Frosting and Friendship Page 3

  She sets a copy of The View from Saturday down in front of me. I feel a tiny knot in the pit of my stomach, because there’s one more thing on my growing list of things I have to do in the next few weeks. I take a bite of cake to distract myself from the nervous-making thoughts.

  “Mom,” I say, “I told Isabel I’d meet up with her at the cupcake shop tomorrow night, to start planning for Sophie’s party. Can you drive me there after dinner?”

  “Yes,” she says as she gets herself a piece of cake. “I’m happy to do that.” She looks at Madison. “We’re having a surprise party for a friend of Lily’s here in a couple of weeks.”

  Madison nods. “Please remind me a couple of days before the party so I can make sure I have something else to do far, far away that day. I don’t want to get sucked into cleaning house or decorating or baking or any of the other hundred things you guys will be doing.”

  I gulp.

  “It probably will be a lot of work,” Mom says, “but it’ll be worth it. Right, Lily?”

  I take another bite of cake, hoping to distract myself again.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  Chapter 6

  cookies-’n’-cream cupcakes

  FLAVOR OVERLOAD

  When I get to It’s Raining Cupcakes on Tuesday evening, it’s almost dark, but I can see Isabel waiting in front of the brightly lit shop.

  “I’m going grocery shopping while you two chat,” Mom says. “I’ll be back in about an hour.”

  “Okay,” I tell her as I get out of the car. “Thanks, Mom.”

  She waves and drives off.

  “Hi, Isabel,” I say.

  “Hey, Lily. Thanks for coming.” She opens the door to the shop and we step inside. It smells like freshly baked cake. Delicious! Isabel locks the door and says, “We’re not actually open right now, but my mom said we could sit at a table and have a cupcake while we talk about the party.”

  “Where are all the cupcakes?” I ask as I scan the empty cases.

  “Oh, we take them out of the cases before we close every afternoon,” Isabel explains. “Whatever is left over, we sell the following day at a discount. They’re called day-old cupcakes. They still taste good, but we want people to know that the cupcakes in the cases are always really fresh, baked the same day. Follow me. I’ll show you.”

  We go around the cash register and back into the kitchen. She walks over to a big plastic tub on the counter.

  “Let’s see,” she says as she pops the lid off. “You get to choose from cookies ’n’ cream, coconut bliss, banana-cream pie, or red velvet. What looks good?”

  “They all look fantastic.” I try to imagine what each one might taste like. Red velvet is my favorite, but I kind of want to try something different tonight. “I think I’ll go with the cookies ’n’ cream.”

  Isabel smiles. “Excellent choice.” She grabs a pair of plastic tongs, picks up a cookies-’n’-cream cupcake for me, and places it on a pretty yellow plate. She chooses banana-cream pie for herself.

  “You must feel like the luckiest girl in the world,” I tell her. “You get to eat cupcakes anytime you want.”

  “I kind of get sick of them sometimes, to be honest. But my mom loves her cupcake shop, and while business was slow for a while, things have picked up, so that’s good. We have Sophie to thank for that. I feel lucky to have Sophie as a best friend, that’s for sure.”

  The way she says it, I feel like I’m watching two friends whisper back and forth, sharing a secret. “What did she do?”

  “Once a month or so, she comes and walks around the neighborhood, wearing a cupcake costume she made, to help bring us business. She looks amazing and, at the same time, a little bit ridiculous, but she doesn’t care. She’s helping us, and that’s all that matters to her.”

  “Wow,” I say. In that moment, I’m so jealous of Isabel and the close friendship she has with Sophie, but I try to not let it show. Softly, I say, “You are lucky. What a good friend. She’s never said anything about that to me.”

  Isabel hands me the plates. “That’s Sophie for you. She’s not the type to brag about herself, right?” She points toward the dining area. “Find the table with the pad of paper and pen, and take a seat. I’ll get us some milk.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I go back to the dining area and see the paper she was talking about. I sit down in one of the two chairs, still thinking about what Isabel said. This surprise party is my chance to show Sophie she’s one of my best friends. I have to do everything I can to make it a really great party.

