Confectionately Yours #3: Sugar and Spice (7 page)

I
t’s almost five o’clock and nearly pitch-black as I make my way down the hill into town. My brain is still buzzing from the whole Kyle scene. I feel horrible that I’ve embarrassed him. I didn’t mean to. I wonder if I should apologize, and if so, what I should say.

Snow has been piled into the center of the street, creating a wall along the median so that you can hardly see the shops on the other side. Most of the businesses shovel their walks thoroughly, but I am still careful as I pick my way along the concrete. You can go sprawling if you hit a patch of ice.

I look up at the Academy of Music marquee, which screams into the darkness with brilliant red lettering. Tonight!
M
ETROPOLIS
— F
ULLY
R
ESTORED!
The poster by the door shows a black-and-white mechanical man surrounded by Saturn-like rings of light. Some silent movie, I guess. I’m surprised by how many people are in line. I mean, if I wanted to hear people not talk, I could go to the library for free.

The crowd is mostly older, but I spot Marco in the middle of the line.

Warmth floods through my cold body. “Marco!” I shout, waving. It strikes me that luck has sent him my way. After all, Marco is Kyle’s friend. Maybe he’ll have a good idea about what I should say to him.

Marco looks over and waves to me. I hurry to join him. The line is fidgety, but not moving forward; they haven’t opened the doors yet.

“Hey!” I say, and I’m aware that I’m beaming wider than usual as Marco grins back.

“Are you here for the movie?” Marco asks.

“No, I — what is it?”

“What is it?” Marco repeats.

The person in front of him turns around. It’s Tanisha Osborne, our class Know-It-All. She’s wearing a green knit
cap with earflaps and an enormous pink flower plastered on it. Long black braids stick out from the sides. The close-fitting cap emphasizes her large brown eyes fringed with black lashes, and, honestly, she looks prettier than I’ve ever seen her. “It’s the Fritz Lang classic,” Tanisha says. “One of the most important movies ever made.”

“Oh,” I say. “Have you seen it?”

“Four times, but never on the big screen.” She looks up at the marquee reverently.

“I’ve only seen it once,” Marco says. He pulls a couple of M&M’S out of the bag he’s holding and crunches them. “It’s amazing. When Tanisha told me it was coming to the Academy of Music, we got tickets right away.”

We
got tickets? They’re here together?
“Oh,” I say again, feeling like an idiot. Would you like to buy a vowel? I seem to have an
O
. “I didn’t know you were into silent movies.” I’m not even sure who I’m saying this to — Marco or Tanisha. I didn’t know
anyone
was into silent movies.

“I love classic cinema,” Tanisha says in that way she has that always makes people kind of want to slap her.

“I’ve gotten really into it ever since I’ve been using the
video camera,” Marco explains. “Some of the techniques in these old movies are really amazing.”

“Marco has an incredible eye for capturing images in a frame,” Tanisha says.

“She’s teaching me,” Marco explains, and then I remember that Tanisha is Marco’s math tutor. And apparently now she’s his video tutor, too.

Marco holds out the bag of M&M’S, and Tanisha yanks off her glove and dips her fingers in. She pulls out a couple of candies and pops them into her mouth. For some reason, this makes me feel a little sick. I can’t believe I didn’t even realize that Marco and Tanisha were becoming friends. Well, why shouldn’t they? “Want some?” Marco asks, offering me the bag.

“No, thanks,” I start to say, but my voice gets caught in my throat. I clear it and try again, but at that moment, the line starts to move forward.

Marco moves up beside Tanisha, who pulls a pair of tickets out of her pocket. “Sure you don’t want to join?” he asks, looking back at me.

“It’s sold-out,” Tanisha tells him. Again, I kinda want to smack her.

“That’s okay,” I call after them. “I’ve got to get home to help Gran.” But they are already swept into the crowd, moving away from me.

In the next moment, Marco is through the doors, already gone.

I never even got to ask him about Kyle.

T
he night that Artie told me she had a crush on Marco, I couldn’t sleep. This was a year and a half ago, but it’s one of those memories that I’ve played over in my mind so often that it feels shiny and new, like a penny that has been rubbed clean.

We were in my room, back when I had my own room. I was in my bed; Artie was on the trundle, and she asked if I could keep a secret. Then she told me that she liked Marco.

Like
liked him.

I felt as if I’d just been hit by lightning, or maybe just whacked in the head with something heavy. I was stunned. And I said something dumb, like, “What if he doesn’t like you back? That would be weird.”

