She’s right. Near the windows is a whole wall of rocks with water cascading down, collecting in a stone pool.
Annie is already there, sitting at a table by herself. She waves to us and Dad waves back. Chloe hurries over to join her.
“Hi, Hayley!” Annie says brightly when she sees me, like we’re old friends.
“Hi.”
Dad bends over and gives Annie a quick kiss, then takes the chair beside her. Sitting across from them, I can see that they aren’t as strange a couple as I first thought. My dad’s hair is dark and graying slightly at the temples, which makes his blue eyes seem bright. He’s wearing a purple button-down shirt and dark jeans that look new, and I wonder if Annie helped him pick them out. Anyway, the clothes make him look younger, and I realize suddenly that my dad is handsome. I guess I’ve never thought about it before. He’s handsome and young-looking, and now he has this pretty, young girlfriend, and I can’t help feeling like he’s someone I’ve never met.
“So, what would you girls like to drink?” Dad asks, once the waitress has handed us our menus.
“Ginger ale,” Chloe says, fast as a bullet.
“I’ll take the dollar,” I say.
Annie lifts her eyebrows and looks at my dad, who turns red and starts to dig in his back pocket for his wallet. Two years ago, my dad offered me and Chloe a deal — every time we skip ordering drinks in a restaurant, we get a dollar. It’s supposed to teach us about saving money or something, but a dollar is usually less than what a drink costs, so he comes out ahead. It’s funny — Dad doesn’t mind spending money on stuff that looks good, like a fancy apartment or a nice car. But when it comes to paying for a soda or a bottle of water, forget it.
“Spend it wisely,” Dad says when he hands over the dollar. It’s what he always says.
“I will.” I always spend my money on cupcake ingredients, which I think is at least borderline wise.
“What’s in there?” Annie eyes the white box that I’ve propped on my plate. I fiddle with the red-and-white bakery string.
“Cupcakes. I thought we could have them for dessert.”
“Ooh, I love cupcakes!”
“She made them,” Chloe pipes up.
“You made them? Let’s see.” Annie peers over the table curiously.
I hesitate a moment, but finally pull the string. I lift the lid and tilt the box toward Annie. The dim candlelight makes her eyes glow as she takes a look at the cupcakes.
“Beautiful,” she breathes. “What flavor?”
“Gingered pumpkin,” I say. “With chocolate frosting.”
“Sounds fantastic.” My dad smiles. “You’re really improving.”
I’m really improving. It’s true — the frosting is even and I put a light touch of colored sugar on top to give it some sparkle. Still, the comment bugs me. I know he means it as a compliment, but it sounds like he thinks I’m a kid trying to learn how to roller-skate.
Annie is still looking down at the cupcakes. “Where did you get the recipe?”
“I made it up.”
“She makes the best cupcakes,” Chloe gushes, and I want to hug her.
Annie looks at me, thoughtful. “I’ve never baked anything,” she says. “Unless you can make it from a mix.” She laughs a little, and I close the box and tie it up.
“Annie has something for you girls,” Dad announces. Annie looks a little embarrassed, but reaches for a small shopping bag hooked onto her chair.
“It’s nothing. Just —” She hands over two small packages, one for Chloe, one for me. Naturally, Chloe rips hers open in less than half a second.
“Oh, thank you!” she exclaims when she sees the black notebook and colored pencils. “I love drawing!”
“It’s nothing,” Annie says again, waving her hand, but she smiles, clearly pleased.
Chloe immediately spills the pencils out of their decorative tin case, running her fingers over the beautiful colors. They’re slim and elegant, and it looks like Annie bought them in a real art store. I wonder how she knew that my sister loved drawing. I didn’t even really know … not until that very minute, when Chloe said so.
“Open yours, Hayley,” Dad says.
“It’s just a token,” Annie puts in.
I can tell by the shape that it’s a book, and I’m not surprised to see pages when I tear off the corner. But I am surprised by the title: Amber Violetta, Teen Star! Totally Unauthorized Biography!
