Donut Go Breaking My Heart

by Suzanne Nelson

  “I’m not sure it works that way. Sometimes I think people have to fix themselves.” Cabe gave me a small smile. I glanced at him quizzically. It almost sounded like he might’ve been talking about himself. He took a sip of soda and straightened. “So while we have a breather, I was wondering if you could teach me how to mix up some donut batter for real?”

  I scoffed. “You don’t want to spend your break doing that.”

  “How else would I spend it?”

  I imagined him checking his likes on Instagram or Twitter. Or maybe FaceTiming with his latest celeb crush. “I don’t know. I thought you might have to call your manager, or give an interview. Or …”

  “Take a few selfies to send to the tabloids?” He smirked. “That’s all famous people do in their free time, right?”

  I blushed. “I didn’t mean—”

  “That’s a big assumption, don’t you think?”

  My blush deepened. He was right. What did I really know about him anyway? “Sorr—” I began, but I stopped myself. “Nope. No more apologies.”

  Suddenly, the tension on his face evaporated, and we both laughed.

  “For the record, I hate selfies. And paparazzi chase me, not the other way around.” He turned off his cell and set it on the counter to make his point. “I seriously want to learn about donut-making. Research is part of how I get into my roles. Make them believable. What do you say? Please?” He cocked his head to one side in a mischievous puppy-dog sort of way. It was a move I’d seen him use before, in the many Cabe Sadler movies that Kiri had forced me into watching. Girls inevitably swooned when he did it on-screen, but the gesture only raised my suspicions. If he was trying to entrance me into agreeing, it wasn’t going to work. I resolved not to let those eyes captivate me. But they were so blue, so striking …

  “Okay,” I said, smiling despite my every attempt not to.

  “Great!” We both stood up and Cabe headed for the enormous floor-to-ceiling mixer. He hefted a ten-pound bag of flour into his arms. “Flour first, right?”

  “Wrong,” I countered. I pointed to the tall pot that sat on the stove. “We make yeast donuts, so first we have to wake up the yeast. Get it moving so that the dough will rise.” I poured a gallon of whole milk into the pot, then pointed to the bag of active dry yeast on an overhead shelf. “We warm the milk, then add the yeast and let the mixture turn frothy.”

  “Measuring cups?” Cabe asked after we got the bag of yeast open.

  I shook my head. “We don’t ever use them. When you’ve done it a thousand times before, you eyeball it. Go ahead, sprinkle some in, until there’s a thin layer covering the milk.” While Cabe did that, I dropped several hefty pats of butter and sugar into the bottom of the mixer. It was strange, but as we worked, the cameras, lights, and film crew blurred into the background. The more attention I paid to my baking, the less I paid to the chaos all around us.

  When the milk started steaming and its surface turned a foamy and light brown, it was ready to go into the mixer. Together, we poured the milk mixture over the butter and sugar.

  “Time for the eggs.” I set a carton of a dozen in his hands. “Go to town.”

  He took one egg from the carton. Then, before I could stop him, he dropped the entire egg into the mixer.

  “What are you doing?” I cried, peering into the mixer at the smashed egg-and-shell mess. “You’re supposed to crack the eggs, not drop them in whole!”

  “Oops,” Cabe said. “I didn’t know. I mean, I don’t normally have to cook my own eggs.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Come on. It’s not like you’ve never cracked an egg before.”

  “Um, yeah. It actually is.” He shrugged sheepishly. “I never spent much time in the kitchen at home. My schedule never allowed it.”

  Before I could stop myself, I blurted, “But everyone can crack eggs. I don’t care who they are!” His eyes widened in surprise, and there was a hint of hurt behind them. I felt a stab of guilt, scooped out the egg disaster from the mixer, then set another whole egg in his hand.

  “Cradle the egg,” I said, more gently. I cupped my hand over his, and warm tingles zinged through my fingers. I nearly dropped the egg carton balanced in my other hand. “Um,” I stammered, heat flashing over my cheeks, then gave myself a mental shake and refocused. “Okay, so tap it against the side of the mixer. Like this.” We tapped the eggshell until it gave way, and I showed him how to pull the shell apart until the yolk slipped into the bowl. He cracked the rest of the eggs perfectly.

