The Cupcake Diaries Collection: Katie and the Cupcake Cure; Mia in the Mix; Emma on Thin Icing; Alexis and the Perfect Recipe

by Simon, Coco

  We had a great time at Harrison’s. Dad kept us laughing with his corny jokes.

  When we got home, Dylan and Mom were at the kitchen table, addressing the last of the party invitations on black envelopes with gold gel pens.

  “Hello, Mom! Hello, Dylan!” I called as we walked in.

  Dylan nodded at us without saying a word before going back to writing. The scent of the pens was so strong that I could feel it going to my head and making me a little light-headed. I was dying to see if Dylan had addressed the invitation for the Taylors yet; I wouldn’t believe Matt was actually invited until I saw it in black and . . . gold. I craned my neck to see where she was on her list (created as an Excel spreadsheet on the computer, of course).

  Dylan looked at me. “What?” she demanded.

  “Oh, nothing!” I replied, waving my hand, and got ready to start baking.

  “Just get going on the cupcakes, because I have to leave for practice at three thirty, and an athlete can’t practice on a system filled with sugar.”

  “Ah, don’t worry, we’ll be done in plenty of time,” I said, smiling at my friends.

  Just then Mom asked, “So how did the dress turn out, Alexis?”

  I could feel my face grow instantly hot. Should I make up a fib?

  “Oh, you know . . .” I was stalling for time, but Katie cut in.

  “Oh, Mrs. Becker, you have to see the dress that Alexis bought! It looks so beautiful on her!”

  I glared at Katie and elbowed her. Poor Katie looked at me in pain and surprise. Luckily my mother was looking down, so she didn’t see this exchange.

  What? Katie mouthed at me. I shook my head vigorously, but they had already heard Katie.

  “Are you going to show us the dress?” asked Dylan.

  “Not right now,” I said briskly. “Let’s get the cupcake samples ready, and then I’ll model it if you have time before practice.” This made sense to Mom and Dylan, so they both nodded and went back to what they were doing. Now I could focus on the cupcakes! I would deal with what was sure to be a dress crisis later.

  Without any more interruptions, my friends and I were able to work quickly to turn out samples for three different cupcakes: the disco, s’mores, and the gift one. Much as I hated to admit it, Emma had been right about the gold flakes. They looked magical and I knew Dylan would totally go for them. The s’mores were tasty but not elegant, just as we had suspected, and my little gift idea looked great, but not very appealing.

  We stood holding our breath as Dylan and my parents inspected our treats.

  “Oh, girls, these are lovely!” Mom said.

  “I’ll take them all,” said Dad as he playfully lifted the platter, pretending that he was going to run off with it.

  “Dad!” I called out just as Dylan took the plate away from him. Suddenly everyone was really quiet and serious as Dylan examined the cupcakes from all angles, tilting her head this way and that like a judge on a cooking show.

  “Oh, Dylan, come on!” I said. My sister could be so exasperating!

  But Mia grabbed my arm and whispered, “The customer is always right.” Since that is one of my own mottoes, I didn’t say anything else. I set my mouth in a firm line to keep it shut and crossed my arms in front of me.

  Then Dylan leaned over the platter and smelled the cupcakes. I was about to have another outburst, but my mom shot me a look. What was wrong with Dylan? Why couldn’t she say “Wow” or “Hmm . . . not what I want,” like normal people would?

  After what felt like several long minutes of sniffing, Dylan asked, “Do you have a knife?”

  I groaned. I couldn’t believe she asked for a knife! We were at home, and Dylan knew very well where the knives were. I was just about to say something when Mia replied cheerily, “Yes, we do!”

  She picked one from the butcher block and handed it to Dylan with a flourish. Dylan cut each cupcake in half, and then in quarters. They looked really awful all splayed out like that.

  “Dylan, honey, what are you doing?” Mom asked.

  “I want to see what they look like inside,” Dylan answered. “Then I’m going to taste them, but it’s not like I’m going to eat an entire cupcake of each!”

  “Well, I’d love to try one—a whole one,” Dad said. “I’ve been waiting long enough. Do I have your permission, your highness?” He looked at me and the other Cupcakers and wiggled his eyebrows.

