Confectionately Yours #4: Something New

by Papademetriou, Lisa

  Place a skillet over medium heat, then add the white sesame seeds to toast them, constantly stirring and watching until they start to brown. Immediately remove the skillet from the heat and place the seeds into a bowl to cool.

  In a large bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.

  In a separate bowl, stir together the milk and apple cider vinegar, and let sit to curdle a bit. Once good and curdled, add the honey, vanilla extract, and oil.

  With a whisk or handheld mixer, add the dry ingredients to the wet ones a little bit at a time, stopping to scrape the sides of the bowl a few times, and mix until no lumps remain. Then mix in the black sesame seeds and 1/4 cup of the toasted white sesame seeds, conserving the rest for the frosting.

  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.

  Sesame Buttercream Frosting

  INGREDIENTS:

  1/4 cup sesame seeds (from the toasted batch)

  1 cup butter, softened

  3-1/2 cups confectioners’ sugar

  1–2 tablespoons milk

  1 teaspoon vanilla extract

  INSTRUCTIONS:

  In a small food processor, or with a mortar and pestle, grind the remaining 1/4 cup of toasted white sesame seeds until pulverized into a powder.

  In a large bowl, with an electric mixer, cream the butter until it’s lighter in color, about 2–3 minutes.

  Slowly beat in the confectioners’ sugar in 1/2-cup batches, adding a little bit of milk whenever the frosting becomes too thick. Add the vanilla extract and ground sesame seeds and continue mixing on high speed for about 3–7 minutes, until the frosting is light and fluffy.

  “Hey, Hayley,” Omar says as he puts a five-dollar bill on the counter. “Could I get a honey sesame cupcake?”

  “Sure — I just made them,” I tell him as I pull one out of the case and place it on a plate.

  “It looks great.” He looks around the café, which has cheery new striped curtains and new comfortable chairs where the old upholstered couch used to be. “I like the new seats you guys have in here.” He climbs onto a stool and takes a bite of frosting as I ring up the sale.

  “We had to replace a few things that were smelling too much like a chimney,” I explain.

  “What a mess,” Omar says. “I can’t believe the restaurant burned down.”

  “The two guys in Boston who owned it aren’t going to rebuild. Mr. Malik says that the building owner doesn’t want them back. He’s going to renovate the space and rent it out to someone else.”

  “That’s good. Too bad about the flower shop.”

  “I know.” I wipe a few crumbs from the counter. I don’t like talking about the flower shop. I feel so sad every time I pass by it, all boarded up. “But it looks like we’ll keep Tessie now,” I say to shake off the gloom that has settled over me. I explain how she saved us.

  Omar laughs. “I always knew you’d keep that dog,” he says. “It was love at first sight.”

  “I didn’t really feel that way,” I admit.

  “Oh, I meant that the dog loved you guys,” Omar explains. Then he sighs. “I really love working with the dogs. Too bad I may have to leave that job.”

  “Why?”

  “My mom doesn’t want me to fall behind in my grades, so she says I have to choose two activities. It’s class president, my volunteer work, and sports. I won’t give up baseball. And there’s no way I’ll turn down president if I win, so — it’s kind of an easy decision.”

  “Oh.”

  “Are you going to keep working here, if you win?”

  I look around the café. Light is making the white curtains glow, and the dark wood floor gleam. “I want to. But Meghan has about fifty thousand things planned, so I’ll probably have to cut down.”

  Omar finishes the cupcake and pushes himself off the stool. “Well, maybe you won’t have to choose … or maybe we’ll lose, and you will,” he says cheerfully. “Are you ready for the speeches tomorrow?”

  “Uh, almost,” I say. I tell myself that this is not a lie, because I still have time to write a speech tonight. And then I will be ready. So I’m “almost” there, right? “Are you?”

  “I think I wrote a pretty good one, if I do say so myself.” Omar smiles mischievously. But he always smiles like that, so sometimes it’s hard to know if he’s up to something or not. “See you tomorrow, Hayley,” he says.