But it would’ve been even weirder if he
had
liked her back.

I mean, where would that have left me? If my two best friends became boyfriend and girlfriend, what would I be?

Leftovers.

I remember staring up at my ceiling, which was covered in glow-in-the-dark stars. Marco and Artie had helped me stick them up there. “These are pretty heavy plastic,” Marco had said as he stuck a fat one directly over my pillow. “If it falls down while you’re asleep, we could be talking major brain damage.”

“You’re hilarious, Marco,” I’d told him.

“The plastic isn’t that heavy,” Artie had pointed out. “Besides, Hayley has a pretty thick skull.”

I wondered what putting up the stars would’ve been like if Artie and Marco had been sneaking giggles at each other the whole time. Or trying to hold hands. Or out watching a movie together, while I stuck the stars up by myself.

And then, a few weeks later, my parents announced they were getting divorced. I went out in the backyard and told Marco about it. He comforted me. Then he kissed me.

Then I burst into tears.

I didn’t know what to do with that kiss. I didn’t want to be Marco’s girlfriend, either. That would have been just as weird as Artie being his girlfriend — maybe even weirder. It would have messed everything up.

But, as you know, things got messed up, anyway.

Just when things were seeming kind of normal again, Tanisha entered the picture.

It looks like we’re never going back to normal.

I guess that isn’t a real place, anyway.

Lemon-Ginger 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, cornstarch, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.
   
4. Once the milk has curdled, whisk in the oil, sugar, vanilla extract, ground ginger, and lemon zest. 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 18–20 minutes. Transfer to a cooling rack, and let cool completely before frosting.
   

Basil Cream-Cheese Frosting

INGREDIENTS:

INSTRUCTIONS:

1. In a large bowl, with an electric mixer, cream together the margarine or butter and cream cheese until completely combined, about 2–3 minutes.
   
2. Slowly beat in the confectioners’ sugar in 1/2-cup batches, adding the vanilla extract about halfway through. Once all the sugar has been added, mix in the minced basil. Continue mixing the frosting on high speed for about 3–7 minutes, until the frosting is light and fluffy. It’s best to make the frosting a day ahead to allow the flavor to really come out.
   

T
he bell over the door jingles and a figure draped in black fabric bustles in. Cold air claws its way into the warm bakery before Uzma has a chance to shut the door.

“Hullo,” Gran says, but her blue eyes are wary.

Uzma’s dark eyes flash around the café. Mrs. McTibble sits at a corner table, sharing a scone with her “service dog,” Gwendolyn. (Gwendolyn wears a jacket that says “service dog” on it, so we have to let her in the café, but she’s also a Lhasa Apso, so I have my doubts.) A few students are drinking coffee and studying at the long table, and people on laptops are scattered about. “Have you seen Umer?” Uzma blurts.

“Not since he dropped off the flowers earlier today,” Gran admits.

Uzma fidgets and looks around again, as if she doesn’t quite want to believe Gran. I just keep on stirring. I’m making Forgiveness cupcakes — made with lemon and ginger. I’m hoping I can get one to Kyle.

Finally, Uzma sighs and begins to turn away.

“Is everything all right?” Gran asks.

Uzma cocks her head, clearly surprised. “Yes, thank you,” she says sharply. There’s an edge in her voice. It definitely sounds like something is not all right. I look over at Gran, and see her right eyebrow lift slightly.

“Would you like a cupcake?” Gran asks her.

“No, thank you.” Uzma’s tone is as cold as the frigid February air outside.

“Oh, come now, I insist,” Gran says. “Hayley has just made a fresh batch, haven’t you, dear? Surely you won’t refuse my granddaughter’s recipe?” She unties her apron and comes out from behind the counter, smiling her most engaging smile. “Hayley, dear, would you mind bringing us each a cupcake? And perhaps a pot of tea?” Gran takes Uzma by the arm and steers her toward the table by the bay window. “Is Earl Grey all right?”

“That would be lovely,” Mr. Malik’s sister replies a little uncertainly. I mean, who can say no to Gran when she’s being so charming — and forceful.

I get out two plates and set a cupcake on each. Then I pour some hot water into a teapot. I take over the cupcakes and then come back for the tea. When I return, Uzma is telling Gran about her ungrateful nephew, and Gran is nodding sympathetically. I think about what Mr. Malik said — that his sister needs a project — and wonder if Gran might be able to help her out.

Maybe we could teach her to make cupcakes, or something.

When I turn around, there’s a customer standing at the counter. “Rupert, how did you sneak in without jingling the bell?” I ask him.

