You First (7 page)

Ice water filled Gigi's veins, and she shivered as she passed the phone back over.

Finn and Lauren turned and stared at Gigi as Mrs. Avila spoke to her mother a few feet away. “What happened?” Finn asked.

“I think I need to go home,” Gigi said. “I'm really sorry.”

Mrs. Avila rejoined the group. “Ladies, I'm feeling rather tired. Okay if we head out?”

The girls all nodded.

“Good,” Mrs. Avila said. “Gigi, I'm going to drop you off at your place. You can tell me the way?”

When they pulled up in front of the Princes' house, Mrs. Avila put the car in park and said, “Gigi, let me walk you to your door. I'd like to say hello to your mother.”

As the two made their way up the walk, Mrs. Avila said to her, “Try to breathe, honey. It's going to be okay, I promise.”

Gigi's mother didn't seem to be screaming angry when she answered the door. A little stern, yes. Concerned, definitely. But angry? Not so much.

Mrs. Avila introduced herself and said some things that Gigi couldn't focus on. There were apologies exchanged, and at one point, Mrs. Avila said, “I really enjoyed meeting your daughter. She's a lovely girl, and you raised her to have impeccable manners.” This made her mother smile, even if it was only for a second.

When they were alone, Gigi's mother let loose. “Explain to me why, after Ms. Marian told you that you must have my permission before going over to her house, you decided that obtaining said permission wasn't necessary?”

“I couldn't get ahold of you,” Gigi explained. “I left you messages, and a note.”

“Back up,” her mom said. “You couldn't get ahold of me, therefore you couldn't get my permission—therefore you
should not have left the house
. Yes?”

“I guess so, but—”

“No buts!” Gigi's mother said. “You should not have left the house. Say it.”

“I should not have left the house,” Gigi repeated.

Her mother sighed. “You're almost twelve, Gigi. I thought you were mature enough that I could leave you alone for a few hours without you getting into trouble.”

“But I didn't get into trouble!” Gigi protested.
“I walked to Finn's house while it was light out. You let me do that all the time. And then I went to the mall with a grown-up that Ms. Marian trusts.”

“But
I
hadn't met her,” her mother said. “
I
hadn't said yes. That's my point. Why was it so important for you to go in the first place?”

Gigi considered telling her mother all about Lauren Avila, but she already felt like a big enough loser. So instead she said, “I'm sorry, Mama. I shouldn't have gone.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “Lesson learned?”

“Lesson learned,” Gigi agreed. “Am I grounded?”

Gigi's mother considered the question. Then she said, her voice softer, “No. Not this time. Next time, I will not be so kind, got me?”

Gigi nodded vigorously. “Thank you,” she said. “Although . . .”

“What?”

“If you wanted to, you know, ground me from soccer for a couple of weeks, I wouldn't blame you.”

Her mom laughed. “Gee, if you hate soccer so much, why do you play?”

Good question,
Gigi thought. But she didn't answer. Instead, she gave her mother a quick hug and a kiss on
the cheek. “I love you, Mama,” she said. “And I really am sorry.”

Then she headed up to her room, snuggled in with Glamour Puss, and called it a night.

Gigi walked into the Open Kitchen with a plan in her pocket and a fire under her bum. She marched straight towards Miranda, who was sitting alone, staring off into space. Gigi plopped her stuff down next to her and said, “I have two words for you: tiramisu cupcakes.”

“Tirami-
what
?” Miranda said.

“Tiramisu. Come on, you've never had tiramisu? It's, like, the standard dessert in any decent Italian restaurant. Besides cannoli, but I already tried that and it didn't work out so well for me. Anyway, are you in?”

Miranda's black eyebrows knitted together. “Slow your roll, Gigi Prince. I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Gigi sucked in a deep breath, blew it out fast, and started over. “Remember how last week you said that we should enter the cupcake bake-off as a team?”

“Yes,” Miranda said coolly. “And I also remember
you saying you already had a partner.”

