Sprinkles and Secrets (12 page)

He gives me a funny look. “Uh, okay. Sure.”

I start to walk to my desk when he asks, “Hey, Sophie, did you watch the movie yet?”

“I forgot it in my locker over the weekend. I'm taking it home tonight, though.”

“You better watch it,” he says.

“I will, I will! I've just been, um, kind of busy.”

If only he knew.

At lunch, Dennis gets to my locker first. “Am I in trouble?” he asks. “Was an A minus just not good enough for you?”

“I think I found a friend for you. So remember—talk about normal stuff, none of that bird-foot stuff, okay?”

He's about to say something when Austen walks up.

“Austen!” I say. “This is my friend Dennis. He likes photography too. Or, at least, he wants a camera for Christmas, like you, so he can get into photography. I thought maybe we could have lunch together?”

Austen turns to Dennis and says, “On Sunday, my dad took me steelhead fishing. I took pictures with his camera when he was gutting one of the fish. Wanna see?”

Dennis looks like he's just been offered a hundred dollar bill. “Yeah!”

Austen pulls some pictures out of the back pocket of his jeans. “Have you ever been steelhead fishing?”

“Nah, just bass fishing. Is it fun?”

They start walking toward the cafeteria, lost in a sea of fishing and photography.

I am so proud of myself.

It's a match made in middle school.

After school, Isabel and I ride our bikes to It's Raining Cupcakes. The sweet smell of baked goods greets us when we walk in the door. Today there's a mom with three little kids sitting in the shop. This makes me very happy.

Isabel's grandma is behind the counter. “Hello, Sophie,” she says, wiping her hands on a pink-and-white towel. “I'm glad to see you survived Black Friday.”

“Barely,” I say. If only she knew I'm not really joking.

“Grandma,” Isabel says, “I brought Sophie in to try one of the jam tarts. Can we have two, please? With milk?”

“That's just ducky,” she says. “Coming right up.”

We stand aside and watch as the mom with the three kids tries desperately to keep the frosting situation from getting out of control. That is, out of their hair, off their clothes, and into their mouths.

“Here you go,” Dolores says, handing me my jam
tart and glass of milk. Isabel takes hers, and then we take a seat in the corner.

“Isabel, it looks fantastic,” I tell her.

She smiles. “I hope you like it.”

“You know I will.”

And I do. It's
really
good. The flavor of the strawberry jam with the chocolate tart is like nothing I've ever tasted before. I can see why it won the contest.

Just then the little bell over the door jingles, and Stan walks into the shop. He looks over at us and waves.

“Hello, Isabel!” he says. “Long time, no see. My wife sent me to get some of your jam tarts to try. Seems like we've been waiting forever to get our hands on them.” He chuckles. “Or our mouths, as the case may be.”

“Thanks, Stan. Did I ever tell you it was those tarts you brought from England that inspired my recipe?”

“No, I don't believe you ever told me that. Isn't that wonderful? I'll have to make sure to tell Judy. She gave me such a hard time about bringing those tarts all the way from England. See, I knew there
was a reason why I felt so strongly you should have some.”

He orders half a dozen and Isabel's grandma boxes them up for him.

“How's business?” he asks her.

Dolores folds her arms across her chest and sighs. “The last month or two has been very slow. We're hoping things pick up now, with the holidays around the corner. The shop will be open seven days a week in anticipation of all of the holiday parties going on in town. We're featuring some wonderful, special flavors for the season. After you've finished those tarts, you'll have to come back and try some gingerbread cupcakes.”

“We'll definitely do that,” he says. “Thanks, Dolores. Say, did anyone ever call you Dee growing up?”

“Oh yes,” she says. “My little sister couldn't say Dolores for the longest time, so she called me Dee. Even today, I'm Dee to her.”

“Knock, knock,” Stan says.

“Who's there?”

“Dee.”

“Dee who?”

“Dee-licious jam tarts for sale!” he says, holding the box in the air.

She laughs, and he waves good-bye and disappears out the door.

“I love that guy,” Isabel says.

“Me too,” I say, before I finish off the last of my tart. “Is your mom doing okay, Chickarita? I mean, she isn't too worried about business, is she?”

She stacks our plates and pushes them aside. “I don't know. It's hard to tell with my mom. She's trying really hard to focus on the good stuff—the people who love our shop come here again and again. The hard thing is figuring out unique, inexpensive ways to drum up new business. To get people to come and try a cupcake when they haven't been here before. If only we had an advertising budget as big as Beatrice's. Must be nice to be a big, ugly chain, huh?”

I gulp and take a swig of milk. This is when I should tell her.

Right now.

Right. Now.

And then the door of the shop opens again. I watch as a girl with dark, straight hair comes through the door followed by a pretty woman. The girl turns and looks at us.

I jump up. “Lily!”

She waves and walks over to our table.

“Isabel, this is my friend Lily,” I say. “I brought her here last week to try the cupcakes. And look, she's back!”

Lily turns to Isabel. “My mom has book club tonight. I told her she had to buy cupcakes for snacks this time. They're
so
good, I just don't understand how business can be slow for you guys.”

“How do you know that?” Isabel asks.