  “See you,” I say as he pushes against the door and steps out into the bright sunshine.

  It seems wrong to want to lose something. But I can’t help it.

  “And our plans for a … for a … oh, ugh!” I’m trying to remember as much of my campaign speech as I can without glancing at my notes, but I’m having trouble. A lot of trouble. Like, I can’t remember anything, which is amazing, given that I wrote it myself. I look at the note card in my hand. It isn’t easy to try to read it and walk down the hallway at the same time. “Right! For a day in which the whole school can come together to beautify — oh, shoot! I’ll never remember this stupid thing!”

  Marco appears out of the sea of students around me. Everyone is moving in a single mass toward the auditorium to hear the campaign speeches. The hallway is echoing with chatter and shouts, shuffling feet and general chaos. He smiles at me. “Are you ready for the speeches?”

  “Aaarrgh!”

  “That good?”

  “This is hopeless,” I say. “I’ll never memorize it in time. The speeches start in seven minutes!”

  “Just read from your notes,” Marco suggests. “Everyone does that. Look up once in a while. It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

  I don’t mention that I promised Meghan that I would have the speech memorized. I really meant to. But — it turns out that it’s really hard to remember things. “Okay, talk to me about something else,” I command as I tuck the cards into my backpack. “Anything!” And the minute I say that, I worry that he’ll bring up the barbecue, but he doesn’t.

  “Um — I think I might take that photography class at Islip,” Marco says.

  “Really? You think your dad will pay for it?”

  Marco digs his fists into the pockets of his gray corduroys and hunches a little as he walks. “He’s insisting that I need work experience. He’ll probably let me take the class if I can find a job or volunteer gig.”

  An idea occurs to me. “I might know of one,” I say, and I tell him about Omar and the job at the shelter.

  “Well, in that case, I guess I’d better vote for Omar for president,” Marco says. He’s smiling, and I can’t tell if he’s joking or not, but I don’t have a chance to ask because Meghan comes barreling over and wraps me in an excited hug.

  “Speechies!” she crows. “Are you ready?”

  “I didn’t manage to memorize it,” I admit.

  “I didn’t memorize mine, either,” Meghan announces, waving her hand. “Don’t worry about it.” She stops and looks at me more closely. “You aren’t worried, are you?”

  “No,” I say, but Marco puts in, “She’s freaked,” and of course Meghan listens to Marco.

  “Don’t freak,” she says, giving my arm a squeeze. “I will love you no matter what.”

  “Even if I forget everything?” I ask. “Even if I run crying from the podium?”

  “Even if your pants fall off,” Meghan promises.

  “That’s love,” Marco says.

  Meghan interlaces her fingers with mine and warms my cold hand in hers. “No matter what,” she says again.

  And the thing about Meghan is — I know she means it. I know it for sure, and I wonder how I ever could have doubted it.

  The next moment, we push through the auditorium doors. I scan my notes frantically as everyone takes their seats and the principal starts to talk about the campaign, and civic duty, and democracy, and blah, blah, blah. I’m feeling the way I feel every time I get on a roller coaster — the bar goes down and I
’m furious that I let someone talk me into this. And then we start out, up … up … up … and there’s that pause at the top when you’re filled with the worst sort of dread and you know you’ve made a horrible mistake.

  Why do people ever go on roller coasters?

  I’m reading my speech, but all I can think is, I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to.

  I don’t want to.

  There isn’t a speech for class treasurer, since the only person running is Tanisha Osborne, and she’s the smartest girl in the whole school, so she can definitely be trusted with the job, even if she’s a little stuck up.

  Then Ashley Oakes gives her speech for secretary. Amber Olson gives her speech for secretary next. It’s funny how two girls with similar names and similar hairstyles both want the same job. Either one of them is fine with me. They both have great handwriting — and good keyboarding skills.

