Alexis Gets Frosted

by Coco Simon

  That night, I went up to my room and took one last look at my time capsule spreadsheet. I’d filled in pretty much everything, proudly inking in my mother’s childhood hobbies (ballet dancing, dollhouses) and my own (math, business), as well as my goals for the future (the aforementioned marrying of Matt Taylor and running a large company). But the part I’d left blank, the part about enemies, I was finally ready to fill in.

  I didn’t want to name names, because things can change, and it just seemed so negative. Instead I gave a long answer.

  Sometimes people will try your patience or do things that you think are pretty mean. But there’s always a solution, even if it’s not an easy one. You just need to remember all the good things you have going on in your life and let the not-so-good stuff roll off your back. Just act like a duck. Quack and let it roll off your back. My mom taught me that.

  I lined up most of the items I’d be photographing for the capsule: my business ledger; the pretty pink dress I wore to Dylan’s sweet sixteen when Matt asked me to dance; a DVD of the first season of Celebrity Ballroom; a tag from my favorite store, Big Blue; and a photo of me in my homecoming parade costume, where I dressed up as a Greek goddess and went with Matt. I was pretty happy with the collection. At the last minute I added an eraser shaped like a cupcake, and a calculator, because why not?

  Then I sat back, relaxed, and let myself daydream for a moment about being Mrs. Matt Taylor. I hoped our children would have his blond hair. Our babies would be smart and beautiful! It was the best daydream ever.

  CHAPTER 11

  Success!

  My granddad arrived early Friday morning; he was there before I even got up. After a hasty breakfast, we carefully loaded the gingerbread house onto the bed of his truck, where he secured it with all sorts of padding and blankets and bungee cords and stuff. I couldn’t look, but I trusted him. He’d also brought a little folding trolley that we could use to wheel the house into school.

  We swung by the Taylors’, and Matt came out to hop in for the ride. His parents and Emma and his little brother, Jake, came out too, to see the creation in the back of the truck. Everyone oohed and aahed over it, and I was really proud.

  At school, Katie met us at the door. She had also come early. I am not that sentimental, but I had to say I was feeling a little teary and grateful for all these wonderful people who were helping me. I was pretty lucky I had them, or I would never have pulled it off. It reminded me of what my mom had said when we discussed Olivia. (“You are great the way you are. You have wonderful friends, a family who loves you, and one big, bad Olivia shouldn’t get in the way of any of that. You need to act like a duck.”) Quack!

  I had made prearrangements to hide the gingerbread house in the teachers’ lounge, so that it would be a surprise for our class, so that was where we wheeled it. The teachers who were there kind of freaked out at how cool it was, including Mr. Donnelly, which was nice since he’s my favorite.

  “Alexis! I had no idea you had this much artistic talent!” he said.

  “Well, I had lots of help,” I admitted, smiling at my granddad, Katie, and Matt.

  We left the table, and Matt said he’d meet me back there during his study hall period to wheel the house in with me. I hugged my granddad good-bye and promised to call to let him know how it went. I hugged Katie too, and she left a little tub of frosting and a mini-spatula on the trolley, in case I needed it later.

  I could barely sit still through homeroom, and I literally ran to the faculty lounge when it was time to pick up the trolley. Matt was already there, waiting for me. He must’ve run, too, which made me even more grateful.

  “Ready?” he asked, with his adorable dimples and grin.

  “Ready!” I said, and off we went through the halls.

  Everyone we passed stopped in their tracks to look at the house. It was really spectacular. Plus, you don’t usually see that much candy wheeling through school every day. I couldn’t wait to see Olivia’s face. Even though we’d made peace, this would be the icing on the cake!

  Slowly, slowly we made our way down the hall. There was almost no one left by the time we reached our destination. Into Mrs. Carr’s classroom we went, and everyone was already there, seated. For a moment, there was dead silence, then Sara Rex started to clap, and everyone joined in. Olivia (dressed as a fancy Victorian lady, in a high-waisted shirt and a long-sleeved, high-necked blouse) had a look of wonder on her face, shaking her head in disbelief, even as she clapped. I met her eye and smiled a small smile, and she smiled back. Pretty soon the whole class was cheering, and I was grinning, and finally, Mrs. Carr had to quiet everyone down.

