Confectionately Yours #3: Sugar and Spice (4 page)

L
ast year, I caught Chloe crying alone in her room one afternoon. I asked her what was wrong, but she wouldn’t tell me. She wouldn’t even admit that anything
was
wrong.

For three weeks after that, she seemed sad.

I remember the date that I knew for sure that something was wrong. March 11. “Hey — what’s Mara doing for her birthday this year?” I asked, checking the calendar. Chloe and Mara had been best friends since preschool.

“Nothing special,” Chloe said.

Nothing special? That was not Mara’s style. It wasn’t Mara’s mom’s style, either. These were the people who had taken over the local beauty salon and given fourteen six-year-olds “Rock-star Makeovers” the year before.

I was sure that Mara was doing something for her birthday … and Chloe wasn’t invited.

I fretted about it for another month but didn’t hear a word. Finally, Chloe’s teacher called Mom in for a conference. It turned out that Mara and two other girls had been picking on Chloe for months.

I don’t know why Chloe hadn’t told us. Maybe she didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe she thought things would change. Maybe she was afraid Mom would do something big … which Mom, of course, did. She waited for the school year to be over (only another six weeks by then) and enrolled Chloe in a different school.

And that’s when Chloe found Rupert. Her new best friend. Her
real
best friend.

I wonder how much sooner that could have happened if Chloe had just spoken up.

Raspberry Cupcakes

(makes approximately 12 cupcakes)

INGREDIENTS:

INSTRUCTIONS:

1. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Line a muffin pan with cupcake liners.
   
2. In a large bowl, whisk together the milk and vinegar, and set aside for a few minutes to curdle.
   
3. In a separate bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.
   
4. Once the milk has curdled, add in the sugar, oil, vanilla extract, and raspberry pulp, and stir. Then slowly add the dry ingredients to the wet ones a little bit at a time, and combine using a whisk or handheld mixer, stopping to scrape the sides of the bowl a few times, until no lumps remain.
   
5. Fill cupcake liners two-thirds of the way and bake for 20–22 minutes. Transfer to a cooling rack, and let cool completely before frosting.
   

White-Chocolate Mint Frosting

INGREDIENTS:

INSTRUCTIONS:

1. In a double boiler, melt the white chocolate until smooth, then remove and cool to room temperature. If you prefer, you can instead melt the white chocolate in a small bowl in the microwave, heating it on high for a few seconds at a time, then stirring until smooth. (Repeat heating if necessary, but don’t overdo it!)
   
2. In a large bowl, with an electric mixer, cream the margarine or butter until it’s a lighter color, about 2–3 minutes.
   
3. Slowly beat in the confectioners’ sugar in 1/2-cup batches, adding the vanilla extract and either mint extract or minced fresh mint leaves about halfway through.
   
4. Add the melted white chocolate to the frosting and combine thoroughly. If the frosting seems too stiff and thick, add a little milk until the right consistency is reached. Continue mixing on high speed for about 3–7 minutes, until the frosting is light and fluffy. Place in the refrigerator until firm enough to frost, about 30 minutes.
   

“D
addy!” Chloe runs toward our father, who is waiting for us outside Sunrise Pizza.

“Hey!” He scoops her up and swings her around, and she squeals happily. “I’m so glad to see my girls!” Dad holds out his arm for a hug, and I step into it.

“We missed you,” I say.
He still smells the same
, I think as I breathe in the scent of his clean, pressed shirt. He hasn’t been gone long — we only missed one of our usual weekend dates, which is why we’re seeing him on a school night — but, somehow, it seems like forever.

We head into the restaurant and take our favorite booth near the front. Chloe is bubbling over with excitement, telling Dad all about this science fair project that she’s working
on, which sort of gets me out of having to tell him about my second day of detention. She wants to know if different kinds of bread grow different kinds of mold, which seems kind of disgusting to me, but Dad is all into it and starts explaining how bread mold is the origin of penicillin. Then the waitress comes to take our order, and we get the usual — large pizza: half cheese, half pineapple and ham. I take a dollar instead of a Coke (Dad’s standard deal, meant to encourage us to save money), but Chloe decides to get cranberry juice.

