by Coco Simon
My flyers looked awesome too. Matt had done them for me using the real calorie count label, like the one you find on the back of a food or drink product, just as I’d imagined. He did one for the “fake” cakes and one for the healthy cakes—with and without frosting. The differences were significant. Then I did an overview on childhood obesity and the rise of diabetes, with lots of scary statistics and what we can all do to make healthier choices. I took my mom’s advice and bought party tablecloths to drape over my table. They were an oversize blue-and-white gingham, with matching plates, cups, and napkins. The cupcake wrappers on the healthy cakes were silver foil, so it all looked good together, while the ones on the boxed-mix cakes were an ugly pale yellow. Then I bought two dozen blue-and-white helium balloons and tied them to the corners of my table, so people could see them from anywhere in the room. It was eye-catching, for sure.
My friends took turns handing out flyers for me as I fielded questions about my thesis (“Cupcakes Can Be Good for You!”) and gave out samples. I was holding back twelve cupcakes of each kind for the judges (two were extra, just to be safe), so I cut the other few dozen into slices so people could have a nibble.
Every single person made a face after they tried the boxed-mix cupcakes, I was happy to see. I tried to be diplomatic, saying, “Look, people are busy, we rush for the mix, figuring it’s just this once. But kids eat them ‘just this once,’ like, twenty or thirty times a year. Real cupcakes don’t take long at all, and there’s no reason not to make them taste good, even if they are healthy.” People were nodding, and I have to admit, I was glad I’d thought to bring the remainder of the promotional flyers Matt had made for us. I handed out every last one of them.
I had seen Matt and Samantha when we were all let into the gymnasium, but their table was at the opposite end from me. By midmorning, the Cupcakers went to tour the other exhibits, and suddenly, Matt appeared and inspected everything. “Looking good, Alexis. Even your outfit!”
I’d worn blue pants, a white top, blue sneakers, and a blue-and-white gingham apron. I blushed and thanked him.
“You look ready to go on QVC and sell your wares!” he said.
“Hey, don’t joke! That’s my goal!” I said with a grin. “How’s it going at your end?”
“Pretty good. Our thing is a little boring. I mean, people get it and say nice things, but we don’t have any treats like this.” He gestured to the cupcakes.
“Want one?” I asked.
“From which platter?” he said.
I shrugged. “One from each?”
“Thanks!”
He gobbled them down as he stood there, and when he had finished, I said, “Which kind did you like better?”
“Wait, were they different?” he asked.
My heart dropped. “Couldn’t you tell? It’s the whole point of the—”
“Kidding!” he said, breaking into a grin. “The fake one is gross. Way too sugary. But let me know if you have any left over, anyway. I’m sure I could force some down.”
I giggled and then poured him a cup of water from my pitcher to wash down the cupcakes. “Very funny!” I singsonged.
And then suddenly he let out a loud burp.
“You are too gross,” I said, laughing and shaking my head sadly at the same time. “Just when I think . . .”
“What?” he asked, suddenly all serious. “Just when you think what?”
There was a split second of tension as I debated whether I should tell him what I really thought, but I chickened out. Why go there here and now, I thought. Save it for another day.
“Just when I think the judges are coming to see me! Now scram!” I cried, shooing him away.
I wasn’t kidding. The group of judges had just rounded the corner of my aisle, and I was the second table. I hastened to straighten everything up, wiping crumbs off the table into a napkin, throwing away discarded paper cups and plates, shuffling my flyers to put the freshest one on top and squaring off the pile, and fluffing my balloons. I was in go mode and wanted everything perfect. I did adore Matt, but it was all about my work now.
I freshened the platter of cupcakes and spun it so the most delectable-looking ones were on the outside. Then I finger-brushed my hair, nervously poured myself some water and had a quick cool drink, and then they were there!
I introduced myself and gave my two-minute presentation. I offered cupcake samples to everyone, and they graciously took them, with some people trying bites right then, and some not. (How could you not? I wondered.) They asked some hard questions, I answered pretty thoroughly, they nodded and made all kinds of notes on their clipboards, and then they were off to the next table.
Suddenly, the Cupcakers were swarming around me.
“Lex! How did it go?” Katie asked.
“We watched from afar. We didn’t want to come back and interrupt you,” Emma said.
“You looked superpro!” Mia cheered.
I smiled and then let out a deep sigh of satisfaction. “I think it went really well. Whether I win or not, I’m psyched. It was the best presentation I could have done. I’m proud. Thank you all so much for your help. I could not have done it without you.”
“What’s up with the Lurker?” asked Emma, gesturing with her thumb behind her. Matt popped his head up from behind Emma and gave me a thumbs-up, and we all laughed.
“More like the Burper!” I said.
“Oh, boys are so gross,” agreed Emma.
“Come see my table!” called Matt.
I looked at the other girls, unsure of what to do.
“You’ve got this,” Mia said quietly.
“Go for it,” said Emma.
“While you’re riding high from your triumphant presentation,” Katie said.
“Oh, what the heck, right?” I said cheerfully. “Please watch my booth, girls!” I ducked out from behind my table as they stepped into place to cover for me.
