It's Raining Cupcakes (11 page)

“Hey, Lana,” I yelled, waving at her.

“Hi, Isabel,” she called back.

Sophie looked back at me, a question mark in her eyes. I had forgotten to tell her about Lana and her beautiful murals. Well, good. Let her wonder who the strange, pretty lady was who knew my name.

Outside, the photographer arranged us the way he wanted. The three adults stood in back, and Sophie and I stood in front of them. “I need to switch with her,” I told him.

“How come?” Sophie asked.

“So the only two ladies wearing hats in the photo are standing next to each other.”

“It doesn't matter,” said Sophie.

“Well it matters—,” I didn't get to finish.

“Fine,” the photographer said. “Doesn't make
any difference to me. Please switch and let's get this going while the sun is behind a cloud. Makes for a much better picture that way.”

We made the switch, and then he said, “Say ‘cupcakes.' ” I didn't say “cupcakes” and I didn't smile, since I couldn't find one single thing to smile about.

Patrick pulled Mom and Dad aside to talk to them a little more. Sophie and I stood there on the sidewalk with Grandma.

“I think it went just ducky, don't you, girls?”

I didn't answer. I was too mad. But Sophie spouted off a bunch of stuff, including how she was positive no one would eat at Beatrice's once they read the article and learned that Beatrice's brownies were filled with artificial flavors and preservatives.

It was then that I found my voice. My loud voice. “Sophie, do you even know if that's
true
? I don't think you should have said that. There are better ways to earn customers, don't you think?”

Her mouth dropped open, like she couldn't believe what she'd just heard. I wanted to pop a cupcake into her big mouth. A whole carrot cake cupcake. Unfrosted.

“Well it was better than what you said, Miss Wishy-Washy. ‘I hope they'll want cupcakes, but we'll just have to wait and see.' I thought the whole reason for the article was to MAKE PEOPLE WANT TO EAT YOUR CUPCAKES!”

“Okay, girls,” Grandma said, “that's enough. Come on. You both had the best of intentions. And you did a lovely job. Now patch things up between you, what do you say?”

Neither of us said anything for what seemed like forever.

“Sorry, Isabel,” Sophie finally said. “I was just trying to help. But I'm going home now. You're obviously mad at me. Call me later if you want.”

Before I could say anything, she took off down the sidewalk and around the corner.

Grandma pulled me to her and gave me a hug. “For goodness' sake, Isabel, what is wrong? One minute everything's ducky, and the next it's like World War Three.”

I looked down and kicked a little pebble across the sidewalk. “I can't stand it, Grandma. She does everything better than me. And what she wants, she
gets. It's not fair. She has a dog, and a boyfriend, and she even got to see the Grand Canyon.”

Grandma laughed. “I didn't even know you wanted a dog. Or a boyfriend.”

I leaned up against the front window of the cupcake shop, the glass cool on my back. “I don't. But I guess she did. And she got what she wanted. That's my point. I want to go on a trip. Do I get to go? No. I want Mom to be happy. Is she? Mostly no! I want to look good for a picture in the paper, and something as simple as that doesn't even work out. See what I mean? I don't even know why I entered that stupid baking contest. Of course she's going to win.”

“But you entered?” Grandma asked.

“Yes. I mailed it yesterday.”

She reached out and grabbed my hand, then gently rubbed it with hers. It felt small against mine. Fragile. “Things don't always go our way, Izzy. But I'm proud of you for sticking your neck out and trying. If you don't try, nothing happens. But if you try, well, you just never know. That's what you want your mom to understand, right?”

I nodded and sighed. “I miss the old days, Grandma. I miss the days when Mom and I would bake together because it was fun. Will it ever be fun again?”

“I do believe it will be,” she said, pulling on my hand, leading me back to the door to go inside. “Think positively. Stay focused on the possibilities. What do you say?”

I couldn't answer. Because I was starting to believe less and less in possibilities and more and more in plain, rotten luck.

I
didn't call Sophie. And she didn't call me. Instead I threw myself into the cupcake business. Grandma and I made about a gazillion cupcakes over the next week and went around the whole town, passing them out to anyone and everyone. We stood in front of the library, the swimming pool, and Mother Goose Park. Along with the cupcakes, we gave people
a postcard Grandma had made with a coupon for two dollars off the purchase of a dozen cupcakes. Again and again, people told us how delicious the cupcakes were and that they'd be sure to stop in when the shop opened.

Of course, Mom didn't hear any of it because she stayed home. She mostly sat in her room, or on the couch watching TV. We tried everything to get her to come with us, but she seemed determined to give up.

I went to the library and checked out a bunch of books to see if something might help her. Some of them had pretty interesting titles.

Don't Be a Fraidy Cat: How to Live Like You Have Nine Lives

How to Find Your Happy Place in a Sad World

From Worrywart to Hopeful Hero in Ten Easy Steps

I left a couple on the coffee table in the family room and a few others on the nightstand in her room, so all she had to do was pick one up and start reading.