“Well, I don't,” Gigi said. “Finley isn't coming back to class. So I thought—”

“Your BFF bailed on you, so
now
you want me to be your partner?” Miranda interrupted.

“Not exactly,” Gigi said. “I mean, okay, yes, I thought that this was something Finn and I would do together, and that isn't happening. But it's not like you're a pity choice. I had so much fun with you last week. And I think you're right—if we work together, we'll be unbeatable.”

“Well, duh,” Miranda said. “We'd totally rock it. But I don't know. To be honest, it didn't feel so great when you shut me down.”

“It didn't feel so great to me, either,” Gigi admitted. “I thought about it a lot. I would've called you, but I didn't have your number.”

Miranda opened her metal lunchbox purse and pulled out an iPhone wrapped in a pink rubber bunny case, complete with ears and tail. “Let's fix that. Swap digits?” She typed some things and thrust the phone at Gigi.

“This is totally embarrassing,” Gigi said, “but I don't have my own phone. I'm trying to get my mom to buy me one for my twelfth birthday.”

“So give me your home number. And your email addy—I'll send you my info.”

While they were completing this transaction, Chef Angela called out, “Listen up, kiddos! Today we're going to be making the perfect triple-chocolate cupcake: dark chocolate cake, milk chocolate filling, semisweet chocolate icing. It's so good, it'll make your mama cry. Let's get started!”

Gigi heard a few grumbles—two of her classmates didn't like anything chocolate, while another declared the entire recipe “lame.” But not Miranda, who professed that mastering basics made her the happiest “because that way you can make anything.”

“I like the way you think,” Gigi said.

The girls worked side by side, following Chef Angela's recipe and instructions. They learned that adding sour cream to a cake helps emulsify the batter, making the cake tighter and moister, and that replacing a bit of the liquid with coffee makes it taste that much more chocolaty. They learned how to make a velvety ganache in the microwave without burning it. They learned how to cut a little cone-shaped chunk out of the top of a cupcake so that you could add filling, then trim the pointy bit off the bottom so that you could plug it back up.

The ninety-minute class flew by. Both Gigi and Miranda kept working on their cupcakes, even as their fellow classmates began to pack up their things.

“Nice work, ladies!” Chef Angela declared after reviewing their final products.

“Have one,” Miranda offered. “I added a little something special to the batter.”

Chef Angela took a bite and chewed it thoughtfully. Then she took another, and another. Finally her eyes flew open in surprise. “Cinnamon!” she said. “Girl, that is genius. I might have to try that myself.”

The girls made sure to clean their stations, especially because Gigi had, as usual, made a little bit more of a mess than everyone else. As she wiped the last chocolate smudge off the counter, she turned to Miranda and said, “You should come over sometime soon. We can have a sleepover and practice recipes all night.”

“Cool, like tonight?”

This gave Gigi pause. Technically, she still had plans with Finn. But after last night, she wasn't so sure. And besides, Finley had blown her off so many times lately, who was to say she wouldn't do the same thing again? Why should Gigi give up spending time with a new friend for the mere
possibility
of Finn actually showing
up? Too bad she had no way of getting in touch with her to see if they were still on or not.

Gigi made a mental note: another perfect example of why she needed a cell phone for her birthday.

“Let's do it,” she said to Miranda.

“You sure?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “You think your parents will say yes?”

“It's just me and my mom,” Miranda said. “But it should probably be okay. Let's go ask her.”

Miranda pointed to a tall blond woman with sleek hair pulled into a low ponytail. She was dressed in various shades of beige and looked like someone from an L.L. Bean catalog. In other words, she looked nothing like Miranda.

“
That's
your mother?” Gigi asked.

Miranda rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I know. I'm not adopted, if that's what you're thinking. I mean, I used to think I was, because we are so totally different, but it turns out I just look an awful lot like my dad.”

They walked over to Miranda's mom, who Miranda introduced as Regan.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Regan,” Gigi said.

