Alexis's Cupcake Cupid

by Coco Simon

  At this, I burst into tears.

  “Sweetheart!” my mom cried, standing and coming to put an arm around my shoulders. “I am so sorry!”

  “I wish I did have a boyfriend!” I wailed.

  She hugged me and patted my back and whispered comforting words, and although it was nice, it didn’t actually help. The only thing that would have helped was Matt texting/calling/typing to say he loved the cupcake. That’s all! Not even “I loved the cupcake and want to go on a date with you.” Not even that!

  But there was nothing.

  “Listen, Alexis. I’m going to make your favorite chicken fajitas for dinner tonight. I’m going to the store in half an hour. Just understand, you are at a point in your life where family and friends come first. Boys will come along in due time, and you will be beating them off with a stick, trust me. But for now, pull yourself together. Get yourself downstairs and call Emma or Mia or Katie, and make a plan to do something fun this afternoon. Ideally, something with fresh air and exercise. You’re done with all of your homework, right?”

  As if she really needed to ask that. I nodded.

  “Okay, then. If you need a ride anywhere, I can take you on my way to the grocery store. Chop, chop!” She kissed the top of my head again and left the room.

  I grabbed a tissue and blew my nose and dried my eyes. Then I took a deep breath. I sent a group text out to see what the Cupcakers were doing after lunch and if anyone wanted to go skating or anything.

  It only took two seconds for Katie and Mia to reply that they wished they could but they were doing their homework.

  Shortly after, Emma replied that she was babysitting Jake, so she couldn’t go skating, but did I want to come over?

  Sighing deeply, I replied, “N. Thx.” And pressed send.

  She replied that she strongly encouraged me to use the time for a skating lesson. I sulked for a minute, then impulsively, I picked up the phone and called the skating rink where the Family Skating Party was always held. The lady who answered was nice and said I could have a one-hour lesson with a junior pro at three o’clock for forty dollars. I had the money myself saved up from Cupcake Club stuff so I didn’t have to ask for it, which was nice. I booked it and then went to coordinate a ride there and back with my mom.

  My mom dropped me at the rink while she went to the grocery store, and she said if she finished early, she’d come watch me. I privately hoped the checkout lines were long because I did not need an audience! I closed the car door and headed in through the gate.

  The skating rink was actually a tennis club in the summer, but every winter they built a really big rink with boards and chillers to keep the ice cold, and they had nighttime lighting (little twinkly lights in addition to the big floodlights) and music on the PA system, and it opened each year from early December to March. Inside the little clubhouse was a roaring fire surrounded by huge sofas, and a skate rental counter, and a snack bar that sold homemade soup and hot chocolate and plastic bags of popcorn, among other rinkside staples. (Hey, another possible Cupcake Club client!) The whole place felt cozy, like a ski lodge, and if I had been an even remotely decent skater, I would have spent a great deal of time here every winter. But, ahem, I wasn’t.

  At the counter, a cheerful-looking woman stood sharpening ice skates.

  “Hi, um, I’m Alexis Becker? I called earlier about the lesson?” I felt my palms growing sweaty just thinking about it.

  “Oh, right! Hi, honey.” She smiled, and I tried to relax. She turned off the skate-sharpening machine and went over to the register. “That will be forty dollars, please. You’re with Sasha today. She’s very good. I’m sure you’ll have fun.”

  I gulped in nervousness. “Okay,” I said. “I’m sure.” She might as well have been telling me I was going to have fun at the dentist.

  “And you’d like to rent skates, too, right? It’s free with the lesson.”

  “Yes, please.” I handed her the forty dollars, kind of wincing. I hate spending money in general, but spending it on things I don’t really want is about the worst.

  “Shoe size?”

  “Nine and a half,” I whispered. My big feet always embarrass me.

  She nodded and then went to get the skates.

  As I waited, I glanced around the dining area and then did a double-take.

  My heart dropped.