  I smiled at him. “Good.” I turned the mixer on medium speed, letting the ingredients blend into a creamy, pudding-like texture. Cabe lifted the bag of flour, and I nodded. “Now the flour. Slow—”

  Too late. The flour poured out in an avalanche, and the moment it hit the mixer’s paddle, it shot out in all directions. A blizzard of white spun around us, covering the walls, counters, and floor with flour dust.

  “Turn it off! Quick!” Cabe cried as another arc of flour spewed from the mixer. I switched off the mixer, then tried to wipe my eyes clear, coughing and sneezing. I saw a ghostly version of Cabe before me, caked head to toe in white, his blue eyes like the sky breaking through clouds.

  I burst out laughing in between sneezes. “You … You look ridiculous!”

  “Oh yeah?” He grinned. “You should see yourself!” He scooped up a handful of flour and tossed it lightly in my direction. I lobbed some right back at him, and within seconds, the dust was flying all over again. We were breathless with laughter when we heard a half-laughing “Cut!” from across the room.

  I froze and blinked as the cameras surrounding us suddenly came into focus again. Jillian was giving us a delighted thumbs-up from her chair.

  “That was brilliant! Exactly what we wanted!”

  I stared at her as I tried to brush some of the flour from my hair. “But, we weren’t on camera. I was just showing Cabe how to make the dough …”

  “The cameras were rolling the entire time,” Jillian said, giving Cabe an approving nod. “Great idea, Cabe.”

  I turned to him. “What does she mean?”

  He gave me an impish smile. “I told them to film us, figuring they could edit later to take what they wanted from the scene.”

  “You tricked me?” I wanted to be mad, but I felt more relieved than angry. After all, Jillian and the crew were happy, and I’d been spared the nervousness of knowing I was being filmed.

  “It wasn’t a trick,” he said. “I really did want to learn how to make the dough.”

  “And what about the egg-cracking routine?”

  His grin spread wider. “Well, I might have been exaggerating the teensiest bit. I don’t do it often, but I can crack an egg.”

  I tossed a dish towel at him. “So you’re a better actor than I gave you credit for.”

  “Okay, kids,” Simeon swooped us under his arms and led us out the front door, “that’s a wrap for today. Let’s get you cleaned up in the trailers.”

  The brisk air outside was a welcome change from the stuffy heat of the lights indoors, and I breathed in a big sigh of relief. My first day of filming was behind me, and even though it had started off rough, it hadn’t ended that badly.

  I’d only taken about three steps down the sidewalk before Kiri was running over, talking a mile a minute.

  “Omigod, what happened to you?” She gaped. “It was a disaster, wasn’t it?” She squeezed my hand. “It’s okay. This just isn’t your thing …”

  “Actually,” Simeon interrupted, “Sheyda did very well for a rookie. Jillian loved their ad-libbing just now.”

  “Really?” There was a slight catch in Kiri’s tone, as if she didn’t quite believe it. “But … that’s incredible!” She hugged me. “Didn’t I say you’d nail it from the very beginning?”

  This wasn’t exactly true, but this was the Kiri way of offering support, so I nodded my thanks.

  “And, Cabe.” Kiri swung in Cabe’s direction. “I’m sure you were brilliant. You alw
ays are.”

  “Thanks,” Cabe said, but a stone curtain fell over his features.

  “You know, I’d love to hear about what it’s like, the whole celeb lifestyle. How much time do you spend prepping with your scripts? Did you always want to be an actor? Because I feel like it’s been my calling since birth—”

  Cabe stopped mid-stride. When Kiri looked back confusedly, Cabe tucked his hands into his pockets and mumbled, “I’ve actually got to get to my trailer. Study up on the script, like you said.” He turned abruptly. “See you later.” Then he and Simeon were gone.

  “Oh! Okay!” Kiri’s voice was upbeat as she waved back. “Later!”

  “That was rude,” I said as soon as Cabe’s trailer door shut. “I don’t get it. He was fine while we were doing the scene. Nice, even. There were a couple times when I forgot I was talking to someone famous. He sounded sort of … normal. And he made the filming fun.” I shook my head. “Now he’s like a different person.”

  “He’s probably wiped,” Kiri said. “Filming is stressful, and then there are his fans.” She sighed dreamily. “It’s the cost of fame, I guess.”

