Church Camp Chaos (4 page)

June 13

Mom is taking Isaac and me grocery shopping in a few minutes.

There are two B words I use to describe grocery shopping: BLEH and BORING.

I would pretty much rather be doing anything else—like reading a good book or playing fetch with Bert in the backyard with his favorite slobbery tennis ball or even helping Mom weed the flower bed (a chore I usually loathe, but right now it sounds better than grocery shopping).

The only thing that makes this shopping trip not completely terrible is that we’re buying food for my birthday party: Mom’s homemade lasagna, garlic bread, and salad—and my birthday cake!

Speaking of cake, Mom and I have started watching a TV show called
Dessert Duels
. It’s where bakers compete to make the most delicious and best-looking desserts (cakes, cookies, brownies, crème brûlée—you name it!) and a winner is named at the end of every episode.

I don’t mean to brag or anything, but I have some pretty amazing baking skills myself. Dad taught me the Payne family recipe for cowboy cookies when I was eight, so I’ve been perfecting that delicious snack for almost three years now. And I make a mean pan of peanut butter brownies, thanks to lessons from Mom. So count on it, Diary—someday I’ll make a winning appearance on
Dessert Duels
!

Mom’s yelling up the stairs that it’s time to go to the store.

Again, I say: BLEH!

EJ

EJ pressed her nose against the bakery display case and exhaled, admiring the foggy circle her hot breath made on the glass. Scanning the rows of desserts, she quickly spotted a square tray filled with a dozen delicious-looking chocolate cupcakes topped with mounds of fluffy, white frosting and multicolored star sprinkles. EJ pulled her face away from the glass and turned toward Mom, who was reading the nutrition label on a loaf of Italian bread a few feet away.

“Mom, those cupcakes would be
perfect
for my birthday,” EJ said, pointing to the star-sprinkled beauties. “Could we get them for my party? Please?”

Mom added the loaf of bread to the shopping basket hanging from the crook of her arm and leaned down next to EJ to get a better look at the cupcakes.

“Those are definitely EJ Payne cupcakes—stars and all,” Mom said, smiling. “I admire a woman who knows what she wants.”

“May I help you with something, ma’am?” The voice came from behind the display case—a teenage boy with short, dark hair, freckles across his cheeks, and braces. He was wearing a yellow polo shirt with the bakery’s logo on the chest: S
ALLY
’
S
S
WEET
S
HOPPE
. Underneath that was a name tag with his name: T
ROY
.

“We’re interested in these cupcakes, Troy,” Mom said, tapping the glass. “Can you tell me how much they are?”

“Sure thing.” Troy slid open a door in the back of the display case, pulled out the tray of cupcakes, and set it on top. “These Chocolate Dream cupcakes are some of Sally’s bestsellers.”

“I can see why,” Mom said, admiring the beautiful colors. “They’re gorgeous.”

EJ carefully holds the biggest Chocolate Dream cupcake in her hand and admires its perfection for just a moment before pulling away the silvery paper baking cup from the bottom of the cake. She sinks her teeth into the delectable sugary goodness of the frosting and the crunch of the sprinkles as she savors the bite. She looks around at her birthday party guests: Dad and Mr. Johnson both laugh good-naturedly as Isaac’s cupcake-eating technique results in a white goatee (with a few sprinkles for added color). Seeing his chance to get some sugar for himself, Bert hops up on the chair next to Isaac and starts licking the frosting from her brother’s face while Isaac giggles. Mom and Mrs. Winkle gush over how the cupcakes are almost too pretty to eat (but that won’t stop them!). Nana and Pops, arms entwined, romantically feed each other bites of cake. (Gross.) And all thanks to EJ—who picked them out herself!

“And they taste even better than they look, if you can believe it.” Troy’s voice jolted EJ back to reality in Sally’s Sweet Shoppe. “These cupcakes are part of our gourmet line of desserts, and they’re …” He paused to check a price list behind the counter. “Five fifty each—plus tax.”

EJ’s stomach dropped to her toes. Five dollars and fifty cents apiece? She did a quick calculation in her head: eight partygoers multiplied by $5.50 was more than $40! EJ knew Mom would never pay that much for a birthday dessert, no matter how amazingly spectacular and perfect it was. Still, she couldn’t help but hold out a tiny bit of hope.

“Thanks for your help, Troy.” Mom laid a reassuring hand on EJ’s shoulder. “We’ll talk about it.”

EJ knew “We’ll talk about it” was Mom language for “No.” She sighed and took one last longing glance at the cupcakes as Troy slid them back into their spot behind the glass.

“But, Mom—“ EJ started, feeling the sting of disappointed tears well up. Mom hugged EJ around her shoulders.

“Come on, Isaac, we’re checking out,” Mom called to EJ’s little brother, who was near the cookies, trying to convince the teenage girl behind the counter that he couldn’t decide which he liked better—the peanut butter or the chocolate chip—so could he please try one more sample of each? If Isaac had another thirty seconds, his six-year-old boy charm might have gotten him not just a taste but an entire cookie. Or maybe even a dozen. The kid knew how to work it.

“Isaac, we’re leaving,” Mom said in a firmer voice this time. Reluctantly, Isaac walked toward Mom and EJ at the end of a short line at the checkout, shoving a last-second oatmeal cookie sample in his mouth.

