by Gaby Triana
“Yes, but you’ve also acted like I’m stupid for liking him, so I had no way of knowing.”
“That’s only lately,” she says. “Because I noticed him starting to like me, so I was hoping it wouldn’t happen. Because I knew how you felt about him. I could tell it was going to be a problem.”
“I didn’t know you liked him-liked him. I thought you just liked him.”
Her hands stress her words. “I did just like him, as a friend, but then he began staring at me, showing up at your house, and I think I didn’t want to believe that he was doing that for me. Because it would disappoint you. So I played it off, telling you he was interested in you, because honestly, I was tired of hearing you hate on yourself.” She rubs her forehead. “I don’t know if I’m making any sense.”
“But that’s called ‘false hope,’ Sabs. You gave me false hope. I don’t know if you realize, but I look up to you, so of course I’m going to believe anything you say.”
“Gah, it’s so complicated. Just know that I’m sorry. And I didn’t eat the cake.”
“Only because you don’t like red velvet,” I say.
“No. Because I love you.” Her eyes pierce through me. “It could’ve been your amazing vanilla with almond buttercream, and I still wouldn’t have eaten it.”
I lay my head on her shoulder.
She rests her hand on my hand, then I rest my other hand on her other hand, and we play hand-slap a few times. “You sure you haven’t gone out with him?” I laugh.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“It’s okay if you did. Or if you want to. Just…tell me how he kisses, how his hands feel. I’ll live vicariously through you.”
She holds back a giggle, but then the stress all comes rolling out until we’re both snorting with tears coming out of our eyeballs. “I’m not going to kiss him, Rosie. I’m still determined to get him to want you. I’ll help you get his attention, if you still want.”
“Forcing things is a bad idea,” I tell her. “I’ve kind of been realizing that. I need to accept that he just doesn’t like me that way. Same way I need to accept that you’re beautiful and perfect in every way.”
“Rose, I am so not perfect. Look…” She grabs her thigh to show me her “cellulite,” which is, in reality, actually just a perfect chunk of shiny, lean muscle.
“Oh, my God. Look at that hunk of fat. You cow.”
She shrugs. “Can I come home with you?”
“I guess I can let you.”
“I’ll do whatever. Just tell me, and I’ll do it. I missed you, Rosie. I missed my best friend.”
“I appreciate that,” I say, “because I’m actually tired of replying to my customers’ emails. Can you handle that again? You’re good at PR, and I’m misanthropic at heart, you know this.”
“Yes. I would love that.” She taps her phone screen. “As a matter of fact, let me check your messages right now.”
“Oh. And since you’re coming home with me, which by the way, is now Papa’s…” I wait for her mouth to drop open before continuing. “Yeah. You can help me start the decorations for the battle’s cupcakes. I’ll need hundreds of tiny fondant flowers, mini pumpkins, and whatnot.”
“Only hundreds? I’ll try, but I’m not artistic. I can’t even draw a stick figure. Oh, wow, what’s with all these emails? Have you been slacking?”
“No, I’m keeping up with my orders. It’s school that’s killing me. Decorations are easy. You roll the fondant out, cut them with a cutter, sprinkle on some glitter. Simple.”
“Simple. Sure, okay.” Just then, the bus rumbles around the corner and screeches to a stop. We all form a line of zombies on the curb. “It’s not simple, Rose. You just make it look simple. That’s what geniuses do.”
She steps onto the bus ahead of me. I know that everything is going to be okay between us. “Thanks, Sabs.”
“Aaaannnd, you just got a new order. Cheerleading squad wants fifty cupcakes for a cheerleader’s birthday before the game tomorrow. Coach will pay for it. Can you do it?”
“Are you serious? I was hoping to catch some sleep.”
“You just said you were handling your orders just fine.”
I am. I mean, I was. I want to run a business, and here I am, running a business. Plus my Spanish project, plus getting the contest cupcakes ready for Friday. I don’t know if I can do it all, but I refuse to let my mom be right about a cake business being overwhelming. I will figure out how to handle it all.
