The Great Kitten Cake Off

by Anna Wilson

  ‘Isn’t the proof of the pudding in the eating?’ I pointed out. ‘That’s what Milly Barry says on The Cake Off, anyway.’

  I might as well have been talking to myself. Mads was already strutting her stuff towards Ted and the other Year 9s.

  I felt smaller and smaller with every step she took away from me. How come she had so much confidence, even in a situation like this? I observed how she pushed through the Year 9s to get the best spot for our cakes. She didn’t seem to notice people looking her up and down and giggling at her tan. She could have been wearing a comedy wig and glasses and she would still have been able to carry it off as though it was the most normal thing in the world.

  She started talking to Ted, then looked over at me, raising her eyebrows in a code I knew all too well. In other words: ‘He’s soooo gorgeous!’

  The second she did that, something that had been niggling at the back of my mind leaped into focus. What if Mads had an ulterior motive for entering The Cake Off TV show? She had been pretty quick off the mark getting our applications in. The more I watched her with Ted, and the more I thought about it, the more I began to suspect she was up to something. What if this whole plan of hers – the school Cake Off, applying for the TV show, the outing to the salon – had nothing to do with spicing up my life, and everything to do with spicing up hers?

  Mads was in full-on flirt mode now, flicking her hair, striking a pose, laughing at what Ted was saying. I might as well have been invisible, now that she had his full attention.

  I became more and more suspicious. Were her feelings linked with her sudden urge to excel at baking? Was it possible that she knew something I didn’t? Like, for instance, had Ted entered the TV contest as well? It was a possibility that the only reason Mads had wanted us to apply for The Cake Off TV show in the first place was because she had found out that Ted was planning to enter too. Especially as she knew I couldn’t bake for toffee. Maybe her real plans had nothing to do with the Dream Team . . .

  Maybe she had her sights set on joining Team Ted instead.

  I felt an overwhelming desire to turn around and walk out, leaving Mads to her scheming.

  But something held me back. Mads was my best mate, after all. We had been best friends since nursery school. Maybe, just maybe, I was wrong. Maybe it was only my nerves about the replacement cakes getting the better of me.

  I decided to give Mads the benefit of the doubt. I pulled myself together and made my way steadily towards her.

  ‘I think the cakes will look great right here,’ she was saying, giving them a shove into the centre of the table.

  ‘Hey, careful!’ Georgie exclaimed, as a plate slid towards her, nearly toppling over the edge. ‘What do you think you’re doing, putting your creation –’ she paused and flipped her hand dismissively at the blue and silver cakes – ‘centre stage? The Years 9s are organizing this, so it’s up to us what goes where on the display table.’

  ‘Chill, Georgie. Just because we’re running things doesn’t mean we have to hog the show,’ Ted said.

  I could hardly believe it: Ted Watson ticking off his sister for being mean to a couple of Year 8s. Nice one.

  ‘These look great!’ he added, smiling at Mads. ‘Very original.’

  Mads dissolved into the most ridiculous fit of girlie giggles I have ever heard.

  I raised my eyebrows and accidentally caught Ted smiling right at me. He rolled his eyes as if to say, ‘What is she like?’

  ‘Fine,’ snapped Georgie. ‘Leave them where they are then.’ She turned to me. ‘Now why don’t you and your little orange friend clear off and let us set up without any more distractions?’

  I sidled off and made discreet gestures for Mads to follow.

  ‘Georgie was so rude—’ I began.

  Mads interrupted in a stage whisper. ‘Shhh, it’s starting!’

  ‘Hey, everyone, welcome to the Oakwood High Charity Cake Off,’ said Ted, gesturing to the banner behind him on the stage. He laughed nervously.

  Everyone cheered. Ted looked at Georgie, who stepped forward.

  ‘Obviously this is for charity,’ Georgie said, in a sickly sweet, aren’t-we-good voice, ‘and thank you all sooooo much for your donations. Today we will be looking to see who’s got the X Factor when it comes to baking!’ She paused for a reaction, but didn’t get one. She looked annoyed, but carried on. ‘So . . . It’s not just about how your cakes look. A panel of Year 9 judges, including Ted and myself, will taste the cakes and give them scores for style and substance!’ Again, no reaction to the non-joke. Georgie coughed. ‘Anyway, the winner will get a batch of Ted’s very own Chocolate-Orange Cake-Pops, and the loser will get Milly Barry’s book, How to Bake – because they’ll need it.’ She laughed nastily at this.

