Cake Pop Crush

by Suzanne Nelson

  “You are not going to believe this,” Gwen hissed in my ear. Sarah stood in the center of the quad, surrounded by open boxes, pulling out T-shirts and handing them to every kid who walked by.

  I saw Tyler and Angie from my English class yanking yellow TEAM ALICIA shirts over their normal clothes, and other kids holding one shirt of each color, trying to pick a team.

  “Oh my god,” I mumbled. “She’s pitting me against Dane in front of the entire student body….” The twinge of nerves I’d felt about the bake-off suddenly grew into a wracking earthquake. “I am not going to survive this.”

  “Sure you are,” Gwen said. “You’ve been baking nonstop for the last week. Without Renata or recipes. And your cake pops are genius. You’re ready.”

  I had to admit Gwen was right. Every time I’d been tempted to reach for my measuring spoons, I’d thought about baking with Dane, how the right mixture of ingredients felt and tasted. And I’d finally hit my stride. But now I felt insecure all over again.

  Gwen grabbed three TEAM ALICIA shirts.

  “Who’s the extra for?” I asked.

  “The MIA musketeer, of course,” Gwen said. She jerked her head toward the lockers, and I saw Tansy, focusing on her combination lock and trying hard not to look in our direction.

  “She’s not going to be there tomorrow,” I sighed, my stomach sinking. “She hasn’t returned any of my calls or texts. She hates me. And I don’t blame her.”

  “She does not,” Gwen said. “I’ve been talking to her. She just doesn’t want to get yelled at again. But she loves you. She’ll be there tomorrow. You’ll see.” Gwen held up the T-shirts. “Well, we might as well suit up.” When I gave her a skeptical look, she held up her finger to quiet me. Then she grabbed a black marker out of her bag and wrote in huge bubble letters on the back of each shirt: SAY IT WITH FLOUR.

  “There,” she said proudly. “Now it’s not all tackiness. It’s advertising.” She held up her marker like a sword. “I’m going to go see how many shirts I can ‘fix’ before the bell.” Then she dashed off down the hallway.

  I giggled and pulled my shirt over my head. When I looked up, Dane was riding his bike slowly up to the edge of the crowd, taking in the chaos. He barely had time to stop his bike before Sarah pranced over to him.

  “Dane!” She gave him a sweet smile and held a TEAM DANE tee up under his chin. “There! I knew I’d picked the right shade of green. It matches your eyes perfectly!”

  Dane looked like he was trying not to laugh. “Thanks,” he said, and then started to shove the shirt into his backpack.

  Sarah’s smile faltered. “Aren’t you going to put it on?”

  He hesitated and glanced up. Our eyes met for a second, and my heart skittered. He grinned at me and rolled his eyes in Sarah’s direction, and I felt like our thoughts were completely in tune. That Dane thought the whole thing was just as ridiculous as I did.

  As I was about to smile back, Harris stepped in front of me, beaming.

  “Ali!” He motioned to his yellow shirt. “Gwen just doctored up my shirt. Better, right?”

  I gave a start, realizing that Harris didn’t have nearly the same effect on me that Dane did. What did that mean?

  “Thanks, Harris,” I said. “It’s nice of you to wear it, but you don’t have to.”

  “Of course I do. Friends always get each other’s backs, right?” He leaned toward me. “Besides, I’m actually scared of what Gwen might do to me if I don’t wear it.”

  I laughed. “I don’t blame you.”

  “The whole soccer team’s going to be there tomorrow after our game to root for you,” he said as he swung his backpack over his shoulder. “You’ll win, hands down.”

  “We’ll see,” I called after him.

  Once he was gone, I looked back toward Dane and spotted him chatting with Sarah. She’d worked her magic and gotten him to put on the shirt. And she’d been right; it did match the color of his eyes exactly.

  I watched them as they talked, smiling at each other. Jealousy gnawed at me, but I told myself to stop being silly.

  Yes, Dane and I had talked before world science almost every day since he’d stopped by the bakery, and the tension between us had eased. We hadn’t argued once, and I found myself looking forward to seeing him in class. More often than I liked to admit, I also thought about that strange, confusing moment with him when I’d sensed we might’ve kissed, but didn’t. I replayed it in my head, wondering if I’d imagined it, or if it’d been real.