If I can’t, I lose, she wins. And there’s no way I’m going to let that happen. Besides, after a million gazillion cupcakes, what’s fifty more? I plonk down next to Sabs on the bus seat, staring straight ahead. “Tell them yes.”
Twenty
I know what I have to do. In my heart, I should let Caleb go, only I can’t.
Obsessing over someone for ten years is no joke, especially when ten years is two-thirds of your life. He’s worse than caffeine, worse than my sugar addiction. My head tells me to move on, find someone new, or be alone. We actually have nothing in common, nothing here to see, keep it moving, folks.
But my heart still aches. I still see his emerald eyes, flecked with a color like golden cupcakes fresh out of the oven. Maybe it’s the wrong time. Maybe he’ll grow to love me one day. Maybe our love is more the Bogart–Bergman kind, the standing-on-a-runway-in-Casablanca-looking-into-each-other’s-eyes-while-your-plane-awaits kind.
Maybe…
Caleb insists I board the plane destined for America, but I can’t. I can’t go without him. “But Caleb, no, I…”
“Now, Rose, you’ve got to listen to me. You have any idea what you’d have to look forward to if you stayed here? Nine chances out of ten, we’d both wind up in a concentration camp, isn’t that right, Sabrina?”
Captain Sabrina nods at me sadly. “I’m afraid Major Caleb would insist you board.”
No. I bite my lip. I don’t want to leave without him. I want to stay here in Casablanca with Caleb. Oh, why can’t we be together? “You’re only saying this to make me go,” I sob.
“I’m saying it because it’s true. Inside of us, we both know you belong with Alexandre. You’re part of his work, the thing that keeps him going. If that plane leaves the ground, and you’re not with him, you’ll regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life.”
His gray eyes sparkle in the diffused light of the silver fog. How can he tell me I belong with Alexandre? Doesn’t he know that Alex doesn’t think of me that way? What kind of confusing daydream is this? “But what about us?” I ask.
“We’ll always have Paris…we lost it until you came to Casablanca. We got it back last night.”
“When I said I would never leave you.”
“And you never will…”
My eyes shed silent, silver tears. Doesn’t he love me? If he did, he wouldn’t be sending me away. I must move on. Why does love have to be so hard?
“Now, now…” Caleb says, lifting my chin so our eyes meet. “Here’s looking at you, kid.” Violins chime in our ears. These violins follow us everywhere, I swear.
As much as I hate to admit it, I get it. It’s time to move on.
We’ll always have memories. And Paris.
“Rosie?”
“Hmm?” Where am I? Papa’s kitchen. At the counter. Cupcakes cooling on their racks. I’m staring into my laptop screen, only my eyes were closed a moment ago. Something smells weird. A hand settles on my shoulder, and I nearly jump out of my skin. “Yes?”
Sabrina stares at me. “Are you okay?” she asked. “You’re doing that zone thing again.”
“I’m fine.” Holy crap, she scared me.
“You were asleep.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Then why are your cupcakes burning?”
“What?” I shake off the grogginess. “Crap!” Lurching at the oven, I yank it open and pull out the four trays of twelve cupcakes inside, tossing them onto the counter and waving off the smoke.
They’re dark brown, not so very golden. No way can I use these.
Sabrina throws open the window. We fan the smoke outside for the next thirty minutes. Thank goodness Papa is at Zumba with Sheila. “I finished all the flowers you wanted.” Sabs points to the dinette table.
“Thanks, Sabs.” I examine the flowers. A little on the amateur side, but they’ll do.
“Is there anything else you need? It’s already 8:30. I have to get home for dinner.”
“No, not really. Actually, yes!” One more thing. At this rate, I’ll finish at three in the morning only to wake up at six. “Please don’t kill me, but I need one more thing.”
Sabrina smirks. “Wow, you’re really milking my guilt for all it’s worth, aren’t you?”
“Sorry, but my Spanish project, it’s not finished. If I fail, I can’t bake in the contest on Friday. Do you think you can finish it for me? I already have seventy-five percent of it done. I just need the last couple pages written, printed, and pieces glued onto my board.”
