Authors: Mar'ce Merrell
Wicked Sweet (29 page)
Hiding.
I
watch the game’s last period on the big screen from my hiding place under the speaker scaffolding. The box seats Mitch devised behind the black curtain are two chairs wedged inside—mine, and his. We peer through a slender opening in the black fabric, shoulder to shoulder and sometimes, hand in hand, and once, leg against leg.
watch the game’s last period on the big screen from my hiding place under the speaker scaffolding. The box seats Mitch devised behind the black curtain are two chairs wedged inside—mine, and his. We peer through a slender opening in the black fabric, shoulder to shoulder and sometimes, hand in hand, and once, leg against leg.
The Hat Trick is nothing less than fireworks wearing shoes in the way they zoom in and out, strike at the opposite goal. Their enthusiasm mesmerizes the crowd. And Josh and Stevie? The other team doesn’t have a chance. The Double Minor literally, and I’m not even exaggerating a little, fly between the legs of the other players, swipe at the ball, and serve it straight to their older brothers. Only Jillian and I know that these techniques have been well practiced while jumping on all the beds at home.
And Jillian. She’s on the sidelines, so composed, so wonderful and encouraging with her brothers.
The Pee Wee team is up three goals with two minutes left to go when I have an unbearable urge to … pee. It’s nerves. I know it is, but the more I try not to think about it, the worse it gets. And I know that I’ve only got minutes between the end of the game and the start of the Cake Princess video. But, I can’t wait.
“Mitch.” I lean over and whisper in his ear. “I need to … um …” I
can’t finish my sentence. I can’t think of another emergency to substitute and I don’t want to say the word.
can’t finish my sentence. I can’t think of another emergency to substitute and I don’t want to say the word.
“Pee? Do you have to pee?”
“Yes, how do you know?” Please tell me it wasn’t obvious.
“I do, too. Nerves.”
“Okay, what do we do?”
“Hold it.”
“I can’t hold it.”
“You have to. Think about something else.”
I shake my head.
“No chance we are risking getting seen or missing your part. You’ve baked too many cakes. And I spent nine hours editing the video.”
“But what if they boo?”
“We’re not going over this again, Chantal. Anyone who matters will love the Cake Princess. The rest don’t.”
“But …” I have a list in my head of all the other things that could go wrong and I’ve detailed them for Mitch, many times now.
He leans toward me and his hand comes very close to touching my thigh. “This might be my only chance for fame.”
“Excuse me?” He only helped stir the batter.
“Everyone will know that I’m going out with the Cake Princess.”
It’s a perfect moment.
Holy Shit.
T
he Pee Wee team wins. People are still throwing down their money as the rug rats toss their hockey sticks in the air, climb all over Parker, cheer, and dump pitchers of yellow energy drink over each other’s heads. It’s the end of Super Cup I, the Tournament of the Littlest Underdogs. I’d be more into it if I could get myself Zenned. The sorry truth is that I’m shaking worse than a Chihuahua in a bathtub.
he Pee Wee team wins. People are still throwing down their money as the rug rats toss their hockey sticks in the air, climb all over Parker, cheer, and dump pitchers of yellow energy drink over each other’s heads. It’s the end of Super Cup I, the Tournament of the Littlest Underdogs. I’d be more into it if I could get myself Zenned. The sorry truth is that I’m shaking worse than a Chihuahua in a bathtub.
Now, the team lineups form and the opposing team gives the new hockey heroes high-fives and the people in the stands are still on their feet. Parker holds Jillian’s hand. All this from a man challenge. Parker and me. Awesome. Awesome. Awesome. I push myself forward and take command of the microphone. Now, it’s my turn to shine.
I thank the mayor for coming and the town councilors, Mr. Tourism (who I expect to meet after Annelise publicly changes her secret admirer status) and all the tourists, and finally, my subjects—the students of Revelstoke Senior Secondary. They go wild. Not like
Girls Gone Wild,
but you know, they hoot and they scream and rush the stage as if they’ve sprung a free weekend pass out of juvie hall. I explain for those who haven’t been on Facebook this summer or who missed Annelise’s Twitter-feed fest how cake has shaken up our summer and that the Cake Princess is about to reveal her true identity.
Girls Gone Wild,
but you know, they hoot and they scream and rush the stage as if they’ve sprung a free weekend pass out of juvie hall. I explain for those who haven’t been on Facebook this summer or who missed Annelise’s Twitter-feed fest how cake has shaken up our summer and that the Cake Princess is about to reveal her true identity.