Wow.
Amber Violetta.
I really hate her music.
“Thank you,” I say.
“I was always reading books about pop stars when I was your age,” Annie spews. “Of course, they were all Thai! But I really loved to know all about them.”
“This is great.” I’m a liar, but what else can I say?
“Annie picked it out especially for you.” Dad’s eyes are heavy with meaning.
“Thanks so much,” I repeat, failing to make it sound like this is The Present I’ve Been Dying for My Entire Life.
“It’s nothing,” Annie says, and then thank goodness the waitress comes over to take our order. I stash the book and the box beneath my seat.
Dad has to help Chloe with the menu — lots of the words are in French — and Annie and I lock eyes briefly over the candle flame. She smiles, but it’s an expression that seems almost like an apology. I look away.
She knows I hate the book.
It only takes about thirty seconds for me to regret coming to Alex’s party. It’s packed — I guess the whole school found out about it — and loud. Music is blaring in the enormous living room, echoing off the cathedral ceilings, and a bunch of kids are crammed around the snack table in the dining room, off to the right. Nobody is dressed as their favorite mascot, but a lot of the girls seem like they’re dressed up. I’m seeing a few dresses, a couple of sequined tank tops. Everyone’s hair looks done. I feel suddenly self-conscious in my T-shirt and jeans.
“Do I look okay?” I ask Artie.
She shrugs. “You look fine.”
Fine. Not the reassurance I was hoping for. Artie, on the other hand, looks fantastic. She’s wearing a flowered tunic over a pair of leggings, and her hair falls in loose waves around her face.
Why didn’t I ask what she was wearing? I wonder, feeling like the nerdy younger sister dragged along to a high school party. And, at the same time, I wonder why Artie didn’t tell me that she was going to get dressed up. By the time Mom and I picked her up to take her to the party, it was too late for me to change.
Chang waves from the middle of the living room. Artie rushes over to her, plunging into the thick of the pulsing dance floor. I hang back. I don’t feel like having a shouted non-conversation with Chang and Artie, and I don’t want to just follow my best friend around all night.
But I can’t just stand in the front foyer, either, so I head in the other direction — to the snack table. I say hey to Ellie Fisk and LaShonda Joyner and survey the snacks. There’s nothing that really interests me — everything looks like it just came out of a bag. I’m debating whether or not to take a handful of chips when someone hovers at my shoulder.
“Is there something to drink over here?” Kyle Kempner smiles at me, and I wonder if he even realizes who I am, or if I’m just a giant blur to him.
“Yeah, punch,” I say. It’s neon pink and looks like it might be radioactive, and I wonder if I should warn him. I guess all punch looks like this. “Want me to get some for you?”
“Oh, Fred!” He smiles, recognizing my voice. “That would be great.” His blond hair is spiked out in crazy pyramids, and he’s dressed all in black.
I’m wondering if he’s gone punk, which would be kind of weird, but actually looks good on him. “I like your hair.”
“I’m dressed as a Hissy Fit,” he says. “That’s what I voted for.”
“Oh, I get it.”
I hand him the drink, and he says, “Thanks. Nobody else is dressed up, are they?”
“Not exactly
,” I admit, feeling a little bad for him.
“I knew they wouldn’t. People are so lame.”
“I’m wearing a shirt with an octopus on it,” I say. “I voted for the Giant Squids.”
“And that, Hayley, is why you are the coolest girl at Adams.” He takes a sip of his neon-pink punch and smiles at me.
Someone thinks I’m the coolest girl at Adams? I’m so surprised that I can’t even think of a response.
Marco appears at that moment, and I give him a huge smile, but he barely nods at me. “Hey, Kyle.” Marco puts a hand on his shoulder. “Pete is looking for you.”
“Where is he?”
“Sitting at the bottom of the stairs. Turn right as you walk out of this room. Need me to take you?”
“I’ve got it. Great talking to you, Hayley.” Kyle smiles and takes off, and I’m impressed at how easily he navigates his way through the crowded room.
