by Coco Simon
“Ooh! ‘S’mores Cake,’ ” she said, reading aloud from the recipe card posted at our station. “What a clever idea. I was a Girl Scout, you know.”
Mia nudged me, and we were both thinking the same thing. We had definitely won this judge over!
She carefully cut a thin slice of cake, put it on a plate, and took a bite.
“Very moist,” she said. “The cookie crumble adds some nice texture. And the toasted marshmallow is wonderful.”
“Thank you!” Mia and I said together, and I felt like I was beaming from head to toe.
The next judge was a short woman who wore her brown hair in a bun. She didn’t smile at us. She read the recipe card and then tasted the cake. She nodded, put down the plate, and then started writing in a little pad. She didn’t say a word to us!
“Oh boy,” Mia said as the second judge walked away. “Does that mean she didn’t like it?”
“I’m not sure,” I whispered back. “Maybe that’s just her judging style.”
The next judge who walked up was a tall guy with dark hair. He looked vaguely familiar. And then I noticed his name tag: MARC DONALD BROWN.
That’s when the whole world froze around me.
Marc Donald Brown is my dad.
My dad, who left me and my mom when I was really little.
My dad, who moved back to New Jersey recently with a whole new family.
My dad, who e-mailed me saying he wanted to meet me, but I turned him down. I wasn’t ready.
And here he was, judging my cake.
Marc Donald Brown was smiling when he came to the table. Then he looked at me. I was wearing a name tag too: KATIE BROWN.
Marc Donald Brown got a weird look on his face. We both stared at each other.
Then my legs took on a life of their own. Some primal instinct took over and I ran. I ran as fast as I could out of that room, and I didn’t look back.
So Awkward!
I stood outside in the college courtyard, gasping for air. I fumbled for my cell phone in my apron pocket and dialed the number of my mom’s dental practice.
“Oh, hey, Katie,” Joanne, the receptionist, said cheerfully.
“Can I talk to her?” I asked.
“Sorry, your mom’s in the middle of a tooth extraction,” Joanne said. “Are you okay? You sound upset.”
“No, no, I’m . . .” I couldn’t quite bring myself to say I was fine. Because I definitely wasn’t.
“I’ll have her call you back as soon as she gets out, okay, hon?” Joanne asked.
“Yeah, sure,” I said. I ended the call and sat down on a bench. I needed to collect my thoughts.
Mia raced up to me.
“Oh my gosh, Katie! I wasn’t sure why you ran out, and then I saw the name on the judge, and I figured it out,” she said. She put her arm around me. “You must be freaking out.”
“I am,” I said. I looked at her. “Mia, I’m sorry. I can’t go back in there. Forget the contest. Let’s just go home, okay?” My eyes started to fill with tears as I talked.
Mia nodded. “Of course. I’ll call my mom to pick us up. I left my cell phone inside. I’ll be right back.”
Mia ran back inside, and I took some deep breaths, trying to process.
When Marc Donald Brown had first e-mailed me, he said he wanted us to meet and talk. He wanted me to meet his family. I just couldn’t do it. For one thing, I wasn’t sure how I felt about a dad who took off and then waited more than an entire decade before trying to see me again. Yeah, he sent birthday cards and stuff, but that’s about it.
And what did he do in that time? The guy who apparently couldn’t handle having a wife and a baby went out and found a new wife and then had three more babies—all girls. I know because Mia and I had this crazy idea to visit my dad’s restaurant in Stonebrook, Chez Donald. (It’s named that because he’s always gone by his middle name, Donald.) I guess I thought I could maybe spy on my dad or something first, to see what he was like.
But I didn’t even stay that long. I saw a newspaper article on the wall. I still remember the title. “Family Man Brings French Cuisine to Stonebrook.” There was a photo of Marc Donald Brown with his new wife and three little girls. No mention of me at all, but why would there be? I freaked out and ran out of the restaurant—just like I had done in the college kitchen.
“Katie?”
A man’s voice interrupted my thoughts. Marc Donald Brown was standing there.
“Uh, hi,” I said. My heart was pounding like crazy.
“Mind if I sit down?” he asked.
“No, sure,” I said. I couldn’t look him in the face. I just couldn’t. I just looked down at my apron and kept fumbling with the strings.
“I’m sure this must be awkward for you,” he said. “It’s awkward for me.”
Majorly awkward! I thought, but I didn’t say anything.
“I didn’t know you were going to be in this contest,” he said. “Otherwise, I would have tried to reach out beforehand.”
“I didn’t know you were going to be a judge,” I mumbled.
“I still want to get to know you, Katie,” MDB said. “Not like this, though.”
“Oh, but you’re such a family man,” I found myself saying, remembering the article. “Don’t you need to spend time with your other daughters?”
“This is the kind of stuff we need to talk about,” he said. “Just please consider it. We can meet somewhere, just the two of us. There’s a lot I need to say to you.”
Something in his voice made me look up. His green eyes looked kind of sad.
“I’ll think about it,” I said.
“Okay,” MDB said. He stood up. “By the way, your cake was delicious.”
Does he really think that, or is he just saying that? I wondered. Something inside me really hoped he was being sincere. For some weird reason, it was important that Marc Donald Brown knew I was a good baker. That I was good at something.
Mia walked toward me as he walked away, and she raised her eyebrows.
“You okay?” she asked.
“I guess,” I said. “He still wants to meet with me. I’m not sure if I want to, though. It’s so weird!”
“Yeah, I can’t imagine,” Mia said.
I knew she couldn’t. Mia’s parents were divorced, like mine, but her dad never left the picture. Mia goes and stays with him in Manhattan every other weekend, and she spends half the summer with him too. He’s not some stranger, like Marc Donald Brown.
Mia and I didn’t talk anymore. We were quiet until her mom came to pick us up. Mrs. Valdes smiled and said hi, but then she didn’t say anything either, so I knew Mia had told her what happened.
“Katie, you know you’re welcome to come to our house for dinner,” Mia’s mom said as we got closer to my house.
“Thanks, I’m okay,” I said. When the car pulled up, I muttered a good-bye and quickly ran out, let myself into my house, and then headed straight up to my bedroom.
Then I threw myself on my bed and cried and cried, and I wasn’t even really sure why.
Coco Simon always dreamed of opening a cupcake bakery but was afraid she would eat all of the profits. When she’s not daydreaming about cupcakes, Coco edits children’s books and has written close to one hundred books for children, tweens, and young adults, which is a lot less than the number of cupcakes she’s eaten. Cupcake Diaries is the first time Coco has mixed her love of cupcakes with writing.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SIMON SPOTLIGHT
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
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First Simon Spotlight hardcover edition May 2016
Copyright © 2016 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
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Text by Elizabeth Doyle Carey
Chapter header illustrations and design by Laura Roode
Jacket illustrated by Abigail Halpin
Jacket illustrations copyright © 2016 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.
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ISBN 978-1-4814-6060-6 (pbk)
ISBN 978-1-4814-6061-3 (hc)
ISBN 978-1-4814-6062-0 (eBook)
Library of Congress Control Number 2016933194