  Dylan rolled her eyes. “Okay, let’s sample.”

  My father took a s’mores cupcake, which he’d been eyeing the entire time, and took a huge bite.

  “I’m not usually a fan of marshmallows, but this is dynamite!” he said. “I vote for this one.”

  My mother also picked the s’mores cupcake, and agreed with him. “Oh, the cake alone is so wonderful, but the marshmallows and the cracker crumbs make this absolutely delicious!”

  I smiled. I knew those would be the tastiest.

  Dylan took a bite of a sliver of the gold flake cake. She chewed it thoughtfully as we waited for her comment. When she put down the rest of her sliver, Emma asked anxiously, “Is it not good?”

  “Oh, no, it’s fine. I’m just not a big dessert person,” said Dylan with a shrug. Argh! I wanted to scream. Poor Emma looked disappointed.

  Next Dylan tried the gift cake. She pinched off a bit of the fondant and nibbled on it. Then she took a tiny bite. She bobbed her head from side to side as she chewed, as if she was weighing it against the previous cupcake. Finally she swallowed and turned toward the cabinet.

  “Well?” I asked.

  Without answering me, Dylan took her time getting a glass and filling it with water. Then she held one finger up while she drank and we all waited.

  “Fine,” she said finally.

  “Fine?” I asked, annoyed. “What does ‘fine’ mean? Do you like it or not?”

  “Dylan, try the s’mores one. You will love it,” said my father.

  “Okay, okay,” she said, like she was doing us a huge favor. As with the other samples, Dylan took a small bite, and we all watched as she chewed. Now, I spend a lot of time around people eating cupcakes, and I know what I see. I could tell that Dylan loved that cupcake! Her features softened, her eyes lit up, and her mouth lingered over the bite before swallowing it. I’m sure I even saw a slight smile on her face when she was done.

  “So?” My mom asked, as sure as we were that Dylan’s choice would be the same as hers and Dad’s.

  Somehow the Dylan who enjoyed that very delicious s’mores cupcake two seconds ago was able shake her head and look sympathetic. “I am so sorry, kids, but none of these is right for my party,” she said.

  There was silence for a moment. We were all stunned, even my parents.

  “Wh-wh-what?” I stammered. “What do you mean? You loved that last one! I saw it on your face!”

  Dylan shook her head again with a look of pity. “No, Alexis, the problem is that the tasty one is ugly and the pretty ones aren’t very tasty.” She shrugged. “Back to the drawing board?”

  “Argh!” I screamed.

  “Girls, girls, you all did a wonderful job. Dylan, how about a thank-you, first of all, to the Cupcake Club,” instructed my mother. I could tell she was mad.

  “Thank you,” Dylan muttered without looking at us.

  My friends were all standing there, not sure what to say. I was mortified. Who was this mean girl and what had she done with my sister, Dylan?

  My mom took Dylan by the arm and led her out of the kitchen, which was a good thing, for Dylan’s own safety.

  “Well, I loved them!” Dad said enthusiastically. “How could anyone possibly choose? Now, let’s see, if I was having a birthday . . .” He was clearly trying to make us feel better, but it was not helping.

  “It’s okay, Dad. We’ll just clean up,” I said, gently shooing him out.

  Later, as I was washing off the frosting bowl, thinking about how mean and ungrateful Dylan was, my party dress popped back into my mind. Ha! I thought. I’m glad I
got a pink dress! Why should I have to go along with everything Dylan says and wants, anyway? I’m sick of having to do everything she says. Now, instead of dreading what she would say about my dress, I couldn’t wait to see her face when I put it on!

  CHAPTER 8

  Hello, New Me!

  Right before Dylan left for cheerleading practice, she sent out an e-mail my mother made her write. It was to everyone in the Cupcake Club:

  Dear Cupcake Club,

  Thank u 4 the cupcakes u baked 4 me.

  I’m sorry if I was a difficult customer, LOL.

  I’m sure we will reach an agreement at some point.

  Dylan

  It felt a little halfhearted, if you ask me. Note that she said “if I was a difficult customer” not “that I was a difficult customer.” That is pure Dylan. Anyway, I figured that my parents are the real clients and I knew we could find something that would work for everyone. I just felt bad about Emma and her gold flakes, not to mention embarrassed in front of my friends that I had such a jerky sister.

