It's Raining Cupcakes (9 page)

“Wow. I'd love to go there someday.” I pointed to her suitcases. “Want some help carrying these upstairs?”

“Oh, that'd be great. Thanks. Times like this it'd be nice to have an elevator, you know?”

I grabbed one of the suitcases and started up the stairs. “Is Hawaii as beautiful as it looks in pictures?”

I could hear her flip-flops clicking behind me. “Well, even more so, I think. No other place like it, really.”

When we reached the top of the stairs, I stopped and let her go ahead of me. She pulled her keys out of her purse.

“Is it your family who is opening the cupcake shop?” she asked.

“Hopefully. I mean, we're supposed to open August fifteenth.”

She turned back and looked at me, a puzzled look on her face. “You don't sound too sure. Things not going well?”

“Oh, they're going fine, I guess. We're just nervous
because Beatrice's Brownies is going to be opening a few blocks over.”

She fiddled with her keys, trying to find the right one. “Well, I like cupcakes a lot better than brownies, so you'll have at least one customer. I'll have to mark my calendar.”

The door swung open, and she hung back so I could go in ahead of her. Past the little entryway was the family room, just like our apartment. But that was where the similarities ended.

“Whoa,” I said as I set the suitcase down. Every wall was painted with a beautiful Hawaiian scene. Palm trees, a blue and green ocean, surfers, and even a girl doing the hula in a grass skirt.

“This is incredible. Who did it?” I asked, looking at Lana.

She smiled. “I did. I'm so glad you like it.”

“You're an artist? Really? Do you do paintings, too, or just, um, walls?”

She laughed. “Murals are my specialty, but yes, I also paint on canvas.”

Just then, I realized that Sophie would probably
be wondering about me. “Oh, man, I have to go. Sorry, Lana. My friend is waiting for me.”

“No problem. It was great meeting you, Isabel. I'll go over and introduce myself to your parents. I'm sure I'll see you around.”

“Bye!”

I ran down the stairs and hopped on my bike, my feet pumping faster than the thoughts whirling around in my brain. Now I had one more cool thing to tell Sophie. So much had happened in the past few weeks, I didn't even know where to start.

A few minutes later I reached the street with the yellow duplex that I'd called home for five fun-filled years. When Sophie saw me pedaling toward her, she jumped out of the grass where she'd been sitting and came running down the sidewalk, waving her arms in the air like a crazy person.

Laughing, I glided to a stop and put my foot down. I stood beneath a tall maple tree in front of a big white Colonial-style house Mom had always admired. It was hot out, and I'd worked up a sweat on the short ride over. It felt nice to stand in the
cool shade for a couple of seconds, the smell of cut grass drifting through the air.

Once Sophie reached me, she grabbed my hand, jumping up and down, flapping my arm as she screamed, “I'm home, I'm home, I'm home!”

I laughed. “I know, I know, I know!”

“Did you miss me?” she asked.

“Are you kidding? I have so much to tell you. Get your bike and let's get something to eat!”

While I waited for her, I pulled out my passport book for a quick note, since Lana's and Sophie's trips were both on my mind.

There are so many places I want to visit.

When I'm a flight attendant,

I can visit the Grand Canyon one day

and be in Hawaii the next.

I can't imagine

a more perfect job.

—IB

We couldn't really talk while we rode, because we had to ride single file in the bike lane. When we
finally got to the Blue Moon, we both started talking as we walked up to the door.

“Okay, just hold on,” Sophie said with a giggle. “We have to be orderly about this. You know, like show-and-tell in first grade. First I'll share something and you listen. Then you share something and I'll listen.”

“Hey,” I said, crossing my arms and sticking my bottom lip out. “No fair. You get to go first.”

She laughed and pulled me inside the diner, a wave of cool air greeting us. A waitress walked by, carrying two plates with burgers and fries. The smell made my stomach rumble. “Go ahead and sit anywhere, girls,” the waitress said. “I'll get you some water right away.”

The Blue Moon is this funky little retro place where a lot of the middle school and high school kids like to hang out. Black-and-white pictures of our town back in the fifties and sixties hang on the walls. There's a jukebox in the corner, and the booths are the old style with red vinyl seats.

As the Beatles song “Yellow Submarine” blared from the jukebox, we slid into a booth, the waitress
right behind us with two glasses of water and menus. “Hot out there?” she asked.

We both nodded as we picked up the glasses and started chugging.

“I'll be back to take your order,” she said.

My lips tingled from the cold water. I set my glass down. “Okay. Start.”

She stuck her finger in the air as she finished draining her glass.

“Sophie, how dare you quench your thirst at a time like this. Talk. Now!”

She started laughing, which meant water spewed out of her mouth and all over the table.

Then
I
was laughing. I grabbed some napkins from the silver napkin dispenser and wiped up the mess.

“Ah,” she said, once she got her laughter under control, “I missed you, Chickarita.”

“I missed you, too, Sophie Bird. Now start.”

“Okay, first, remember I wrote in my letter to you that camp was not fun? You got my letter, right?” I nodded. “Good. Well, the day after I mailed that, guess what?”

