The Cupcake Diaries Collection: Katie and the Cupcake Cure; Mia in the Mix; Emma on Thin Icing; Alexis and the Perfect Recipe (17 page)

When the train finally pulled into Grand Central Station, I made sure to put my sketchbook back in my bag (I left one on the train once, which was seriously depressing) and made my way down the crowded car to the exit.

Dad was waiting for me on the platform, as usual. I ran up to him and gave him a big hug.

“Hey there,
mija
!” Dad said. (In case you didn’t know,
mija
means “my daughter” in Spanish, and it’s pronounced MEE-ha. Which is actually how I got my nickname, Mia. My full name is Amelia. But Dad kept saying
mija
, and Mom joked that it sounded like he was saying “Mia.” And then Mia just stuck.)

“Hey,” I said. “Where are we going for dinner tonight?”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Dad said. “I was thinking . . . sushi?”

I smiled. Dad and I always have sushi on Friday nights. It’s a good thing we both love it. So we made our way outside and took a cab to our favorite downtown sushi restaurant, Tokyo 16.

I love the taste of sushi—the cool fish, the salty seaweed, the dark taste of the soy sauce, and the spiciness of green wasabi paste, all in one bite. The other thing I like about sushi is that sushi restaurants are always beautiful. When you walk into Tokyo 16, the sounds of the city melt away behind you. There’s a waterfall running on the back wall and the sound is very soothing. I love the shiny black chopsticks and the adorable tiny bowls that hold the soy sauce.

“So you and your friends won that contest last week,” Dad said as we dug into our sushi rolls. “I’m really proud of you.”

“Thanks,” I replied. I dunked a roll of tuna and avocado wrapped in rice into the soy sauce. “We actually made two hundred cupcakes! I’ve never made that many cupcakes in my life.”

“I bet they were really delicious,” Dad said.
“You’ll have to bring me one sometime.”

I nodded yes because my mouth was full of sushi.

“I’m glad you’re making new friends,” Dad went on. “What are their names again?”

“Katie, Alexis, and Emma,” I replied. “They’re all nice.” I thought about telling him about the PGC, but it was all kind of new.

“That reminds me,” I said. “Ava invited me to her soccer game tomorrow morning and then out for pizza for lunch. Can I go?”

Dad made a pretend sad face. “You mean you don’t want to spend all day with your dad?”

“You can pick me up in the afternoon,” I told him. “Then we can do something.”

“Actually, I made plans for us,” Dad said. “My friend Alina is having an art opening. I think it would be fun to go.”

I frowned. “Alina? Who is Alina?”

Dad cleared his throat. “We’ve been dating. She’s really nice. You two are a lot alike. She’s an amazing artist. It’ll be fun.”

I popped another piece of sushi into my mouth so I wouldn’t have to say anything just yet. Dad had never talked to me about any of the women he dated before. Why was Alina different?

“It’s our weekend together,” I said. “Can’t you
see her art show some other time?” I know I just told him that I was spending time with Ava, but that was different.

“It’s opening night,” Dad explained. “It’s a big deal. There will be food and music and everything. You’ll like it, I promise.”

“Okay,” I agreed. An art show sounded like fun, and Dad seemed really excited.

That night Dad and I watched a movie together before we went to sleep. The next morning, he took the subway with me to Ava’s soccer game. He dropped me off with a wave, and I ran to meet Ava and her mom over by the bleachers. Ava was wearing a red and white soccer uniform with her team name, The Soho Slammers. Her straight dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her mom was a few inches taller than Ava. She wore white leggings and a red T-shirt to match Ava’s team colors.

“Mia, you are growing so big!” Mrs. Monroe said, hugging me. “What are they feeding you out in the suburbs?”

“Mystery meat loaf,” I replied, and Ava burst into giggles.

“This is going to be an awesome game,” Ava promised. “We’re playing the girls from Riverside. Remember last year, we tied them?”

I nodded. Ava and I had played on the same soccer team since we were six years old. “You think you can beat them this year?”