Then Dad holds up a small purple shopping bag. “I brought you guys a couple of things from Chicago,” he says.

“How was your trip?” Chloe asks, her eyes glowing. “I’ve never been to Chicago!”

“Well, I hardly saw any of it,” Dad admits. “I was mostly just in an office building and a hotel. But I got you these….” He pulls out something wrapped in white tissue paper and hands it to me. When I unwrap it, I see long sticks, each topped with a paper office building. “It’s the Willis Tower,” Dad explains. “They’re cupcake toppers.”

“I love them!” I lean across the table and give him a peck on the cheek. “They’re perfect! Where did you find them?”

“Oh, there was a specialty baking shop across the street from the office,” Dad says. “I thought they might have something good, so I managed to dash in.”

I’m really touched that my father took the time to go to a baking store to look for a gift for me while he was working. Dad isn’t really a gift guy, usually. This is one way that Annie has been a good influence on him.

“And for you …” Dad pulls out a book and gives it to Chloe. It’s
Chicago Poems
, by Carl Sandburg. “I don’t know if you’ll be interested, but I thought maybe you and Rupert might like to read a few….”

Chloe touches the title, running her fingers over the letters. Her lip trembles a little, and tears spring into her eyes.

“Are you okay?” I ask, and that does it: Chloe starts crying for real — heaving, messy sobs. She leans against me, and I put my arm around her, and just then our pizza arrives, and we all have to sit there in awkward silence while Chloe cries and our waitress pretends not to see as she sets the pizza on a rack and puts plates in front of us.

Once the waitress darts away, Dad leans across the table. “Chloe, honey, I didn’t mean to upset you….” He flashes me a
Please help!
look.

“What’s wrong, Chlo?” I ask.

“Nothing,” she whimpers.

“That’s so obviously a lie,” I tell her, stroking her hair. “I mean, you’re getting tears and snot all over my shirt.”

Chloe takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Rupert’s moving away!” she wails.

“What? How can he move away?” I ask, and realize that I’m wailing, too. Dad looks at me and shakes his head, like,
Not helpful
. I clear my throat. “Where’s he moving?” I ask in what I hope is a much calmer tone.

Chloe takes a few deep breaths, and Dad serves up a slice of pineapple pizza for her. I help myself to cheese. Chloe takes a bite and chews slowly. “Rupert’s father is getting out of his treatment facility,” Chloe says. “He won’t be living with his foster family anymore.”

“Oh,” I say. I hadn’t even realized that Rupert
was
living with a foster family.

“He has to move across town,” Chloe says. “He has to change schools.”

“How does Rupert feel about all of this?” Dad asks.

“He says he misses his dad,” Chloe admits. “But he also says that now he’ll miss me.” Her eyes sparkle, and a fat teardrop falls from her lower lashes to her cheek. “And I’ll miss him.”

“Oh, Chloe,” I say, pulling her in for another hug. I don’t know what to say — I really don’t. Have you ever heard the term
soul mate
? Well, Rupert is like Chloe’s little soul mate. They’re like two peas.

“Look, Chloe, it’s great that Rupert’s father is ready to take care of him again,” Dad says. “And it’s good news that he isn’t moving too far away. You know, Northampton has something called school choice — that means that you don’t have to go to the school in your neighborhood. You can choose to go to a school across town.”

“So, he may not have to change schools?” Chloe asks.

“Right. I don’t know the situation. I’m just saying that it may not be as bad as you think.”

Chloe takes another bite of pizza and chews thoughtfully. “It still won’t be the same, though.”

Dad nods. He smiles, but he looks a little sad. “Nothing’s ever the same, honey,” he says. “Everything changes.”

We all eat and think about that for a while. I’m a little surprised that Dad has managed to come through with words of wisdom … surprised, and happy. Usually Mom is the person we talk to about stuff like this.