  Seated at a table in the snack bar were Olivia Allen and the other members of the BFC, or the Best Friends Club. My least favorite people at school. They were the kind of girls who would snub you in public, scheme to get a boy’s attention, speak to you only if other people from school were nowhere in sight (like if you ran into one of them at an airport with your family and your moms knew each other), laugh if you did something embarrassing at school, and so on. You get the idea. The last thing on earth I needed right now was for them to watch me take a beginner’s skating lesson.

  I considered fleeing right then and there.

  But the lady reappeared with the navy blue skates in my size and handed them to me with such a cheerful “Have fun, honey!” that there was nothing for me to do but take them and skulk in a daze over to a bench in the dressing area to put them on. My lesson with Sasha would start in ten minutes. She was probably just like the BFC—stylish and beautiful and too cool for me—and the whole hour would be torture. Oh, why did I do this so impulsively? I would have given anything for another Cupcaker to be there right then.

  The skates fit, but they felt heavy and awkward. I didn’t dare look back around the rental counter to see where the BFC girls were. I stayed frozen in my spot in the hopes they would stay at their table and I could slink out onto the ice without them seeing me. I had ten minutes to kill.

  I pulled my hat low over my forehead, tucked my chin into my zipped-up ski jacket, pulled on my mittens, and slouched against the wall until it was time.

  Unfortunately, everyone was getting ready to hit the ice for a four o’clock session, and it wasn’t even a minute when the BFC swarmed the benches around me to get ready for what turned out to be their synchronized skating team practice. How it was possible for Olivia to ID me solely by seeing the one exposed inch of my face, I will never know, but she said, “Alexis! What are you doing here?” in a loud, phony voice when she arrived. “Girls, look who’s here!”

  They all looked at me, and a couple of them kind of nodded, but that was it. I wouldn’t have expected more. Most of us weren’t exactly on a first name basis.

  “Are you trying out for our team?” Olivia asked, then she shot the other girls a look and they all giggled.

  “Nope. Just getting some exercise,” I said.

  “Nothing like exercising in the great outdoors!” chirped Olivia.

  “Uh-huh,” I agreed.

  She looked down at my skates. “Are those…rentals?” she asked, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

  “Yup,” I said, looking away.

  “Gross. How can you put your feet in those things after they’ve been all sweated up by strangers?” She shuddered. “I could never!”

  I shrugged. I hadn’t really thought about that aspect. The skates were dry when I put them on. “I forgot mine,” I lied. I tried not to think about strangers’ sweat.

  “Well, then, have your mom come bring them!” she insisted.

  “She’s . . . out.”

  “I would have canceled, then,” said Olivia with one last look of disgust.

  I should have, I thought.

  She and the others began peeling off their warm-up suits, until they were each in an adorable, flirty, little colored dress and tan stockings that went clear down over their white figure skates and made their legs look long and their feet look tiny. They all looked like Olympians, of course. I guessed that was the point.

  “Oooh, Bella!” Olivia squealed. “Let’s see you in the new teal!”

  Bella stood and modeled a tiny dress, and everyone looked to Olivia for her verdict before they said anything.

  Olivia stood and cased
Bella, stalking her in a circle like she was admiring a statue at a museum.

  Finally, Olivia said, “It looks gorgeous on you! I love it!” The other girls all nodded. Their leader had spoken.

  Bella heaved a sigh of relief and a huge grin spread across her face as Olivia turned her attention back to me.

  “So who’s your lesson with?” she asked, bending to tighten her skates.

  “Sasha?” I said unenthusiastically. I didn’t want her to think I thought Sasha was some awesome person since I’d never even met her.

  But Olivia stood bolt upright. “Really?” she asked, her eyes wide.

  “Um . . . yeah?” Is this good news or bad? I wondered.

  “Wow,” Olivia said breathlessly. And then “Girls,” she called to her team. “Alexis is having a lesson with Sasha.” There was heavy meaning implied in the way she said Sasha’s name, like they all would understand how significant a fact this was. However, I was totally in the dark.

  They all said “Wow,” or some version of it, that implied awe, but again, I couldn’t tell if it was good or bad.

