by Gaby Triana
As much as I want to win this, though, what I care about most is how people react when they bite into one of my cupcakes. Sometimes, their eyes go wide. Sometimes, eyelashes flutter. And sometimes, they look like they’re having a religious experience between just them and the cake. They say things to each other like, “Oh my God, you need to try this,” and “Wow. This is insane.” Wendy’s cupcakes don’t garner nearly the same reactions. Many are passed from friend to friend and are eventually tossed in the garbage.
Dr. O’Dell’s voice cuts through the DJ’s lowered music. “Ladies and gentlemen, our staff has counted the votes for the first hour of the competition, and so far, we have Wendy with fifty-five points, and Rose with sixty-seven!”
Wait, what did she say?
Sabrina turns to me and throws those skinny arms around me. “Did you hear that? You’re in the lead, Rose! I told you!”
All around, people congratulate me. Even though it’s not over, I smile from ear to ear. But then, every time I imagine myself coming home to tell Papa I won, I lose all enthusiasm and go back to faking my happiness instead.
“Keep those votes coming! Winner receives a $250 AMEX gift card!” Dr. OD goes on. The DJ’s volume resumes, as does our cupcake pushing.
One of my team parents literally moves into my personal space, all big brown eyes and mascara. “You,” she says, “are amazing. This,” she says, showing me a half-eaten banana cupcake with cream cheese frosting sitting in a paper liner, “is the most incredible thing I have ever put in my mouth.”
“That is…wow,” I say, unsure how to respond. “Thank you.”
Her eyes grow even wider. “I’m serious. I don’t consider myself a sweets person, but this isn’t too sweet. It’s perfect. Congratulations.” She shoves the other half of the cupcake into her mouth, making yummy noises with a lingering stare to make sure I get it.
“Thank you, I appreciate that,” I smile. And I do. It’s one thing for your friends and family to tell you that you did nice work, but for a perfect stranger to tell you, it means more.
After thirty more minutes, Dr. O’Dell shouts again, “Update, ladies and gentlemen. I have an update! It appears that…Wendy is now in the lead with seventy-nine points, and Rose has seventy-four points.”
Groans and cheers echo simultaneously.
“Seriously?” I mutter. “I mean, good for Wendy! Let’s fight back, team.” I lean into Sabrina and whisper, “What the hell is she putting in those cupcakes?”
“It’s not the cupcakes she’s selling.” Sabrina nods in Wendy’s direction, showing me that my competition has taken it up a notch, tying her T-shirt in a tight knot underneath her boobs. Is that even a legal move? I call a foul!
My awesome volunteers begin peddling, hustling, encouraging customers to come buy a take-home box for family and friends, and Sabrina holds cupcakes in the air telling people that they’ll change their lives and make them fall in love.
“Don’t do that,” I tell her.
“Why not?” she whispers. “It’s true.” She tugs her T-shirt tightly behind her, ties the loose tail into a knot, and pushes her jeans lower on her hips.
“Damn girl. Pushing my goodies with your goodies. Do what you gotta do.”
She laughs. “Hey, I have no problem with it.”
“Neither do half the people here,” I say.
Finally, after three hours of utter fatigue, Dr. O’Dell takes the microphone again. Cheers of “Wendy, Wendy,” and “Rosie, Rosie” roar throughout the courtyard. I’m done. I’m so tired. This was fun, but soon comes the moment of truth.
“This is it, ladies and gentlemen, we have five minutes left in the competition. Make those purchases, take cupcakes home to loved ones, and vote, vote, vote for your favorite baker!” The whole courtyard breaks into last-minute frenzy.
Finally, the buzzer goes off, and the place roars. Sabrina and I collapse into each other. She pats my back. “Good job, Rosie. Whatever happens, just know that people really loved yours the best. That’s the truth, I don’t care what Dr. OD announces.”
“Thanks, Sabs. But I really want to win.”
“I know.” She holds my hand.
“May I have your attention, please. Our judges are adding their votes which count as fifty points toward the baker they each choose, and these are added to the people’s votes. So while we’re waiting, I would like for our teams to come up here, please.”
