Mia the Way the Cupcake Crumbles

by Coco Simon

  “Our profits were down five percent last month,” Alexis went on. “Compared not only to the month before, but to the same time last year.”

  “Five percent doesn’t sound like a lot,” Katie said.

  “Maybe not, but it’s a sign that business might be slowing down,” Alexis replied. “Last month, we were down two percent. So we’re seeing a steady decline.”

  “What do we do?” Emma asked.

  “Get some new business, right?” Katie asked.

  Alexis nodded. “Right. I’ve got some ideas. We can do a new round of flyers. It would be great if we could brainstorm some new flavors or seasonal ideas to advertise.”

  “We should watch Extreme Cupcake Challenge!” Emma said. “I bet we’ll get some great ideas.”

  We moved to Emma’s living room to watch the show. Jake was playing with some toy trucks on the floor. Emma and Alexis sat on the smaller couch, and Katie and I took seats on the big blue one. I put on my glasses to watch the show while Emma scrolled through the DVR menu on her TV screen.

  Then Katie nudged me, holding out her cell phone. “Check out this cupcake site I found. The decorations are amazing.”

  It’s easier for me to see small things without my glasses on, so I took them off and placed them on the couch next to me. Then I took the phone from Katie and checked out the site. It was amazing. I was trying to enlarge a photo of a cupcake with thin, perfectly curled chocolate pieces on top when Jake ran up to the couch.

  “Mia, want to see my truck?” he asked, hopping onto the seat next to me.

  Crunch!

  Jake’s eyes got wide at the same time I got a sick feeling in my stomach.

  “Uh-oh,” Jake said, and he scooted over to reveal my glasses—my very broken glasses. The thin frames had snapped right in half.

  Emma swept over and picked up Jake.

  “Mia, I’m so sorry!” she said.

  “It’s my fault,” I told her. “I shouldn’t have put my glasses down there.”

  “No, it’s my fault for showing you my phone,” Katie said. “Then you wouldn’t have taken off your glasses.”

  I would have smiled at Katie if I hadn’t felt so miserable. She’s so sweet.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I’ve got my backup at home.”

  Actually, I hadn’t worn my backup pair in a while. When I bought them, I thought it would be fun to have a pair of fuchsia glasses. Yes, fuchsia—that deep, bright pink. I figured they would add a nice pop of color to my outfits. I wore them a few times, but I ended up thinking they made me look silly. My classic glasses blended in with my face. But my fuchsia glasses made a statement—a statement I wasn’t sure I wanted to make anymore.

  I tried to enjoy watching Extreme Cupcake Challenge, but everything was kind of blurry without my glasses, and I had to squint the whole time. Then I texted Eddie to come pick me up and bring me home. When I climbed into the car, all I could think about was going straight up to my room and climbing into bed. I didn’t even want to eat dinner.

  This was the worst. Day. Ever.

  CHAPTER 3

  I Need All the Help I Can Get

  I was daydreaming about falling facedown into my bed when Eddie turned the corner of our street, and I noticed a bunch of cars parked outside our house.

  “Eddie, what’s going on?” I asked.

  “Don’t you remember?” he replied. “Laura and Sebastian flew in today. And all your relatives were excited to see them, so your mom invited them to our house to celebrate. Laura’s house isn’t ready for a party yet.”

  “Party?” I repeated, and my vision of my comfy bed quickly vanished. I knew Laura and Sebastian were supposed to be moving here soon, but I didn’t know it was today. And I certainly didn’t know there was going to be a party at my house on a Monday night!

  Laura is my mom’s cousin from Puerto Rico, and Sebastian is her son who’s a year older than I am—and he’s my second cousin or my third cousin. (Mom and Eddie can’t agree on that.)

  I’ve never met these cousins in person, although Mom Skypes a lot with Laura, so I’ve seen her face before. Laura has been saving to move to the States for a few years, and Eddie helped get her a job here in Maple Grove, at the company he works for. She’s supposed to be an accounting wiz or something.

  “So who exactly is here?” I asked Eddie, scanning the cars.