Matt looked surprised but definitely pleased I’d agreed, and he stuck out his elbow for me to hook my hand into so he could escort me down the aisle. I wanted to die, but I was also thrilled and terrified.
I was too nervous to look at any of the other exhibits as we passed, and I felt bad, since some of my friends were calling out to me. I just kept my eyes fixed on the horizon and enjoyed the sensation of floating with my hand on his warm arm.
All too soon, we were at Matt and Samantha’s booth. It was kind of cheerful, and their model of the closed loop was big and impressive.
“Wow!” I said genuinely.
Samantha smiled. “Hi, Alexis. Do you like it?” she asked nervously.
I was pleased she knew my name. She could easily have forgotten it or pretended to not have known it.
“Hi, Samantha. It’s really cool! How did you guys do this?” Once we were actually talking, I felt much calmer.
Samantha told me with excitement all about their theory and project, and I nodded along, even after she lost me halfway through her explanation. She also thanked me profusely for the cupcakes I had dropped off as a thank-you for her dad the week before. I’d been so nervous, my knees had knocked together at their door, but he had been really psyched and happy.
“Do you really like the model?” Matt asked after.
“Yes. It’s great. You guys really know what you’re doing, I can tell.” Honestly, it was pretty dull to me, but I’m sure if you were a systems person, it was cool.
“Thanks!” Matt said happily. “Here, have a mint!” He offered me a bowl of wrapped candies.
“Thanks,” I said, taking one and unwrapping it to pop into my mouth.
“Well, I should get back to my booth. I don’t have a partner who can give my speech for me.”
“It makes it a lot easier. Especially if you ask the best computer student in your class,” agreed Samantha.
Matt smiled. “That’s debatable.”
My stomach clutched for a second, but when I stopped to think about it, I really didn’t think I sensed anything between them
.
“Good luck, you guys!” I said. “Thanks for the mint!”
“Thanks for the cupcakes!” replied Matt. “I’ll come find you after!”
“Okay,” I agreed. Okay!
You could have knocked me over with a feather when I won.
I mean this really and truly from the bottom of my heart: I did not think I was going to win. I knew I did my presentation well, and certainly, edible treats never hurt. But what the judges told my science teacher they liked was my attention to detail, and also that my topic was timely and related to kids.
The prize was five hundred dollars!
But the real prize was that Matt Taylor hugged me when I won.
And so did my friends.
That night, Emma called me after dinner. My mom had made steak to celebrate my win, which was kind of ironic as it is not exactly healthy, so she never serves it. But I do love it!
“Lex!” Emma said in an urgent whisper.
“What?” I whispered back urgently.
“I have some news for you.”
“What?” I whispered. “Good or bad?”
“Good,” whispered Emma.
“Do we have to keep whispering?”
“Well, you don’t,” Emma murmured.
“Okay, what is it?” I asked in a normal voice.
“At dinner tonight, my parents were talking about how great your project was and how psyched and proud they were that you won, and Matt said, ‘I wish she had asked me to be her partner.’ Can you believe it?”
“Really? Seriously?”
“Yup!” Emma wasn’t whispering anymore.
“Well, maybe he just wanted to be on the winning team?” I said.
“Oh, Lex. He went into a whole thing about how Samantha is so aggressive and she asked him to be her lab partner, and he wanted to be with Tommy Humphries, but it was awkward because Tommy was across the room, so he had to say yes to Samantha. Then she pushed him into doing the project with him, and it wasn’t that fun or interesting and get this”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“he said, ‘Things are always fun with Alexis.’ ”
I sat at my desk, openmouthed in shock.
“Lex?”
“Did he really say that, or are you making it up?”
“Alexis Becker, if you call me a liar one more time, I am hanging up! Seriously, you’re being ridiculous!”
“Sorry, sorry, sorry. Wow. That’s . . . that’s so nice. I’m flattered.”
“Yeah, well, then guess what I said?”
“What?”
“I said, ‘I thought you were all into Samantha Perry. She’s into you!’ And he said, ‘I didn’t realize it until she asked me to Martine’s sweet sixteen. And that’s when I had to say no. I just didn’t want to give her the wrong idea. I mean, she’s a great science student and all, but a sweet sixteen is a date, and I’m not going there.’ ”
“This is such awesome news! I’m pinching myself right now!” I squealed.
“It gets even better! So, I said, ‘She’s really pretty though, right?’ ”
“Emma! You traitor!” I cried.
“No, I just wanted to be sure I left no stone unturned, you know. So, he said, ‘Well, she’s not my type.’ ”
“So, what’s his type?” I begged.
Emma laughed. “Well, that’s exactly what I said! And then Sam was teasing him and said, ‘Sporty, redheaded, cute, likes to bake . . .’ And we all laughed . . .”
“Thanks a lot! Now your whole family is mocking me! I’m hanging up!”
“Stop! Get this—Matt just smiled! Normally, he would have killed Sam!”
“Wait, really?”
“Yup! Happy early birthday! That’s your present! You’re Matt’s type!”
“That is the best present ever! Thank you so much!”
“My pleasure. Glad to be of service,” joked Emma.
“Wow. What a great day,” I said happily.