“It’s a bit embarrassing to tell you all, but I am the one she admires.” I feel the shake in my top lip. “She’s sent her cakes to me.” The crowd
aw
s and I drop my chin. It’s all an act, but they like it. I name the cakes starting with Crush on You and ending at Cheetahs Always Get Caught. The crowd laughs at each cake title and it’s like they’re with me, on my side. “And I truly do not have a clue who she is.” I search the crowd for Annelise so that I can nod to let her know that, soon, we’ll be sharing the podium, but I don’t see her. “So … let’s start the video.”
aw
s and I drop my chin. It’s all an act, but they like it. I name the cakes starting with Crush on You and ending at Cheetahs Always Get Caught. The crowd laughs at each cake title and it’s like they’re with me, on my side. “And I truly do not have a clue who she is.” I search the crowd for Annelise so that I can nod to let her know that, soon, we’ll be sharing the podium, but I don’t see her. “So … let’s start the video.”
The big screen shows a video feed about to start, a black screen, and then, two pink-gloved hands with fur and black letters. Oh, that’s Annelise. Then the song, “Sugar, Sugar” plays in the background (not Annelise’s style, really) while the hands whip eggs, add stuff to bowls, turn on the mixer. Finally, the song fades and a voice, technologically altered, speaks.
“What do I admire about Will?”
Photos fade in. My photos.
“You toughed out every photo challenge.”
More to the point, photos with me making an ass of myself. There’s one of me at Grizzly Plaza in Mickey Mouse ears and a red bow tie, me on the floating dock wearing a coconut shell bra, and that awful one of me dressed as a bee in front of the WELCOME TO OUR TOWN sign.
The crowd laughs. At me. Some admirer. Is this Annelise’s idea of a joke?
Finally the photos fade to a black screen.
Her voice speaks, “I also admire that you always shared your cake.”
Dozens of photos flash—first, of the cakes being delivered at doorsteps, then, the messengers at the lake delivering them, and finally, pictures showing people eating the cake. Now, I’m really wondering if this is Annelise. Who collected all these pictures? And who made this video? I scan the crowd. I don’t see Jillian. Or Parker. It’s
beginning to look like a setup. As if I’m the object of some challenge. Even though the air is heavy with heat I’m colder than a penguin’s ass. This is not how this is supposed to go. She’s supposed to say, “Ta da, Will’s great, eat cake.” I consider making a run for it.
beginning to look like a setup. As if I’m the object of some challenge. Even though the air is heavy with heat I’m colder than a penguin’s ass. This is not how this is supposed to go. She’s supposed to say, “Ta da, Will’s great, eat cake.” I consider making a run for it.
The screen fades to black. I’m hoping that this is the end, the moment where I am crowned the new king. “But what do I admire most about you?”
A photo of me, chilling out on my towel with my sunglasses on takes up every inch of screen space. “Your cool factor.”
I hear a man choke and I swear it is my dad. I wanted them to see my victory. Not this.
The misery does not end. Photo after photo of me fades in and out—all in the same pose looking lazy as a raisin waiting to be scooped. Could this get any worse? And where is Parker? Is this a joke? I look for hidden cameras. And my agitation grows so that I’m pacing. This was supposed to be my moment. I can’t look at the screen anymore.
“Will …” Suddenly the voice is unmasked and I know that voice, even though she’s talking with a strange British accent. “Thanks for letting the Cake Princess discover a passion that everyone loves. You really are sweet.”
A silver tiara sparkles in her hair. She’s wearing a pink apron. She holds the Cheetahs Always Get Caught Cake in front of the camera.
The screen fills with Chantal.
The crowd cheers, girls’ voices scream in high pitches, chant the name of their new celebrity crush.
Chantal.
Holy shit.
Never Underestimate a Brainiac
.
.
“C
hantal! Chantal! Chantal!” I add my voice to the chant. This must be what it’s like at a concert, a mass of people cheering for a chance to see an idol. Listen to me, Chantal, an idol!
hantal! Chantal! Chantal!” I add my voice to the chant. This must be what it’s like at a concert, a mass of people cheering for a chance to see an idol. Listen to me, Chantal, an idol!
Parker nudges me with his elbow. “Did you know?” I read his lips because I can’t hear above the noise.
I shake my head.
I feel the tears welling up in my eyes. She’s amazing. Amazing. And even though I’m surprised like everyone else, it doesn’t surprise me. She had all the ingredients for greatness, she just needed a reason. I don’t know what it is, but I’m glad she found it.
On Stage.
I
trip twice trying to get to the microphone and each time I hear gasps from the crowd. Finally I am next to Will, my face projected on the big screen behind me. I reach for the microphone, but Will refuses to hand it over. His eyes are like flesh-cutting lasers. The way he’s gripping the microphone, it’s like a weapon that he wants to smash into my face. I haven’t told anyone what he tried to do to me, but I’m not about to let him wreck this moment.
trip twice trying to get to the microphone and each time I hear gasps from the crowd. Finally I am next to Will, my face projected on the big screen behind me. I reach for the microphone, but Will refuses to hand it over. His eyes are like flesh-cutting lasers. The way he’s gripping the microphone, it’s like a weapon that he wants to smash into my face. I haven’t told anyone what he tried to do to me, but I’m not about to let him wreck this moment.