I slip off my gloves and make my way to the stage. This is it.
My team follows us onstage, and the crowd applauds. I may not have wanted to come tonight, but I’m glad I did. Wendy and her entourage emerge from the other side of the stage and park themselves next to me. Wendy’s eyes scan what I’m wearing, lingering around my waist. Why do I always feel like she’s judging me?
She offers me her hand. “May the best baker win.”
“Exactly,” I say, shaking back.
One of the judges steps up and hands Dr. O’Dell a piece of paper, which she waves in the air. “I have the results, ladies and gentlemen. The name I hold in my hand will be named Coral Cove High School’s Champion Baker!”
Warm fingers slip into mine. Sabrina lowers her face and does a little energetic shake. I squeeze her hand back. My whole body tightens. My stomach lurches a few inches. Not good. I scan the crowd, wishing Alexandre could be here. But then, I think I see him lingering off to the side behind the TV crews.
I twiddle my fingers just in case it is.
He twiddles them back. Yes, it’s him! He doesn’t hate me!
“The winner of this year’s Battle of the Bakers, with one hundred and eighty-seven votes and two-thirds of the judges’ votes is…”
I hold my breath.
Sabrina stops bouncing.
The whole courtyard pauses, holding its breath like one, cohesive person.
My eyes are down. Come on, come on…Nana help me out. I absentmindedly rub the little pentagram inside of my grandmother’s apron. I feel Wendy, tall albatross that she is, staring down her left side into my open right apron pocket. What is her fascination with my clothing?
No. Please, no…
Clamming up with fear, I pull my hand out of the pocket, smoothing it flat against my waist instead. She didn’t see it, did she? Because I do not need any more suck today.
My mouth fills with warm saliva, like it does whenever I’m about to—
Dr. OD finally cuts through the silence. “The cupcake enchantress herself…Rose Zapata!”
Me. My name. I won Battle of the Bakers. I beat Wendy Rivera in front of the whole school. But I feel numb as hell. Still, I have to be a good sport and shake her hand. Turning to her, our eyes meet. An invisible cloud of unsaid things exchanges between us. Our hands meet, we shake, and she tries to get a good look into my pocket again.
But it’s none of her business and I pull back. The universe swirls around me. I hear Sabrina’s voice from far away. Rose?
I don’t feel well.
And suddenly, I’m turning to the side—Wendy’s as it happens to be—and throw up all over her pair of super cute knee-high, pink, glittery socks. All covered in the contents of my stomach. The whole courtyard quiets for a few seconds, as people figure out what just happened. All I can do is stare at the mess on Wendy’s footwear. Behind me is the sound of shoes scrambling, and a moment later, someone is handing me a paper towel.
“Oh, my God, I am so…sorry,” I mutter at the ground. This is terrible. Just terrible. Fodder for the media, the school website, worst of all, bad—really bad—for business.
“GrrrrRRR-ahhhHH!” Wendy growls, stepping out of the puddle, which I must say, isn’t too big. Could’ve been worse.
Wendy lunges at the microphone, nearly slipping in the stuff, and tears it right out of Dr. O’Dell’s hand. “Okay,” she says. “I wasn’t going to say anything. In fact, I was going to let my cupcakes speak for themselves, but this girl,” she points at me, “has broken nearly every rule in the rulebook.”
&nbs
p; “No,” I mutter to her. “Please…”
Gasps all around.
Dr. O’Dell pries the microphone away from her. “That’s enough. Give me that.”
But Wendy holds on tight. I straighten out and wipe my face with another paper towel. This is so embarrassing. “First of all, she runs a business,” she hisses, “as many of you know. And running a business is against an amateur baking competition’s policy, I’m pretty sure.”
“We’ll check the rulebook on that, Wendy. Just give me here,” Dr. O’Dell says.
“No.” Wendy and Dr. O’Dell fight over control of the microphone. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. “Second of all, she has more than one assistant, when the rules say you can only have one, and—”
“Stop. Stop it right now.” Dr. O’Dell signals some of the teachers in the wings for help.
I cover my face with my hands.