Lily's cheeks start to turn pink, almost matching the fuchsia coat she's wearing. “Uh, I—”

Isabel looks at me, her eyes sad. “Did you tell her? Are you telling people my family's business is having a hard time? That's really personal, Sophie.”

I grab her arm. “I know it is. But—”

She shakes her head and pulls away from me. “Look,” she whispers, nodding at the people in the shop, “I don't want to talk about this right now. I'm
gonna go upstairs. Call me later if you want to.” She turns to Lily. “I hope your mom's friends like the cupcakes.”

After she leaves, Lily says, “I'm sorry.” I can tell she feels really bad.

I sigh. “Don't worry about it.”

I'll worry enough for the both of us.

Chapter 20

W
hen I get home, I find Mom working away at her sewing machine, which is the way it will be for most of December. Apparently clothing for dogs is a popular gift item during the holidays. Who knew?

“What are you working on?” I ask as I go to the fridge and grab a bottle of water. A tray of chocolate-covered strawberries catches my eye. That's weird.
Those are something you have for a special occasion. Well, maybe they have a party to go to.

“I'm trying to get twenty of these made,” she says. I look over and she's holding up a tiny pink shirt that says
FRIENDS FUR-EVER.

I laugh. “Oh, Mom, that is classic. Dogs everywhere are going to hate you, you know that, right? Because a true friend would never put a dog in a shirt!”

She takes a pair of scissors and cuts a thread. “Maybe dogs enjoy wearing clothes, Sophie. Have you ever asked Daisy if she might like it? I mean, how do you know her true feelings on the subject?”

I've told my mom that Daisy will never be caught in anything other than the coat she was born with. Once in a while, Mom uses Daisy for a model, but that's it. The clothes go on, she takes a picture, the clothes come off.

“Mom, seriously, you've seen her face when you put something on her. She looks humiliated. Like you would look if someone told you to run across a football field in your underwear in front of millions of people.”

“I actually did that once,” she says. I practically
choke on my water. “Just kidding. But your dad, he may have really done it. You should ask him.”

My family is so weird.

“Well, I'm going to go watch a movie a kid at school loaned me.”

“What movie?”

“Bridge to Terabithia.”

“I've read the book,” Mom says, “but I haven't seen the movie. You'll have to let me know what you think after you watch it. The story centers around friendship. I bet you'll like it. Speaking of friendship, did you tell Isabel today?”

I bring my hands to my face and shake my head.

“Sophie.”

I put my hands up, like I'm surrendering. “I know, Mom. I know! I need to tell her. Tomorrow. I'm going to do it tomorrow no matter what. First thing, at our locker.” I make an X over my heart. “Gross my heart and all of that. Now can I go watch my movie?”

“Yes.”

Dream #8 –
Wouldn't it be great if
coverage grew on trees,
so if you needed some,
you could just go out
and pick a basketful?

The movie is good. It's kind of slow at first, but after a while, I'm into it. I'm about halfway through when Hayden pokes his head in.

“Mom needs you in the kitchen,” he tells me.

Probably wants me to set the table. Why doesn't she have Hayden do it? I hit the pause button with a big sigh.

When I walk into the kitchen, Mom, Dad, and Hayden are standing there holding fancy champagne glasses. A bottle of sparkling cider is on the counter, next to the platter of chocolate-covered strawberries.

“What's going on?” I ask.

“Congratulations!” Mom and Dad call out. Hayden puts the glass to his mouth and chugs it.

Dad hands me my own glass. “I don't get it,” I say. “What are you congratulating me for?”

“Your agent called today,” Mom says. “I wanted
to wait until your dad got home to tell you. You got the part!”

I feel my knees buckling. I grab the counter, setting the glass of cider down in front of me. “What? Are you serious? That can't be right.”

“Would I kid you about something like this? Running through a football field in my underwear is one thing, but your acting career is quite another.”

Dad looks at Mom like she's gone insane.

“What did Candace say exactly?”

“She said you are just what they're looking for. On-screen, you look fantastic, like the girl next door, friendly and approachable. They love you, Sophie! They want to film the actual commercial very soon.”

Now I look at Mom like she's gone insane. They
love
me? Did she really say that?

“What did you tell her? Did you say I'd do it?”

“Yes, honey, of course I did! You have the chance to be on television, which could lead to other, bigger roles. Who knows how far this could take you? And they'll pay you! You could take that money and buy some lessons, like you've been talking about.”

Bigger roles?

Money for acting lessons?

This is so amazing!

And then I think of Isabel. And it's not so amazing anymore. Part of me wants to dance down the street while the other part of me wants to find a hole and crawl in it.

I try to push the thought of bigger roles and money for acting lessons out of my mind. It's like pushing a huge boulder down the street—I have to push really, really hard. Finally, with what feels like a boulder in my throat, I say, “Mom, I don't think I can do it. You should call her back and tell her I can't.”

Dad steps forward and puts his arm around me. “Honey, wait a second. Not so fast. Is this about Isabel?”

“Yes,” I say. “I won't make her choose between me and her family. I won't. So I have to be the one to make the hard choice.”

Dad gently pulls me over to the table and pulls out a chair. I sit down, then he sits down across from me, and Mom does the same.