  The others were nice about it, though, and in the end we were all laughing. Plus, they got me excited about my dress, and I actually tried it on and modeled it for my parents a few minutes after Dylan had left for practice. My parents loved it, and my mother said, “eh,” when I told her that Dylan would probably be really mad. My father twirled me around, and we both decided it was perfect for our dance. I only hoped Matt would like it as much as everyone else did.

  My father and I were still twirling, and my friends and mother were talking in the living room, when Dylan suddenly rushed in, breathless. I froze.

  “Has anyone seen my other sneaker?” she cried in despair.

  Then she saw me and narrowed her eyes. “What are you wearing?” she asked.

  All the courage I felt before about standing up to her left me. “Um . . . ,” I said.

  “It’s her dress for your party!” Mia sweetly answered.

  “Yes, doesn’t she look amazing?” Katie added.

  Oh, great. I braced myself for a big speech from Dylan.

  “What?” she shrieked before stamping her foot. “It’s pink! This is not one of the dresses that I picked out! You know what the party colors are—”

  Before Dylan could launch any more ugly words at me, Mom grabbed her and pulled her out of the room. Again! My friends and Dad and I were all speechless for a minute.

  “Whoops,” Emma finally said.

  “I should not have said anything!” Mia said, looking really upset.

  “Don’t worry, girls,” Dad said, “I apologize for Dylan’s rude behavior . . . again. Don’t ever turn sixteen!” He left the room to look for Mom and Dylan.

  “Wow,” I said. “Sorry about that. I guess I knew it would come, sooner or later.”

  No one knew what else to say, so we stood around awkwardly until Emma suggested that they leave. I hated for my friends to leave on such a sour note, but it was probably a good idea.

  As the girls headed out the door, Emma turned to say, “Thank you for a lovely afternoon.” And we all started laughing, hard.

  “Oh! Don’t forget these!” I said, handing each of them their black-and-gold party invitations. “Dylan can’t wait to see you all at her party next month! Just don’t forget to wear pink!” This got us all howling again.

  “What are we doing tomorrow?” asked Katie once she stopped giggling.

  “Is Dylan free?” Mia asked with a straight face, and we all fell down laughing.

  When we finally stopped laughing, my friends left, promising to talk again later. I cringed at the thought of them discussing Dylan. Ugh. Emma was lucky she had brothers.

  Mean sister + friends witnessing = total embarrassment

  As mad as I was about Dylan’s behavior, I didn’t feel like asking Mom what happened when she talked to Dylan. I needed a break from thinking about her. All I could think about was working on Project M. T. But first I had to throw my Merrells to the back of my closet. “Buh-bye,” I whispered. “See you guys some time after never.”

  Then I opened my locked drawer and took out my notebook, grabbing some forbidden SweeTarts along with it. I sat at my desk and first logged in my most recent encounters with Matt, noting who said hi first and (possibly) why. Then I turned on my computer and googled some studies about how to attract boys.

  I found out some crazy stuff! Like girls care more about boy’s looks than boys care about girl’s. And that boys like faces that are symmetrical. That is their main thing, not that they actually realize it. Just the researchers did.

  Hmm. I wondered about my face. Do I have a symmetrical face? Doesn’t everyone? I mean, I have two eyes, two eyebrows, two nostrils. I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked pretty symmetrical. But was I really?

  I clicked on the lamp and propped my chin on my fists. I wanted to examine myself scientifically. Here’s the data I collected: My left eye was a little bigger than my right eye if you looked really closely. Also, my left eyebrow kind of had a pointed arch while my right one was more of a smooth arch. Eek! Was that bad? My nose looked the same on both sides, and my cheeks, ears, whatever. I couldn’t tell if one was off.

  I went back to the computer. How symmetrical did you have to be? I googled again and learned that on a scale of one to ten, Angelina Jolie is only a 7.67 in symmetry. The researcher said she lost points because of those lips. Gosh. If Angelina wasn’t a perfect ten, that was not good news for me. I am no Angelina Jolie, that’s for sure.