Marco and I are left staring at each other. “I didn’t know you were going to come,” I say.
Marco shrugs and looks over my head. “Didn’t have anything else to do.”
That stings, and suddenly I’m dying for a change of subject. “Chloe and I had dinner with Dad and Annie tonight.”
Marco looks down at me, his dark eyes softening a bit. “How did it go?”
“She gave me a biography of Amber Violetta.”
“She called that one wrong.”
“I know.”
“At least she’s trying.”
I sigh.
“Too bad people can’t be exactly how you want them to be, Hayley,” Marco says, and walks away.
I stare after him, trying to figure out what he meant. “How do I want them to be?” I ask the empty air.
“How do you want what to be?” Meghan asks, smiling, as if I’m about to tell her a joke. She’s sneaked up on me, which isn’t hard, given that the volume in this room is deafening.
“Oh, nothing. It was just a …” I glance after Marco, who’s talking to a bunch of his guy friends in the next room. Ignoring me.
“Random thought?”
“Yeah.”
I’m really liking Meghan’s look. She’s wearing a black dress and pink-and-black striped tights with chunky Mary Janes. She points to my shirt. “Did you vote for the Squids?”
“Yep.”
“Awesome!”
“Too bad we lost.”
“I feel like I won. We got rid of the Pintos.”
“Thanks to you.”
“Meh.” One shoulder rises, then dips. “It’s something everyone had complained about for years. I’m just the one who made up a petition. So, what’s the matter — you don’t dance?” She nods toward the living room.
I look out at the mass of people moving to the beat, and suddenly feel sick. There. Right there, in the corner. It’s Devon. He’s talking to a girl, his hand pressed against the wall behind her, his face close to hers. She laughs at something he says, and when he moves slightly to the right, I realize that the girl is Artie.
“Hey,” Meghan says after a moment. She puts a gentle hand on my arm. “Hey, are you okay? You look kind of …”
“Fine.” But my voice is a whisper, like a ghost of my real voice.
“You don’t look fine. Let’s go outside.” I look at her face, and her eyes are honest, concerned. “You need some air.”
And I’m suddenly glad that Meghan is a little bossy, because she takes my arm and guides me out through the back door, which is just what I needed, but didn’t know it. Then I’m standing on the deck, blinking back tears and trying to clear my hot, fuzzy throat, but the cool air feels good.
There are a few kids in the backyard, talking. Meghan steers me away from them, down the long asphalt driveway. Alex’s house is in a development on the edge of nowhere, bordered by forest. I had noticed the darkness growing as Mom drove farther and farther from Northampton. There’s only one streetlamp on his block, and as Meghan and I start up the sidewalk, I wonder if a bear might lumber across our path. When do they sleep? I wonder. Aside from all winter. My mind shifts from sadness to fear with only a slight click, like a dial being turned.
“Look at all the stars,” Meghan says, and when I follow her gaze, I realize that she’s right. So many stars, and they look larger than they do at home. The moon, too, is full, and after a minute, my eyes have adjusted and I realize that it’s not as dark as I thought.
“Isn’t it amazing to think about how old they are?” Meghan’s face is turned toward the sky, her long neck creating a graceful curve in the darkness. “It takes the light millions of years to reach us. Some of these stars haven’t existed for centuries, but we can still see them.”
“Like ghosts.”
“Only their light is real. Real for us.”
“But that’s what a ghost is, right? Something that’s still real for whoever’s seeing it. Even if it doesn’t exist anymore.”
She turns to me. “You’re deep, Hayley.”
“I’m not trying to be.”
Some of the houses are lit up, and I can see inside. Empty rooms or families gathered around the TV sets. “I have a crush on this guy.” I don’t know what makes me say this, but it comes out in a rush.
Meghan waits for me to go on.
“It’s Devon. I never told Artie about it, and now …”
“… maybe it’s too late,” Meghan finishes.
“Yeah.”
“You think she likes him?”