  “Well, your grandma is here, and Aunt Marisa and Uncle Simone, and your mom’s cousins Ian and Sofia, and a bunch of relatives even I haven’t met yet,” Eddie said. “Some of them took the train from Manhattan.”

  I quickly pulled down the sun visor in front of me and looked in the tiny mirror. My messy ponytail had only stayed cute for a couple of hours. Now it was weird and limp.

  Perfect! I thought. Nobody has seen me in ages, and this is how I look!

  “You look great, Mia,” Eddie said, noticing me looking in the mirror. “Come on. Everybody’s looking forward to seeing you.”

  I made an attempt to fluff up my ponytail, and then I got out of the car. Loud music blared from the house, and the smell of delicious food being cooked tickled my nose. My stomach rumbled.

  The second I opened the door, a wall of noise hit me.

  I heard cries of “Mia! She’s here!” And then suddenly I was caught up in a tornado of hugging relatives. I didn’t even recognize half the people who hugged me, so I was grateful when Uncle Simone pushed his way through the crowd.

  “Let the girl breathe!” Uncle Simone joked.

  “But I haven’t seen her in ages,” protested my aunt Marisa. (She and Uncle Simone are my mom’s sister and brother.) She squeezed me tightly in another hug. Aunt Marisa is the short one in my mom’s family, but she gives the strongest hugs ever.

  Then she pulled back from me and looked me over. “Look at you! Gorgeous!”

  “Thanks, but I’m kind of having a bad hair day,” I said.

  “Bah! You’re fabulous,” she said.

  Seeing an opening, my grandma squeezed between us. She’s the same size as Aunt Marisa and hugs just as hard.

  “Mija! You’re getting so tall!” she said.

  “I missed you, Grandma,” I said. “How’d you get here?” Grandma almost never comes to visit us in Maple Grove. We always travel to see her in the Bronx.

  “Ernesto came to the apartment, and we took the train,” she replied. “It’s a nice ride. A lot of trees.”

  She nodded toward the dining room. “You should eat something, mija. I helped your mother make the rice and peas. I brought my own sofrito from home.”

  Sofrito is this mix of tomatoes, onions, garlic, and stuff that goes into a lot of dishes. Everyone in the family says my grandmother’s is the best.

  My mom walked up. She’s taller than Aunt Marisa, but they both have the same dark hair and brown eyes, like mine.

  “Nobody makes sofrito like you, Mamí,” she said. “I don’t know why I can’t get mine to come out like yours.”

  “You just need more practice,” Grandma said, and Mom made this face where she wrinkles her nose and makes this half-crooked frown.

  I had to smile. My mom is the most stylish, confident woman I know. But when she’s around Grandma, she reminds me of a nervous kid. It’s kind of funny.

  “Before Mia eats, I’d like her to meet Laura,” Mom said. “They’ve never met.”

  “Good, yes, go meet Laura,” Grandma said, giving me a little push.

  Mom led me into the living room, where a woman with highlighted, wavy brown hair was sitting on the couch. My dogs, Tiki and Milkshake, were both vying for a position on her lap. That was a good sign, I thought. When they like somebody, that person is usually worth liking.

  “Laura, this is Mia,” Mom said.

  “Mia! Come, sit,” she said, patting the seat on the couch next to her. “Sorry I’m not standing, but I’m wiped out from the plane ride.”

  Laura has lived all her life in Puerto Rico, so she speaks with a Puerto Rican accent. But I’ve grown up
listening to accents, so it’s not a big deal for me.

  “It’s so nice to see you in person!” Laura said, reaching across the dogs to give my shoulder a squeeze.

  “You, too,” I said. Then I added automatically, “I’m having a bad hair day.”

  “Well, with this rain, who isn’t?” Laura asked, and I really liked her answer. She wasn’t pretending my hair looked great when I clearly knew that it didn’t. “So how was your Cupcake meeting? That business is still going strong?”

  I nodded. “Yes. Although my friend Alexis says our profits are down, so we’re looking for new ideas.”

  “If you ever need accounting help, just let me know,” Laura said. Then she squinted at me. “Mija, you have braces! I never saw those on Skype.”

  “They’re the clear kind,” I explained. “I got them the same time I found out I needed glasses.”