  I turn the pad of paper toward me and read what Isabel has written.

  Things to do for Sophie’s party:

  1. Make a list of people to invite

  2. Make or buy invitations

  3. Pass out invitations

  4. Buy decorations

  5. Plan menu

  6. Games or something else fun to do?

  7. Come up with a plan to get Sophie to Lily’s house

  8. Buy gift

  “My dad loves lists,” Isabel says as she sits down with the glasses of milk. “I guess I take after him.”

  “Yeah, it’s a good way to really see everything that needs to be done,” I tell her, secretly panicking inside at all the things that need to be done.

  I peel the liner off of my cupcake.

  “I’ve been working on a list of people to invite,” Isabel says, flipping the pad to another piece of paper. “I hope thirty isn’t too many?”

  I almost drop my cupcake. “Thirty?”

  “It’s really hard to narrow it down any more than that because I don’t want anyone to feel left out. And I think I should invite both boys and girls, because we have some boys who we’re good friends with at school. Think your mom will be okay with thirty kids, both boys and girls?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  She smiles. “Oh, good. I was hoping you’d say that. My dad said he’d help me make some invitations on the computer, so I’m going to do that tonight, when we’re done here. I should be able to hand them out to everyone tomorrow.”

  I am giving myself a little pep talk right now. This is what it sounds like in my brain.

  It’ll be okay, Lily. Think of your algebra class—that’s about thirty kids. It’s not so many, right? It’ll be fun. What does Dad always say? The more the merrier? The important thing is to make Sophie happy. Isabel is going to help you with everything, so it’s not like you’re going to have that much to do. Look. She’s handling all of the invitations, and that’s a big job. Remain calm. Eat your cupcake. It will be fine.

  I bite into my cupcake and the creamy taste of vanilla frosting mixed with Oreo cookie hits my tongue, and it’s really, really good. I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a second, savoring the flavor.

  “What time do you want to have the party?” Isabel asks.

  And just like that, I’m back from the sweetness of cupcakes to the business of party planning. “Mom and I talked about it on the ride over,” I tell her. “Is seven o’clock okay? That way we don’t have to worry about serving a meal.”

  “Perfect,” Isabel says, writing down seven o’clock on her pad of paper. “Can you give me your address?”

  She hands me the pen and paper, and I write down all of my information, including my cell phone number. While I’m doing that, she says, “I figure I’ll get purple and silver decorations. Purple and silver look pretty together, don’t you think?”

  “Ooooh, that sounds nice.”

  “I can come to your house early that day and help you decorate. I don’t want you to have to do it all alone.”

  Isabel looks at the list and points to number five. “So, what do you think we should do for food?”

  “I wonder if your mom might want to donate some cupcakes,” I say. It seems like a good solution to me. And who doesn’t like cupcakes?

  She taps the pen on the table, thinking about my question. “The thing is, Sophie has cupcakes here all the time. I want something speci
al for her birthday. This is the big thirteen, right? She should have an amazing dessert for becoming a teenager.”

  I feel my cheeks getting warm. Isabel must think I’m an idiot. I have to show her that I want something amazing for Sophie too. “Right. Of course she should have something really special. I bet I can find a dessert that’s out of this world.”

  “Really?”

  I try to sound excited, even though I’m actually terrified as to whether or not I can pull it off. “Sure.”

  “Awesome,” she says, writing my name next to number five on her list. “I know you’ll make something fantastic.”

  When she says the word “make,” my stomach lurches. It feels like I’m on a giant roller coaster, heading down, down, down. “Well,” I quickly say, “we have this great bakery nearby that my mom goes to . . .” I stop because Isabel looks like I’ve just told her I want to serve asparagus and mud pies at the party. It’s like the mother/daughter book club meeting all over again. She really wants me to make something. I try to save myself from complete embarrassment. “Maybe I can get some ideas there.”