  Now, as I watched him talk with Sarah, I told myself I must’ve imagined it. After all, he was almost as close to Sarah now as he’d been to me on Friday night. If he moved a few inches, their lips would touch. And the way Sarah was flirting with him, maybe that’s what she wanted.

  The bell rang, and I forced myself to look away, to make my feet move toward class. I reminded myself that tomorrow morning, once again, Dane and I would be rivals. I couldn’t be thinking about a completely imagined near kiss when I needed to be thinking about winning the bake-off and saving Say It With Flour.

  If I won the bake-off, maybe my dad would at least consider keeping the bakery open. I didn’t want to lose Dane’s friendship, but I couldn’t lose Say It With Flour. So come tomorrow, the bake-off was all that mattered.

  After a restless night of dreams that involved tidal waves of cake pops crashing over me, I stumbled into our kitchen on Saturday morning. I was so bleary-eyed that I nearly missed my dad, who was sitting at the table, nibbling on a concha.

  “Why aren’t you at the bakery?” I asked, sitting down beside him.

  He took a sip of his coffee. “Oh, I decided to open an hour later today. I wanted to be here to wish you luck at the bake-off. Besides, I was looking through this….” He patted an open book in front of him.

  I blinked, and then my eyes widened, adrenaline surging through me. It was Mom’s recipe book.

  “Where did you get that?” I whispered.

  “You left it on your nightstand,” my dad said. “I was putting away laundry yesterday and saw it.”

  “Oh.” Stupid me! How could I have left it out for him to find? I held my breath and risked a glance at my dad, wondering how mad he was going to be. To my surprise, though, he didn’t look angry at all. Instead, he had a soft, sad smile on his face.

  “No te preocupes.” His voice was quiet, gentle. “Don’t worry. I’m not mad. Your abuelita explained everything.” He met my eyes, his own glazed with tears. “It’s right that you should have it. I’m glad … very glad … that she saved it.”

  “You are?” I couldn’t hide the surprise in my voice.

  He nodded, running his fingers across the pages. “Of course. It was wrong of me to give away so many of your mom’s things. I didn’t think that you might need them later, when you got older.” He sighed. “When your heart is broken, sometimes your mind does things that don’t make much sense. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I whispered. “At least we still have it.”

  “Yes,” he said. “So this is what you were using to make your cake pops for the shop?”

  I nodded. “I should’ve told you,” I said quietly. “But I was afraid you’d take the book away.”

  “I thought I recognized some of those recipes you used,” he admitted. Then he smiled again, this time happily. He reached for my hands, taking them in his own. “You have your mother’s hands. She used to say that her hands were the best measuring cups in the world. That was the only way she baked, with her hands.”

  “I didn’t know that.” I could almost see her in the bakery, scooping up flour and sugar, letting it sift through her fingers until the weight of it felt just right.

  “I wish I could’ve done right by her,” Dad said, looking down. “She wanted you and Roberto to run the bakery someday with your families. But now that’s just not possible.”

  I nearly opened my mouth to argue, but then thought better of it. There was no point in getting into another fight with D
ad about the bakery now, especially when I hadn’t won or lost the bake-off yet.

  He patted my hands. “She’d be so proud of you, Alicia, with what you’ve done with your cake pops and now competing in this bake-off. She’d be so happy to know that you have her special talent, too.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” I said, blinking back tears. “But I don’t know about this bake-off. Dane’s an amazing baker. I’m not sure I can compete with him.”

  My father’s eyes locked on my face, unwavering. “You can,” he said simply, as if it weren’t even a question. “You will.” He pulled me into a firm hug, and I stayed there longer than I had since I was small, hoping he was right. Hoping that maybe, somewhere inside me, some piece of my mother lived to give me the courage I needed to get through this day.

  I’d known that Sarah had whipped the kids at school up into a mild frenzy over the bake-off. I’d expected that maybe fifty or so kids would show up in their team tees to watch Dane and I compete.

  What I didn’t expect was a mob.