  Then I remembered—my glasses! Having to wear my fuchsia glasses wasn’t the worst of it. I was going to have to tell my mom about the broken pair.

  “What’s wrong?” Laura asked, seeing my face.

  “Bad day,” I said. “I am having just the worst luck.”

  Laura nodded. “That can be a serious problem, mija,” she said. “Wait, have you met Sebastian yet?”

  I shook my head. “No, I was too busy getting crushed by aunts and uncles,” I replied.

  Laura scanned the living room. “I just saw him. . . . There he is!”

  She pointed to a corner of the room, where Sebastian was leaning against the wall, talking to Dan. They’re both in high school, but Dan is a senior, and Sebastian is a freshman. They’re both the same height, but Sebastian is skinny. I noticed he seemed to have dyed his already dark hair pitch-black.

  Sebastian and Dan seemed to be talking very seriously about something. At first I was wondering what they had to talk about, and then I realized they were both dressed alike, in jeans and T-shirts with logos of screaming metal bands on them.

  They must like the same kind of music, I guessed.

  “Sebastian! Come meet Mia!” Laura yelled across the room.

  Sebastian rolled his eyes. “In a minute!”

  “Sebastian!” Laura yelled again, and Sebastian sighed and walked over.

  “This is your cousin Mia,” Laura told him.

  “Hey,” I said.

  Sebastian nodded. “Hey. Your stepbrother is cool.”

  “Um, yeah, sure,” I said awkwardly. I had never thought of Dan as cool. Quiet, maybe. An expert at grunting one-word answers. A nice enough stepbrother. But cool?

  “All right, so nice to see you,” Sebastian said, and then he walked back to Dan.

  Now Laura rolled her eyes. “It’s like I never taught him manners,” she said.

  Then her stomach growled loudly, and instead of being embarrassed, she laughed. “Mia, how about getting your cousin a plate of food?” Laura asked.

  “Sure thing,” I said. “What do you want?”

  “A little of everything would be good,” she said. “I have a feeling I’m going to have to share it with these dogs.”

  “I can put them away if you want,” I offered.

  But she pulled them to her. “No, no, they’re my friends!”

  I laughed and then headed into the dining room. Mom had gone all fancy, and she’d put the good white tablecloth on the table, and there were those catering trays set up with Sternos under them. There was a big tray of chicken, and a tray of rice and peas, and one of broccoli and carrots (Mom is a big vegetable fan), and a tray of baked ziti, and at the end was a big cold tray of salad and bread.

  I filled a plate with one of everything, and it looked so good that I decided to make a plate for myself, too. I picked up two plastic forks and napkins and carried them, along with the two plates, back to the living room.

  I was halfway across the room when Tiki and Milkshake jumped off Laura’s lap and came to greet me. I dodged a little to avoid them—and both plates flipped over in my hands! The food spilled onto the living room carpet.

  I stood, stunned, frozen in place. A cry went up around the room, and Tiki and Milkshake started eating everything, and it was all so much that I could feel the tears forming in my eyes.

  Eddie swept in with paper towels. “Not a big deal, Mia. We’ll get this cleaned up.”

  “I’ll help,” I said, running into the kitchen.

  But the army of aunt and uncles and cousins had already poured in, spraying the rug with carpet cleaner, and by the time I came back with more paper towels, there was no sign of the food on the carpet at all. And Laura was on the couch, happily eating a plate of food.

  “Mia, come here,” she said. “There’s a plate for you too.”

  I sat next to her. “Thanks. I don’t know if I feel like eating, though. With all the bad luck I’m having, I’ll probably choke or have an allergic reaction or something.”

  Laura put down her fork. “Tell me about this bad luck.”

  “It just won’t stop!” I said, glad to have someone who would listen. “I slept late, and my blow-dryer broke, and there was a pop quiz, and the cupcake business is bad, and I broke my glasses. . . .”

  Laura held up a hand. “Do not say another word. I have just the thing for you.”

  She picked up her purse from the floor and started rummaging through it. She pulled out something, palm closed.

  “Hold out your hand,” she instructed.

  Curious, I did as I was told. She placed something upon it: a silver chain with a black stone hanging from it.

  “I want you to have my azabache,” she said.

