always did the shopping for supplies, so I had the bakery to myself after school, and I was using it to try out my mom’s first recipe.

  “Please give her some,” Harris told me. “Little Miss Impatient is getting violent with my Benzoian Dwarves. If you don’t feed her soon, she’s going to take them all to the dungeon for torture.”

  Gwen slapped his shoulder. “You’re such a crybaby. You held my Alpha Dragon hostage for a week and cost me three thousand rubelitts in ransom money.”

  I waved them out of the kitchen. “If you two don’t get out, nobody’s getting a single bite!” I yelled in mock anger. “Let me finish!”

  Harris ducked out shyly while Gwen stayed long enough to stick her tongue out at me before letting the door close. I turned back to my work, crumbling the cake and adding in icing to shape it all into cake balls. Then I let the balls cool in the freezer before adding the pop sticks and dipping them in caramel candy coating. To finish off the pops, I rolled them in white chocolate chips. Finally, when they were done, I brought two pops out to the front and handed them to Gwen and Harris.

  “Be brutally honest,” I said, then watched as they both took generous bites.

  “OMG,” Gwen said, closing her eyes and smacking her lips. “Perk Up’s got nothing on this!”

  I grinned. “That’s the idea.”

  Harris took a bite. “There’s something different about it. It’s kind of tangy, or citrusy, but in a really good way.”

  “Mandarin oranges,” I explained.

  “Weird,” Gwen said. “But my taste buds thank you!” I laughed as she finished the rest of her pop in a single bite. “Did your mom make up more recipes like this?”

  “A ton,” I said. “Her book is full of them. And most of them I can make into cake pops super easily.” I moved Gwen’s jewelry caddie over to make room at the table, then sat down with them. “I’m not sure it will help the bakery, though. Dad told me last night that he might pull the plug on the cake pops unless we start selling more of them again.”

  “You need to find a new way to bring customers in,” Harris said. “If kids can get cheaper pops at Perk Up, that’s where they’re going to buy them.”

  “Don’t remind me,” I said, dropping my head onto the table. For the last three days, I’d basically been avoiding all things Dane, which was challenging, considering his seat in world science was only about a foot away from mine. Still, I’d managed to strategically keep my eyes glued to my textbook or on Mr. Jenkins through the entire period. I could sense Dane’s eyes on my face a few times, and he’d even slid a piece of paper onto my desk that said “Sorry.” But I didn’t give in. I just couldn’t be friends with him after what had happened. It felt too much like a betrayal to my dad. And if there was one thing my dad didn’t need right now, it was his daughter joining forces with the ene
my.

  “Anyway,” Harris was saying, “what I meant was, you could give kids another reason to come into Say It With Flour. Maybe something other than food. Something fun.”

  I ran my fingers across the necklace that Gwen was working on — a blue-and-green beaded choker with a glass medallion. And suddenly, inspiration struck. “Hey, instead of getting kids to come here after a big event, why not have a big event here?”

  Gwen and Harris looked at me blankly.

  “We could have a jewelry show here!” I said, a jolt of excitement racing through me. “We could invite all the eighth-grade girls. Gwen, you could sell your jewelry, and I’ll sell my cake pops.” My thoughts were racing with possibilities. “I bet all the girls would be into it! Even Sarah would come.”

  Gwen raised her eyebrows skeptically. “Sarah Chan come here to buy my jewelry? That’s like Kate Middleton shopping in a dollar store.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Harris elbowed Gwen. “My sister Heather is a senior in high school and loved your earrings. Maybe she could even post a picture of the earrings on Twitter.”

  “We can hype up the party on Facebook, too. Send out e-vites.” I smiled at the thought of girls streaming through the bakery doors. If this idea worked, it could put us back on the map. “We could call it something really cute. Maybe … Bling and Bake?” I suggested.