“I’m coming, Marm!” Isaac said around a mouthful of cookie. He “helpfully” took the shopping basket from Mom and started swinging it on his arm like a pendulum in a clock.

“Careful, buddy,” Mom said, placing a hand on top of his head to keep him contained. “Not too high.”

“I gotta burn off that sugar I ate,” he said, echoing words he often heard from Mom and Dad. “Or I’ll go into HYPERdrive.”

EJ could almost see the sugar energy from the cookies coursing through her little brother’s arms and legs. Sure, he was naturally already a spaz, but he could usually contain his spazzy-ness to a minimum—especially in public.

“Hey, hyper-driver,” EJ said to the basket-swinging Isaac, “I’d like to see what you’d be like after eating one of those Chocolate Dream cupcakes.”

Isaac’s basket stopped swinging, and his eyes widened with excitement at the thought. “I would be … unstoppable,” he whispered in awe.

Mom laughed as they moved forward in the checkout line.

“On second thought,” EJ said, imagining an unstoppably hyper Isaac, “I think you should only be allowed that much sugar if we have a padded room to lock you in for the next six hours.”

“Are we going to get those cupcakes for EJ’s birthday?” Isaac asked, switching up his basket antics by raising and lowering it by the handle in a bicep curl.

“Those Chocolate Dream cupcakes
are
pretty spectacular,” Mom said, looking over her shoulder toward the cake display.

“Yeah, but I know they’re too expensive,” EJ said, studying the tiles on the floor.

“They are too expensive; you’re right,” Mom said, sounding almost as disappointed as EJ felt. “But you know, I don’t think they’re actually special enough for your eleventh birthday, EJ.” Mom took the basket from Isaac and placed the two loaves of Italian bread and a tub of garlic butter on the counter for the cashier to ring up.

EJ squinted at Mom, looking unsure. What could be better than chocolate cupcakes with star sprinkles?

“What if we make our own cupcakes?” Mom suggested, a sly twinkle in her eye.
“Dessert Duels
style. EJ versus Mom.”

Isaac spun around from where he had been poking the side of a plastic-wrapped angel food cake and watching the dent spring back to its original shape. “Like a food fight?” he asked.

“Not throwing food but more of a food throw-down. Then the party guests could be the judges,” Mom said as she swiped her debit card through the machine. “What do you think, birthday girl?”

EJ closed her eyes and tried to imagine the best cupcakes ever: chocolate … no, devil’s food. And cream-filled centers! With triple-fudge icing and sparkly gold flecks that reflected in the light—and multicolored star-shaped sprinkles!

EJ opened her eyes wide and grinned. “Could I decorate my cupcakes however I want? Even better than the Chocolate Dream ones?” she asked.

“It’s your birthday—do it up right!” Mom said.

“Where’s my favorite set of measuring cups?”

Chef EJ looks frantically amid the clutter of ingredients on the stainless-steel countertop for the set of red plastic measuring cups—her good luck charm during baking competitions
.

“Right here, chef!” EJ’s kitchen assistant, Isaac, pops up from under the counter and hands her the cups
.

“Isaac, were these on the floor?” EJ asks, inspecting the measuring cups for any sign of dirt
.

“Yes, chef,” Isaac says matter-of-factly, “but they didn’t break the five-second rule. And it’s a scientific fact that when something falls on the floor, it doesn’t get dirty until it’s been there for at least five seconds!”

Although the logic seems iffy to EJ, she doesn’t have time to argue. “Thank you, Isaac,” she says, picking up the recipe card to see what she needs to do next
.

“Time to mix up the cream for the cupcake centers!” Chef EJ flashes a winning smile and a thumbs-up toward camera two just before the announcer takes
Dessert Duels
to a commercial break
.

“Who will control this epic battle for dessert dominance? The fifteen-year cupcake veteran, Chef Tabby? Or the newbie, Chef EJ?” the deep male voice asks the unseen TV audience on the other side of the camera. “We’ll be right back after these commercial messages.”

“EJ, you’re doing great!” Mom said, scooping vanilla cupcake batter into a cupcake pan. “I’m proud of you!”

“Thanks, Mom.” EJ smiled, unaware that she had a streak of flour smeared across her forehead. “This is so fun. I’m sorry I’m going to have to beat you in the final judging. Who in their right mind is going to pick a vanilla cupcake over a chocolate cream-filled one?”

“You’re right,” Mom said, licking a dab of batter off her thumb. “I stand no chance.”

Isaac appeared between Mom and EJ. “And we’re back from commercial in three … two … one.”

Chef EJ glances over her shoulder at the digital countdown on the wall. Four minutes and eight seconds left. Time to shift into high gear to get her cupcakes in the oven before time runs out
.

“Eight ounces of soft cream cheese, one-quarter cup cocoa powder, and a half cup of sugar,” EJ mutters, reading off the recipe card. She quickly adds the first two ingredients to the glass mixing bowl, but when she reaches for the sugar, it’s not there
.

“Isaac!” A tone of urgency is in her voice. “Isaac! Sugar?”

Suddenly she spots a plastic bowl filled with white granules sitting on top of the stove. “Never mind—found it!” EJ quickly shoves the half-cup measuring cup in the bowl and scoops out a level measure before dumping it into the mixing bowl and flipping the mixer’s switch to the O
N
position
.