  I frowned. I didn’t care what the cost of fame was. Cabe didn’t have any right to treat Kiri, or anyone else, that way, and the next time I saw him, I was going to tell him so.

  I woke to the incessant buzzing of my alarm and jerked straight up in bed. I glanced at my phone’s screen. Oh no. I’d heard Mina getting dressed a while ago, but I’d stayed under the covers. Her high school started an hour before my middle school. I didn’t even remember hitting the snooze, but I must have, because now it was almost eight. I had ten minutes to get to school for my meeting with Ms. Feld!

  I threw on the first clothes I found, pulled my hair into a mussed knot, then stumbled into the kitchen, grabbing my schoolbag along the way. Mom was standing at the kitchen sink tossing back one last swig of coffee, her keys and purse already in hand. Great! I thought. She must’ve guessed I’d need a ride.

  “Mom! Can you drive me to school? I overslept and I’m going to be late for my meeting—”

  Her brow knit. “Oh, aziz, I’m sorry. I can’t today. I just got a call from Mina’s guidance counselor, and she wants me to stop by before work.” Mom sighed. She was breaking world records in sighing lately. “Something about her attitude in her classes. Apparently several of her teachers are worried about her—oh, what was the word she used?— ‘indifference.’” She sighed again. “Thank goodness I’ve never had to worry about this kind of thing with you.”

  Right, I thought with an inexplicable twinge of envy, which is why you never worry about me, period.

  “Maybe I need to spend more time with Mina. This could be a cry for attention?” Mom wondered out loud.

  “I don’t know, Mom.” What I didn’t point out was how much of Mom’s time Mina already took. Maybe not in face-to-face minutes, but in worry minutes. Mina took hundreds of those from Mom and Dad. “Mina’s a mystery.”

  “Okay. I’ve got to go.” Mom planted a quick peck on the top of my head. “If you hurry, you’ll only be a few minutes late. Ms. Feld will understand. You’re a conscientious student. She knows you’d never be late without reason.”

  That was true. Being late, missing assignments, slacking in school went against my nature. My teachers said as much in every progress report they’d given me through the years. “Consistently hard-working.” “Responsible.” “A good role model for others.” Those were complimentary words. But part of me worried that they were also boring.

  Mom left, and I followed soon after, grabbing a banana and protein bar on my way out. I could only hope I’d make it in time.

  * * *

  Half an hour later, I slumped against my locker, replaying my meeting with Ms. Feld in my head. I’d been a few minutes late, but that hadn’t bothered Ms. Feld; my lack of ideas had.

  “You still haven’t come up with any sketches for your set model?” she’d asked, her voice surprised with a dash of concern. “This doesn’t sound like you, Sheyda.”

  Heat had swept over my face. “I know,” I’d admitted. “I just want this model to be perfect. I’ve had a couple ideas, but none of them have seemed good enough.”

  She’d pressed her hands into a pyramid, tapping her fingers together. “Good enough for who?”

  “The admissions panel. The scholarship committee.” I’d shrugged. “Everyone.”

  She’d leaned forward. “True art isn’t about pleasing others. It’s about pleasing yourself. Making your statement to the world.” She’d smiled encouragingly and given me some books on set design. “Look through these and see if anything speaks to you. Inspiration will come.”

  Now I flipped through the books, eager to spend time with them later. I stuck them into my locker and grabbed my smart tablet for class. As I shut my locker, I heard Kiri’s voice, all high notes and giggles. I knew before I looked up that she was in full flirt mode. When I saw her cozied up to Cabe, the two of them walking down the hall together, my stomach somersaulted.

  “If you’d started here last fall, you could’ve had the starring role in our production of Grease,” Kiri was saying. “You would’ve been a brilliant Danny Zuko. So much better than Liam.”

  I nearly laughed at that, because back in November, Kiri had thought Liam could do no wrong. Of course, that was before Cabe.

  Kiri beamed at him. “We could’ve played opposite each other.”

  “Yeah.” Cabe flashed a charming smile. “That would’ve been cool.” Then he glanced at his phone and pulled away with a quick, “I’ve got to get to class. I’ll see you after school?”

  “It’s a date,” Kiri singsonged, waving after him.