  I read on. Another article said boys liked makeup on girls, but only two kinds: foundation to even out skin tone, and eye makeup, to darken the eyes. My skin is pretty even, but eye makeup was something I could try.

  I reached into my top drawer and took out an eye makeup kit that Mia had given me at a sleepover. It had dark shadow, light shadow, medium shadow, eyeliner, and mascara. I had no idea how to use any of them, but how hard could it be? If I needed help, there was a little map in the box that showed how to put it all on.

  I suddenly decided I needed a total makeover.

  Makeup + hairdo + new outfit = gorgeous and noticeable Alexis

  I grabbed the eye makeup kit, along with the curlers from my grandmother, the new ice-blue shirt, and purple beads I already had, and hustled down the hall into the bathroom. I ran a shower, shampooed my hair, and then, following the directions on the package, I rolled my hair up in the curlers and used a blow-dryer. Next, I put on the blue shirt and beads, and began applying the eye makeup.

  I used eyeliner to draw a thick line along my upper and lower lashes, just as I’d seen my old babysitter do when I was younger. I stood back to look at what I’d done. Wow, I looked a lot older! Then I leaned back in and brushed light shadow just below my (asymmetrical) eyebrows and then, following the diagram in the kit, medium shadow in the creases of my eyes, and finally, the darkest shadow along the rim of my lid. Finally, I opened the mascara and brushed my eyelashes to a staggeringly long length.

  I stood back again. OMG.

  I either looked like a raccoon or a supermodel. I couldn’t decide which. I turned my head all the way to the left and looked back at the right side of my face; then I looked back at my left side. I liked the left better. Next, I looked straight at the mirror and sucked in my cheeks, trying to look vampire-ish. Then I tucked my chin under and looked up through my eyelashes. That was the best look, I thought. The only thing ruining it was the curlers. I put my hand to my head and touched them. They were dry. Time for the big reveal!

  I loosened the curlers without looking, then I flipped my head down and ruffled my hair with my hands, finally flipping my hair back as I stood up and looked in the mirror.

  Uh, wow? I had a huge head full of curls—and it looked ridiculous! Or maybe it looked great? I didn’t know! I knew I looked different, that was for sure.

  Just then there was a knock at the door. “Alexis, dinner,” Dylan called.

  Yikes! I had been so busy making myself over that I forgot
what time it was.

  What do I do now? Wash it all off and pull my hair back into some kooky kind of ponytail? Or go down there as if nothing was different? I didn’t want to spill anything on my new shirt, though.

  “What’s for dinner?” I called back.

  “Grilled trout, broccoli rabe, and quinoa,” replied Dylan.

  It sounded pretty stain-free. And it was only my family. They’ve seen me at my worst.

  So I smiled and winked at myself as I took one last look in the mirror. Then I gave myself a big spritz of the cinnamon bun perfume that Dylan had on her side of the vanity. Yum! I smelled like . . . the food court at the mall. Oh well.

  “Ta-da!” I cried as I flung open the door, but no one was there.

  Just then the phone rang. I looked at the caller ID. It was Emma.

  “Hey!” I called out, when I picked up the phone.

  “Oh, hello, dear. Is that Alexis?”

  It was Mrs. Taylor! “Oh, sorry, Mrs. Taylor. I thought you were Emma!” I said, laughing. “Are you calling for my mother?”

  “Oh, no, don’t bother her. I’m just calling to RSVP to the lovely invitation to Dylan’s party! You were so kind to invite us all. We’d love to come.”

  “W-w-we?” I stammered.

  “Yes, Mr. Taylor, Emma, and the boys and I. It sounds like great fun!”

  I couldn’t believe it! Matt was coming to Dylan’s party! I had visions of seeing him at the party, of him seeing me in my new, fuzzy, touchable dress.

  “Alexis . . . are you still there?” Mrs. Taylor asked. Oops!

  “Oh, yes, I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s great that all of you can come!”

  “Will you tell your mom for me, please?”

  “Of course! She’ll be so happy. Thank you! Thank you so much!” I gushed.

  Mrs. Taylor laughed. “Actually, we thank you! We’ll see you soon, dear.”

  I did a victory dance after we hung up, then ran down the stairs. “Mom!” I yelled. I couldn’t wait to share the good news.