“I don’t know. But I think he likes her, so I’m not sure it matters.” I think about Devon leaning close to Artie, her face turned to his, and wonder if I’m a liar.
“That’s … bad.” We start around the curve of the cul-de-sac, which will eventually lead us right back where we started. “But Artie is your best friend, right?”
“Of course.”
“So — what can you do?”
Exactly. “How’s Ben?”
“You remembered!” She laughs, clearly delighted to talk about her own crush. “He’s at home. His parents never let him come to parties.”
“What is it that you like about him?”
“Oh.” She bends to pick up a twig. “Remember that trip to the planetarium? He sat next to me.” She breaks the stick in half, tosses it away. “He’s so interesting. He’s” — she shakes her head — “different. We were talking about the universe, and God, and … So — why do you like Devon?”
“He almost helped me pick up my books once.”
Meghan laughs, a sound like a silver bell, and I realize how dumb I must sound. But she doesn’t tease me. Instead she says, “Sweet guy.”
“That’s what I thought.”
We’ve arrived at Alex’s house again, which shines brilliantly in the darkness. Movement and noise flow from the building like a pulse. “Do you want to go back inside?” Meghan asks.
“No.”
“Should we walk more?”
I think about the possibility of bears and decide the party is worse right now. “Do you mind?”
“I’d love it,” Meghan says, and her smile tells me that she means it.
So we walk back into the dark night, letting the noise of the party fade behind us.
Heartsick Puppies
(makes approximately 12 cupcakes)
These cupcakes are based on my Omi’s stollen recipe, which she would make for breakfast year-round. She was a great baker, just like Gran. I used pine nuts, because I was thinking of my old house on Pine Street, I guess, and the way that Artie and I used to be so close … right in each other’s backyards. I wonder if I would have told her about my crush if I still lived there. Maybe.
Maybe.
INGREDIENTS:
1 cup milk
1 teaspoon apple cider vinegar
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
2/3 cup sugar
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extrac
t
1/2 teaspoon almond extract
1/3 cup canola oil
1/3 cup pine nuts, finely ground (just put them in the blender or food processor)
1/4 cup chopped pine nuts
1/2 cup minced candied citrus peel (orange and lemon)
INSTRUCTIONS:
Preheat the oven to 350°F. Line a muffin pan with cupcake liners.
Whisk the milk and vinegar in a small bowl, and set aside for a few minutes to get good and curdled.
In a large bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt, and mix.
In a separate large bowl, mix the curdled milk with the sugar.
Add in the vanilla extract, almond extract, oil, and ground pine nuts. Then, blend with a whisk or handheld mixer. Add the dry ingredients a little bit at a time, stopping occasionally to scrape the sides of the bowl, and mix until no lumps remain.
Fold in the chopped pine nuts and candied citrus peel.
Fill cupcake liners two-thirds of the way and bake for 20–22 minutes. Transfer to a cooling rack, and let cool completely before frosting with vanilla frosting (see recipe).
I walk into homeroom and place the tray of cupcakes on Ms. Anderson’s desk. “Is this okay?” I ask.
She barely looks up from her paperwork. “Did you bring one for me?”
“I brought one for everyone.”
“Then it’s fine,” she says. “You can place mine right here.” She indicates a spot away from her papers. Ms. Anderson stands up. “Everyone, take your seats. As you can see, we have some treats here, courtesy of Hayley. Anyone who wants one can come up in an orderly fashion —”
She can’t even finish the sentence. Chairs scrape the floors as everyone dashes to the front of the room. “I said orderly!” Ms. Anderson insists. “Is this orderly?” But no one is listening. It reminds me of the time Chloe and I went to see a piranha feeding at the aquarium — all crazy movement and gobbling.
“I love cupcakes for breakfast!” Raviv Godhi takes a huge bite and grins at me with a gooey smile.
“What flavor is it?” Chang asks.
“Stollen — it’s this German Christmas cake ….”
“You’re a demented genius!”
Confectionately Yours #1: Save the Cupcake! Page 8