“We only have another week until we open,” I
said to Dad one night while he and I sat watching TV. “What if she can't do it? Are
you
going to bake cupcakes?”

He turned and gave me a slight smile. “I'm a fine cupcake baker, thank you very much.”

“Fine cupcake eater is more like it,” I said.

“That too,” he said, standing up. “And now I'm going to bed. Don't stay up too late.”

“Good night, Dad.”

“Good night, sweetheart.”

“Hey, Dad?” I said, before he reached the hallway.

He stopped and turned to me. “Yes?”

“Do you think everything's going to be okay?”

He put his hand up and rubbed his scruffy cheek. “Yes, I do. We just have to carry Mom through this right now. She doesn't believe, so we'll believe for her until she's ready. That's what families do, you know?”

“Yeah.”

He turned around. “See you in the morning.”

Suddenly I felt tired. Exhausted. I thought about what Dad said as I turned off the TV and went to my room. In my passport book, I wrote:

When I travel, I will pay someone

to carry my luggage everywhere I go.

It will just be so much easier that way.

—IB

The next morning Dad woke me up, shaking me and saying my name.

I sat up, afraid the place was on fire or something. “What is it? What?”

“Look!” he said. “They put us on the front page!”

He shoved the paper in my face. I had to blink a few times to focus.

The headline read,
LOCAL FAMILY KEEN ON CUPCAKES, NOT BROWNIES
.

When I saw the picture, I wanted to throw up. I looked completely ridiculous in the hat. On Grandma a hat looked normal. Stylish. But on a twelve-year-old girl? Just. Plain. Stupid.

I fell back and pulled the covers over my head.

“What?” Dad said. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” I mumbled. “I need to wake up. I'll be out in a little while. I'll read the article then.”

He got up and left me alone to consider my options.

A. Use my babysitting money to buy up every newspaper I could get my hands on and then burn them.

B. Hitch a ride to Idaho and take up residency there.

C. Color my hair purple so no one would recognize me as the girl in the stupid hat.

D. Just accept the fact that I was the stupid girl in the hat, and it would blow over eventually.

I got up and put my robe on. At least Dad seemed happy about the article. Then I remembered what Sophie had said during the interview, and I wanted to see if they'd put it in the article.

I walked out and grabbed the paper off the table.

“Has Mom seen it yet?” I asked.

“No. She's still asleep. I hope it cheers her up.”

I scanned the article, looking for quotes. My name
was mentioned only once, in the beginning, when we were introduced as the family who owned the shop. Nothing I actually said was included. Sophie, on the other hand—“a close family friend,” according to the article—was quoted as saying, “It's Raining Cupcakes will give you a fresh, homemade cupcake just like Grandma used to make.”

Even though Sophie sounded like she was being paid to plug our cupcakes, it was a good article. The reporter wrote about the different flavors, the flavor-of-the-month idea, and the hominess of the shop. I could see people reading it and wanting to come and try our cupcakes.

“Well?” Dad asked.

“It's good. Really good. Except for the picture, where I look totally ridiculous. But it should make Mom feel better.”

He stood there, sipping his coffee. “I think it's good too. Maybe her fear will lessen a bit after she reads it.”

“What are we doing today?” I asked. “Passing out more cupcakes?”

Dad shook his head. “We're taking the day off. You
deserve it. Why don't you and Soph go to the pool? Or see a movie? Get out and have some fun.”

“I don't know. I'm pretty tired. Maybe I'll just stick around here. Read a book or something.”

“Whatever you want,” he said, heading toward the bathroom. “I'm going to get ready for the day.”

I sat down at the table and flipped the paper over, so I wouldn't have to look at the embarrassing photo. I imagined Sophie looking at it and dropping to the floor in hysterics. She'd probably cut it out and send it to her
boyfriend.
They'd write back and forth about the idiotic girl wearing the old-lady hat. Sophie would brag about how she was totally going to beat the idiotic girl in the baking contest she'd entered. He'd tell her that of course she would beat the idiotic girl. She was good at everything. Not just good. Fantastic.

Mom came out of her room, snapping me out of my depressing thoughts. She walked over to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup without a word. It was like I wasn't even there.

“Mom? The article ran today. You know, the article on the cupcake shop? It's really good.” I got up and tried to hand her the newspaper.

She swatted at it and turned her head away. “I don't want to read it. It doesn't matter. I've decided we're selling it. I can't make it work. I just can't.”

I grabbed her arm. “Mom! Come on. Don't give up yet. We haven't even opened.”

She shook my hand loose. “Please, Isabel. Just stop. My mind is made up.”

“I know you're scared, but you'll feel better once we open. I know you will. It's just the unknown right now that's making it hard.”

She stood at the sink, staring past me. “Nothing has ever gone my way. Why should this be any different?”

And when she said that, I felt an electrifying current run through my body. I thought of Sophie and how I'd gotten so mad at her. How I'd complained to Grandma about nothing going my way. How I'd pushed Sophie away because I felt like that.

I looked at my mother, standing there, so sad and afraid. And I knew one thing as sure as I knew I'd love New York City. I didn't want to be like my mother.