“Speech! Speech!” The crowd chants. I turn to them and smile and they go wild, again. “Speech!”
I hold out my hand, waiting for the microphone. My heart beats chaos.
It’s grade seven all over again, my hands heavy with the fetal pig in a box. My ears pound with humiliation.
“Why?” I asked him, my voice shaking, tears starting to leak down my face. “What did I do to deserve this?”
He smiled. “I like to watch you freak out.”
He deserves this moment. It’s bigger than I ever thought it would be.
But he won’t let go of the microphone. In fact he’s lifting it toward his mouth. He’s getting ready to say something. Something
that could ruin everything. I can’t let that happen. I grab the mic and his hand and pull it toward my mouth. We’re so close now, he could spit at me.
that could ruin everything. I can’t let that happen. I grab the mic and his hand and pull it toward my mouth. We’re so close now, he could spit at me.
“The Cake Princess is in the house!” I say in my British accent. The crowd laughs. Cheers for me. Again. And in that moment when he’s disarmed, I yank the microphone free. I look back at myself on the big screen. I am beautiful. I really am.
“This is bogus,” Will says.
I step away from him, toward my fans. My fans!
“I have loved baking for you!”
The crowd explodes again. Jillian and Parker are in the middle with the crew of boys waving their hockey sticks in the air. And strangers—all along the edges of the street, they applaud. They don’t even know me. Mitch is out front, too. And now my dad is cheering and shouting. And my mom, too, I hear her voice the loudest. And I am overcome. Overcome with gratitude.
I am heard.
I am seen.
“Thanks,” I say. “Thanks.”
Will can’t do anything to me again. Because I am myself. And they like me.
Rat in a Trap.
I
’m like a rat in a trap—I’d chew through one of my own legs to get free—but the crowd is on her side. I shouldn’t have given up the microphone. I should have handed out the WILL FOR CLASS PRESIDENT posters. Now, I’m screwed. The only person they want to see is the Cake Princess. I consider my exit options. Then I see Annelise.
’m like a rat in a trap—I’d chew through one of my own legs to get free—but the crowd is on her side. I shouldn’t have given up the microphone. I should have handed out the WILL FOR CLASS PRESIDENT posters. Now, I’m screwed. The only person they want to see is the Cake Princess. I consider my exit options. Then I see Annelise.
She climbs onto the stage from the front of the audience. I smile. She’s coming to help me out. She knows, she must know, that we are the
it
couple.
it
couple.
“Annelise,” I call her over.
She holds up her hand to ask me to wait, and I know that things are about to change. So I’m willing. I cross my arms, lean back on my heels.
Annelise whispers in Chantal’s ear and they go back and forth a few times. The crowd begins to get restless. I’m thinking through what I’m going to say about my campaign when Chantal speaks into the microphone.
“My friend Annelise … I think Annelise wants to say something. And … for the record … I didn’t have any previous knowledge about this. I’ve just been baking cakes this summer. That’s all. I didn’t really have time to accomplish much else than that. It takes a long time, you know, baking a cake. Especially a delicious one. You have
to ensure that all the ingredients are at room temperature and … okay … thanks for eating my cake and watching the video …” Chantal the geek comes out full force, but the crowd laughs with her. They love her. I just can’t catch a break. My last hope is Annelise.
to ensure that all the ingredients are at room temperature and … okay … thanks for eating my cake and watching the video …” Chantal the geek comes out full force, but the crowd laughs with her. They love her. I just can’t catch a break. My last hope is Annelise.
“Hey all!” Annelise takes the microphone and the crowd hushes. “I’m just here to let you know that Chantal the Cake Princess is officially—as of right now, this second—running as our senior class president!”
I couldn’t be more amazed if stars started falling from the sky and made a halo around Chantal’s head. Frickin’ hell.
It’s all a setup. To get me.
Annelise continues, “As the Cake Princess’s campaign manager I’ll keep you updated on Facebook and the Twitter feed. Okay girls!” A group of girls wearing big buttons that read THE CAKE PRINCESS FOR CLASS PRESIDENT weave through the crowd, handing out campaign buttons.
I need to get off the stage.
“Will.”
It’s Chantal. I take another step but I’m stopped by a massive speaker. A speaker I set up for tonight, my big night. “Will!” I look out and see the grade nine girls who fell in love with me on the hill holding up their camera phones. I move closer to Chantal and we both look out, we smile and wave.
She whispers something to me.
“What?”
She clears her throat, says through a smile. “I’m not afraid of you.”
I clench my jaw. Hold in my disgust for her. I plant a kiss on her cheek. I’ll get another chance someday. I just have to be patient.
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