  “Azabache?” I repeated.

  “The stone. We give them to babies to protect them when they are born. This was mine. I carry it around to bring me luck. But I have very good luck, moving here,” she said. “Now you need the good luck.”

  I looked at the little black stone. Some people might say that believing a stone could give you luck was superstitious. But I didn’t feel that way. Laura had been given this when she was a baby. That made it special. And besides, I needed all the good luck I could get!

  “Are you sure you want to give it up?” I asked.

  Laura nodded. “It’s time,” she said. “And, anyway, I have other good luck charms. After all, you can’t have too much good luck!”

  I hugged her. “Thank you. I will take good care of it.”

  Laura helped me attach the bracelet to my right wrist, and I focused on the stone as it dangled. I hoped Laura was right about the azabache. I couldn’t take another day like this miserable Monday!

  CHAPTER 4

  Tuesday Turnaround

  Oooh, yeah, yeah, yeah . . .

  Tuesday morning I woke up to the tuneful sound of a song playing on my clock radio. The time glowed 6:45. Perfect!

  Sitting up, the first thing I noticed was that I did not hear the pounding of the rain on the roof anymore. I went to the window and pulled aside the curtain. The morning sun was just rising, but I could see its first rays. It looked like it was going to be a sunny day.

  I took my shower and let the conditioner stay in my hair for a full three minutes. When I got out, I panicked for a second—I still had a broken blow dryer!

  Turns out, I didn’t. There was a note on my blow-dryer on the dresser:

  Fixed it! E.

  So Eddie had fixed it for me. How and when, I don’t know, because our relatives had stayed until pretty late and he had been busy helping Mom clean up the mess. But somehow he’d done it, and, boy, was I glad.

  I dried my hair, using the straightening attachment, and with no humidity in the air, it came out perfect—straight and shiny.

  Then I went to my closet to pick out an outfit, and I hesitated. I would be wearing those fuchsia glasses in every class. What could I wear that wouldn’t draw too much attention to them?

  Black again, I decided. My black button-down collared shirt, and maybe a denim skirt. If only I could find my black flats . . .

  And suddenly, there th
ey were! Right there in my shoe organizer where I had left them! But why hadn’t I seen them yesterday?

  I looked down at the azabache dangling from my wrist. I had slept with the bracelet on all night. Could that be the reason my luck was changing?

  Maybe, but not everything was going to work out my way today. I still hadn’t told Mom about my glasses—and I knew I had to. So even though my reflection told me I looked fabulous—from my perfect hair down to my black flats—I didn’t bound down the stairs like a baby deer or anything. More like I sort of plodded down like a turtle.

  “Morning, Mia,” Mom said. “Nice to see you on time today.”

  Then she looked at me closely. “What’s wrong? You look like something’s bothering you.”

  I took a deep breath. “I broke my glasses yesterday,” I said, just getting it right out there. “It was an accident. I put them down on Emma’s couch for just a second, and Jake jumped on them.”

  “Oh no,” Mom said. “How bad?”

  I fished them out of my backpack and handed the pieces to her. “Bad,” I told her.

  Mom examined them. “Well, they can’t be fixed. But I think your service agreement is still good, and I might be able to get you a new pair for no charge.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  “I’ll call today,” Mom said. “Do you have your backup glasses?”

  I slipped them out of my skirt pocket and put them on. “Yup. Fun fuchsia. Can you believe I ever picked these out?”

  “But they’re cute!” Mom said. “Very young and fun. I know at least three clients who would love a pair of those.”

  Mom is a fashion stylist—which is probably why I am so into fashion. It’s in my blood, and besides that, I grew up around fashion my whole life. When we lived in Manhattan, she sometimes styled celebrities. She still styles models for fashion shows, but now she mostly styles women in the New Jersey suburbs who want to look like celebrities and models.

  And the fact that she’s a professional means that usually when Mom tells me I look good, I know she means it. She’s not just saying it because she’s my mom. It would go against her nature to praise a bad look.

  So in one swoop, two things I was worried about just disappeared. Mom wasn’t angry about my broken glasses, and I could get away with wearing fuchsia glasses—for a while, anyway.