  As Abuelita Rosa turned her car into the parking lot of Oak Canyon Community Park, my stomach seized. The lot was filled to overflowing, and the park itself was packed with hundreds of people. Our school band was in full uniform in the gazebo, playing “How Sweet It Is.” Swarms of kids and adults stood and sat on the grass, some picnicking, some chatting, but all wearing team T-shirts. This was more than the entire student body at OCMS. This was more like the entire town of Oak Canyon.

  The crowd was gathered around a large stage, where two baking stations had been set up, complete with ovens, work counters, and all the baking supplies anyone could possibly need. To my utter terror, there also seemed to be some sort of local news cameras setting up.

  “Dios mío.” Abuelita whistled under her breath. “You’re going to have a bigger audience than Renata DeLuca’s.”

  I groaned and clutched the car door handle. “That isn’t what I needed to hear.”

  She gave my shoulder an encouraging squeeze and then got out of the car. “Roberto and I are going to find seats. Good luck. Buena suerte.”

  Roberto high-fived me. “Buena sweater, Ali! Save a cake pop for me!”

  I smiled at him. “I will, kiddo.” If I survive.

  I took a deep breath and then worked my way through the crowd, finally spotting Gwen and Tansy standing with Harris and his teammates by one of the large oaks. I waved at Tansy, feeling a surge of relief that she’d come. I had left her one last voice mail this morning, apologizing and asking her if she’d ever forgive me.

  Now, instead of stampeding toward me all smiles, like she normally would’ve done, Tansy hung back, hesitating. Guilt twisted my insides, and I knew that there was no way I could focus on the bake-off with this awkwardness still between us.

  “Hi,” I said, motioning her over to a spot on the grass away from the others.

  “Hey,” she mumbled, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “I got your message. Messages. I’m sorry I didn’t call back. I just haven’t felt ready….”

  “No.” I stepped forward, a lump in my throat. “I’m sorry, Tansy. I’m sorry I blew up at you. That was completely uncool. Everything was going wrong all at once, and I just … lost it.”

  Tansy shook her head. “I had no idea I was acting like a, a … psycho cheerleader, or whatever. I was just trying to help.”

  “I don’t even know why I said that. It was horrible!” I put a hand on her arm. “You have a great way of looking at things, Tansy. If it weren’t for you, Gwen would probably be a scary Goth, and I’d probably never had the guts to suggest a bake-off to Sarah in the first place. Don’t ever change, okay?”

  She smiled shyly. “I don’t think I could anyway.”

  “Good.” I reached out and gave her a huge hug, my spirits lifting. “I love you the way you are.”

  “Same here,” Tansy said, hugging me back. “Even when you’re a serious stress case.”

  We laughed together just as Gwen and Harris came up to join us. Gwen looked immensely relieved that Tansy and I had patched things up.

  “Are you ready?” Gwen asked. She hugged me, then whispered in my ear, “A little tip: If you’re going to throw up, do it before you take the stage.”

  “Very helpful, thanks,” I said, pulling back from her and rolling my eyes at Tansy. “So Sarah alerted the news?” I asked, motioning to the cameras.

  “If she didn’t, Mayor Chan did,” Harris said. “Apparently, he’s going to give a speech about the new mall. I guess he thought he’d get a better turnout if he tied it into the bake-off.”

  “And … guess who else is here?” Tansy whispered, her dark eyes shining. “Some people from Renata DeLuca’s show! There’s their truck right over there!”

  I followed her gaze and saw a red truck with the words THE BAKING GURU emblazoned in gold on the side. My mouth fell open as I stared.

  “Is she here?” I whispered.

  “No,” Gwen said, “but I asked Lissie and Jane earlier, and it turns out that Mayor Chan’s office sent an e-mail to her show. And Renata sent some scouts to check out the competition.” She smiled at me. “I guess she wants to see if you and Dane are some kind of baking geniuses. If you win, maybe she’ll name-drop you on the show. Who knows?”

  I started trembling. “What — I — no!” I stammered. “I can’t bake in front of Renata’s staff! I’m not worthy!”

  Gwen scoffed. “Her so-called staff are probably college interns who don’t know a thing about baking. Trust me, you’re worthy.”