  Gwen’s eyes lit up. “I love that! There are, like, sixty girls in our class,” she said, and I could see her mind churning over the figures. “I need at least a week to get enough pieces ready.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “We can have the party a week from this Saturday. That’ll give us a week and a half to get ready. I’ll have to check with my dad, but I’m sure he’ll say yes. I need time to work through my mom’s recipe book, too. I want to pick out the perfect recipe for the show.”

  Gwen narrowed her eyes at me. “What about trying your own recipe? Aren’t you supposed to be practicing for the bake-off?”

  I waved her question away. “I’m not going to risk messing up this big event with off-the-cuff baking. That would be stupid.” I shook my head. “I’ll use my mom’s recipes for the jewelry show, and worry about the bake-off later.”

  “Okay, whatever you say,” Gwen said, but she saw right through me, just like she always did. She knew I was chickening out. And she was right. The fact was, I didn’t want to subject myself to more disastrous baking meltdowns when I could use my mom’s book instead.

  I stood up. “I still have time to try mom’s recipe for apple streusel cake before my dad comes back. I should get started.”

  Gwen nodded. “I should go to the craft store to get more earring posts and beading wire.” She stood up, then smiled. “If this wasn’t going to be so much fun, Ali, I’d say you were exploiting my supreme talents for your own advancement.”

  I grinned. “And if you weren’t my best friend, I’d say the only reason you came to the bakery every day is for the all-you-can-eat cake pops.”

  Gwen clutched her chest. “Oh, you’ve found out my deepest, darkest secret!” She lurched to the door and fell through it, playing up the drama while Harris and I laughed. “I’ll be back later for more pops!” she called as she walked down the street.

  “She’s a lunatic,” Harris said, smiling as he shouldered his backpack.

  “That’s why I love her,” I said.

  He looked at me, his velvet eyes suddenly serious. “You know, you’re a really good friend to Gwen. The jewelry show idea is great. I bet it’s going to be huge.”

  “I hope so,” I said. He seemed ready to say good-bye, but then he took a step toward me, ducking his head awkwardly to stare at the tiled floor. I’d never seen Harris looking so unsure of himself before, and heat flashed over my face. Please, I pleaded silently, let this not be what I think it is.

  “Ali,” he mumbled, his eyes still locked on the tiles, his cheeks sunset red, “um, I was wondering if you —”

  The doorbell tinkled, and both of us jerked our heads up at once.

  “Oh, excuse me, dears,” Mrs. Kerny said, her eyes sparkling as she took us in. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just coming in for my afternoon tea.”

  I spun to the counter, nearly toppling a chair in my hurry. “Of course! I’ll get it right away.” I scrambled to get the tea, too flustered to make any sort of eye contact with Harris again.

  “I better go,” he muttered, waving in my direction. “I’ll talk up the show to Heather and see if we can spread the word.”

  “That would be great,” I said, supremely thankful that we’d moved past the awkward moment. “Thanks.”

  After he was gone, I carried the tea to Mrs. Kerny. I hoped she’d think that it was my clumsy footwork making the teacup rattle, and not my shaking fingers. But of course, she was watching my every move with eagle eyes.

  “So you have yourself a little beau.” She chuckled as she scratched her Chihuahua, Bambi, under the chin.

  “Oh, no, no,” I stammered, setting the tea down, miraculously without spilling a drop. “He’s just a friend.”

  “Mmmm.” She took a sip of her tea, her eyes never leaving my face. “I had a friend like that once.” She winked at me. “He became my husband.”

  I giggled nervously and backed away until I was safely behind the counter again, where I focused on arranging plates and silverware. But even though my hands stayed busy the rest of the afternoon, my mind kept coming back to Harris. Had he been about to ask me out on a date? No. Maybe he’d only been trying to ask me about the weather, or math homework, or something else completely ridiculous.