  I didn’t want to let on that I was clueless, so I just sat there and waited for Olivia to say more, to give me an indication of how I should react. She was looking at me in kind of a funny way, eyeing my blue skates, my outfit, and then kind of shaking her head like she was confused.

  “So, how did you end up with Sasha?” she asked casually.

  “I called and that’s who they gave me.” I shrugged, like I couldn’t help it.

  “Huh,” said Olivia. “Oh! Here she comes!”

  She was looking over my shoulder. Olivia scrambled to stand up straight, so I did too. And then I turned around to search for someone—I don’t know who I was expecting—but when I looked, I had to look down. Way down. Sasha was tiny, but so beautiful, like a porcelain doll. She had jet-black hair, white skin, full red lips, and long, long black eyelashes framing sky blue eyes. She was wearing a red warm-up suit that was form-fitting, and I could see how athletic and lithe she was. Her white skates were pristine, and everything about her was perfect, from her tight ponytail to the tiny gold studs in each ear.

  I smiled nervously and glanced at Olivia for some kind of guidance, but Olivia was staring openmouthed at Sasha.

  Um, okay.

  Sasha spoke first, and she had a beautiful accent that sounded like she might be Russian. “Hello! You are Alexis? I am Sasha.” She put out her tiny hand to shake mine, and I felt like a polar bear extending a huge paw. I had to take off my mitten, and still my hand looked huge in comparison.

  “Hello,” I said meekly, and I smiled again. She didn’t smile back, but she wasn’t unfriendly. Just very, very serious.

  “Shall we go?” Sasha said, gesturing to the rink.

  I gulped and nodded, terrified. She began to walk, and I followed her.

  “Hi, Sasha!” Olivia called desperately after us.

  Sasha half turned and nodded in Olivia’s direction.

  “Hey, Sasha!” all the other synchronized skaters called eagerly.

  But Sasha didn’t turn around again. With perfect posture and elegance, she walked to the door in her skates, pushed it open, and held it for me. I went through and she followed.

  Outside, as we walked down the rubber-padded ramp to the rink entrance she shivered and said, “Those girls are always so mean. I hope they are not your friends.”

  And right then and there, I relaxed. I knew things were going to be okay!

  “No. They are not my friends. Not at all,” I said triumphantly.

  Then we edged our way onto the ice, and I promptly stumbled and fell down.

  It was going to be a long hour.

  CHAPTER 5

  You Rock

  Sasha was a tiny seventeen-year-old Ukrainian on the pro track, and because she was organized and driven, like me, we hit it off immediately, despite the fact most people who are great skaters (and drop-dead gorgeous) make me insanely jealous. Her family had emigrated from Ukraine the year before, and Sasha was being homeschooled, so she could train with a famous figure skating coach an hour away. She had been on the Ukrainian Junior National Team for figure skating and would be trying out for the US skating team when her green card came through, hopefully soon. Meanwhile, besides her training and schooling, she gave lessons around the area to earn extra cash to pay her trainer. I got all this in the first couple of minutes of our lesson. She was very chatty and friendly.

  When I fell down immediately, she was patient. She said, “Okay, so you are beginner.”

  I had to laugh, I was so embarrassed. Plus, it was funny how she stated the obvious in her deadpan way. “Yes.” I said, shaking my head. “I am a beginner.” And then I couldn’t get up. I had to flip onto my hands and knees like a baby and scrabble up as Sasha tried to lift me. She was much stronger than you would have thought for someone her size. Must’ve been all that Olympic training.

  My legs flailed a little, but when Sasha whispered, “Quick, they come!” I knew who she meant and was immediately grateful. That was all it took to motivate me. I grasped for the edge of the rink and pulled myself into a steady upright position. As the synchronized skaters clomped down the ramp, stepped over the threshold to the ice, and then went gliding like a flock of multicolored swans across a frozen pond, I stood stock-still and watched them go. Only Olivia turned her head to glance back at us as she went by. And her look seemed almost wistful, like I had something she wanted. That would be a first!

  As soon as they reached the far end of the rink, Sasha said, “I am sorry. I did not mean to scare you. But I did not want you down on the ground as they passed.”