  And then the principal says, “Hayley Hicks, running for eighth-grade class vice president,” and a few people clap politely as I stand up, and I feel the click, click, click of rising to the top of the roller coaster. I walk down the aisle and up the steps to the stage. Click, click, click, click, click …

  I feel like a robot, or like an empty shell as I step up to the podium. It’s an out-of-body experience, like — I’m doing these things, but I’m not even really there. I place my notes on the podium and look out at the audience. Then I smile, the way Gran coached me.

  There, in the third row, is Meghan. She’s sitting next to my empty seat. She grins at me, and gives me a thumbs-up.

  She’ll love me no matter what, I think.

  I think about Artie. And I think about Gran, and the wedding she didn’t want to have.

  I lower the microphone and lean forward.

  “Friends and classmates,” I say, speaking as slowly and carefully as I can. “I’ve decided not to run for vice president.”

  Three years ago, I checked out five books on elephants for a report I was writing. Asian Elephants in their Natural Habitats was one. I forget the others. But I remember that one because it was on the top of the pile.

  The pile that sat under my bed for almost a year.

  What happened was that they were overdue. They were overdue by a couple of weeks when I remembered them, but I couldn’t bear to bring them back. I thought that the librarian would be angry at me. I thought she’d yell, and that she wouldn’t let me check out any more books. And, later, I thought that it would cost hundreds of dollars in fines to return them. So I just never went to the library.

  And I let the books sit under my bed.

  But I didn’t forget about them. No. Actually, I thought about them a lot. Every night, I checked under my bed to make sure that they were still there, and they always were. And I would think, This weekend, I’ll take them back to the library. But I never would. I’d just feel queasy and make up excuses.

  Until one day, my mother found the books while she was tidying my room. And that weekend, we returned them. Heart hammering, I pushed the books across the counter and started the speech I had rehearsed at home. “I’m sorry these books are so late —” I began as the librarian zapped them with her scanner.

  “Okay. Twelve dollars and fifty cents, please,” she said to my mother, and my mother paid the money and that was the end of it.

  Almost a year of feeling sick over those books.

  I still sometimes wake up and think, I have to return those books this weekend! And then I remember that they’re returned — it’s all finished, and my head swims with relief.

  Almost a year for something that was over in a heartbeat.

  Just like that.

  “Hayley? Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you backed out today!”

  “Artie?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. Wow. Just — wow.”

  “I know — I don’t know what happened. That wasn’t what I planned to say at all! I just went up there —”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “Wait — you are?”

  “Remember the library books?”

  “Ugh.”

  “Aren’t you happy you just got up there and told the truth? Like, the truth will set you free?”

  “Well … it set me free….”

  “Is Meg freaking?”

  “She was really nice about it, but I think she’s pretty disappointed.”

  “Yeah. She’ll get over it, though.”

  “You think?”

  “Are you kidding? She thinks you’re the coolest.”

  “She does?”

  “Hayley — isn’t she one of your best friends?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, then. Duh!”

  “It just didn’t make sense to be unhappy for a year just because I couldn’t deal with telling Meghan the truth. She actually said she was sorry for putting so much pressure on me to run.”

  “See? You did the right thing.”

  “I just wish I hadn’t waited so long to do it.”

  “Pobody’s nerfect.”

  “Right. Pobody’s nerfect.”

  “Go make some cupcakes. You’ll feel better.”

  “Thanks, Artie.”

  “Sure.”

  “And thanks for calling.”

  “Sure, Hayley. I’m glad I did.”

  “Those are pretty,” Chloe says as I frost a white flower at the top of a vanilla cupcake.

  “I’ve been practicing the flowers,” I explain. “So that I’ll be ready for the wedding.”

  “If there is one.” Chloe sounds gloomy, and Rupert pats her hand. It’s so funny how he’s like a little old man, sometimes.

  “Where will you put them?” Rupert asks, bending his head to peer into the display case. “It looks pretty full in there.”

  “Gran says it’s a special order,” I tell him.

  “Is that why the Tea Room is closed this morning?” Chloe asks. “I’ve already seen a few sad-eyed college students peeking in the window. I feel bad for them.”

