Alexis's Half-Baked Idea

by Coco Simon

  “And please magically convert gluten to cash,” I added, and everyone laughed.

  As we were laughing, Dylan came down the back stairs. “Hey! Alexis, what’s the deal with cheerleading?” she said by way of greeting.

  “Hi, Dylan!” my friends all singsonged. Yuck. But she ignored them.

  “What are you talking about?” I replied, all innocent.

  “I ran into Ceci Shanahan—cute kid, by the way—and she told me you’d tried out for cheerleading this week? I said she had to be mistaken, there was no way Alexis would try out for cheering without consulting me for training and tips.” Dylan stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at me.

  My friends looked nervously between us, back and forth.

  I busied myself with measuring out some flour, and played it all casual. “Well, it was just a fact-finding mission. Like exploratory. You know. No biggie.” I shrugged.

  I could feel Dylan still staring at me.

  “Alexis, I was cheer captain for two years. I can’t imagine that you would try out and not ask for my help. I’m practically a professional. What did you do for your routine? What songs did you do it to? What did you wear? Did you just figure everything out on your own?”

  I glared at her. “Dylan, we are in the middle of a Cupcake Club meeting now, so maybe we could discuss this later.” Like, much later, I thought.

  “All I know is that if you didn’t make the squad, it’s your own fault for not seeking my help, because it’s not something you’d be able to do on your own!” Dylan harrumphed and then spun on her heel and left the room.

  My friends were silent for a moment.

  “So, that was awkward . . . ,” I said with a laugh.

  “Maybe I’m sometimes glad I don’t have an older sister . . . ?” ventured Katie, which broke the ice.

  Mia gasped, “Wow, I know you always say Dylan can be mean, but I’ve never seen it before.”

  I shrugged. “Stick around.”

  “I’ve seen it a lot, but I thought she’d grown out of it,” said Emma. “She was so nice to us when we were planning your party.”

  “Yeah, but that’s because you were all, like, her little fan club, worshiping her,” I said.

  “I guess,” agreed Emma. “Well, big brothers can be just as bad‚worse, even—because they’ll do things like pick you up and lock you in the closet.”

  “Matt wouldn’t do that!” I protested, rising to his defense immediately.

  Emma rolled her eyes. “He might. He does it to Jake sometimes. But Sam’s the one who invented it. He calls it ‘Quiet Time.’ ” Sam was Emma’s oldest brother. He was nice, but he was so old, like eighteen, that we barely ever saw him.

  Katie’s eyes were wide with fear. “I couldn’t take that. I hate the dark!”

  Emma laughed. “You get used to it. The more of a fuss you make, the more they do it, so you just have to kind of tough it out and the appeal wears off. My mom taught me that. She had four older brothers. Can you imagine?” She shuddered.

  I couldn’t imagine having even one, and Emma had two older brothers!

  “What else do they do?” asked Mia. She only has a stepbrother, Daniel, and he’s nice to us—and Mia.

  “One thing they like to do to me is call friends of theirs and tell them I have a crush on them.” Emma rolled her eyes.

  “That is awful! Does Matt do that?” I asked.

  “Mm-hmm,” Emma said with a nod. “Or they’ll hold my things over the toilet, like they’re going to drop them into the water, unless I do what they say.”

  “Wow!” Katie was traumatized.

  “I guess having siblings is a little overrated, right, Katie?” said Mia.

  They laughed. “Totally,” said Katie.

  “Yeah, and at least you’re not being compared to people all the time,” said Emma.

  “Wait, how can you be compared?” I asked in surprise. “They’re all boys!”

  “So?” said Emma. “My parents do it all the time. They pretend they’re not, but they sneak it in. Like ‘Oh, Sam’s so responsible with his schedule; he never forgets appointments,’ or ‘Matt has always done so well in Spanish; I can’t understand why you don’t.’ Stuff like that.”

  “Really?” I said, propping my elbows on the counter and leaning my chin on the heel of my palm. This was fascinating stuff. How had Emma and I never discussed this before?

