Alexis Gets Frosted (10 page)

“And we don't have to part with the things we love,” added Emma.

“Right. So is there anything I should add or remove?”

Everyone was quiet while they read their sheet. Then Katie said quietly, “The part about sworn enemies . . . Do you think we need that?”

I bit my lip. “I wasn't sure, but I thought it would maybe give us a chance to share what we've learned with future generations, like how to deal with bullies and mean girls.”

“By quacking?” teased Emma.

“Very funny,” I said. “Not.”

Mia was thoughtful. “Maybe it should be a more open-ended question. Like, who was the meanest person you ever dealt with and how did you handle it?”

“An essay question?” I cried in dismay.

But the others thought it was a really good idea.

“I know who I'm writing about!” said Katie. (We all did.)

“Syd the Kid, à la Sydney Whitman, will be mine!” declared Emma. “Not that I can take credit for the Whitmans moving to California, but still, that solved it.”

“Who's moving to California?” asked Matt as he ambled into the Taylors' kitchen from outside.

My heart skipped a beat. He was wearing a light blue hoodie that made his eyes look electric, and his hair was all wind-tousled and messy. So cute. Sigh!

“Hey, Alexis, I'm just going to run up and finish the plans. I'll be right down with the printouts,” he said.

“Great. Thanks.”

“So tomorrow is our baking day?” said Katie. “For the project?”

“Yup. Maybe at my house?”

Katie agreed, and Emma and Mia wanted to come too.

“You guys must have lots of other stuff to do. I think Katie and I can handle it. I feel bad taking up your time with my project.”

But they insisted.

“Look, like Katie said, this could be a whole new line of revenue for us!” Mia pointed out.

“We wouldn't miss it,” said Emma firmly.

That night I pulled my dad aside and told him about the plans for the cupcakes. I also told him about a few ideas I had for presents for my mom, including a spot for her dollhouse and having my granddad deliver it before the weekend.

My dad loved all my ideas and said I was very thoughtful, which, of course, I liked to hear. I don't know if he would have said it if he knew I'd quacked at someone at school today.

When my mom came to tuck me in, I couldn't bear telling her about what had happened with Olivia today. I knew she'd chastise me for being mean and also for not having apologized yet, and I didn't want her to be disappointed in me. But I could tell she knew I was holding something back by the way she kept asking questions but nothing directly.

In the end, she gave me a kiss and said she's always available for discussions.

Phew.

T
he day of reckoning had arrived. On Tuesday afternoon, it was time to bake the gingerbread and to begin the house. I felt like I was on one of those cooking challenge shows, with all the crazy ingredients assembled before me. Licorice whips, molasses, ginger, sprinkles, eggs, flour, cookies; plus rulers and knives and paper . . . It was wild.

But first, the gingerbread.

Katie and I made a triple batch in my mom's huge KitchenAid mixer. Mia and Emma actually sat at the kitchen table and did homework while we did that, because it was the “boring part.”

When it was time to roll out the dough, and cut and score it, they came and helped hold the templates—which I'd cut out last night—in place
over the dough, and offered opinions on how things should be laid out on the pans. This was deemed the “hard part.” I only hoped it wouldn't get much harder than this. Compared to gingerbread architecture, baking cupcakes is a sweet walk in the park.

While we worked, we discussed the spreadsheets for the time capsule and made a plan to shoot the photos of our items on Saturday at my house, after my mom's birthday party.

Katie slid the trays into the oven to bake. We'd have to do about six rounds of baking before all the gingerbread was done. It smelled good, but it was not that appetizing looking, all shiny and brown. Katie laid out the next slabs of dough on waxed paper and tweaked them a little. I felt useless, watching her work.

“Any sightings today?” asked Mia. “I didn't see her in homeroom this morning.”

I knew who she meant. “No,” I said.

“She was absent,” said Emma, not looking up from her notebook.

“What?” I was shocked. “How do you know?”

Emma looked up. “She's in my science class. Some kid told the teacher.”

“I wonder if she was sick . . .,” I said.

“Or just scared!” cackled Mia.

“Don't even joke. I don't want to be a mean girl. You know that. After all, I'd be doing to her just what she's been doing to me, and look how bad it made me feel.”

We were all quiet for a minute.

“Well, let's see if she has the sniffles tomorrow,” said Katie, quietly cutting dough on the counter.

For whatever reason that got us giggling, and any discussion of Olivia was finally put aside. I did feel guilty, though, and I had been all day. I'd actually been looking for her at lunch, planning to apologize and just get the whole thing over with, but, as usual, when I want to see her, she's nowhere to be found.

The time passed slowly, and batches of dough went in and came out. Katie trimmed them carefully after they came out, to get rid of the puffiness they get from baking, then she laid them out on racks to cool. I was amazed by how she knew to do all this stuff and finally had to ask.

