Sprinkles and Secrets (3 page)

“Sure. Just let me tell my mom where we're going.”

When we get outside, it feels cool and crisp. No rain, luckily. The walk goes quickly as we talk about school, the play, and theater camp.

“I'm so glad you called me,” she says as we turn the corner, It's Raining Cupcakes now in sight. “I mean, not just because of the play. It's been fun, hanging out with you.”

I smile. “Yeah, it's been really fun.”

When we get up to the shop, a closed sign hangs from the door. We both mutter “oh no” at the sight.

Lily peeks in the window. “It's adorable! Wow, look at that gorgeous mural on the wall.”

“Yeah, it's very cute,” I say. “Sorry they're not open. Guess we'll have to come back another time.”

“It's a date,” she says.

Just as we turn to head back home, Stan, Isabel's neighbor, comes through the door that leads to the apartments above the shops. He owns the barbershop that sits next door to It's Raining Cupcakes. He's supernice.

“Sophie!” Stan says. “So wonderful to see you.” He gives me a strange look. “You know Isabel doesn't get back until tomorrow, right? Or did you come by to get a haircut from your favorite barber?”

I laugh. “No. See, my friend Lily here wanted to see the shop and have a cupcake. I forgot they're not open on Sundays. Have you heard anything about Isabel?”

“Haven't heard a thing,” he says. “And I'm dying to know too! You could go up and knock on their door. I bet her dad is home and he probably has the answer.”

I wave my hand. “No, that's okay. I'll wait and hear
it from Isabel. I'm sure she wants to be the one to tell me anyway.”

He looks at Lily. “Well, I hope you do come back. From what I hear, they could really use the business.”

I get a funny feeling in my stomach when he says that. “What? What do you mean? Are things not going well?”

His round cheeks turn a rosy-pink. “Oh for Pete's sake, look at me, spouting off things that are none of my business. I do apologize.”

“No, it's fine. I mean, I won't say anything to Isabel about it. Are things really bad? What have you heard?”

He looks down at the ground for a second, then back at me. “Let's just say, in the words of Isabel's grandma, things are far from ducky in the cupcake world.”

“That's awful,” I say softly. “Isabel hasn't said anything to me about it. I wonder if she knows?”

“I sure know how to ruin the mood, don't I?” Stan says. “I better turn it around quickly! Knock, knock.”

Lily gives me a funny look.

I shrug. “He loves 'em.”

“Who's there?” she asks.

“Icy,” Stan says.

“Icy who?”

“Icy you again someday soon, okay?”

We wave and start walking home. My feet feel heavy, like my shoes are bricks. I don't want to go home. I want to do something to help Isabel's family. But what? There's not one thing I'd be able to do.

“You okay?” Lily asks.

“I just feel bad for Isabel and her family. They've worked so hard. I don't want their business to fail, you know?”

“I bet Beatrice's Brownies has made it hard on them,” Lily says. “Their location is better. And their brownies are so good. We've probably been there ten times since it's opened.”

My heart sinks even more. I bet Lily's family is like a lot of families. Beatrice's Brownies is a big chain, with stores all across the country. They put a lot of money into advertising, something a small business like It's Raining Cupcakes can't do.

Lily must sense it's time to change the subject.
“So what's going on with Isabel? I didn't quite get what you guys were talking about.”

“She's in New York,” I explain. “She competed in this big baking contest yesterday. If she wins, she brings home a check for a thousand dollars.”

She smiles. “That'd be awesome. Do you think her parents will let her keep it all? And what would she do with money like that?”

“Isabel wants to travel. We dream of being onstage while Isabel dreams of seeing beautiful places.”

“Wish I'd known about that contest,” Lily says.

“No, because then you'd probably be in New York City too, and you would have missed going to see
Wicked
with me.”

“You're totally right. That performance was worth way more than a thousand dollars anyway.”

Yeah. I like how this girl thinks.

Chapter 4

B
efore Isabel left, we agreed to meet at the Blue Moon Diner right after she got home so she could tell me if she'd been crowned Queen of the Baking Contest.

At school on Monday, it seems like National Ask-About-Isabel Day. Everywhere I go, someone asks me if I've heard from her yet. I try to keep my face happy and my answer short—“Nope, not yet, but I'm
seeing her after school.” By the end of the day, I'm exhausted. I head home, and even there, I'm not safe from interrogation.

I walk through the door and give Daisy a good belly rub. Hayden comes up to me and asks, “Sophie, when does Isabel get back?”

“She should be back by now. We're meeting up in an hour.”

“I've heard aliens love New York City. What if she didn't make it home? What if they abducted her and instead of making it back home to Oregon, she's somewhere in outer space, trying to send us a message so we can save her?”

I shake my head. I've given up trying to tell my brother there is no such thing as aliens. “Hayden, that's a good point. I think you better try to construct a device to receive the message they're trying to send.”

His eyes got as big as flying saucers. “Really? What do you think the device should be made out of?”

I think on this for a few seconds. “Tape. Lots and lots of really sticky tape. And paper, of course. The expensive kind Dad keeps in his top desk drawer. Good luck, Little Brother Man.”