  Matt ducked out with a wave, and Mrs. Carr said, “Alexis, I think you should go first.”

  I put down my bag, got out my notecards, and began talking about home life in Victorian England. Halfway through, though, I waved my arm to gesture to a feature of the house, and I heard a sickening crack. I’d knocked the chimney off. For a second, everyone froze, and then, you will never believe this: Olivia Allen jumped up and quickly reattached it while I continued my presentation! Mrs. Carr smiled approvingly at Olivia as she worked. She was kind of pasting it with some extra frosting, and once it was back on, she took her seat until I finished. At the end I said, “And a special thanks to everyone who helped me on the house: my granddad, my friends at the Cupcake Club, Matt Taylor, and . . . Olivia Allen for saving the chimney, which was a huge part of Victorian life.” She nodded in acknowledgment while everyone applauded and I bowed. It was a major triumph, in a lot of ways.

  George Martinez called out, “Can we eat it now?” Everyone laughed while Mrs. Carr threatened them all with a trip to the principal’s office if they so much as touched it, but I didn’t care. I even considered saying yes, but I figured the feeding frenzy that would result would ruin everyone else’s presentations.

  That afternoon we all gathered at Katie’s to do our weekend baking. I was feeling so relaxed, with everything resolved with Olivia, my project finished and turned in, and a handful of fun surprises lined up for my mom’s birthday.

  I did Mona’s minis today, since Emma wanted to work on some of the new recipes—the strawberry shortcakes and the apple-cinnamon cupcakes in particular. Mia fried the bacon, and Katie colored the pink frosting for the ballerina cupcakes, and we were like an efficient, well-oiled machine.

  “We’ve really got the assembly-line thing down!” I said later as we stood in a row frosting cupcakes at the counter. “Henry Ford would be proud!”

  “Why? Who’s he?” asked Katie.

  “The car guy who invented the assembly line!” I said.

  “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Whatever happened with Olivia?” asked Mia.

  “Yeah!” agreed Katie. “We never heard another peep from you about it.”

  I hesitated, tempted to tell them the whole story, but then I decided to be a duck and let it roll off my back. “You know, I think we buried the hatchet,” I said, shrugging casually.

  “How?” asked Emma.

  “We acted like ducks!” I said, and then I laughed maniacally.

  Everyone started quacking, and that was the end of the discussion.

  Early Saturday morning I went with Emma to deliver the mini cupcakes to Mona and then the apple-cinnamon ones to the baby shower for Jake’s old teacher. Emma came home with me afterward to help set up the little birthday lunch my dad was organizing for my mom. The Taylors would be coming later (hopefully with Matt, but he might have a game), and two of Mom’s other good friends and their families, and my grandparents, of course.

  Dylan had bought a really cute pink tablecloth and napkins and party plates with a ballerina theme, and she was making her specialty: tea sandwiches (four kinds: turkey, cucumber, egg salad, and tomato), and we’d have iced tea and coffee and chips, and then the cupcakes. It was going to be great!

  My dad had just returned from the framer’s when we walked in. “Oh good! I was just going to wrap these, but now you can see
them first. Look!” He was really pleased, I could tell.

  He pulled two large matching picture frames out of a shopping bag. The first one had my mom’s yellow gingham dress with the pear on it, framed in a pretty yellow wooden shadowbox. It was cute and cheerful. In the lower right corner of the frame was the photo of my mom in the dress, all cute and scraggly and messy. The second frame was pink, of course, and had a pink tulle ballet skirt of my mom’s that my grandma had also found, with the ballerina picture of my mom in the lower right corner. The two framed items made a pretty matched set. My dad planned to move some things around, so we could hang them in our den, above the sofa.

  I hugged him. “Oh, Dad! They look amazing! She’ll love them!”

  “And the dollhouse!” he said.

  “And the dollhouse!” I agreed.