“Oh, just call me Regan,” she responded. “Please. I prefer it.”

Gigi wasn't sure what to say to this—she was fairly certain her mother would flip if she called someone else's mom by their first name alone. So she just smiled.

Miranda filled (Ms.) Regan in on her and Gigi's plans for the evening. “It's cool if I do that, right?”

Regan's pale eyebrows furrowed together. “What does Gigi's mother say?”

The trio headed outside to find Gigi's mom, who liked to listen to audiobooks when she drove alone, and who tended to wait in the car when picking up Gigi, so she could squeeze in another chapter or two.

Gigi knocked on the window, which her mother promptly rolled down. “This is my friend Miranda,” she said.

“Hiya,” Miranda said with a wave.

“And this is Miranda's mom, Regan,” Gigi continued, adding quickly, “She asked me to call her that—just Regan—and anyway, can Miranda spend the night tonight?”

“But I thought—”

“Yeah, that's not happening,” Gigi said, cutting her off. “I want
Miranda
to spend the night. Her mom said it's okay if you say it's okay.”

“Those were not my exact words,” Regan corrected. “I was headed over to Brew HaHa to get some coffee.
I don't know what your schedule is like, but maybe you could follow me over there? We could chat for a few minutes, get to know each other a little better.”

“Sure,” Gigi's mother said.

On the car ride to the coffee shop, her mom asked, “Did Finn cancel on you again?”

“Sort of,” Gigi said. “I don't really want to talk about it.”

Her mother sighed. “Okay.”

“And please don't go running to Ms. Marian about any of this,” Gigi asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Come on,” Gigi said. “Do you have any idea how hard it is when your mom is best friends with your best friend's mom? It's like having four people in a best friendship!”

Gigi's mom let out a deep, loud laugh. “You, my dear, crack me up.”

At Brew HaHa, Gigi and Miranda got creamy cups of hot chocolate and ginormous chocolate chip muffins. (“These are bigger than a baby's head!” Miranda declared.) They sat a table away from their mothers and plotted their evening, confident that their sleepover request would be granted. Miranda pulled a little Hello Kitty notebook and a fat pen from her lunchbox purse
and opened to a fresh page. First up was working on their entry for the bake-off, of course. But which recipe to try?

“I vote tiramisu,” Gigi said. She explained to Miranda how she'd pulled a bunch of recipes and was planning on combining them.

“Right on!” Miranda said. “You rock.”

“Yeah. Unless I'm trying to make a cannoli cupcake, that is.” Gigi filled Miranda in on her most recent kitchen disaster. But instead of laughing, as some girls might, Miranda simply shook her head in sympathy.

“We've all been there,” she said. “We have all been there.”

In the end it was decided that Miranda's mom would drop her off at Gigi's around three; Miranda would come armed with a bucket of mani-pedi supplies; Gigi would start pulling all of the ingredients together for her Frankensteined tiramisu cupcake recipe; and her mom would order Grotto's pizza for dinner.

In other words, it was shaping up to be a most excellent Saturday night.

On the ride home, Gigi said, “Thanks for doing this, Mama.”

“You are more than welcome,” her mother said. “But Gigi—”

Here it comes,
Gigi thought.
Lecture time.

“Don't let this thing with Finley fester for too long,” her mom said. “Girlfriends fight. That's normal. Not talking about
why
you're fighting, or not working together to find a way to resolve it—that's how friendships
end
.”

An involuntary chill ran through Gigi's entire body. She didn't like to think about not being friends with Finn. In fact, she couldn't really imagine it at all.

Gigi was straightening up her room in preparation for Miranda's arrival when the phone rang. It was Finn's landline, and Gigi froze. Had she guessed wrong about Finley?

The ringing stopped. A few seconds later, Gigi heard her mother call up the stairs, “Gigi, phone!”

“Hello?”

“Hey,” Finn said. “It's me.”

“Hi.”