“Well, my grandmother likes to bake, and we bake a lot together. Every Christmas we make a simple gingerbread house. And my mom is really good with her hands, you know, because she's a dentist. Obviously, I kind of inherited that. The
good with the hands part, not the dentist part. And then I went to that cooking camp and learned some stuff. And, you know, I watch cooking shows and go online to read about baking all the time. It's just . . . a lot of the skills transfer from project to project pretty easily.”

“Cool,” I said, thinking it was the same with my business skills.

Just then the doorbell rang, and it was the UPS guy. He handed me a package addressed to me, and I signed for it, wondering what it could be. Then I looked at the return address.

“It's from my grandma! She found the pear dress!” I said, shaking the box and hearing something soft shift around inside. “I've got to run upstairs and hide this,” I said. And it was lucky I had, because when I came back down, my mom had arrived home from work and was chatting with my friends in the kitchen.

“Girls, I've got some bad news,” she said, but she was smiling. “I've got to make dinner, so we're going to need to close the bake shop for the night.”

“But, Mom!” I protested. “We're right in the middle of it!”

“I'm sorry, but I'm sure I speak for all moms everywhere when I say, it's time for dinner, and it's
time for people to be doing their own homework at their own desks. Though I very much appreciate your friends helping you,” she said with a smile. “I'm going to run up and change while you clear this up.”

“Aargh!” I made an annoyed noise. “We're almost done!” I said, but she didn't even turn around.

“Here, let me just trim this one, and you take that one . . .,” Katie said, switching the trays around, and then—
crash!
Just as I was taking it from her hands, a tray fell to the floor, and the large slab of gingerbread split into three pieces. It was totally my fault, although Katie began yelling “I'm so sorry!” at the top of her lungs.

“No!” I cried. “We don't have time for error!” I dropped to my knees and lifted the tray back up. Biting my lip, I surveyed the damage. The others gathered around. “It's totally not your fault, Katie,” I said.

“You can just make another one tomorrow, can't you?” asked Emma.

“No! I need to be building tomorrow. Because Thursday is decorating, and it's due Friday.”

“I bet we can glue it back together with frosting,” said Katie. She looked at her watch. “You know what, I do have to get home because I totally
spaced that we have the math rally on Thursday, and unlike some people, it is
not
my best subject. I need to study.”

“Okay. I totally understand. Thanks, you guys. Thank you all so much for helping me.”

“It was fun!” said Katie, shrugging on her jacket.

Everyone cleaned up a little, but I shooed them out and did the rest myself. This way, I figured, if any more gingerbread broke, I'd only have myself to blame. I was so grateful to them for helping me, and I felt terrible that it was basically a three-night project. I knew I'd taken on too much—cheered along by Katie's enthusiasm and willingness to help—but now I'd have to see it through. However, I didn't foresee what would happen next.

Late that night, I was just about to shut down my computer when I spotted an IM from Katie. It said:

OMG Alexis I am so so so so sorry, but my mom quizzed me on my math, and I did so badly, she said I have to come straight home from school tomorrow and study. She'll quiz me when she gets home, and if I do okay, I can come help you, but otherwise I have to stay home. I'm so sorry! Call me if you get this before 9:30.

I looked at my watch: 10:20.

I sat heavily on the edge of my bed. What was I going to do?

This was something that quacking would not help.

I was still sitting there ten minutes later, lost in thoughts of possibilities, when my mom came in to say good night.

“My goodness! You're not even in bed yet and it's ten thirty!”

I looked up, startled.

“What's wrong?” she said, sitting down on my spare bed to face me.

“I have to build this gingerbread house all by myself tomorrow, and I have no idea what I'm doing.”

“What happened?” she asked, and I explained.

“Listen, sweetheart, do you absolutely have to do this immense and difficult project? Can't we just quit while we're ahead and help you with a pretty costume?”

“No!” I said forcefully. This presentation was going to kick butt. It had to.

“Okay, that's pretty definite,” said my mom.

Then the two of us sat there for a minute, thinking.

Finally, my mom said, “What we need is someone who isn't at work, doesn't have homework, and knows how to build.”

And at the exact same minute our heads snapped up, and we looked at each other. “Granddad!”

She jumped up from the bed. “I'm going to call him now!” she said.

“At ten forty?” I cried as she fled out of my room.

“They always stay up for the eleven o'clock news. Anyway, this is an e-mer-gen-cy!” she trilled as she ran down the stairs.

I sat on my bed, too nervous to chase her and listen in. I just focused all my energy on hoping Granddad would be free and able to come. I crossed every finger and toe and squeezed my eyes tight. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I left my room and tiptoed to the top of the stairs, where I could just make out my mom's end of the conversation.