  “Maybe. I bet your mom would love to help you make something. And what about your older sister? Does she like to bake?”

  “Not really. She’s into sports.”

  She nods, like it makes complete sense. “Well, you’re one of the Baking Bookworms,” she says, taking a bite of her cupcake. When she’s done chewing, she smiles. “Which means there isn’t a single baking challenge you can’t handle, right?”

  I should have suggested a different name.

  The Bashful Bookworms.

  The Babbling Bookworms.

  The Brilliant Bookworms.

  Why didn’t I suggest a different name? And why did I agree to cohost Sophie’s birthday party?

  Chapter 7

  cinnamon rolls

  A COMFORTING SNACK

  From the time I was three years old, I loved to sing. Mom says I could sing better than I could talk. I get that from my dad. If my dad isn’t playing music, he’s usually listening to it, and apparently I loved to sing along to whatever song was on the radio, whether I knew all the words or not.

  I wish other things came as easily to me. When I was six, Mom signed me up for soccer. It seems like there’s always one kid who can’t do anything right and runs the wrong way down the field and scores a goal for the other team. I was that kid. I was horrible. My dad tried to tell me it didn’t matter, that the most important thing was to have fun. Easy for him to say. I’m pretty sure he’d never scored a point for the opposite team.

  When I get home from school on Wednesday, I take out every cookbook we own. All three of them. They look brand-new. Mom probably got them at her bridal shower years ago, stuck them in the cupboard, and hasn’t looked at them since. She’s a pretty basic cook. Tacos are about as complicated as she gets in the kitchen.

  I flip through the cookbook by Betty Crocker and find the dessert section. I don’t know what I’m looking for, exactly, other than something that says Sophie and birthday party. I figure I’ll know it when I see it.

  “Hey, Lily Dilly.” Dad strolls over to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  After he takes a drink, he rummages around for a minute, until he eventually pulls out a tube of something. “Think I’ll make cinnamon rolls. Sounds like a good afternoon snack, right?”

  My stomach grumbles at the mention of those two pretty words. It’s been a few hours since I ate my peanut-butter-and-honey sandwich for lunch.

  “Right.”

  He hits a couple of buttons on the oven and it starts preheating. Then he pulls a baking pan out of the cupboard, pops the tube open, and places the unbaked cinnamon rolls in a circle on the pan.

  Maybe I could do that for Sophie’s party. Buy a bunch of tubes of cinnamon rolls from the grocery store, bake them up ahead of time, frost them, and pass them off as homemade. Would anyone even know the difference?

  Dad sits down across from me and takes another swig from his water bottle. His cheeks are really pink and his short brown hair is sticking every which way. Either he’s been working on a new song for hours and hours or he just got off his treadmill.

  He must know I’m trying to figure out why he looks the way he does because he says, “I went for a four-mile run on the treadmill.”

  I nod. “I didn’t think you got that sweaty playing music.”

  He smiles. “Not in the studio, no. Playing on a stage with hot lights for two hours, yes.”

  “Are your shows at the Wallflower going all right?” I ask.

  “Oh, yeah. They’re great. We’ve had a good crowd every night.” The oven beeps, letting us know it’s preheated, so he jumps up and sticks the rolls in. “What about you? How’s your band coming along?”

  I sigh. “We have half a song written. We’re getting together again Friday night. I hope we can finish it. We want to audition for the Spring Fling at school.”

  He sits down again and raises his eyebrows. “You guys are trying out for a gig? That’s awesome, kiddo! You’re going big-time.” He raises his hand and we high-five. “Just remember what I told you. Make the music your priority. All the rest will work out if you focus on making great music.”

  I nod. “I’m supposed to write a cupcake song. A sophisticated cupcake song. Think you can help me with that?”

  He points to the cookbooks in front of me. “Is that what you’re doing? Looking for a little inspiration in those books?”

  “No. The cookbooks are because I’m supposed to make a fabulous dessert for thirty people at a surprise birthday party in a week and a half.”