“Oh, that’s it, huh? I won’t be done ‘til three in the morning.”
“Me neither with these cupcakes.” My puppy dog eyes beg. She is my best friend, and I would do anything to help her out if she were in a bind, and she did steal my thunder and non-boyfriend last week.
“Fair enough.” She sighs. “Give it to me. I’ll bring it with me to school tomorrow.”
“Sabs, thank you!” I pull her skinny body into me. I can’t believe I was mad at her for almost a whole week. “I missed you. I really did.”
She hugs me harder. “I thought I had really ruined our friendship.”
“Nothing could ruin it. Not even Caleb.”
After Sabs goes home, Papa gets home and starts helping me in the kitchen with Sheila. I don’t refuse it. Sheila cuts out shapes of fall leaves for my pumpkin cupcakes, and Papa gets all the ingredients set up for my chocolate set. By midnight, both of them are exhausted, and they head off to the front door to say goodnight.
Papa comes back a few minutes later. “Don’t stay up too late, pumpkin. You need to be awake in less than six hours.”
“I won’t,” I say, though it’ll be a while before my head hits the pillow. I search for another baking tray to put the finished cupcakes on, cover them in plastic, and take to the dining room. I’m running out of space to put these suckers. I’m out of steam as well.
But this is the life I wanted. And sugar and spice…they come at a price.
I hit snooze twice. Is that the sun coming up? Ugh.
I’m barely awake but I mange to shower, brush my teeth, and get dressed. Slipping on a vintage cream blouse with a bow at the neckline, I add jeans and work my hair into a tight ponytail, swiping on bright red lipstick to create the illusion of vibrancy on my dead face.
When I text Sabrina asking if she was able to finish the project, she doesn’t reply. Alexandre texts the sticking-tongue-out face. I reply by blasting a cupcake GIF fifty times.
At school, my first course of action is to drop off the cheerleader cupcakes in the Athletics Office with Coach Jones, who gushes and scoops me into a one-arm hug. “Amazing! Perfect! The girls will love them! Josie will love them! Thank you, thank you for making them on such short notice, Rosie!”
“You’re welcome. I got three hours of sleep, so I’m good.” I note her expression of concern, then zombie-walk out of there. In the hallway, I feel like I’m navigating behind large sheets of glass. So this is exhaustion.
Flyers of me are everywhere. A bunch of people I’ve never seen wave at me, so I wave back. “Rosiiiieeeee!” they cheer. One pauses to take a selfie with me. Good thing I dressed up cute today and added plenty of under-eye concealer. I smile, while she makes a duck face.
“Send me that,” I ask her.
Sabs finally replies to my text. She is alive. We agree to meet outside of Spanish. She has a look of extreme satisfaction on her face. “You like it?” She flips my board around, and I DIE. It’s the most incredible project on Chile I have ever seen, construction paper-framed color printouts, pretty shiny border, and little flags and food knick-knacks glued on.
“Wow, where did you get those?” I touch the little flags.
“My mom’s craft room. She has a box full of world flags, and wouldn’t you know it, she’s never used Chile for anything.” She beams. “I guess getting a less-popular country worked in your favor.”
“Having you around worked in my favor. I can’t thank you enough.” I take the project from her hands. I’m so going to get an A on this.
“Anytime. Oh, and hey…can you take a break from the cupcakes tonight, so we can go to the football game? Please? You haven’t come to a single one since school started.”
“I wish I could, Sabs. But the contest is in two days, and I’m only halfway through baking. Besides, I thought you were going to help me.”
“I was, I am, but come on. Caleb will be there, playing with the band. Maybe if he sees you, it’ll make a huge difference. It’ll also be good for PR if the whole school sees you being involved.”
The bell’s about to ring. “They’ll see me Friday. Besides, I don’t know…” Caleb and I said goodbye at the plane in Casablanca. It’s no use. “Sabs, he likes you, not me. Maybe one day.”
“Maybe one day? Rose, you sound like one of your old movies. Just come. If only because you need to get out. You can skip school tomorrow and bake all day, can’t you?”