Before he turns to go, he gives me a big grin and a full-on salute. Finally, a little respect. I'll have to give orders involving aliens more often.

I sit down at the kitchen table, pull a textbook out of my backpack, and try to read. But my brain just can't focus. So then I go to the bathroom to freshen up, which means putting on some bubblegum lip gloss and running a brush through my hair. Thirty seconds later, I check my watch. Fifty more excruciating minutes. I'm about to go to my bed and lie down because death by waiting seems inevitable at this point, when the phone rings.

I hear Mom answer it as I come out of the bathroom. Then she calls, “Sophie, where are you? It's for you.”

It has to be Isabel. Maybe her plane's delayed. Or maybe she's extremely excited, and she can't wait to tell me. Or, maybe she's feeling too high-and-mighty to meet up with a low-life peasant like me, and wants to cancel our plans.

“Who is it?” I whisper.

“A girl named Marcella?”

My counselor from summer camp. How weird that I was just thinking about her the other day.

“Hello?”

“Sophie! It's Mar! How are you?”

“I'm fine. How are you?”

“Fantastic! Listen, I have great news. I finally got around to showing my mom your talent show performance this past weekend when I was home from college. She thinks you are just the cutest thing.”

“She does?”

“Yes! Of course she does. I told you, that performance was totally impressive. Anyway, my mom is hoping you and your mom might be willing to call and talk to her about signing with her talent agency in Los Angeles. She thinks she could get you into some commercials really easily. Maybe even a spot on a TV show. You have the looks, you have the voice—actually, you've got it all, according to her.”

I look at my mom, then back at the phone. Is this for real? Commercials? TV shows?

“Sophie?” Marcella asks.

“Sorry. I—I think I'm in shock. Are you serious?”

She laughs. “Would I joke about something like this? Get a piece of paper so I can give you her phone number. She's really excited to talk with you.”

Somehow I manage to make it over to the counter where I find a pen and notepad. After she gives me the number, I thank her and we hang up.

“What was that about?” Mom asks.

I speak slowly, as if I need to hear it coming out of my mouth to believe it. “One of my camp counselors says her mom wants me to sign with her agency.”

“Agency? What kind of agency?”

I look at the phone. I look at my mom. It
really
happened. I grab Mom's hands and start jumping up and down. I can't even talk for a few seconds. Finally I yell, “Mom, a talent agency! Like, for actors. She saw a recording of my talent show performance, and she thinks I've got it all! Those were her exact words!”

Mom pulls me to her and wraps her arms around me. “Oh, Sophie, that's wonderful. Should we call her now?”

The clock on the microwave tells me if I don't leave soon, I might be late for my diner date with Is. But a talent agent wants to talk to me!

I go to the fridge and chug some chocolate milk right out of the container. When I'm done, I wipe the milk mustache away and I smile. “Yeah. Let's call her!”

Chapter 5

W
hen I finally get to the Blue Moon, Isabel is in a booth, waiting for me. Her face, along with the empty water glass sitting in front of her, tells me she's been here for a while.

“Chickarita,” I say as I slide into the seat across from her. “Sorry I didn't get here sooner. Something of epic proportions came up and I couldn't get away.”

“I was beginning to wonder if you'd forgotten about me,” she says as she picks at a hangnail.

The waitress walks up to our table, and we order our usual: chocolate shakes and French fries.

After she leaves, I lean in and wait until Isabel's brown eyes meet mine. “I'm sorry. I'm here now, right? So tell me! Tell me everything! Did you win?”

A smile spreads across her face like the sun breaking through the clouds, and in that moment, I know. I know she came here, flying on her bike, ready to tell me she won and then she waited and waited some more. Her enthusiasm must have deflated like a balloon with a leak in it.

“I won,” she says. Then, like she almost can't believe it, she says it again, louder. “Sophie, I really won!”

I clap my hands together and squeal. A few people look over at me, which makes us both laugh. “Oh. My. Gosh. Isabel! This is the coolest thing EVER! Tell me. Tell me what happened!”

“The day of the bake-off, I was so nervous. I mean, it's one thing baking in your own kitchen,
but it's another thing to bake in this big convention center where they have a bunch of little kitchens set up, one for each contestant. And the whole time I was in my little kitchen, I kept thinking, judges
are going to be eating what I make.
It was pretty scary.”

“Wow,” I say. “So you got there and they had all the ingredients for your cupcakes, and you just started baking?”

She smiles. “Yes. Except I didn't make cupcakes. I made chocolate jam tarts. Mom sent in the recipe I'd wanted to do all along. She felt bad, I guess, about wanting me to submit a cupcake recipe. Anyway, the chocolate jam tart recipe is the recipe they wanted me to make. And luckily, the day of the bake-off, everything went really well, and the tarts turned out perfectly. Some of the other contestants had a terrible time with their recipes, burning things or forgetting to add important ingredients. I'm pretty sure, on a different day, mine wouldn't have won. I feel so lucky!”

“You are talented, Is, not lucky. And can I just say that chocolate jam tarts sound so delicious. And different! Will you make them for me sometime?”

“I think Mom is going to feature them at the cupcake shop next month. You can come every day in December and have one if you want.”