“So here's the thing,” Finn said. “I know I'm supposed to come over this afternoon, but—”

“But you can't,” Gigi finished for her. “Because of something that has to do with Lauren.”

Her words were met with pure silence, so much so that Gigi wondered if their call had gotten disconnected. “Hello?” she said into the receiver. “You still there?”

“Yeah,” Finn said. “And it's not that I
can't
come
over. It's just that . . . well, Lauren's dad scored some last-minute tickets to the Union match, and she asked me if I wanted to go.”

“The what now?”

“The Union match,” Finn said. “It's the pro soccer team in Philly.”

“Oh, right.”

“And you know how I've been dying to go see a real game—”

“Actually,” Gigi said, “I didn't know that.”

“Well, I have been,” Finn said. “I really, really have. And the best part is that Lauren has an extra ticket for you too. Isn't that awesome?”

“Awesome” was not the first word Gigi thought of when it came to going to a professional soccer match, but she didn't say this. Instead, she said, “I can't go. I have a friend coming over.”

“Who?” Finn asked.

“Miranda.”

“Weird Girl? From cooking class?”

“She's not weird,” Gigi said. “She's my friend.”

“Oh,” Finn said. She paused a moment. “That's cool.”

Gigi thought she might have heard a note of sadness in Finley's voice. But then Finn said, “So you're okay if I
go to the game then?”

“Yeah, sure,” Gigi said, resigned.

“You're the best, Gee,” Finn said. “Call you tomorrow, 'kay?”

But Gigi had a feeling that Finn wouldn't call tomorrow. In fact, she was pretty sure that at some point soon, Finn wouldn't be calling her at all.

One of the first things Gigi learned about a Miranda sleepover was that girlfriend came prepared. In addition to a literal bucket of mani-pedi supplies—a rainbow of polishes, glitter, decals, sparkling jewels you glued on in fun patterns—she brought:

      
A Hello Kitty sleeping bag, complete with a pillow
shaped like Hello Kitty's head

      
A fat stack of cooking magazines

      
Two decks of cards

      
Several half-used pots of finger paints

      
An electric-blue camera

But the best thing Miranda brought was her big plastic box of cake-decorating supplies. It was the fancy purple-and-white one they sold at craft stores—the one that had compartments for just about everything you could think of, including specially marked slots for all the different decorating tips. Better yet, Miranda had
almost every single decorating tip in it!

“Jealous!” Gigi declared, looking through the collection. “Where did you get all of this?”

“Ebay,” Miranda said matter-of-factly. “That's about two years' worth of birthday, Christmas, and Easter money right there.”

“You bought it yourself?”

Miranda nodded. “I even sold some of my old books and video games at 2nd and Charles to raise the cash.”

Gigi was impressed. She'd never known anyone so enterprising. There was that time that Kendall had “saved” up for the American Girl Girl of the Year doll, but since her grandparents had given her the majority of the cost, she wasn't sure that counted.

They ate dinner in the family room, wearing their pajamas even though it was only five thirty. In fact, Miranda arrived wearing hers, a pair of pink polka-dotted pants matched with a long-sleeved T-shirt. She held a pair of blue Cookie Monster slippers in one hand and said apologetically, “My mom told me I had to wear real shoes on the way here.”

As they munched on pizza, the girls watched old episodes of
Good Eats
on the Cooking Channel.

“Don't you just love Alton Brown?” Miranda said in a dreamy, breathy voice. She sounded like Katie did
when she talked about her latest Hollywood crush object.

“He's pretty cool,” Gigi agreed.

“You know, he was my first cooking teacher,” Miranda said.

“Like . . . in person?”

“Well, no,” Miranda said. “But, like, his show? That's where I first learned the difference between the creaming method and the muffin method, and how important it is to measure dry ingredients by weight instead of volume.”

“You weigh your flour?”

Miranda's eyes widened. “Don't you?”

Gigi laughed. “I guess I will tonight.”