  ‘Ted’s cake-pops are supposed to be amazing,’ Mads hissed.

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘Seriously? “Ted’s cake-pops”?’ I repeated. ‘Listen to yourself.’

  Mads was fixated on what was happening on stage, however, so my sarcasm was lost on her.

  The four Year 9s had begun to taste the cakes and were writing things down on clipboards. They had started at one end of the table, so it was an agonizing wait as they nibbled their way through the plates of tempting treats which looked 100 per cent more delicious than ours. I glanced at our (or rather my) cupcakes, which I now thought had far too much icing on them, plus the blue and silver colouring was looking a bit sickly. Not that this was the top of my list of worries. The more I looked at our ‘creation’, as Georgie had called it, the more queasy I felt for another reason altogether: Charlie’s ‘brilliant plan’ for something to replace the peppermint essence was beginning to feel utterly stupid.

  He had better not have dropped me in it, I thought grimly.

  I held my breath as I watched Ted, Georgie and their classmates each pick up one of our cakes. They seemed to take an age peeling back the blue and silver paper cases. I crossed my fingers as they took a bite . . . and felt the contents of my stomach rise as I watched the judges’ faces contort into expressions of disgust.

  Georgie dramatically spat her mouthful out on to the stage behind her.

  ‘Oh! Urgh . . . Oh my goodness!’ she spluttered, making a performance of retching as though she was going to be sick. ‘What the . . . ? What are these supposed to be?’ she gasped.

  Mads’s hands had flown to cover her mouth. Even beneath the fake tan I could see that her face had gone pale. Her eyes wide with horror, she grabbed my arm and tried to pull me out of the hall. I couldn’t move. My feet had grown roots through the parquet flooring.

  All around us people were laughing loudly, turning to see who was responsible for making Georgie Watson almost throw up in public.

  I wasn’t breathing. I couldn’t speak. I thought I might actually faint.

  ‘Well, I think we know who the losers are!’ Georgie finally announced. She looked straight at me. ‘Ellie Haines and Mads Conway for their absolutely gross “Mint-Choc-Chip Butterfly Cupcakes”. Mouthwash Cupcakes, more like! Do tell us what your secret ingredient is, girls?’ she smirked. ‘You must have used an unusual quantity of peppermint flavouring in these? As in, enough to poison the whole school.’

  Everyone roared with laughter and turned to stare at us. I closed my eyes and prayed that when I opened them the nightmare would be over.

  When I opened them, however, the nightmare was still very much continuing.

  And Mads had gone.

  I went straight to my room when I got home. I couldn’t face my family. I couldn’t face anything. Particularly as Mads had vanished without a trace at the end of the day and was now not answering my calls or texts.

  I tried to console myself. One good thing had to come out of this disaster: Mads would surely write in to cancel our application for the TV Cake Off. Especially if she thought there was a chance that Ted had applied too. There was no way she would let herself be humiliated in front of him again.

  It wasn’t much of a silver lining, th
ough. Mads wouldn’t want to speak to me after this. I had ruined her chances at The Cake Off and her chances with Ted in one fell swoop.

  I had ruined everything.

  I sat up and pulled my sketchbook out from under my bed. It’s like a diary, where I draw and scribble down things that have happened and stuff about how I feel. It’s a great way to sort out my thoughts: sometimes I put funny things in it which are hilarious to look back on, sometimes it just helps me work things out when I am feeling low.

  That afternoon I was definitely feeling low. So I was sitting cross-legged on my duvet, deep into drawing a cartoon of the whole school cake-show fiasco (giving Georgie a huge nose with a massive spot on the end of it) when Kitkat jumped on to my lap and curled himself into the space between my legs. He closed his eyes and set up a deep, rumbling purr – quite an impressive sound for a kitten that small.

  ‘Prrrrrr . . .’

  ‘Yeah, you just lie there and look cute. This is all your fault, you know,’ I said.

  He tucked his tail around him like a black-and-white furry apostrophe. I couldn’t help melting at the sight. He was still a baby. What did he know? If it was anyone’s fault it was mine. I should have checked that the cupboards were shut properly and that the tin’s lid was on tight.