  “There are plenty of places to get a latte in this town,” I tell her. It’s a cloudy, cold Saturday, and a few late spring snow flurries are drifting across the sky. I’m tired of the cold, but I always feel a thrill when I see snow falling. Even when it isn’t welcome.

  Mr. Malik taps at the door, and Chloe rushes to unlock it. “Good morning!” he greets us, and his whole face is one enormous smile.

  “You’re drowning in flowers!” Chloe says. He really is — he has one large bouquet and several smaller ones. “Where did you get them?”

  “From the wholesaler!” Mr. Malik says. “It was a marvelous deal, and I couldn’t resist brightening the café a bit. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “We love it!” Chloe says.

  “And yellow roses are Gran’s favorite,” I tell him.

  “Are they, really?” Mr. Malik says with the twinkliest eyes I’ve ever seen.

  “Hello, my dears!” Gran sings as she bustles in from the back office. “My dear Mr. Malik, how well you look today!”

  “And you are simply lovely,” Mr. Malik tells her as they hold each other’s hands.

  “You two do look nice,” Chloe says.

  “Yeah — what’s up?” I ask. Gran is wearing her lavender suit, and Mr. Malik has on his blue one, with a lavender tie. “Did you guys call each other so that you could be all matchy-matchy?” I joke.

  “Hayley, darling, there’s no need to put those cupcakes in a box,” Gran tells me. “Just place them on a plate.”

  At that moment, there’s another knock at the locked door, and Rupert rushes to let in Uzma and a cheerful-looking woman with spiky hair. In her brown flowy dress, she looks a little bit like a pinecone.

  “Hello!” I say to the pinecone lady. “Are these cupcakes for you?”

  “I hope so,” the woman replies. “At least one of them.”

  Uzma gives Rupert an affectionate kiss, and he smiles and looks at the floor, embarrassed. She just loves clucking over him.

  “What�
��s going on?” Mom asks as she walks in. “Oh — Mr. Malik! Did you bring the flowers? They’re beautiful!”

  He takes a medium-sized bouquet and gives it to my mother. “For you, my dear,” he tells her.

  “Let me just get a vase,” Mom says, starting back toward the office.

  “No need of that,” Gran tells her. “Just hold them a moment yet.” Then she strides over to the door and flips the lock closed. She gestures to the pinecone lady. “My dears, I would like to introduce you all to the Reverend Janet Bliss. Mr. Malik and I are getting married.”

  Chloe lets out a gasp.

  “Now?” I ask.

  Mr. Malik hands me a small but very beautiful bouquet of yellow and white roses. “Now, my dear.” He gives another small bouquet to Chloe, and a larger one to Uzma, who is teary-eyed and smiling.

  “What?” Mom cries. “Here? In the Tea Room?”

  “Yes, of course, dear,” Gran says. “This is where we have spent many happy hours, and neither one of us wants a fuss.”

  “Wait! Do you mean these cupcakes are for your wedding?” I cry. “But I wanted to make you a real cake!”

  “Well, dear, keep practicing,” Gran says. “I’m sure you’ll get a chance someday. There’s always Chloe.”

  Mom sits down heavily on a chair. “But — but — what about Denise? You wouldn’t just get married without your other daughter, would you?”

  And at that very moment, someone taps on the door. It’s Officer Ramon … and my aunt Denise.

  Chloe and Rupert rush to let them in, and then there’s hugging and smiling and kissing, and my aunt even picks me up and swings me around. She works out.

  And finally, we’ve all settled down, and Mr. Malik has given Aunt Denise a really lovely bouquet, and we all gather in a circle while Officer Ramon flips the lock again.

  Gran turns to my mother. “I hope you aren’t too disappointed,” she says gently.

  My mother’s eyes are brilliant with tears, and she takes a few breaths before she can speak. “Mother — this is your wedding, not mine,” she says, although I can see it isn’t easy for her to talk. “All that matters is that you’re happy.”