Hmm. Not a bad idea. I’ve never skipped class without being deathly ill, but this whole baking contest really is Dr. O’Dell’s idea, so she would understand if I didn’t come tomorrow, on account of making a gajillion cupcakes for her fundraiser and all. Earning our school a ton of money should count as an excused absence, right?
“Fine, I’ll go.”
Her face lights up. “Seriously? I didn’t think it would work. Nice. I’ll pick you up at six. Text me later.” She runs off. I guess I’m going to a football game tonight after all. Good thing I stood my ground.
After school, Alexandre calls to ask if I want to hang out with him at either of our houses. I tell him about my decision to venture over to the football game. “Why don’t you come with me?” I ask him.
“A football game?”
“Why, what’s wrong with that?” I ask, as though I’ve suddenly become the football type.
“Nothing, I just didn’t peg you for the football type, that’s all.”
It’s like we’re twins.
“I’m not, but Sabrina asked me to. You sure you don’t want to come?”
“Nah, thanks. Not into football. I have something else I’m designing for you. I’ll show it to you tomorrow.”
“Another something? Wow. Hey, I’m not paying you overtime.” I smile.
“I don’t ever want your money, Rose. I help you, because I want to.”
“Duly noted.”
A moment of silence falls between us. “Anyway, until tomorrow.”
“Okay, bye.” I hang up and drop my phone to my chest.
I’m in an awkward daze. Alexandre is disappointed that I’m going to watch football instead of hang out with him. In more than the standard shunned-friend kind of way, that is. I wish I had the energy to figure this out, but I’m falling asleep, and so I… dream… of… winning… cupcakes…
and…
money…
And fame.
And doing it my way.
In the crowded stands, I’m reminded why I never go to these games. Too many people all screaming their heads off over a weirdly-shaped ball and burly boys killing each other while trying to run back and forth for some odd reason.
I sit with Sabs and a bunch of her friends whose names I barely know—Angela, Synthia—soaking in the bright lights, drumline cadences, energy of the crowd, camaraderie, but most of all, the back of Caleb’s head way down in the stands where the band sits, stands, sits, stands every time the war chant plays.
“How did the cheerios’ cupcakes turn out?” Sabrina takes a break f
rom talking to Synthia to talk to me. She claps at something I obviously missed down on the field. I clap along, pretending to know what it was.
“Super cute. Here, I’ll show you.” I locate the last five pics I took this morning of the cheerleaders’ purple and silver treats with glittered pom-poms all over them. Sabrina’s friends lean over to get a look, too.
“You did that?” They all ooh and ahh, returning to chat in their seats again.
“She’s amazing, isn’t she?” Sabrina says to Synthia.
“Thanks,” I mutter. “Coach told me they would sing Happy Birthday to Josie before the game. I just hope they’re not mad at each other right now, with the way I’ve been feeling.” Glancing down at the cheerleaders, I half-expect to catch them yanking out each other’s hair, but so far, they look civil. However, for a pep squad, they don’t look too peppy. “Are they always so slow?”
Sabrina watches them too. “No. You’re right. They’re usually high energy. I don’t know what’s wrong with them. They don’t look like they won a county competition last week.”
“Maybe they partied a little too hard before the game?”
“Maybe.”
The cheerleaders begin working through a routine. Three girls line up in a row, while two more jump onto their shoulders, wobbly at best. As they’re hoisted up, one of them trembles like she’s about to fall, then two of the bottom girls look like they’re struggling with the weight. One actually releases a leg she’s supposed to be holding, so she can stifle a yawn.
“Hold that leg, girl,” I mutter.
The cheerleaders misplace their footing and grip, and two girls up top lose their balance. They come crashing down onto the shoulders of the girls at the base. The crowd gasps, Sabrina gasps, and I gasp. We all gasp.
“Did you see that?” Sabrina shoots out of her seat.
“That looked like it hurt.”
“And Coach doesn’t even care. Or she didn’t see it.” Sabrina shakes her head in disbelief.
“Where is she?” I crane my neck for a better view, but everyone in front of us is standing and gawking at what happened.