Sabrina whooshes past me, slipping a bit on the mess I made, but gaining control of her slide and fighting Wendy for control of the mic like the real Wonder Woman. “Is this the only way you can win, you little wench? Maybe that should be your baking name, Wendy the Wench.” She whispers near the microphone, so of course, everybody hears her and bursts into laughter.
“I’d rather be a wench than a witch,” Wendy replies, and half the audience ooohs at her words.
I can’t watch this. I wish I could walk off stage and carry my win with my tail between my legs. “Sabrina, leave her. It’s not worth it,” I mutter.
Wendy shoves her aside. I break Sabrina’s fall with my body. “Plus, she has an F in one class, and that is definitely against the rules, and we should not be encouraging rule-breaking, should we, Dr. O’Dell?”
“I don’t have an F!” I hiss. “You’re just pissed because I threw up on you. Which was by accident, but now I wish it would’ve been on purpose.”
Suddenly, Wendy jabs her hand out at me and tugs at my apron. With a fistful of cloth, she flips it open and shoves it at the audience. “And you see this? Here, I’ll take a pic so you all can see it later…” In a flash, she’s taken a snap of my grandmother’s stitched pentagram.
I shove her hand away roughly.
“This is the big reason right here. Witchcraft, anyone?” She sneers.
“Wendy. Stop. Please. I’m warning you,” I growl.
“Or what?” She raises her eyebrows.
Or nothing. I have no plan. I’m not an evil, heartless bitch like she is. I will probably let her get away with this, because I was raised to be afraid of who I am, of the powers inside of me, magical or otherwise. I am silent, wilting Rose, the girl I’ve always been. Why did I ever think I’d be anything more?
When she sees I have no response, because when do I ever have a good response when I actually need one, she adds, “Need I say more? Rose Zapata is a cheater.”
Dr. O’Dell lunges for the mic again and this time, gets an easier grip on it. Wendy lets go without another ounce of effort, having made her point and made it well. She gives me a dark smile, shakes her head, and walks away.
The principal smiles awkwardly. “Well, what an evening it’s turning out to be, huh? We will take a short break, as the judges and I go over the results. But please…don’t forget our refreshment bar is still open in the back!”
Twenty-Six
“I’m disappointed in you, Miss Rivera.” Dr. O’Dell paces back and forth. “Really, I mean, what do you think you succeeded in doing? I didn’t peg you for having unsportsmanlike conduct.”
“And I didn’t peg you for making up rules then not enforcing them,” Wendy argues.
“That’s enough backtalk from you, young lady.” Dr. O’Dell eyes her hard.
A blonde woman rushes over and turns Wendy sharply by the shoulders. “What is going on with you? I did not raise you to speak this way.” She hands her a towel.
“Are you kidding me? Mom, she threw up on me!” Wendy slips off her shoes, peels her socks, and throws everything into a trash can. She wipes her legs with the towel. “God, ew!”
“I said I was sorry.” I turn to Sabrina to hide my shame.
Dr. O’Dell comes up to me. “Is this true about an official business?”
“No. People ask me to make cakes for them, but it’s just side money, Dr. O’Dell. I don’t literally have a registered business,” I plead, hoping my argument will stand.
Ms. Gale hands her a copy of the rulebook, and she flips through it page by page, scanning with her fingertip. She holds up her walkie-talkie. “Bring me Fuentes, please. And my laptop.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Wendy says, yanking baby wipes out of a container another parent offers her.
“But then you figured what the hell?” Sabrina snaps at her. “Dude, her grandfather died today.”
Wendy’s indignant eyes shift back to me. “I’m sorry about your grandfather, but rules are rules. You have an F in Spanish.”
“No! I don’t!” I never checked the portal after my mom mentioned it. I was too busy. But I know it can’t be. My project was gorgeous!
“Let’s see what Ms. Fuentes says.” Wendy smirks, and it takes everything in my willpower not to jump up and rearrange her face.
A minute later, Señora Fuentes arrives, wringing her hands and trying to keep upbeat, though she knows she’s about to settle the score. “Yes, Dr. O’Dell? You ladies all look beautiful.”