After dinner, the girls rolled up their sleeves and got down to the very serious business of cupcake baking. Gigi showed Miranda the recipe she'd patched together, as well as the inspiration recipes. Miranda sized them up like a scientist. With a pencil, she did some quick math calculations on a piece of scratch paper, then made a couple of adjustments to Gigi's recipe. Gigi stared at her in amazement.

“It's all about ratios,” Miranda explained. “If you reduce the flour by two ounces, it will weigh slightly less than the sugar, which will make the cake a little
more tender. And if we add an extra egg yolk, we'll get a smoother cake that's moist but holds its shape.”

“Unbelievable,” Gigi said, shaking her head. “You're like some kind of genius.”

“Nah, just some kind of math nerd.”

But Miranda was being modest. She really
was
a genius. Or, at the very least, she was someone who took her baking super seriously. Gigi watched her work, fascinated. First, Miranda checked the oven thermometer to make sure the heat inside matched what it was supposed to be. (“Five degrees off—not bad!”) Then, halfway through baking the cakes, she rotated the pans so that they would cook evenly. “I don't know your oven,” she said. “So frankly, I can't trust it. Yet.” Miranda made sure to chill the metal mixer bowl in the freezer for fifteen minutes before starting the mascarpone cream topping. “It keeps the fat matrix from collapsing,” Miranda explained, and even though Gigi had no idea what she meant, she nodded her head like she did.

“Where did you learn all of this stuff?” Gigi asked, beyond impressed.

“I told you,” Miranda said, smiling. “Alton Brown.”

They assembled the cupcakes together, but instead of just dusting cocoa powder over the top, Miranda
pulled a block of semisweet chocolate from the pantry and, using a vegetable peeler, made little shaved curls to garnish.

Gigi reached for a cupcake, eager to try the new concoction, but Miranda gently slapped her hand away.

“These need to set overnight,” she said.

“You're really going to wait until morning?”

“Sure,” Miranda said. “What could be better than cupcakes for breakfast?”

“True.”

After the girls had cleaned the kitchen top to bottom—a feat that impressed Gigi's mother in a major way—they headed up to Gigi's room to work on their nails. But Miranda took barely two steps into the room before stopping short and exclaiming, “What
is
that thing?”

It took Gigi a few beats to realize that Miranda was referring to the Wall. “Oh,” she said. “That. I guess it looks a little crazy if you're not used to it.”

Miranda walked up to the Wall and ran her finger along some of the images. Gigi watched her drinking them all in. Seeing the Wall through Miranda's amazed eyes made Gigi feel even sadder.

“So you and Blondie really have been best friends forever, huh?” Miranda said.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You're lucky,” she said. “I've never had a BFF like that. Ever.”

This gave Gigi pause. She'd never known someone who was completely best friendless. Sure, plenty of the girls at her school had spent time in between best friends, but that was normal.

“Why not?” Gigi asked. “I mean, just curious.”

Miranda shrugged. “My mom and I moved around a lot when I was younger. In fact, Fletcher's the first school I've ever attended for more than a year.” She laughed, then added, “Also, I'm not sure if you noticed, but some people find me a little weird.”

“But you're a good weird,” Gigi reminded her.

Miranda
was
rather quirky. The perpetual pigtails, the superfunky clothes, the blunt way she spoke to people . . . these things had put Gigi off to begin with. But their shared appreciation for the culinary arts helped Gigi see past all of that surface stuff, and want to get to know the girl underneath.

And, she was finding, she was very very glad that she did.

“Knitting, French club, clarinet, fencing . . . wow, you have one serious to-do list,” Miranda said.

Gigi's head snapped over to her desk, where
Miranda was reading off the items she'd written in her composition book. She fought the urge to run over and snatch it away from her.

“It's not a today to-do list,” Gigi said. “It's just some stuff I want to do eventually.”

“Like fencing?”

