Confectionately Yours #1: Save the Cupcake! (12 page)

M
arco never speaks to Sanjit Patel. Never. Last year, they were partnered on a science project. Marco asked Mr. Forbes for a reassignment, but Mr. Forbes is a notorious jerk and refused. Okay, so I was sure that Marco would finally, finally talk to Sanjit rather than get an F on the project. But no. They completed their assignment entirely over e-mail.

Sanjit is a nice guy with a wide smile and a good sense of humor. So what’s the problem?

In fourth grade, Sanjit made fun of Marco’s sister. She has autism, and doesn’t really talk. She was in fifth grade then, and went to a special school, but she had come to our school carnival the week before. I remember. One minute, Sarah was watching a game of musical chairs. Five kids circled around and around four empty chairs while music played. The music stopped, the kids all ran for the chairs. Sarah let out a shout, then hit herself on the head, over and over. Lots of kids were scared, and Marco’s family had to leave.

I remember Marco’s face. His skin burned red, but not with embarrassment. His dark eyes flashed and he held his head high, as if he were daring anyone to say something. Nobody did.

Nobody did, until the following Monday. At lunch, Sanjit sat down beside Marco, and out of the blue, he let out a yell and started hitting himself on the head. Dark veins stood out on Marco’s neck, and he shouted at Sanjit. Then he took a fistful of mashed potato and threw it at him, and who knows what would have happened if Ms. Nauman and Mr. Witt hadn’t come over and separated them.

I haven’t thought about that day in a long time. Years, maybe.

We all know that Marco has a temper, but as Sanjit can tell you, he also holds a grudge. He holds it, and never lets it go.

I
walk on, around the corner, instead of cutting through my ex-backyard, like I usually would. The air has been heavy with cool mist, but the sun peeks out, filtering through the pines that border Artie’s family’s property. My conversation with Marco burns in my chest like a half-digested meal as I knock on the side door. Her brother, Roan, answers. He doesn’t even say hi, he just looks at me, then turns and shouts, “Artemis!” then strolls off. I guess I should be flattered that he treats me like a sister, but I still think it’s rude.

The television has been blaring in the other room, but it cuts off suddenly and a moment later, Artie appears in the kitchen as I dump my bag on the breakfast table.

“Hey, you’re here.”

“Hi. I ran into Marco on the way over.”

“Oh, yeah?”

I can taste the words in my mouth, and I’m about to say them — to tell her all about Marco — because even though I know it will be a little awkward, given her past crush and all, I have to talk to someone, and who else is there? So I open my mouth, and at that moment, Devon walks in from the living room, like he has some kind of right to be there.

“Hi, Hayley.” He’s holding a blue bowl, and turns to Artie. “Is there any more ice cream?”

“In the freezer.” Artie smiles at me. “We’re watching the movie version.”

“Of what — your play?”

Artie nods. “Ms. Lang said we should.”

“It’s brilliant,” Devon says as he scoops something chocolatey into his bowl. “I just wish I could do an accent like that guy.”

“You don’t really need to,” Artie tells him.

There is a sliding door that leads to a patio, and as I look out, the sun dims a bit. The clouds have returned, and the brief light fades behind a wall of dreary gray that mutes everything, even the colors of the grass and the red fire bushes. “Don’t mind me,” I say. “You guys should go back to your movie. I’ll just be in the kitchen.”

“You sure?” Artie asks, and Devon says, “Okay.” He heads back into the living room, but Artie lingers a moment, like she can see that something’s wrong. And for a moment I think,
I will tell her
.

But then Devon calls, “Artemis!” and I feel like the mum bent beneath the weight of a clump of dirt, extinguished.

Artie shrugs. “I’ve got to —”

“Okay.”

She leaves, and I get to work on the cupcakes. It isn’t hard. I know her kitchen as well as my own, and better than I know Gran’s. I can see into the living room from where I stand, mixing the batter. Artie and Devon have their backs to me. Devon’s arm is stretched along the top of the couch, almost as if it is around Artie.

I pour the batter into the cupcake wrappers in silence. I wash up as they bake, then sit and stare into the fading light as the cocoa smell begins to waft through the house. After eighteen minutes, I test the cupcakes. They are firm, so I place them carefully into my cupcake carrier. I put two on the counter. I’ll frost the others at home.

Then, without a word, I leave out the side door.

I
t takes me forty minutes to get home, and it’s dark by the time I walk through the door. Mom is on the phone, and she frowns at my cupcakes as she says, “Yes. Yes, I’ll be there.”

I step into Gran’s tiny kitchen and unpack my bag. There’s a reason I didn’t want to bake the cupcakes here. Downstairs, it’s flour city. Upstairs, the kitchen is so small that it can barely hold two people, and Mom has something simmering on the stove and a half-made salad on the counter.

“Hullo, darling!” Gran chirps from the dining room. She and Chloe are setting the table. “How is Artie?”

“Fine,” I say just as Mom clicks off.

“You will not believe who that was. It was Juliet Markerson.”

“Why?” I ask. Juliet Markerson — Meghan’s mother. I wonder if Meghan is inviting me to a party, but my mother’s tense face suggests it’s something else.

“Because I’m on the PTO, and she’s the president, and she has decided that she wants to ban cupcakes at Adams.”

“What?” It’s half word, half gasp.

“That’s silly.” Gran waves her hand, as if she can’t bear to listen to such stupidity.

“Why?” Chloe asks.