“What?” I asked.

“It got fun. I mean, really fun.” She leaned in like she had to tell me the world's best secret. “Fun you spell like this: K-Y-L-E.”

M
y mouth flew open. “You met a boy?”

She nodded. “He's so cute. And funny. Hilariously funny. You would like him. He's just like us.”

“How old is he? Where does he live? Are you, like, boyfriend and girlfriend now?”

“Whoa, wait a sec. Okay, let's see. He's going into
eighth grade, so one year older than me. He lives in a small town in Washington. It's close enough so we
could
visit each other. Maybe. And my boyfriend? How am I supposed to know? We held hands three times and we hugged twice. Oh, and we wrote each other lots of notes. So what do you think? Boyfriend and girlfriend?”

“Sounds like you are to me!”

She clapped her hands together and squealed. “Oh, good, I think so too.” But then the corners of her mouth turned down, and the sparkle from her eyes disappeared. “Still, I can't stand it that I don't even know when I'll see him again.”

I nodded, like I'd had ten boyfriends and I understood, even though I hadn't had one and I really didn't.

The waitress came back, and we ordered two shakes along with an order of fries to share.

“Okay, your turn,” she said.

“Mine comes in three parts. First part. I got fired from my babysitting job at Mrs. Canova's.”

Her mouth dropped open. “No way. Are you serious?”

“I left them alone in the backyard for about a
millisecond, and she freaked out. Okay, so there was a pool of water involved and she had every right to be furious, but still. Firing me was kind of extreme, wasn't it?”

She nodded. “Very.”

“Second part. My recipe's all ready to go for the contest. I just need the address.”

“Holy guacamole, I have to get cooking,” she said. “Literally.”

“Yeah, Soph, you better. August first is just a few days away.”

She leaned back in her seat, tucking her hair behind her ears. “No problem. I'll whip something up tonight or tomorrow, and get it in the mail. Remind me to give you the address when I get home. Okay, what's the third part?”

“The third part is the worst.” She leaned in when I said that, her eyes big and round. “Beatrice's Brownies is going to open just a few blocks away from us. Mom is devastated. Like so devastated, I think she wants to give up.”

“No!” Sophie said. “She can't give up. You guys have worked so hard.”

The waitress brought our fries and milk shakes. We started sipping on our shakes, both of us quiet for a minute.

“We have to figure out a way to help her,” Sophie said. “I know we can make the cupcake shop work. I just know it.”

“You'd better come over a lot in the next couple of weeks,” I told her as I took the ketchup bottle and squirted some on the french fry plate. “You need to rub some of that determination onto my mother.”

The next morning I got out the contest address Sophie had given me the day before and wrote it down on the envelope that held my recipe. I found a stamp in the desk in the family room, walked down to the corner and, with my fingers crossed, dropped the envelope into the big blue mailbox.

The magazine didn't say when finalists would be contacted, but I guessed it would be awhile. I wanted to be selected more than anything I'd ever wanted, but it was out of my hands now. I had other things to worry about, anyway.

The construction workers were back in full
force. A truck sat out front, and guys were carrying enormous boxes from the truck into the shop. I figured the glass cases had finally arrived. The cases where the cupcakes would be beautifully displayed, causing little kids to lean onto the glass, oohing and aahing, their grimy fingerprints a gift they'd leave behind for me to wipe away with a bottle of Windex and a good rag.

“Good morning,” Grandma's voice said from behind me.

I turned around. Today she wore a navy blue skirt with a pale yellow jacket and a big floppy navy blue hat.

“Grandma,” I said, “you're here early.”

“We need to have a family meeting. You know, get our cupcakes in a row. Your mother and I didn't discuss business at all yesterday. She loosened up a couple of hours into our shopping trip, and I think she had a good time. But now it's back to work.”

I nodded. “Grandma, we're so lucky to have you. What would we do without you?”

She looped her arm through mine, and we went inside. “Well, Izzy, I'm glad I have you, too.”

Upstairs, Mom made pancakes while Dad read the newspaper.

“Grandma's here,” I called out as we walked in.

We sat at the table, and Mom brought a plate of steaming pancakes over along with a small pitcher of warm syrup. “Would you like a plate, Mom?” she asked.

“No, thank you. I've already eaten. I'll take some coffee, though, if you have it.”

Dad and I started piling pancakes on our plates, while Mom poured Grandma her cup of coffee.

“This week,” Grandma said, looking very businesslike, “we all need to focus on advertising. Every minute of every day needs to be getting the word out about the cupcake shop. I ordered some postcards with coupons we can send out. We definitely need to get around town and pass out samples. Oh, and I've contacted a newspaper reporter who would like to interview us.”

“A newspaper reporter?” Dad asked as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. “That's great, Dolores. How'd you manage that?”

“Easy,” she said, as Mom slipped a mug of steaming
coffee in front of Grandma, then sat down beside me. “I called the paper up and told them they were missing out on the truly interesting stories surrounding the opening of Beatrice's Brownies. How is a big, corporate, national chain going to affect family businesses? Is it the kiss of death? Will one small business be finished before it ever even started?”