Ava grinned. “I know we can!”

Ava’s coach blew a whistle, and Ava ran off to join her team. I climbed up onto the bleachers with Mrs. Monroe.

It felt weird, sitting in the bleachers instead of being on the field. A big part of me really wished I was out there playing. But I couldn’t because I didn’t live in Manhattan anymore. I couldn’t even play soccer in my new town, because I would have to miss every other game. It wasn’t fair, but there was nothing I could do about it.

Mrs. Monroe and I cheered for the Slammers. Ava was right—it was an exciting game, and in the end, the Slammers won 3–2. We all went out for pizza after that, and I was with all my old friends again: Ava, Jenny with freckles, Tamisha, Madeline.

“Mia, we need you back on the team,” Tamisha told me. “Nobody can make those long passes like you can.”

“I wish,” I said. “But you guys don’t need me. You did great today.”

Everyone let out a whoop. Then the talk turned from the game to gossip.

“Mia doesn’t know yet,” Ava announced.

“Know what?” I asked.

“Big news,” Ava said. “Angelo got caught passing a note in class, and Mr. Tyler, our math teacher, read it out loud. You won’t believe what it said!”

Everyone started laughing.

“Tell me! I can’t stand the suspense!” I begged.

“It said that he has a crush on Madeline!” Ava shrieked, and everyone started laughing.

Madeline turned bright red. “The whole thing is seriously embarrassing,” she said.

I started laughing really hard. Angelo thinks he’s supercool. He’s been slicking back his hair with gel since fifth grade. Poor Madeline.

I had a lot of fun at lunch. In a way, things were the same as always with me and my friends. But in another way, a big way, they were really different. I didn’t get to beat Riverside. I wasn’t there when Angelo got caught with the note.

It’s a weird feeling—like I’m missing out on half of my life!

T
hat afternoon I dumped the contents of my purple duffel bag out on my Parisian Chic bedspread.

“I wish Dad had told me we were going to an art show before I packed,” I muttered. He had said it was a big deal, but I didn’t bring any “big deal” clothes with me—not even a single skirt. I kept rearranging the clothes I had and trying stuff on. Finally I decided on a pair of black leggings, a long white button-down shirt, and a cropped green cardigan over it.

I looked in the mirror.
Needs some sparkle,
I thought, so I added this cool vintage necklace with a green and blue crystal flower pendant that used to be my mom’s.

When I went into the living room, Dad was busy putting on his tie. He looked really nice. My dad is tall, with jet-black hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He was wearing black pants, a black button-down shirt, a black tie, and black shoes. I don’t like the all-one-color thing personally, but Dad can make it work.

“You look beautiful,
mija
. I’ve always loved that necklace,” Dad told me. He glanced at his watch. “Let’s go catch a cab.”

“So what’s Alina’s art like?” I asked as we rode downtown.

“It’s hard to describe. But you’ll love it when you see it. I know you will,” Dad promised.

The taxi pulled up in front of the gallery, which was on the first floor of a brick building. There were huge glass windows out front so you could see inside.

When Dad and I walked in, the first thing I noticed was the music. At least, I think it was music. It sounded like someone banging a stick against a metal garbage can over and over again while a remote control plane zipped through the air. It wasn’t as loud as Dan’s heavy metal, but it was just as annoying.

A tall, thin woman with short black hair walked
up to us. She was wearing all black—a sleeveless, short black dress, black tights, and black heels. That’s when it hit me—she and Dad were dressed alike! Maybe this dating thing with Alina was more serious than I thought.

Alina gave my dad a hug and a kiss on each cheek.

“Alex! You made it!” Then she smiled and held out her hand to me. “And this must be Mia. I’m Alina. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” I said, to be polite. Inside, I wasn’t sure yet.

“Your father tells me you’re an artist,” she said.

“Yes, she’s always drawing in that sketchbook of hers,” Dad said, patting my shoulder.

“Fashion designs, mostly,” I told her. “I want to work in the fashion industry someday. Like my mom.”