  I stroked Kitkat’s little white head, and his purring went up a notch. He opened his pirate-patch eye. I could have sworn he was smiling at me.

  ‘Maybe having a kitten isn’t so bad, little Kitkat,’ I said. ‘At least you can’t get cross with me over boys and baking.’

  ‘ELLLLIEEEEE!’

  Our peaceful bonding moment was shattered.

  By Charlie.

  Who else?

  He burst into my room. Kitkat took one look at the fiery ball of energy that was my brother and shot into the air, his fur sticking out all over him, his teeth bared. Then the kitten landed on my thighs and dug his claws deep into my flesh. This was becoming a bit of a habit.

  ‘OOOOOWWWW!’I yelled, leaping off my bed, sending my sketchbook and Kitkat flying.

  The kitten let out a similar noise and went harum-scaruming around the room, bounding from chair to desk to bed to bookcase.

  ‘CHAZZER!’ I yelled. ‘What on earth did you have to come charging in like that for? You’ve terrified Kitkat.’

  Kitkat emphasized exactly how terrified he was by jumping down from the bookcase and immediately peeing on my school bag. Another habit I was growing distinctly tired of.

  Charlie dropped to his knees and peered at Kitkat. ‘Ah, marking his territory again, I see,’ he said.

  ‘Oh for goodness sake, who do you think you are? Crisp Packet? Will you give it a rest? I have had a terrible afternoon and I do not need you in my room. Get out and . . . film some badgers or something,’ I snapped.

  ‘It’s Chris Packet not “Crisp”,’ Charlie corrected me. ‘Anyway, I don’t want to film badgers, I want to know how the cake contest went,’ he said, pouting.

  ‘Well, I don’t want to talk about it,’ I said.

  ‘Why?’ he asked.

  Boy, he can be thick sometimes.

  ‘Because it was an epic fail, that’s why,’ I said. ‘If you hadn’t told me to put toothpaste in the icing, at least they would have been edible. I practically poisoned the judges and now everyone is laughing at me.’

  (Yes, that is right. I had listened to my stupid little brother and had put dental hygiene products into our cupcakes. So? I did say I couldn’t cook.)

  Charlie shrugged. ‘Did you bring any home for me to eat?’

  I let out a dry laugh. ‘Chazzer, are you even madder than I thought? Didn’t you hear me? They were inedible. As in, no one could eat them. Even you could not have eaten them.’

  Charlie frowned. ‘I don’t understand. It was only toothpaste. What’s the big deal? Toothpaste tastes of peppermint. You said you needed peppermint flavouring,’ he said.

  I scowled at him.

  ‘What? It’s not poisonous. Is it?’ he said. He looked suddenly quite anxious.

  ‘Raow!’ said Kitkat.

  I turned on the cat. ‘You can shut up, too. If you hadn’t eaten my first batch of cakes, none of this would have happened.’ I looked away. My lips were beginning to tremble and I did not want to cry in front of my annoying little brother. ‘I’ve had it with stupid baking and stupid Cake Offs.’

  ‘You can’t give up now!’ Charlie said. ‘I was looking forward to the party in the garden after the show. I wanted to get Milly Barry’s autograph.’

  ‘Chazzer,’ I said. ‘I. Cannot. Cook. If, by some miracle, I got in, I would be thrown out of the place before Sam Parkins could say “What are you waiting for? Bake!” I need to make sure my application is well and truly cancelled. Go and get Mum’s iPad. I’ll see if there’s a number I can call or something.’

  Charlie pulled a face. ‘I don’t think you can get out of it now,’ he said. ‘This is what I came to show you.’ He handed me an envelope.

  It was a large A4 envelope with a very familiar logo stamped in gold lettering in the top left-hand corner. And it was addressed to me.

  I dropped it as though it was a very hot cupcake. ‘No,’ I whispered.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ said Charlie. ‘I thought you wanted to go on The Cake Off?’

  ‘Not after today, I don’t!’ I cried. ‘Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said?’

  ‘Well, maybe they’re writing to say you haven’t got a place,’ Charlie said, trying to be reasonable. ‘Here, I’ll read it for you.’

  My brother slid his finger under the envelope flap and tore it open. He drew out a suspiciously thick wad of paper and scanned the top sheet seriously.