Rupert shrugs. “Is Chloe home?”

What is this? The lost and found? Why is everyone looking for someone today? “Actually, she’s out shopping with Mom,” I tell him.

“Okay.” He looks over the treats in the glass case.

“Rupert, can I ask you something? Chloe tells me that you’re moving away. Is that true?”

Rupert tears his eyes away from the profiteroles. “Just across town.”

“But you’re changing schools?”

He looks away. “Yes.”

“But — you know — Northampton has school choice. You can choose where you go.”

Rupert sighs. “I know. You can choose your school. But that doesn’t mean they’ll send a school bus out to get you. If you want to go to a school you’re not zoned for, you have to have someone take you. And my dad’s job starts early in the morning. He can’t drive me.”

“Oh.” I wonder if Gran or Mom could take Rupert. But no. The café is always super busy in the morning. We open at six
A.M.
“Are you … How do you feel about living with your father?”

“I love my dad,” Rupert says, and his voice is so warm that it actually surprises me. Chloe’s best friend isn’t exactly the most expressive guy.

“Well … we’ll miss having you so close.”

“I know,” Rupert says, and his eyes travel to the floor. “I’ll miss Chloe. And the Daczewitzes.”

“Who are they?”

“My foster family.”

“Oh.” I flash back to a memory of Rupert at Halloween, with his sisters. I noticed at the time that they were much older, and that they looked completely different from him.
You can never predict a family
, Gran had said then.

“Mr. Daczewitz is my dad’s good friend, from when they were in the National Guard together,” Rupert explains. “He said he’d take care of me, while my dad went … away.”

“Where did he go?” The minute I ask, I want to take the words back.
Where the heck do you think he went, Hayley? On a Caribbean vacation?
“You don’t have to answer that,” I add quickly.

“It’s okay. He was in a residential treatment program.” Rupert’s shoulder rises and dips. “He made some bad friends.”

“Got it.” Residential treatment. That means drugs or alcohol. A shiver goes through me as I imagine what that must have been like.

“It’s not what you’re thinking. He was never bad to me. He just messed up his life.”

“I wasn’t thinking anything.”
Sometimes it’s okay to tell a bald-faced lie
, I say to myself.

The door blasts open again, and there’s Chloe. Her cheeks are pink, her eyes shining. Mom is behind her, carrying a canvas tote bag full of groceries.

“Rupie!” Chloe shouts and races up to join us. “Are you here to work on our book?”

“I was a little early,” Rupert admits. “I was just talking to Hayley.”

If Chloe catches the strained note in his voice, she doesn’t say so. “Let’s head up to my room,” she says. “I’ve got a few new ideas….”

Neither one of them looks back at me as they scurry toward the back stairs.

“Hayley, would you put these into the fridge?” Mom asks, pulling out whole milk and cream for the café. “I’m heading upstairs to start dinner.”

“Sure,” I say, and bend down to tuck everything into the tiny fridge under the counter.

“Well, thank you for a lovely chat,” I hear Uzma say.

“It was a pleasure,” Gran replies. “Come by anytime.”

I straighten up just in time to see the oddest sight ever: Uzma awkwardly embracing Gran, who can’t really hug
back due to (a) extreme surprise and (b) the fact that she’s holding a dirty plate in each hand.

Uzma finally releases her and blasts out the doorway in her graceless way.

“Well,” Gran says as she places the dishes into the tub we use to bus the tables. “That was interesting. And how was your chat with Rupert?”

“I’m not sure.” I explain a little bit about his situation. “I think I shouldn’t have asked so many questions. I might have hurt his feelings.”

“Mmm. Perhaps,” Gran says as she pulls out a jar of colorful candy-covered sesame seeds. She places a few on the top of my cupcake, so that it looks like a flower. Sometimes, I forget that my grandmother is a genius when it comes to baked treats. “But maybe Rupert wanted to tell someone what’s going on in his life.” She glances out the window, and I wonder if it’s Rupert she’s thinking of, or Uzma. “Sometimes the people who most want to share are the ones who aren’t very good at it. Well … until they get going.”

“Rupert’s interesting to talk to,” I say.

Gran smiles at me. “Yes, that’s what Chloe tells me.”

I laugh. I know what Gran is really saying — I used to be worried that Rupert was strange, and I wanted Chloe to make a “normal” friend. But now I know that Rupert and Chloe are perfect for each other. They’re just shy. And smart. And sweet.

I really wish he wasn’t moving away.