Alexis the Icing on the Cupcake (2 page)

“Ooh, that's good!” agreed Mia.

Emma's eyes sparkled suddenly. “I think we need a field trip!” she said. “Let's go to the beach!”

“Yes!” exclaimed Mia. “When?”

Emma shrugged and looked around at all of us. “This weekend?”

I thought about my schedule. We have exams next week, and I have a big paper due. Of course, I've been studying, so I'm in pretty good shape for the tests. And I'm more than halfway done with the paper. Plus, I have the rest of it mapped out. I knew Mom and Dad would be okay with the plan. “I'm up for it!” I said.

Everyone agreed. We'd go tomorrow, providing all the parents said it was okay, and we'd still have Sunday for homework.

“Yay!” said Katie, clapping her hands. “I can wear my new swimsuit!”

Hmm. Mentally, I scanned my closet to think about what I'd wear. I guess I wouldn't know until I went home and tried things on. I was not looking forward to it.

A
fter school, we had our usual Friday baking session, making our standard weekly order for our number-one customer, Mona at The Special Day bridal salon. Hanging out in Emma's kitchen between batches, I kept hoping her brother Matt, the crush of my life, would appear. But after looking expectantly at the door for maybe the fifth time, Emma finally busted me and said, “Lexi, he's at an away lacrosse game today. He won't be home until really late.”

I could feel myself blushing beet red. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

Emma laughed. Most of the time, she was a good sport about my crush. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

Her other brother Sam showed up a little while after that, just as I was bending over to take two trays of mini cupcakes out of the oven. I stood up and placed the trays on the counter to cool, and as I did, Sam said, “Whoa, Lexi! You grew!”

I have known Sam all my life, and though he is great-looking, I have never had a crush on him (unlike Katie and Mia!).

I stood up straight. “You think?”

He nodded. “Big time. You're all the way up to my shoulder now.” (Sam is really tall.)

“Huh,” I said. “I hope I don't keep going.”

“Nah, tall girls are cool.”

“I guess . . . ,” I said.
As long as the boys are tall too,
I added silently. I wondered now if I might be taller than Matt. I racked my brain to think of when was the last time I saw him. And were we both standing? Matt is not as tall as Sam; I don't even know if he'll be a tall guy one day. I would hate it if I were taller than him. It might sound silly and old-fashioned, but I just like for the guy to be the taller one in a couple. Not that
we're
a couple. Or that we ever will be. Aaaaargh!

Sam left the kitchen, and Mia and Katie swooned, clutching their hands to their hearts. “How can you be so calm around him, Alexis?” asked Mia.

“I know! And he just told you you're cool, too!” said Katie.

“I don't have a crush on him.” I laughed. Then I joked, “Seriously, guys, get a grip. He's my best friend's older brother. He's known me forever. . . .”

Emma smirked at me, and the other girls laughed as they got the Matt reference.

Trying to be all casual, I said, “Hey, Emma, has . . . uh . . . Matt grown lately?” I busied myself stirring some white frosting, so I didn't have to look at her expression.

“Don't worry, Alexis. I'm sure he's still bigger than you.”

“Wait, am I
big
?” I said, whirling around. As I whirled, I knocked the aluminum bowl of frosting onto the floor. It landed, mercifully, right-side up, but with a huge clatter. A large dollop of frosting splattered out of the bowl and began oozing down the Taylors' kitchen cabinet. “Oh!” I cried.

I bent down to pick up the bowl. “Don't worry. I didn't lose much. . . .”

The others were at my side in a flash.

“Phew!” said Katie.

“Nice landing,” agreed Emma.

Mia handed me a wet paper towel to wipe up the ooze.

“Thanks. That was close. Sorry to be such a klutz. But seriously”—I stood up—“
Am
I big? Like a
‘big girl'
?”

Mia looked at me with a puzzled look on her face. “What does that mean?”

“I know what you're talking about,” said Katie, totally getting it. “And the answer is no. That's for girls who are big and broad, like quarterbacks. You're just tall.” She shrugged.

“Like, tall for my age or a freak of nature who's going to tower over people all my life?” I said miserably.

Emma came over and wrapped her arm around me. “Lexi, you're a little ahead of the curve for now, height-wise, but you're slender and graceful. . . .”

“Except for when I'm being a klutz!” I said grimly.

“And Matt is always going to be taller than you. He takes after my grandpa, who's six foot three!”

That made me feel a little better, but not much. “Well . . .” And then, I don't know why I said it, I just threw it in. “Also, I don't want to be called Lexi anymore!”

Emma looked taken aback, but she recovered quickly. “Really?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Why?” asked Mia, puzzled.

“It's babyish.” I sniffed.

“I think it's the opposite!” said Katie. “I think it's sophisticated!”

“Not!”
I cried. “It's what everyone has been calling me since I was a baby. I'm sorry to be a pain, and I will change the topic after this, but . . . do you guys mind? Since you're all my besties, if you always call me Alexis, so will everyone else. Okay?”

Mia shrugged. “Okay. I usually call you Alexis anyway.”

“Sure. Whatever you want,” agreed Katie, but she looked unsure as she said it.

Emma just smiled. “Me too? I love nicknames! What about ‘Lex'?”

“‘Lex' sounds like a guy, which is even worse for someone like me, who's as tall as a guy!”