  He looked up at me, beaming. ‘Hey, congratulations! You have definitely got a place! Actually I remember now,’ he added. ‘They only write to people to say they have been successful. It said so in the small print of the application form.’

  He is a total nerd-freak! I fumed silently. Whoever reads the small print? And when did Charlie read the application form anyway?

  But then I remembered the message that had flicked up after Mads had sent the application off. Charlie was right.

  ‘Hang on, what does it actually say?’ I tried to grab the letter from him. ‘If I’ve got a place, then that means Mads has, too, no? We applied as a team. Maybe I can phone them and say she’ll go on the show but I can’t. I’m sure they can find someone else to take my place.’

  Like Ted, I thought grimly.

  Charlie shook his head and pointed at the letter. ‘This is like a contract or something. It’s for you, not you and Mads. But then, she would have been sent a separate letter, wouldn’t she?’ He shook the paper and cleared his throat, then read on importantly. ‘Says here that you, Ellie Haines, will be “expected to attend on the date allocated to you unless you have a prior commitment you cannot get out of or a doctor’s note and that you have to get your parents to write—” ’

  ‘OK, OK,’ I interrupted.

  I took the paper back from him and peered at the tiny type. ‘What is this? There’s so much small print and it’s so small they can’t expect anyone to literally read all this, can they? Where’s Mads’s name?’

  ‘I already told you, this is your contract,’ Charlie said primly. ‘I can’t understand why you don’t want to do it,’ he went on. ‘I’ve been trying to get on TV for years – well, months – and you just enter one thing and get to do it. It’s so unfair.’

  ‘Flip!’ I said, scanning the letter. I felt as though I had just got off the world’s fastest merry-go-round. ‘This is a nightmare of the most nightmarish proportions known to humankind,’ I said, my voice rising to a squeak.

  ‘Er . . . no it’s not,’ said Charlie. ‘Those floods and wars and things you see on the news? They’re much worse. And Chris Packet says what’s happening to our native skylark population is a travesty—’

  ‘LISTEN!’ I shouted.

  Charlie was startled out of his monologue.<
br />
  ‘Mads put me up to this,’ I said. ‘And Mads’s name is nowhere to be seen on this contract. Now, either The Cake Off people have made a mistake, or Mads did something stupid and forgot to put her own name on the form . . . or, she has entered me for a joke and didn’t enter herself at all . . .’ I did not like the feel of where any of these thoughts were going. ‘In any case, it was not my idea, so technically I have been entered under false pretences,’ I said. I sounded more confident of this than I actually felt. ‘I shall have to ring them or email or whatever and explain what’s happened and say I can’t do it.’

  Charlie’s expression brightened suddenly. ‘I’ve had an idea. What if I pretended to be you and went on The Cake Off instead?’

  ‘It’s a great idea, Chaz,’ I said with heavy sarcasm. ‘Except for the fact that (a) You are a ten-year-old-boy and I am a thirteen-year-old girl AND I THINK THEY COULD SPOT THE DIFFERENCE . . . and (b) You think that toothpaste is an acceptable ingredient in confectionery.’

  ‘I could put on a dress and get a wig and some high-heeled shoes and—’

  ‘Look like a pantomime dame? Great plan! Just shut up and go.’

  Charlie pulled a face, but thankfully did as I asked and left the room.

  I slammed the door behind him.

  At last I was alone again. Well, not entirely alone, of course. Kitkat was still there. He was now mewling because he couldn’t find the way back out of my room.

  There was a nasty smell coming from my school bag, and another pong from behind the chest of toothpaste drawers. I only hoped Kitkat hadn’t found a mouse and killed it. Surely he was still too small to do that, I reasoned.

  I moved the chest of drawers and saw a small dark shape on the floor by the skirting board. I realized too late, as I reached to pick it up, that it was in fact a poo.

  Bring it on! I thought, raising my eyes to the ceiling.

  I ran to the bathroom to get some loo roll, ran back and dealt with the poo, then ran to the bathroom again to scour my hands with the hottest water I could bear.

  Next, I fished out the letter from The Cake Off and cast my eyes over it one more time. There was only one thing for it: I was going to have to call Mads and pray that she had received her own separate letter. Then I was going to have to beg her to get me out of this.