“I know. Congrats, dude!” said Emma.
“Thanks. Thanks for being such a great pal. Even if you are a model!”
“Now, I’m the one hanging up!” teased Emma.
I sat there, beaming and hugging myself. What awesome news. I guess it is true what Katie said: There is always more than meets the eye. I need to stop jumping to conclusions and just relax and live my life, and things will work out! Realizing this was even better than the news about Matt or the award.
There’s always more than meets the eye. I guess I have a new motto!
Want another sweet cupcake?
Here’s a sneak peek of the next book in the
series:
Katie
just
desserts
S’More Surprises
Steady, Mia,” I told one of my best friends.
That’s because Mia Vélaz-Cruz was using a blowtorch, which is unusual for Mia since she’s more likely to be holding a makeup brush or a sketch pencil or a sewing needle. She’s very creative and artistic. And that’s what she was using the blowtorch for—to make art. Out of cake frosting.
The community college near our town, Maple Grove, had announced a baking contest a few weeks ago for kids ages ten to seventeen. You had to first send in a recipe for a cake, and if your recipe was chosen, you were invited to the college to bake your cake in their kitchens in the final contest round.
As soon as Mia and I heard about the contest, we knew we wanted to enter. We’re part of a cupcake baking business with our friends Alexis Becker and Emma Taylor called the Cupcake Club. Emma knew she had a modeling gig the day of the contest, and Alexis had a school business club fair she was helping to run, so Mia and I entered together.
Each baker was allowed one helper, and Mia and I agreed that I should bake and she should help. We’re a good team that way. I am food obsessed, so I’m good at coming up with recipes. And Mia can make any food look mouthwateringly delicious.
So, the recipe I came up with was a s’mores cake—a chocolate cake with layers of fudge and crumbled graham crackers in between. But the best part of the cake was the marshmallow frosting, which would top the cake with soft, fluffy peaks and then browned with a blowtorch for that toasted marshmallow taste.
When Mia and I submitted the recipe, we hadn’t thought too much about the blowtorch part. It looked easy when chefs used them on TV. But in real life, a blowtorch is kind of scary.
Luckily, monitors from the college were walking around the kitchens, making sure none of us kids were hurting ourselves with knives or stoves—or blowtorches. One of them walked over when he saw Mia holding the blowtorch.
“Do you know how to use that?” he asked.
“My stepdad, Eddie, showed me how,” Mia replied. “He said it’s the wimpiest blowtorch he could find, and I just have to twist it a tiny bit to let the flame come out. Like this.”
Mia twisted the end, and a small flame burst from the torch.
The monitor nodded. “Good job,” he said.
As he looked on, Mia carefully burned the tips of the marshmallow peaks so they turned a toasty brown color. Soon, our kitchen smelled just like a campfire!
“That’s perfect, Mia!” I cried, clapping, and I saw the monitor smile.
An announcement came over the loudspeaker. “Five minutes until judging!”
I looked around our kitchen area. The college had a teaching kitchen for their cooking students. We each had a stainless-steel table as a work area, and an oven. Right now, our table was strewn with flour, powdered chocolate, and some spilled egg whites.
“I’ll clean this up,” I said. “Mia, just make the cake look as beautiful as possible!”
“You got it,” Mia replied. “Katie, it already looks and smells awesome. I think we could win.”
As I straightened up, I looked around the kitchen. Nine other contestants had made it to the finals. A few of the kids looked younger than Mia and I, who are in middle school. Most of the kids looked like they were in high school. And I had to admit, some of the ca
kes looked amazing. This one girl had a white layer cake with these beautiful flowers and butterflies made out of fondant, a paste made out of sugar, all over it.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Some of the cakes out there look amazing.”
“Well, I think it all comes down to a matter of personal taste with these things, sometimes,” Mia said. “Who are the judges, again?”
“There are five judges,” I told her. “Two are professors here at the college, and then they got three food experts from the community. That’s what the entry form said. I didn’t read it too carefully.”
I’m not exactly what you’d call a detail-oriented person. I knew that I had to make an amazing cake and that the prize was five hundred dollars. That’s all I needed to know, right?
I noticed that I was nervously tapping my purple sneaker on the floor. I took a deep breath. This was it! We had baked our hearts out. I knew my cake was delicious. And thanks to Mia, it was beautiful. There was nothing left to do but wait to be judged.
I glanced at my station. The stainless steel gleamed brightly, and the cake looked perfect on a black pedestal cake stand. There wasn’t a stray crumb or fleck of icing anywhere.
Mia looked around. “Do you think this is what it will be like when you go to cooking school?”
“I guess,” I said. (Mia and I had a dream: After high school, we would both go to school in Manhattan. I would train to be a chef at one of the big cooking schools in New York, and Mia would go to one of the fashion schools there.) “This is a pretty nice kitchen. I don’t know if the school in New York will be fancier than this.”
“This is good practice, anyway,” Mia said. “We should enter the contest every year.”
Then we heard another announcement. “Let the judging begin!”
A bunch of judges wearing white chef’s coats entered the kitchen. A woman with a blond ponytail approached our table first. She was smiling and looked nice, so I relaxed a little—just a little.