“Gracias, Señora Fuentes,” I say sheepishly. May as well get on her good graces with a little Spanish. “I turned in my project, remember? That had to be worth a few As. It was awesome.”
Ms. Gale swoops in again, producing her open laptop, open to the school system’s electronic grade book. “Here you go.”
“Did you put the grade in?” Dr. OD asks my Spanish teacher. She logs onto the portal and searches, and I detect a discernible deflation of her chest. “Is that it?”
“Yes, that’s it,” Ms. Fuentes says.
Huh? But tomorrow is Teacher’s Work Day, the day teachers finalize everything for report cards. She couldn’t have put in the project grades, and I still have an F. Ugh, I feel sick again.
Dr. O’Dell fiddles at the keyboard. “Everyone,” she tells the people waiting backstage, “go wait onstage. This is between us.” Turning to me, she quietly says, “You have an F, Rose.”
“What!”
“You weren’t supposed to participate unless you kept a C-average, which you assured me you were.” Dr. O’Dell appears more disappointed in me than angry. Toward herself, too, for not checking the grades sooner.
I can almost hear my mom in my head telling me she told me so. She told me so…
“Dr. O’Dell, I turned in my project a few days ago.” I try not to break into tears. Señora Fuentes whispers to the principal. They engage in a little discussion, while the parents, volunteers, and Sabrina file to the front of the stage.
Then it’s just us and awfully quiet. Dr. O’Dell and Señora Fuentes are in heavy discussion. I avoid looking at Wendy. “So?” I interrupt after a minute.
Dr. O’Dell faces me. The answer to my question is written all over her face. “Rose, did somebody do the project for you?”
“What? No, of course not. I did it.”
“You didn’t have somebody help you, or finish it for you?”
“I mean, everybody gets help at home on these projects, Dr. O’Dell. Let’s not kid ourselves.” Great. Not the full truth. Maybe I am a liar and cheater.
“Yes, she did!” Wendy speaks up. “Sabrina Oberson did the project for her. Rose was too busy with her cake business to do it herself. Caleb Anthony was at her house while she was finishing it. He told me. He tells me everything about Sabrina. He’s in love with her.”
I can’t take this. I’m going to implode. My heart and other organs will fold in on themselves. I hate everything I’m hearing. It’s like I’m living a nightmare. This day needs to end already.
“Stop it,” I hiss at Wendy.
“Rose, you’d be happier if you ju
st accepted the truth. I mean, if the hallway tackle between you, Caleb, and Sabrina didn’t teach you anything…” She scoffs. “But Sabrina, she’s so supportive of you, that she didn’t agree to a date with him until he asked you out first.”
“What?” I lock a cold stare on her. Is this true?
“Oh, you didn’t know? Oh my God.” She covers her mouth. Good thing, because it’ll protect her teeth when I punch her. “Oops. Yeah, that’s the only reason Caleb was going to ask you out.”
I can’t believe this. Get me out of here.
I charge onto the stage, everyone following me. Dr. O’Dell swipes the mic and announces that there’s been a slight change in results and I’ll no longer be the winner. There’s boos all around, but it’s Sabrina I mostly notice, gawking at me like I’m the baking dead about to eat her brains. “What? What happened?”
“Is it true?” I stammer.
“Is what true?”
“You told Caleb to ask me out first, or else you wouldn’t go on a date with him? Why would you do that?”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Never mind where I heard it. Is it true?”
She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t need to.
“You did,” I say. “I understand it all clearly now. This whole week has been a lie. You, your apology, everything. You do like him, and you do plan on going out with him. I don’t even care anymore. I only care that you lied to me.”
“I agreed to one date, Rosie. Just to get him off my back.”
“If you wanted him off your back, you could’ve told him to leave you alone. You did it to make yourself feel better, and now you’ve made me look pathetic to Caleb and everybody, Sabrina!”
“I was trying to help you.”
“I don’t need that kind of help!” I yell. The whole courtyard volleys between me and Dr. O’Dell, as she explains that circumstances being what they are, she must now announce Wendy Rivera as the Baking Champion to a massive drone of boos versus a few cheers.