“Oh, Le—Alexis,” corrected Emma. “You're being silly now.”

“All right. Well, enough about me. What do you think of my hair?” I joked.

“Hey, let's look at beach cupcake designs online!” suggested Katie.

So we gathered around the Taylors' family computer and googled design ideas, and as we finished up Mona's cupcakes, we brainstormed about what
to make for the barbecue and then, of course, what to wear to the beach tomorrow.

“OMG! Here we go again!” I yelled, throwing yet another article of clothing on my floor after dinner.

My mom appeared in the doorway. “Sweetheart, may I help you?” she asked. Mom doesn't like yelling. She likes to “diffuse” the situation, as she says. She learned that at one of the parenting workshops she and my dad are always going to.

I wanted to bite her head off, but I refrained because she was just being nice and because I didn't want another lecture about how yelling isn't productive. “None of my clothes fit,” I said through tightly gritted teeth.

“Hmm,” said my mom, biting her lip thoughtfully. “What about the new spring things you bought with Grandma?” she asked brightly.

“Too small,” I said darkly.

“What?
Already?
” My mom gasped.

“Don't rub it in,” I said.

My mom smiled. “That
is
frustrating. So, of course nothing from last summer fits either, then?”

“Right,” I said.

“Maybe Dylan . . .”

“Ha! As if!” I said.

“Yeah,” my mom agreed. We both knew the likelihood of Dylan lending me anything was slim to none.

My mom was quiet for a second, and then she said, “Well, Alexis, you know there are more important things in life than how you look. Hard work and kindness—”

“Mom!” I interrupted her. “I can't fit into any of my clothes! I'm not being a brat and asking for a new outfit! This is . . . potential nudity!”

My mom giggled. “Sorry, I know. Don't get mad. I was just trying to say the right thing.”

“Well, don't say anything, please,” I grumped.

We sat for a few seconds in silence.

Suddenly, I noticed my mom squinting at me. “You know . . . ,” she singsonged. Then she turned on her heel, and before I could protest, she was down the hall and into her room like a flash.

Ugh. I knew where she was going. Now I was going to have to sit here and look through her mom clothes and be totally bummed out at how dorky they were and what a loser I was for potentially having to wear them, all the while acting appreciative and gracious, so I didn't hurt her feelings. I know I sound so spoiled right now, but I am just. So. Frustrated.

It was so rookie of me to be unprepared for this growth spurt. One of my mottoes, after all, is failing to plan is planning to fail. And I do have some money socked away for a rainy day. I was planning on using it for a nicer computer one day, but maybe I will just have to dig into it and buy some new clothes that fit.

“Here we go!” my mom singsonged again as she returned with an armload of clothes. Right away I recognized one or two things that there was
no way
I'd be caught dead in. I literally bit my tongue (not hard) to avoid saying anything mean. I took some calming breaths and counted to ten. (My mom learned that in a parenting class and always does it when she's about to lose her cool.)

“Thanks, Mom!” I said, maybe a little too cheerily because she glanced at me suspiciously. I kept a smile plastered on my face because one of Dylan's relaxation books says you can trick your brain into thinking it's happy by smiling, even when you're not happy.

Gingerly, as if they held plague-causing germs, I lifted and sifted through her clothes.

“Oh, now these shorts are really cute,” she said, lifting up a pair of long pink shorts that I would never wear in a million years.

“Yeah!” I said halfheartedly. It wouldn't do to encourage her too much, especially this early on.

“What about these?” suggested my mom, holding up a pair of scalloped white shorts that were almost cute, but still a little too momish for me.

“Uuhnn.” I made a pleasant, noncommittal, not-encouraging-but-not-rude sound. There was one cute turquoise T-shirt from Big Blue that I set aside, and my mom beamed. I'd always had my eye on that, and now would be the time to make my move. T-shirts aren't old ladyish, anyway.

I looked through a couple of other things and then pulled out a pair of white capris I hadn't seen before. They still had the tags on them.

“Oh, sorry. These are brand-new,” I said, laying them back down.

“No, go ahead, honey. Try them on. I bought them on impulse. I'm not sure they even look good on me. I'd be happy to have you wear them.”

“Thanks, Mom. That is
so
nice, but I don't need to.” Now I felt bad.

“Alexis, I insist!” she pressed.

“Well . . .” They were really cute. I yanked off my pj bottoms and pulled on the capris. They weren't too high-waisted, and they had cute side-seamed pockets and a slit at the end of each
leg. They were pretty comfy, actually.

“They have stretch in the fabric!” crowed my mom, like stretch had just been invented.

“Great!” I said. I went down the hall to look in the full-length mirror in her room, and as I passed Dylan's room, I made a point not in to look to see what Dylan was doing. But I heard her right behind me as I entered my parents' room.

In an enthusiastic but slightly accusatory voice, Dylan said, “Hey, where'd you get those—” There was a pause, and then she said, “Pants?”

Right then, I looked in the mirror and gasped. My legs stuck awkwardly out from the bottoms, and the hem hit me at just the wrong part of my lower leg. It wasn't clear if they were Bermuda shorts that were way too long or pants that were way too short. “I look like a scarecrow!” I cried, pulling off the pants immediately. “See!
This
is why I never wear capris!”