“It’s an obesity issue, she says. And a food-allergy issue. She says that you can never be sure about the sanitary conditions in an individual’s home. So — no more bake sales, no more birthday celebrations, nothing like that.” My mother huffs and sits down at the table, eyeing my cupcake carrier.

“That’s absurd. What about common sense?” Gran demands. “Overweight children aren’t overweight because they buy a cupcake at a bake sale.”

“I know, Mother, but — on the other hand — how necessary are cupcakes?” Mom asks. “I mean, the athletic teams could sell something else to raise money.”

“But a bake sale is something that everyone can help with,” Chloe points out.

“Well, anyway, Hayley, I hope you weren’t planning on bringing these into school tomorrow.” Mom taps her fingernails on the carrier’s plastic cover.

The whole time everyone has been talking, I’ve been feeling like a boa constrictor has wrapped itself around me and is busy squeezing, flexing its muscles until my whole body aches. But when Mom looks up at me, I feel the heat and pain pour out through my eyes, and hot tears spill down my cheeks.

“Hayley, honey!” Mom jumps up and wraps me in a hug, pressing me against her soft body. Her sweatshirt smells like our fabric softener. “What’s wrong?” She pulls away to look into my face.

“It’s not that.” I brush the tears away, embarrassed that I’m overreacting. “It’s just — I’ve had a bad day.” I give a little hiccup.

“They’re just cupcakes, Hayley,” Chloe says, looking worried.

Mom pushes the hair away from my face. “Did you — did you want to take these in tomorrow?”

“Just one.” I smile weakly. “It’s gluten free. For Meghan Markerson.”

“Oh,” Mom says, looking confused.

“This is my fault. I brought in cupcakes this morning, and Meghan couldn’t have one because she’s allergic.”

“Sweetheart.” Mom hugs me again.

“Well, I can’t believe her mother would spoil things for everyone just because her own daughter has an allergy.” Gran is sputtering, as if the entire thought is an insult.

“But that’s no reason to cry, is it?” Mom looks at me, clearly worried. I know what she’s thinking:
It’s the divorce, it’s the move, it’s my job.
But it doesn’t have anything to do with her.

“No.” I take a deep breath. “It’s no reason to cry.”
Just because I’m losing everything
.

“Should we try one?” Mom asks.

“Before supper?” Gran is scandalized, but Mom silences her with a look.

“Sure,” I say, and I pop open the carrier. Everyone takes one, even Gran. I’m not sure what to expect, but when I bite into the cupcake, it’s moist and still slightly warm. The texture is just right — not too dense, which was what I was afraid of. And the cocoa shines through, sweet and soothing.

“Yum!” Chloe says, and Gran agrees.

“Delicious,” she proclaims.

Mom takes a deep breath, and puts her half-eaten cupcake down on the counter. “Sweetie, the meeting isn’t until Wednesday. I think you can still take a cupcake to school, if you want.”

“Really?”

Mom smiles. “They haven’t been banned yet. And they may not be. Juliet may not get the votes.”

I’m relieved. I really want Meghan to have a cupcake, to make up for the ones she couldn’t have today. “These would be good with chocolate frosting.”

“I’ll help,” Chloe volunteers.

“After supper.” Gran’s voice is firm.

So we clean up and I pour water into everyone’s cup, and then we sit down to dinner, just like we always do. My tears have dried up, and I feel like an empty husk, fragile but clean. Darkness has settled over everything outside, but the moon is rising. It looks enormous and orange from the window, and I’m glad to see it.

Gluten-Free Chocolate Cupcakes

(makes approximately 12–15 cupcakes)

These are really good. You won’t miss the gluten, believe me.

INGREDIENTS:

1/2 cup milk

1/2 teaspoon vinegar

1 cup plus 1 tablespoon gluten-free all-purpose flour (I made my own, but you can use Bob’s Red Mill.)

1/4 cup cocoa powder, unsweetened

1/2 teaspoon baking powder

3/4 teaspoon baking soda

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup semisweet chocolate chips

3/4 cup sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1/4 cup yogurt

1/3 cup canola oil

INSTRUCTIONS:

1. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Line a muffin pan with cupcake liners.
   
2. Whisk the milk and vinegar in a measuring cup, and set aside for a few minutes to get good and curdled.
   
3. Sift the flour, cocoa powder, baking powder, baking soda, and salt into a large bowl, and mix.
   
4. Place the chocolate chips into a microwave-safe bowl and heat for 30 seconds. Remove from microwave and stir. If they aren’t melted, heat again in 10-second increments, stirring each time, until fully melted.
   
5. In a separate large bowl, mix the curdled milk with the sugar, vanilla extract, yogurt, and oil. Then add the melted chocolate, and mix with a whisk or handheld mixer. Slowly add the dry ingredients a little bit at a time, stopping to scrape the sides of the bowl a few times, and mix until no lumps remain.
   
6. Fill cupcake liners two-thirds of the way, and bake for 18–22 minutes. Transfer to a cooling rack, and let cool completely before frosting.
   

Chocolate Frosting

INGREDIENTS:

1/4 cup margarine

1/4 cup shortening

1/2 cup cocoa powder

1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

2-1/2 cups confectioners’ sugar

3 tablespoons milk

INSTRUCTIONS:

1. In a large bowl, with an electric mixer, cream together the margarine and shortening. Sift the cocoa powder into the bowl, and mix with the margarine and shortening.
   
2. Add the vanilla extract to the mix, and then start beating in the confectioners’ sugar in 1/2-cup intervals, adding a little of the milk in between batches. Continue to beat the frosting until it is light and fluffy, about 3–7 minutes.