  He laughs and leans back in his chair. “Hold on a second. What are you doing to yourself, Lily? That’s an awful lot you’ve got on your plate.”

  I shake my head. “Believe me. I know.”

  “Can’t you just buy a dessert for the party?” he asks. “That’s what I’d do. I’m happy to give you some money to shop at Mom’s favorite bakery. Or what if we get a whole bunch of brownies from Beatrice’s Brownies?”

  I laugh. “Dad, the party is for Sophie. She’s the girl who’s done television commercials for Beatrice’s Brownies. She’s probably sick of those things by now.”

  “Well, what’s wrong with a huge bakery cake, then? I know. We can have it decorated like that musical you saw with Sophie a few months back. What was it called?”

  “Wicked,” I tell him. “And I’m not really sure a cake with the Wicked Witch of the West’s face in green frosting would be very appetizing.”

  “Hmm,” he says. “You may be right. Well, think it over. I’m happy to help however I can. Though if you’re going to try and make something yourself, I’m probably not your guy. Wait. That reminds me. There’s a chef on TV I was watching last Sunday when I was fiddling around on my guitar. Have you ever seen the show Secrets of a Pastry Chef?”

  I close the cookbook because all it’s doing is making me even more hungry. The cinnamon rolls are starting to smell really good. “I scheduled the DVR to record it. I think it only shows on Sundays.”

  “You should double-check,” he says. “They might be playing reruns on other days of the week. Chef Smiley takes you through all of the steps of a recipe, and he makes it look so easy. I’m telling you, Lily, he might be the answer to your baking problems.”

  “Okay. I’ll see what I can find.”

  He stands up and walks over to the oven. “As far as the cupcake song, I’ll let you know if any lyrics or a fun melody come to mind.”

  The timer goes off. The cinnamon rolls are done. I wish I could just pop a few notes in the oven and have a complete song come out. Someone needs to invent that—a song-writing oven.

  But knowing me, I’d probably mess that up too.

  Chapter 8

  strawberry cake

  PRETTY ENOUGH TO WEAR

  Dad was right. They do play reruns of Chef Smiley’s show on the Food Channel. After dinner, I settle
in on the sofa with a notebook and our kitty, Oscar, to watch an episode. The funny chef takes us start to finish through a strawberry cake made from scratch. The secret ingredient is strawberry-flavored gelatin.

  “I know it sounds strange,” Chef Smiley says as he pours the red powdery stuff into the bowl, “but it gives the cake a delicious strawberry flavor. Remember, it isn’t always about being fancy and using expensive or exotic ingredients. It’s about finding what works. In fact, that’s one of my mottos in the kitchen—whatever works!”

  I write everything down while Chef Smiley shows us, step by step, how to make the cake. It really doesn’t look too hard, and I’m getting more and more excited as the show winds down. When he takes a bite of the cake, he says, “Sweet Uncle Pete, that’s good,” just like he did last time. I wonder if he has an uncle Pete who’s really sweet.

  When I’m finished watching, I give the cat one last pet and then go looking for my mom. I find her in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher. “Good,” she says. “I could use an extra set of hands. Can you help me, please?”

  I set my notebook down and grab a couple of glasses from the top rack. “Mom, I need a few things from the store so I can make a strawberry cake. Can you take me?”

  “Oh, honey, I can’t. I need to get a house listed on the computer tonight. Maybe your sister can take you. Unless it can wait until tomorrow?”

  I sigh. “No. I don’t want to wait. I have to find something amazing to make for Sophie’s party. This strawberry cake may be the answer. It looks so good. And pretty.”

  She goes to work putting the silverware away. “When we’re done here, we’ll go find your sister and I’ll ask her to drive you.”

  Madison won’t like it, but I know she’ll do it. When Madison got the used Ford Escort that Mom and Dad helped pay for, they told her she had a responsibility to help out with errands when necessary.

  After we’ve finished, we head upstairs to Madison’s room. Mom knocks. Music is playing. Loudly. She knocks again.