  “I also got her a little charm for her charm bracelet,” he said with a mischievous grin.

  “Cute! What is it?” I asked.

  But he wagged his finger at me. “You’ll have to wait and see!”

  At the party, my mom had a great time. She loved all the pink decorations and the food, and the dollhouse was a huge hit with everyone! My dad had set it up in the living room for the party, and my mom was so surprised when she saw it. I personally couldn’t wait to spend some time on it with her; one thing I wanted to find was a platter of tiny cupcakes for the little kitchen.

  Speaking of cupcakes, when I explained to her the different kinds of cupcakes we’d made for the party and how they represented different parts of her life, she gave me a huge hug and got a little teary.

  “Alexis, you are so special. Thank you for your thoughtfulness. I never knew you had such an interest in my past!”

  “Neither did I!” I said. “Maybe it’s just something you have to grow into.”

  When my dad presented her with the tiny jewelry box that I knew contained a charm, I held my breath. She unwrapped the tissue and opened the little velvet pouch, and in it was a gold . . . duck!

  She and I laughed so hard, and we knew it was just the perfect thing. In fact, I couldn’t believe she didn’t already have one!

  Dylan looked at us like we were cuckoo, but I didn’t care since that was nothing new.

  “Great job, Dad!” I said, and he beamed with pride.

  Later that afternoon, Mia and Katie came over and, along with Emma, we worked on our time capsule and ate leftovers from the party.

  We laid out everything to photograph, and I also went and photographed the framed items of my mom’s.

  It was fun to see what people had brought. Mia had some old costumes of her mom’s from her wardrobe days, plus some crazy bell-bottomed pants she used to wear, and an exotic feather hat. Emma had an old book of her mom’s that had stories she’d handwritten into it when she was a little girl, and Katie had a skateboard that had been her mom’s! I couldn’t even picture her mom riding it, but Katie said she was actually pretty decent at it. Katie also had the photo of her and Callie. I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t want to draw attention to it, but I was proud of her for including it.

  Everyone passed around their biographies, and we read them. Then we loaded up the capsule, which was really a plastic Tupperware sandwich holder Mia had gotten from her mom. Then we put it into a giant Ziploc bag, and another and another and another! It seemed pretty watertight. I had received permission from my dad to bury it in a corner of the yard, under the magnolia tree, and that was where we headed now, armed with a big shovel.

  We took turns digging, and when the hole was ready, Mia did the honors of placing the capsule into the hole.

  “It feels like we’re having a funeral!” remarked Emma.

  “A funeral for our past,” said Katie.

  “Here’s to the future!” I cried.

  “Hooray!” we all said.

  That night, my mom came to tuck me in.

  “That was a great birthday, thanks to your thoughtfulness, sweetheart.”

  I snuggled happily under my covers. “It was fun.”

  “Your gingerbread house was wonderful too. You’ve had a very busy couple of days! But so many fun things!”

  “I know.”

  “Now I hate to ask, but whatever happened with Olivia at school? I kept waiting for you to mention it, so I didn’t bring it up.”

  “Oh. Well . . . we’ve made peace,” I said. “For now, anyway.”

  “Great! I’m so happy to hear that.”

  We smiled in the semidark for a minute, and then I said, “Mom, you know what? If you were a kid, we’d be best friends.”

  “Oh, Lexi! That’s the best birthday present anyone could have ever given me! Thank you, sweetheart!” And she gave me a big squeeze.

  I squeezed back and very softly, into her ear, I whispered, “Quack!”

  Want another sweet cupcake?

  Here’s a sneak peek of the thirteenth book in the

  series:

  Katie’s

  perfect

  recipe

  It’s a Cupcake Code Red!

  Make me a doggy! Make me a doggy!”

  I started to sweat as the adorable five-year-old in front of me looked up with pleading eyes. I knelt down and waved a round helium balloon in front of his face.

  “It’s not the kind of balloon that you can make into animals,” I said, using my sweetest voice. “It’s just a regular, fun, yellow balloon, to match the cupcakes! See?”