  Emma nodded. “Sam’s the worst, because they think he’s Mr. Perfect.”

  Mia looked bewildered. “Anyone would think you were perfect too, with all you do.”

  Emma shrugged. “It’s just different in families. You get a role, and it’s hard to break out. I’m the unreliable one.”

  “Whaaat? That’s insane!” said Mia, smacking the counter. “Why? How?”

  Emma laughed. “I don’t know. I guess I went through a phase where I forgot a bunch of stuff and, like, left the oven on once, or whatever. It’s not even accurate anymore. It’s just the role I play in my family. It’s what they all think.”

  Hmmm, I thought. Kind of like Dylan being the “fun one”?

  “Anyway, it’s boring,” said Emma, brushing it off. “I’m used to it by now.”

  Katie came over and hugged Emma. “I think you’re very reliable,” she said.

  “Thanks.” Emma smiled. “Enough about my annoying family. Let’s get this talent show proposal going. Alexis, what do you think we should do?”

  I stood up, filing away Emma’s commentary to think about later.

  “Okay, I’ve been thinking about this since you even mentioned it might be a possibility. We’ll do very simple cupcakes that will appeal to anyone—vanilla base and half with chocolate frosting and half with vanilla. Then we’ll have five little dishes of toppings for customizing, just like you had at my party, but mostly low cost: gummy bears, crushed Oreos, M&M’s, cakefetti, and chopped strawberries. We’ll need two people to run the station, plus a cash box, paper goods, and something like a paper and pen or an iPad to keep track of sales. The paper goods should have a theme like the show, maybe with musical notes or Hollywood stars on them or something. For quantity, I’m thinking if there are probably twenty-five kids in the show, and they each have at least one adult there, so that’s fifty people, plus maybe thirty more for miscellaneous people like teachers and siblings. So, we could make around eight dozen cupcakes. We’ll charge two dollars a cupcake; three dollars if they want to customize. We’ll donate twenty-five percent of the profits to the school for charity. If we sell out—assuming half the people want the three-dollar-topping option—we will make about one hundred and eighty dollars, then subtract the costs, so probably around a one-hundred-and-twenty- or one-hundred-and-thirty-dollar profit. That’s all.”

  Everyone was staring at me when I finished.

  “What?” I asked, blinking.

  “You’re incredible,” said Mia, shaking her head with a look of wonder on her face.

  “How do you just . . . spin that stuff out like that? Like map out a whole proposal off the top of your head? You didn’t forget anything,” Katie said in amazement.

  “And all that math!” added Mia.

  “It’s nothing,” I said. “Come on. You guys are being weird.”

  “It’s pretty impressive, Lex,” agreed Emma. “You are such a clear thinker. So organized.”

  “Ugh.” I shuddered. “I am so tired of being organized and practical and businesslike and whatever else! I want to be fun and peppy and social and creative and wild!” I threw my hands into the air and spun in a circle. When I stopped, my friends were exchanging puzzled glances.

  “But why?” asked Katie. “You’re so great at everything you’re great at. Why try to be great at everything?”

  Because Dylan is? I wanted to say, but I didn’t. “Um, because the Beckers try harder?” That’s our family motto, which all my friends know (and tease me about since it used to be a car rental’s motto).

  “Well, you’re great just as you are, and I t
hink that plan sounds perfect. You’ve thought of everything. If you can type it up just like that and send it, I’m sure the school will let us sell cupcakes at the event,” said Mia.

  “Totally,” Emma agreed with a firm nod.

  “Great!” I exclaimed. “Now let’s do those baby shower cupcakes.”

  After our session, and with Mona’s minis and the baby shower cupcakes stacked neatly in our cupcake carriers, my friends left. We had plans for the next day to see a movie, and I was looking forward to getting my homework out of the way. I was in the middle of a math proof when my mom called us down to dinner.

  “Mmm, broiled teriyaki salmon!” I said, sliding into a chair. “Smells delish!”

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” said my mom.