  Yes, that had to be it, I told myself. Because things among me and Harris and Gwen could not get any more complicated. Sure, I liked the way he smiled, and I thought he was fun. But it had to stop there. There was no way I would hurt Gwen by going out with him, even if she did say she was okay with it. But if I said no, then would things be weird between Harris and me? And in my heart of hearts, was “No” the answer I really wanted to give him in the first place? ¡Caramba! This all made my head hurt. And right now, I had way too much else on my mind to try and figure it out.

  I thought I had a lot on my mind Wednesday, but by Thursday afternoon, my brain had gone from sautéed to flambéed. The final bell had rung, and I’d just said good-bye to Tansy in the girls’ locker room. I wound my way down the dirt path that led from the gym to the sports fields, hoping to take the shortcut to get to Main Street. I told myself that I wasn’t walking this way to try to catch a glimpse of Harris playing soccer. But my jittery stomach told a different story.

  When I rounded the base of the hill where the bleachers stood, though, I didn’t see Harris. Instead, I saw Dane. The rest of the cross-country team was breezing by him, but Dane was standing at the edge of the track, his arms crossed, his face tight with anger. And I knew why. He was talking — strike that — arguing with a man in a dark suit standing next to him. His dad, I realized, recognizing him from that first day when Dane arrived in the limo.

  I quickly ducked behind the bleachers, planning to backtrack to the gym before Dane saw me. The last thing I wanted was an awkward encounter with Dane, who I still wasn’t speaking to, or his dad, who I’d never officially met. But then I heard “Say It With Flour,” cross his dad’s lips, loud and clear. I froze, hating myself for eavesdropping, but not able to tear myself away, either. I peered through the slats in the underside of the bleachers, holding my breath.

  “Look,” his dad was saying, “I know I’ve been preoccupied lately, but that little bakery is putting a dent in Perk Up’s opening-month sales.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Dane’s voice was hard-edged. “So you’re missing my cross-country meet tomorrow because you’re worried about Say It With Flour?” He kicked at the track, scowling. “That’s the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard.”

  “You’re missing the point,” his dad said. “Even one customer lost to that run-down place is one too many. I have to fly to Boston to meet with the corp
orate team to figure out some new strategies. There will be other track meets.” He gave a smile that looked way too practiced to be real. “Besides, that’s why I stopped by today. To watch you train for tomorrow.”

  Dane laughed, but the sarcasm and hurt in it made me cringe. “Don’t bother staying, Dad,” he said, stepping back onto the track. “You should go back to your office and crunch those numbers. They’re all that’s important, right?”

  With that, Dane shot down the track, leaving his dad in a cloud of dust. I willed his dad to stay, or maybe even to catch up with Dane on the other side of the track. But instead, his dad cleared his throat and straightened his tie. As he walked toward the parking lot, his cell phone rang, and he answered it, without ever looking back.

  I edged around the bleachers tentatively, hoping that Dane was a safe enough distance away that he wouldn’t see me. I didn’t need to worry about that, though. His eyes were unwavering, staring straight ahead, as he caught up and then smoothly blew by most of his teammates. I noticed Sarah and Jane sitting in the bleachers on the other side of the track, watching him. Sarah’s enthralled smile made it seem as if cross-country were the most riveting sport in the world to her. But her avid attention was completely lost on Dane. He never turned his head in their direction. He just kept running, right off the track and onto the dirt path climbing into the hills behind the school. Soon he caught up with Jake and Toby, the two lead runners. I’d seen him hanging out with them at lunch lately, and now they nodded and exchanged a few words. But even they couldn’t keep up with him. Dane looked comfortable up there by himself, like he was used to being a loner, and he wasn’t expecting his status to change anytime soon.

  I watched him until he disappeared over the crest of the hill. Then I turned toward Valencia Avenue, my thoughts a whirlwind of confusion. I didn’t want to care what happened between Dane and his dad. I should’ve been thrilled to hear that Say It With Flour was putting a damper on Perk Up’s sales. But when I thought about the disappointment and anger on Dane’s face, I couldn’t enjoy what I’d overheard. Maybe I did care what happened to Dane. Maybe more than I was willing to admit.