“The worlds of fashion and art are intertwined,” Alina said. “Come, let me show you my work.”

First she led us to a big white wall. There was a hole in the middle of it.

“I call this piece ‘Rage,’” Alina said.

“It looks like someone punched a hole in the wall,” I remarked.

“Exactly!” Alina looked really happy. “I encapsulated a moment of sheer rage and froze it in time.”

“Hmm” was all I could manage.

But Dad was acting like it was the greatest thing in the world. “Brilliant, Alina. I love it!”

We moved to the next piece, a white canvas with some black blotches on it.

“This one is ‘Rage, Part Two,’” Alina explained.

From what I could tell, she had gotten angry and thrown some paint against a canvas. But you won’t believe what Dad said about it.

“Fascinating.” He adjusted his glasses, like he was trying to see better. “You can feel the anger emanating from the piece.”

The rest of the art was just like that. It was all weird, and Dad was acting like it was the best stuff in the world. I didn’t say much, because I didn’t want to hurt Alina’s feelings.

When we were done looking at the art, some guy came up and whispered in Alina’s ear.

“Got to go,” she said. “A big art buyer walked in the door.”

“Let’s get some food,” Dad suggested.

There was a food table in the back, but all they had were glasses of wine for the adults and some cucumber slices with pink glop on top. I was feeling pretty hungry, and the music was giving me a headache.

“So,” Dad asked. “What do you think?”

“It’s um,
interesting
,” I said, and I realized I sounded like Sydney. “It’s not really my style.”

“That’s art for you,” Dad said. “Everyone has an opinion.”

Luckily we didn’t stay much longer, and Dad took pity on me and we picked up Chinese food on the way home. Later when I was sketching in my room, I started thinking about what Dad had said yesterday.

“You two are a lot alike.”

I mean, seriously? First of all, I never wear all black—I leave that to the vampires like Bella. And I would never play music like that, and I
definitely
would not punch a hole in something and call it art. And when I have my first runway show, I plan on having a sushi buffet. Who wants to eat pink glop, anyway?

It was like Dad didn’t really know me. The thought bothered me a lot.

As I stared at my pink and black walls, a thought crossed my mind that bothered me even more. When Mom and Eddie decided to get married, we moved in with Eddie. What if Dad and Alina got married? Would we move in with her?

I could just imagine her apartment—bare white
walls, all-black furniture, and that screechy music playing nonstop. I bet there are holes in the walls too.

I sank back into my pillows.

Don’t panic,
I told myself.
They’re only dating.

But I didn’t sleep well that night at all.

Sunday was a pretty normal day with Dad—sleeping late, getting bagels, biking in the park, and Dad making his famous chicken in tomato sauce for a late lunch. Then it was the drive back home and sleep. My same old every-other-Sunday routine.

I woke up the next morning for school feeling really confused. First I was confused as always about where I was, then I kept thinking about Alina and Dad, and missing out on things with my friends from Manhattan. It took me forever to pick out an outfit for school. I kept wondering what an outfit would look like if you felt confused. Mixed patterns—plaid with stripes? I finally settled on some skinny jeans and a T-shirt with a graphic design of New York on it. It wasn’t great, but it was the best I could come up with.

I was glad to see Katie on the bus.

“How was your weekend with your dad?” she asked.

“Pretty nice,” I said. “Except he has this weird
girlfriend, Alina, who’s an artist who punches things.”

It felt good to talk about Alina out loud. I hadn’t told my mom, of course. But talking to Katie is really easy—I feel like I can tell her anything.

Katie raised an eyebrow. “I hope she doesn’t punch people.”

“Only walls,” I said. “And then she hangs it in a gallery.”

“I’m glad my mom doesn’t go on dates,” Katie said. “That would be totally weird.”

“It is totally, seriously weird,” I assured her.

Braaaaaaap!
Wes Kinney made what was probably his loudest fake burp yet. Katie and I shook our heads. Another Monday had begun.