  “I appreciate it,” I said.

  “So you want to skate, why? For exercise?” she asked.

  I explained about the Family Skating Party that was being held on Friday. I didn’t mention Matt. I didn’t really know Sasha, and I felt too shy. “I just want to not make a fool of myself,” I said. That about covers it, anyway, I thought.

  “Okay,” Sasha began, nodding. “So we will take it from beginning. The ice is slippery. Your skates are not. You are in control of how you move, and you will need every muscle. You can ski?” she asked, tipping her head to the side.

  I nodded.

  “Good. Is very much like skiing,” she said. “We will push skates: right foot out to right, left foot out to left. Beginners always thinking it is forward backward, like shush, shush.” She moved her feet in a straight line, forward and backward, like she was trying to carve the ice. Then she grabbed hold of the side of the rink and showed me what she meant about skiing. “You know when you are on the flat terrain in your skis and you have to get to the lift? You must push the skis out to the side? Is same motion. Let’s see you try it.”

  She let go of the side of the rink and pushed away in a perfect, graceful arc. “Here. Give me your hands. I will take you for quick ride to give you a taste. Just relax. I will not let you fall. Now with mean girls here, we have motivation to stay upright. Is good.” She cracked a small smile for the first time and I smiled back. Yes. Is good motivation, I thought in a Russian accent.

  Sasha took me by the hands and, skating backward, pulled me along on a brisk ride. The wind felt nice on my face, and I could see the appeal of being able to skate well. I couldn’t believe she was doing this all backward. Yikes.

  “Bend knees a little, chest up, keep skates parallel. Head up,” she instructed, looking back over her shoulder to make sure we wouldn’t crash into anyone. “Can you feel the ice through the blades? Is little bit bumpy, no? But feel how good is the glide. Relaxing. Beautiful. Fun. You like it?”

  I had to smile. When someone else was doing all the work, ice-skating wasn’t half bad. “Yes,” I agreed.

  “Good. Now we will teach you to do. Skating is all angles. You like math?” Sasha asked, bringing us back to a stop where we had started.

  “I love it,” I said.

  She smiled that rare flash of a smile, and nodded. “Good. T
hink of blade as upside-down U shape.” She cupped her hand and showed me what she meant. “Inside edge is here, outside edge here.” She indicated her thumb for the inside, and then the rest of her fingers for the outside. “You will work from inside edge. Starting position is feet side by side, shoulder-width apart. Angle toes in tiny bit; maybe twenty degrees. Bend knees.” She bounced a little in place, and I lined up my skates, bent my knees, and copied her.

  “Good.” She nodded, pleased.

  I looked down at my feet in the clunky skates to admire my work.

  “Keep chest up, eyes ahead. No looking down at toes!” she commanded.

  I whipped my head up and looked straight ahead.

  “Yes! Now we will do one push, then glide. Hands out to sides for balancing. Put all weight on left foot. Tip right toe out at forty-five-degree angle, then push out to side like flat skiing. Will start you moving.”

  I did as I was told and pushed out to the side, leaving my weight on my left foot. I wobbled as I began to move, but with my eyes straight ahead, I could see the synchronized girls floating across the ice and ordered myself to stay upright rather than fall.

  Sasha was very happy. She clapped her tiny hands. “Yes! Very good student. Do again. Keep pushing just with right foot. Like skateboard. Is okay for now.”

  I kept pushing myself along, balancing on the left foot.

  “Wait! Stop!” commanded Sasha. She gently held my arm to stop me from moving, and then she skated me over to the wall. “Skates are too loose. Toes must move, ankles must be rigid. Let me retie.” She bent and fiddled with each skate, yanking the laces so hard at the top that I gasped. She looked up. “Sorry. But if skates are not right, then they become enemy working against you, not friend helping.”

  I giggled. “I need friends helping. That’s for sure.” I pictured the Cupcakers and wished again that they were here. A group lesson would be fun, but maybe we’d laugh too much.

  Sasha stood and brushed the ice off her knees. “Okay. Begin again. Weight on left foot. Angle right toe out . . .”