Gigi's face flushed hotly. “Yes, like fencing. I read somewhere that it was one of Angelina Jolie's hobbies when she was a kid. And Kiera Knightley looked kind of cool swinging her sword in
Pirates of the Caribbean
.”

“Oh, it
is
cool,” Miranda said without a hint of sarcasm. “Like, crazy cool. And not something I would ever expect your BFF to be into.”

“She's not,” Gigi said. “I mean, she might be, if I asked her. But I didn't. I mean, it's not like I do
everything
with Finn.”

Miranda waved her hand along the length of the Wall. “Either way, this is some serious history here. So, um, what's the story behind number eight?” She gestured towards Gigi's notebook.

Number eight? Gigi peered over at the open page. Oh, right.

Find a new best friend?

“It's nothing,” she said quickly. “Just me being dumb.”

Miranda's right eyebrow arched upwards.

Gigi squirmed a little. Discussing the Finn situation felt uncomfortable, like she was going behind Finley's back or something.

“Anyway,”
Gigi said, “part of the reason I made that list was because I wanted to do more stuff on my own. I'm actually going to this free fencing class tomorrow. You should totally come!”

Miranda burst out laughing. “Um, doesn't bringing a friend kind of defeat the whole purpose of doing more stuff on your own?”

Gigi frowned. “I guess so.”

“It's way nice of you to ask, though,” Miranda said. “Why don't you call me tomorrow afternoon and tell me how it went?”

“Deal.”

Miranda turned away from the Wall and pulled a vinyl tablecloth from her backpack. She shook it out and placed it in the middle of the floor. When Gigi shot her a quizzical look, Miranda said, “Duh, to catch the drips.”

“Drips?”

“From the nail polish,” she explained, dumping all her nail supplies out on the tablecloth, then sorting them based on function and color.

They started with their toes. Miranda painted hers neon green, while Gigi opted for a hot pink. Then they switched polishes, and Miranda dipped a straight pin nestled in a pencil's eraser into Gigi's Passion Pink to put polka dots all over her big toenail. “Want me to dot you up?” she asked Gigi.

“Yes, please!”

When their nails had gotten dry to the touch, Miranda carefully extracted her camera from the front pocket of her backpack. “We simply must document this momentous occasion,” she said, in a really bad British accent. “Hold up your hands.”

Gigi obliged, Miranda snapped the picture, and what looked like a piece of white paper shot out from the bottom of her camera.

“What was that?” Gigi asked.

“It's the picture,” Miranda informed her. “It's a Polaroid camera. Instant film.”

The only cameras Gigi had ever seen or used had all been digital. In fact, most of the time her mom didn't even bring her camera, opting instead to use the one built into her phone.

“That,” Gigi said, “is crazy cool. Can I see it?”

Miranda handed her the camera, and Gigi asked if she could take a picture.

“Sure,” Miranda said.

Gigi trained the camera on Miranda, then paused. “Better idea,” she said. “Let's take one together.”

The girls huddled together, their heads smushed together in classic selfie formation. Gigi snapped a picture of the two of them grinning. Even before it developed, Miranda said, “Take another one, so we can each have a copy.”

Gigi stared at the rectangle of white as their faces begin to appear on it. “Amazing,” she said. “Like magic.”

When the photo dried, she thought about how badly she wanted to paste it onto the Wall. But, as was the case with the lion label from the yarn, something about that impulse didn't feel quite right.

Then it hit her—she'd start a new Wall! There was a clean stretch from the left-hand corner on down. Gigi scrambled over to her desk drawer and pulled out some paint-safe foam tape, then snagged the lion label from under her pen cup. Then, on the new Wall, which was perpendicular to the first one, Gigi pasted the label and, overlapping it slightly, tacked on the totally adorable Polaroid of her and Miranda.

“There,” Gigi said, feeling satisfied. “I will call it ‘Wall Two-Point-oh.'”

“Nice,” Miranda said. “And hey—thanks for thinking I'm Wall-worthy.”