  I pointed to the cupcake table across the small yard, where my friends Alexis and Emma were busy placing dozens of yellow and green cupcakes on matching paper plates.

  The little boy’s lower lip quivered. “But . . . I . . . want . . . a . . . doggy!” Then he began to bawl.

  Panicked, I turned to my best friend, Mia, who was filling balloons behind me.

  “Mia! We’ve got a code red!” I cried.

  “Katie, what’s wrong?” Mia asked.

  I pointed to the sobbing boy. “He wants a dog-shaped balloon. I don’t know what to do.”

  Mia quickly retrieved a black marker from her bag under a table and took the balloon from my hand. The marker squeaked as she drew a cute doggy face on the balloon, complete with droopy ears and a tongue sticking out. Thank goodness for a friend who can draw!

  She handed it to the boy. “How’s this?” she asked.

  The boy stopped crying. “It’s a doggy! Woof! Woof!” Happy again, he ran off.

  I let out a sigh. “Mia to the rescue! Thank you. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Running a party for a bunch of five-year-olds? It’s much easier when we bake the cupcakes, serve the cupcakes, and then get out.”

  A while ago, my friends and I had started a Cupcake Club. We’d turned it into a pretty successful business, baking cupcakes for all kinds of parties and events.

  “It’s just like Alexis said, it’s healthy to branch out,” Mia pointed out. “We’re making a lot more money by running the games and activities.”

  I gazed around the yard. We had worked hard on this cupcake-themed party for a five-year-old girl named Madison. Last night we were up late baking cupcakes in Madison’s favorite colors, yellow and green. This morning we got up early (which I never like to do on a Saturday) to set things up. We had a table where the kids could decorate their own cupcakes.

  Later, we were going to set up the stuff for the games. We took regular party games and cupcaketized them. You know, instead of Hot Potato, we were going to play Pass the Cupcake. And instead of a donkey, kids could pin a cherry on top of a giant picture of a cupcake. It was going to be fun, but it was definitely a lot of work.

  “Well, money isn’t everything,” I declared. “If Alexis wants us to do this stuff so bad, she can come over here and make balloons. I’m going to go work at the cupcake table. At least I know what I’m doing there.”

  “Aw, come on, Katie, balloons are fun!” Mia said, bopping me over the head with a green one.

  I stuck my tongue out at her. “But crying kids are not! I’ll see you l
ater.”

  I walked over to the cupcake-decorating table.

  “Alexis, you need to switch with me,” I said. “I can’t do the balloons. I just don’t have it in me.”

  Alexis nodded, her wavy red hair bouncing on her shoulders. “No problem. There’s not much more setting up to do. Mrs. Delfino said that the kids are having pizza in a minute, and then we’re going to play some games before we do the cupcake thing.”

  Alexis walked away, and I took her place behind the table, next to Emma, who really loves dressing up for any event. She wore a light yellow shirt with a short green skirt that matched the cupcakes perfectly. A yellow headband with tiny green flowers held back her straight, blond hair. I had tried to get in the party spirit too, with a yellow T-shirt and green sneakers.

  “Katie, you look miserable!” Emma said. “Come on, it’s not so bad, is it?”

  “I think it’s because I’m an only child,” I admitted. “I don’t know how to deal with little kids.”

  “That’s not true. You’re so great with Jake,” Emma said. Jake is her six-year-old brother. “He adores you!”

  “That’s different,” I protested. “Jake is only one kid. This is, like, a hundred!”

  Emma laughed. “It’s only sixteen. But I know what you mean. When Jake’s friends are over, it can be too much sometimes.”

  As we spoke, a woman with curly brown hair stepped into the yard.

  “Okay, everybody! It’s pizza time! Everyone inside!”

  The kids cheered and raced inside, accompanied by the moms who had decided to stay for the party. Alexis approached the cupcake table.

  “We should set up the games while everyone eats,” she suggested. “Then we’ll be ready when they come back out.”

  “Good idea,” Emma agreed. We started to set things up for the games, and after only about ten minutes, the kids came racing back outside.

  I shook my head. “Back already? What did they drink with their pizza? Rocket fuel?”