  Dylan appeared, her face still stormy like before, and my dad sat down, shook out his napkin, and put it across his lap. Then he looked at her. “Everything okay, Dilly?” He glanced at my mom, and she shook her head a little to show she had no idea what was going on.

  I looked down at my plate. Was this going to be some Dylan fit about the cheerleading?

  Dylan gave an aggravated sigh. “Did you know Alexis was trying out for cheerleading at school?”

  My parents turned to me with surprised looks on their faces. “Why, that’s wonderful, Alexis! When are the tryouts?” asked my dad.

  “I’m sure Dylan will be a big help to you!” said my mom, smiling at both of us.

  Dylan glared at me. “Well, I would have been if someone had asked me before she just went ahead willy-nilly and tried out!”

  My mom’s eyebrows went up. “Oh, the tryouts already happened?”

  I shrugged. “Yeah. They were the other day.”

  “How did it go?” asked my dad.

  “Badly. I didn’t make it,” I said, taking a bite of salmon and putting it into my mouth. “It’s okay,” I mumbled.

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full, dear,” scolded my mom. “Why didn’t you ask Dylan for help? She’s a wonderful cheerleader!” My mom beamed at Dylan, who continued to scowl at me.

  “Yeah, why didn’t you ask Dylan for help?” grumbled Dylan.

  I swallowed and put my fork down. “Look, it was a spontaneous decision. I did a bad job, but it was my decision.”

  “Well, now people think the Beckers can’t cheer, so your decision does affect me.”

  “Why does everything always have to be Dylan, Dylan, Dylan!” I cried, flinging my napkin onto the table.

  “Okay, settle down, now, girls. Please finish your dinner nicely, and we will discuss it afterward. There are obviously a lot of strong feelings here, and I’d like to enjoy my meal in peace,” my father said in his rarely used stern voice. He looked at my mother. “And how was your day today, dear?”

  I took a deep breath and gulped down my dinner, then asked if I could please be excused. I put my plate in the dishwasher and stomped back up to my room.

  After a bit, my mom knocked softly on the door.

  “What?” I said flatly.

  She pushed the door open a little. “May I come in, please?”

  I sighed and closed my math book, then swiveled in my chair to look at her. “What?”

  “I just wanted to talk to you about what happened with cheerleading and if you’re okay with it. I also wanted to apologize. Dad and I did make it all about Dylan, and we’re sorry.”

  Whoa! That was a shocker! “Are you serious?” I asked.

  My mom nodded. “We realized that lately we’ve talked her up too much, and it was wrong of us.”

  “Well, she is perfect!” I said sarcastically.

  My mom shook her head. “No one’s perfect. And you never know what’s going on in someone’s life that can make them react certain ways. Like right now Dylan’s feeling a little insecure at school, and Dad and I are building her up, trying to make her feel better.”

  “Wait, what?” You could have knocked me over with a feather. “What does Dylan have to feel insecure about?”

  My mom shrugged. “I think Dylan wants to keep that private for now, but just know that Dylan and her life are certainly not perfect, and we did not mean to give you the impression that we think she is, in any way.” My mom looked down at her hands. “You know, when I was your age and dancing twenty-four seven, I would always compare myself to the other dancers. It’s the ballet way of life—you feel like you’re never enough. Never thin enough, never graceful enough, never disciplined enough. It’s almost like modeling—it makes you crazy about factors you sometimes can’t control, like the bend of your kneecaps!” My mom laughed. “Boy, was I insecure about my knees!” She looked down at her legs. “The time I wasted worrying about these knobby little guys . . . !”

  I laughed. “Seriously, Mom?”

  “Yes, and these two older girls were always being held up by our teachers as having the prettiest turnouts and lines, and they had these perfect hyperextended knees. . . .”

  “Mom, you sound like a crazy person!”

  “Exactly!” She laughed. “See what I mean? Don’t try to be someone you’re not or force yourself into things that are not your passions.”

  I thought of the cheerleading (cringe fest) and the running and fashion club and the makeup and slowly nodded. “It’s just that I’m so boring. I mean, I got measuring cups and a calculator for my birthday . . . from my best friends!”