  “A date?” I repeated. She turned to me, her smile huge.

  “Not a date date, but still. He wants to work on our history project this afternoon in his family’s hotel suite.”

  “But you’ll be working at Doughlicious,” I began, but when she clutched my hand and stuck out her lower lip, understanding dawned on me. “Oh … You want me to cover for you.”

  “Please? I know you asked Mom if you could have off today, but she’ll need at least one of us there.”

  I hesitated. I’d asked Mrs. Seng if I could have off Monday afternoon to work on my model. If I took Kiri’s shift, I’d be putting off the set design for one more day, which I really couldn’t afford.

  Kiri squeezed my hand. “You’d be doing me such a huge favor. I’d do it for you.”

  Her puppy-dog eyes were killing me. I barely got the “okay” out before she was bouncing on her tiptoes, giving me an excited “Eeeeek!”

  “You’re incredible!” she gushed. “Do you know his suite has a private pool encased in a heated solarium? He said he was going to give me a whole tour. And if we finish early, his parents might let us use his private screening room. He can stream as many Everest Studio productions as he wants!”

  “Sounds cool,” I said, my voice straining for enthusiasm I didn’t feel. I kept thinking about that killer smile Cabe had given Kiri. It was the same smile he wore in every poster or red carpet pic I’d seen of him. It was swoon-worthy, all right, but what about genuine?

  “Who knows?” Kiri added giddily. “If we hit it off, then I could be his date for the Very Valentine movie premiere Valentine’s weekend!”

  My enthusiasm nosedived into worry. “Isn’t that a bit of a stretch? You don’t know who he is yet, in real life. And he may even have a Hollywood girlfriend.”

  Kiri rolled her eyes. “Half of those photos with his costars are staged for the press. I bet his manager concocts those fake, ridiculous romances for his public image.” She frowned. “Come on, Sheyda! This is Cabe Sadler!! Asking me to hang out!”

  I shook my head. “You’re right. You’ll have a great time.” My dislike of Cabe aside, I had to be happy for Kiri. Right?

  * * *

  “It’s almost seven. Just ice one more rack of Bubblegum Drops, and then you can go,” Mrs. Seng said.
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br />   I dipped another multicolored donut into a bowl of fluorescent-blue icing. Without Kiri, the shop felt strangely empty, despite the lines of customers. Word had gotten around the neighborhood that the shop was being used to shoot a movie, and we were busier today than we’d been in months. I guessed people were stopping by in hopes of catching a glimpse of Cabe or some other celebrity. When they walked into the shop to see everything was business as usual, their expressions betrayed some disappointment. Still, they complimented Mrs. Seng on the shop’s new décor and bought extra donuts. Which was why I was icing another three dozen Bubblegum Drops. We’d been so busy that I hadn’t even realized how late it was getting until Mrs. Seng pointed it out.

  Seven! Once I got home, I still had my homework to do. Would I have any time left over to work on my model? I felt an unfamiliar simmer of irritation with myself. I should’ve just said no to Kiri. Then I wouldn’t feel so stressed about getting everything done.

  I quickly finished up the Bubblegum Drops. I’d never told Mrs. Seng, but the Drops were my least favorite donut. I was more of a purist, and I couldn’t understand why anyone would love eating bubblegum-flavor icing. I slid the tray into the display, grabbed my coat and bag, and said good-bye to Mrs. Seng.

  When I walked into our apartment, Mom was making chai, tea spiced with cardamom and fennel, in the samovar my grandma brought over from Iran. Our samovar was a beautiful brass, its hand carvings still shining even though the urn, which we used for boiling the tea’s water, was decades old. We all took turns polishing it once a month because Mom wouldn’t stand for even the slightest hint of tarnish. I drew in a big breath. The smell of Mom’s chai was one of my favorite scents in the entire universe, and usually it was one of Mom’s favorite ways of unwinding at the end of the workday. Tonight, though, she handed me a cup hurriedly.

  “There’s a bowl of ash-e reshteh for you in the microwave. We haven’t eaten yet, but if you’re hungry, don’t wait.” She nodded toward the bedrooms. “Dad and I are talking with Mina about what’s happening at school. I thought some chai might help things go more … smoothly.”