  “Ali, you better get over there,” Harris said. “It looks like Sarah wants to get started.”

  I glanced at the stage and saw Sarah and her dad standing at the microphone, beaming picture-perfect smiles. Meanwhile, I felt like I’d swallowed a roller coaster.

  “Good luck,” Tansy and Gwen said together, giving me a group hug. Just having Tansy back in our trio again gave me some comfort despite my nerves.

  Then Harris took a step toward me. The next thing I knew, he was hugging me, too.

  “Good luck,” he said. I didn’t want to pull away and hurt his feelings, but I didn’t want to hurt Gwen’s either. And I knew she was watching, even though she was trying not to look like she was.

  “Thanks,” I managed to say, stepping back from him. I gave them all a smile I hoped looked confident, but probably looked more like pathetic. Then I walked over to the edge of the stage, where I found Dane waiting.

  “Hey,” he said with an easy smile. He was leaning against the stair railing, looking annoyingly calm and confident. “Can you believe this insanity?”

  “No,” I said as Sarah and her dad began their welcomes and speeches. “I’ll just be glad when this is over.”

  “Stage fright?” he asked.

  “A little,” I admitted weakly.

  “Just pretend you’re baking for Say It With Flour,” he said. “Nothing else.”

  I nodded and drew in a shaky breath. It sounded good in theory, but putting it into practice was a different story altogether.

  “Did your dad come?” Dane whispered to me as Mayor Chan went on and on about the mall.

  “No. He had to open the bakery. But my grandma and brother are here.” I scanned the crowd and caught sight of them sitting toward the front. “Is your dad here?”

  He shook his head. “My mom’s here, though. She’s standing over there.” He pointed to a pretty woman with blond hair chatting with another mom. “I’m glad she came, especially since my dad had to go on another business trip. This time to Chicago. He wants to open another Perk Up there, which means he’ll probably want us to move … again.”

  “Oh,” I said, reading a flicker of disappointment on his face at the same moment I felt a sharp pang of it. “Will you?”

  “Not if I can help it,” he said. “I told him I wasn’t planning on moving again until college. My mom wants to stay here, too. Between the two of us, we might’ve finally gotten his attention, so maybe he’ll listen this time.”r />
  “I hope he does,” I said, and I realized how much I truly meant it. Just then, Sarah walked to the edge of the stage and motioned for us to get ready.

  Dane looked at me, his eyes serious. “Ali, good luck today. No matter what happens with this contest, I hope we stay friends.”

  For the first time, I didn’t try to decode the look on his face, or search for signs of dishonesty. I didn’t want to. Instead, I wanted simply … to believe in him.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Good luck to you, too.”

  Sarah announced our names into the microphone, and the crowd burst into applause and shouts of encouragement. I followed Dane up the stairs on quaking legs. I took a spot behind one work station and Dane took the other.

  “Okay, ladies and gentlemen,” Sarah said, “Alicia and Dane both have identical ingredients in front of them. Flour, butter, sugar, vanilla, baking powder, baking soda, eggs, milk, cocoa powder, cinnamon, and a variety of dried fruits, nuts, and candies. They have to use all of the first ten ingredients and then can use the fruits, nuts, and candies to accessorize. Because cake pops have to chill before they can be decorated, we’ll take a two-hour break for lunch and games after the baking is done. Then Dane and Alicia will be back to decorate this afternoon. And finally, a panel of judges will taste test the cake pops and cast anonymous votes to decide the big winner!”

  Sarah beamed at her audience, Dane grinned confidently, and I grabbed the edge of the counter, trying not to faint.

  A roar went up from the crowd, and chants of “Team Ali” and “Team Dane” broke out all over the park.

  “You will have an hour and a half to complete the first half of the bake-off!” She turned to us, clapping her hands. “Good luck to both of you! You may begin!”

  The crowd’s cheering reached deafening heights as Sarah set a huge timer on the stage. Dane immediately slipped his earbuds on and tuned in to his iPod. I felt a new swell of nerves as I saw the look of casual concentration come over his face. He began tossing ingredients about, barely giving them time to rest in his measuring cups before dumping them helter-skelter into mixing bowls.