  My mom patted my leg. “You’re lucky your friends know you so well. Imagine how furious you would have been if they’d given you expensive hair product or some frivolous scarf or something. You’d say your very best friends didn’t know you at all!”

  I had to laugh. “True.”

  “And you’d be mad that they overspent! You’d probably track down the same item somewhere else for less money, just to prove a point to them!”

  Now I was really laughing. “You got me there!”

  “Look, you have strong interests and talents in business and also in ballroom dance. You know, there are even colleges that have competitive ballroom-dance teams.”

  “Really?”

  My mom nodded. “If you’re looking to be a better you, why don’t you focus on the things you love? Get even more immersed in them? And maybe there are one or two other things you’ve always enjoyed but haven’t spent the time on. Think about that for a bit too.”

  I nodded slowly. “Okay. Will you help me come up with a plan?”

  “I’d love to,” agreed my mom.

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Love you, sweetheart. Just focus on being the best Alexis you can be. That’s all we could ever hope for.”

  After she left, I took a homework break and went over to my new planner from Emma. I actually preferred it to my bulky old Franklin Planner. It was useful and stylish.

  I looked at the goals list and long-term projects column, and I wrote “Ballroom Dance.” Then I wrote “Business Skills Development.” I wanted to add one more thing, just to be well-rounded, but I wasn’t sure what.

  I closed the book, satisfied for the moment, and returned to my desk for my homework. I hated wasting potential study time on a weekend. After all, my family role was “the organized one.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Surprises

  The next morning I got up early and wrote the proposal for the talent show cupcakes and sent it off. It was only six days away so we needed a quick commitment in order to slot it into our baking schedule.

  Then I got out my planner and brainstormed for an additional hobby—something that might become my trademark or my passion. Something that would be all mine, not Dylan’s. I tried to think of things I’d really enjoyed doing over the years, and I made a list:

  Working on my mom’s dollhouse

  . redecorate it with her?

  Learning a dance with my dad for Dylan’s birthday party

  . take ballroom dance, with or without my dad

  Getting a kitten

  . volunteer at pet shelter?

  Coming up with business ide
as

  . work with Matt?

  Ice-skating

  . more lessons?

  Gingerbread house building

  . gingerbread house business?

  Geodes

  . rock club? geology club after school?

  I read over the list and found it very satisfying. (I love making lists! Maybe I should start a list-making club at school!) As I was tapping my pen against my chin, I heard the doorbell ring downstairs. Looking for a distraction, I popped my head out of my room and listened. There were some voices, and my mom was laughing. And saying, “Oh my!” Then she was calling for my dad.

  Intrigued, I jogged down the stairs, and right in front of me were two moving men with a piano!

  What?

  “Mom, do they have the wrong address?” I called.

  She turned, laughing. “Nope. It’s for you! Read this!” she said, and held out a note to me.

  Dear Alexis,

  We are so sorry we couldn’t make it to your birthday party. I’m sending you my most beloved treasure: my piano. It’s all freshly tuned and ready to go. Remember when we used to play for hours? I hope you remember everything I taught you, but even if you don’t, I have a feeling you’ll pick it up again very quickly. You are so bright and special!

  Lots of love,

  Granny

  “What? Is this for real?” I gasped.

  My mom nodded as my dad appeared in the hall.

  “Wow!” he said. “What’s next? A marching band?”

  I clapped my hands in excitement and gave a little hop in place. I loved playing the piano with my granny. Whenever we had gone to my grandparents’ house—which had been a lot when we were little—my granny and I had played. My mom had bought a little keyboard for me to use at home, but at some point, it broke, and it was never as nice a playing on my grandmother’s big, beautiful piano anyway.

  I couldn’t believe I didn’t have playing the piano on my list! I ran back upstairs to add it while the movers got the piano situated in the living room.

  Piano playing

  . take lessons, practice

  There! I wrote “#1” next to it and circled it. I would start with piano.