“So, listen,” I say finally. “I’ve got these new cupcake toppers. I think I’ll make us some dessert when we get home.”

“Chocolate cupcakes?” Chloe asks.

“Anything you want,” I tell her, but secretly, I think chocolate would be perfect. I want to make something that says
comfort
. And what could be more comforting than that?

“G
ood news,” Meghan says the minute I walk up to my locker.

“Anders’s English test is canceled?” I guess.

“Antoine Kennedy is doing a karate demonstration for the talent show.”

“We’re having a talent show?”

Meghan’s blue eyes go wide. “Don’t you remember?” she asks.

“I didn’t realize it was a definite thing,” I tell her. “Have you cleared it with anyone?”

Meghan lets out a
pfft
, and her pink bangs fly off her forehead. “I’ve got to drum up
interest
first.”

“You’re a force of nature,” I tell her. She seriously is. I’ve never had a friend who has so much in common with a hurricane: loads of wind, utter chaos, and streets lined with debris. On the other hand, Meghan is a lot more fun than a hurricane. So there’s that.

“Thank you.” She looks at me like I’ve just crowned her Miss America.

I can’t help giving her a little hug. “You’re welcome.”

The bell rings. “Eek!” Meghan looks at her watch. “Gotta jet. Let me know who else is in!” she calls over her shoulder, as if I’ve told her that I’m going to help with this project.

Which, of course, I am.

I toss three notebooks into my locker and yank out my history book. I shove what I need for the first two periods into my backpack and slam the locker door shut. Then I dart toward homeroom so quickly that I trip over a pile of books that has just fallen to the floor beside me.

“Watch out!” Artie shouts as I sprawl halfway across the hall, landing on my butt. Eternally sarcastic Ezra bursts into applause, and I give him my best Ms. Lang glare.

“Sorry,” Artie mumbles as she begins to gather her books.

I pick up the two spiral notebooks that are closest and hold them out, but Artie has just dropped the other half of her books and a sheaf of homework paper flies into the air like ticker-tape confetti. She has to begin gathering everything all over again. I haul myself off my rear and help.

“Sorry!” Artie says as people push their way past. An eighth grader steps on Artie’s notebook, leaving a sneaker mark, and Artie winces.

I pick up the notebook and dust it off while Artie chases down the loose papers. Eventually, we get everything picked up. Artie shoves all of it into her backpack without sorting it, then rubs her temples. “Well,
that
was fun,” she snaps.

“You’re welcome,” I say.

Artie rolls her eyes and starts to walk away.

“What’s stressing you?” I ask.

“What?” Artie turns back to face me. “What makes you think I’m stressed?”

“You always get the drops when you’re freaking out about something. So what is it?”

The bell for homeroom rings.

“We’re late,” Artie says.

I shrug. “Anderson gives us two days a semester to be late. I’ve got two left. How many have you got?”

“Two.”

“So now we each have one. What’s bugging you?”

Artie sighs and glances down the empty hallway. It’s amazing how quickly it clears out. Like, it’s complete crowded mayhem for three minutes, then —
bam
— Sahara Desert. “It’s just — Improv Group auditions are at lunch today.”

“You’re trying out?”

“Is that dumb?” Artie bites her lip.

“No, it’s fantastic! You’ll be terrific. Is that what you’re worried about?”

“Well … it’s just … Ms. Lang decides who gets in.”

“You’ll be great,” I tell her. “You’re really funny when you want to be.” And then, I don’t know what makes me do this, but I reach out and touch Artie’s hand. She looks surprised, but she squeezes my fingers three times. That was what we always used to do when we were feeling nervous, or whatever. Our secret signal.

Artie closes her eyes, and her chest rises as she takes a deep breath. When she opens her eyes again, they look clearer. Less freaked out. “Thanks, Hayley.”

We stand there for a minute, and then I guess we realize that we don’t really have anything else to say. So I turn toward homeroom, and Artie follows. I hold the door for her, and we walk in together.

Just like we used to. Back when we were friends.