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Who cares. Who's gonna be interested in a brace-face?

O
wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

No, seriously. OWW! Braces = lifetime of pain.

Lifetime, two years. Two years, lifetime. Same thing, if you ask me. Also:

OWWWWWWWW!

I really, really, really, really, REALLY hate braces. Really. It's only been two days and already I could start a Museum of Gross Things with the little bits of gunk I've pulled out of my cages. Whoever named the metal brackets “cages” was so right-on, too. My pretty, shiny, smooth teeth are totally caged in, like pearly zoo animals I'm not allowed to feed.

I hate this. It makes me want to laugh/cry that we spent the first half of my sleepover (the part
before
my two besties embarked on a crime spree and became juvenile delinquents) gorging ourselves on all the foods I wouldn't be able to eat with braces, like caramel apples and popcorn, but we didn't even consider mashed potatoes and mac 'n' cheese and Hershey's Kisses and string beans (what? They're good, even if they
are
veggies) and ruffled potato chips and meat loaf and basically ALL FOOD EVER. Because it hurts to eat
ev-er-y-thing
.

Mama says I should quit my whining and give it a couple of days, like Dr. Bernstein suggested, before making any snap judgments, but hello. Snap judgments are like gut feelings, and everyone says you should trust your gut feelings. Mine are saying I'm not even gonna be able to enjoy the wedding cake we're supposed to be sampling with Alexandra Worthington after school.

CAKE! Cake should always be happy. It's like a rule or something.

Oww.

I'm pacing the sidewalk outside Marks Makes Cakes because the last thing I want to do is run into Linney Marks when I'm this cranky. I really abso-posi-lutely cannot be responsible for my actions in my current state. I debate wandering over to Merlin the Marlin since I'm stuck on some new song lyrics I'm working on and, for some weird reason, talking things through with an inanimate statue always helps. But then I spot Vi on her bike.

“I still can't get used to your new look,” she says, once she's pulled up next to me.

I clamp my lips closed but . . . oww. Even that hurts, because I keep catching the inside of my lips on the stupid cages. I wish I could fall asleep like Snow White and wake up when it's time to get these things off. Except I'd have to bite into a poisoned apple for that to happen, and the thought of biting into any apple is . . . well, just . . . oww!

“Do you have the rating cards or does Sadie?” I ask. (Sadie thought it would be fun to rate each cake as we tasted, and she made up these cute little cards we could all use.) Only it comes out more like, “Oof oo ave oof ating ards oof oes adie?”

Vi tilts her head. “Huh?”

I use my fingers to unstick the inside of my lips from my braces and settle my top lip above the brackets. This is sooooo not gonna fly long-term. I repeat my question, but Vi is too busy giggling to hear me. She throws her arm around my shoulder and says, “Don't worry. They just take some getting used to.”

Easy for her to say.
She
isn't the one who could fund a small war by melting the contents of
her
mouth.

Sadie rounds the corner next, swinging a shopping bag from one hand. She waves when she spots us. If anyone would know about dropping everything and running when a client calls, it's Mrs. Pleffer, but she was still pretty mad that Sadie left Becca's without telling a grown-up. So now Sadie's off screens for two weeks, but at least she can leave the house.

Technically, Lauren
could
be here too, because her parents said RSVP business was an exception, but she's auditioning for Poster Child of Grounding and figured she could earn extra brownie points by living a monklike existence of school then homework followed by homework then school.

I love her to pieces, but she and I have polar-opposite viewpoints on grounding. I offered to give her survival tips since Mama and Daddy punish me for something practically every other day (example A: I just barely escaped losing screen privileges for allowing my friends to leave my sleepover without letting an adult know, even though it TOTES wasn't even
my
fault), but she wasn't interested.

Her loss.

Sadie turns to me with something that's halfway between a smile and a grimace. She's been following my braces saga pretty closely because at her last appointment Dr. Bernstein said he was still on the fence about whether she'd need them or not.

“Any better today?” she asks.

I make a face. “I managed applesauce for breakfast. It only hurt a medium amount.”

Sadie looks horrified. “Oh. Um. Wow. I really hope it gets better soon. You're kind of scaring me.”

I shrug and tuck my lyrics notebook into my purse. “I'm just telling it like it is, like any good friend would.”

“Yes,” says Vi. “We all know Becca would never exaggerate at all, ever. She's not the least bit melodramatic or anything.”

Both my friends smile. Whatever. I'm too cranky to be a good sport about their teasing. “Should we go in?” I ask, holding the door for them.

The Markses' bakery smells like the North Pole married the
Nutcracker
suite—all buttercream frosting and gingerbread deliciousness. I fully expect the Sugar Plum Fairy to pop out of the back room instead of Mrs. Marks. I for real don't understand how Linney could be so nasty when she grew up around so much sweet. (Luckily, I don't spot Girl Evil at all.)

We tried really extra hard to steer Alexandra away from having a traditional wedding cake alongside her dessert bar, just so we wouldn't have to deal with Linney, but since she couldn't be swayed, even I have to admit Linney's mom
does
have the best bakery in town. Maybe even anywhere.

“Hi, girls. Am I glad to see you! Your client is already here and was rather, um, insistent on inspecting my kitchen and offering some, er, suggestions. I'll let her know you're waiting!” Mrs. Marks's smile looks way too plastered on to be legit. Yikesies.

She waves her hand at metal chairs at a little cafe table tucked into the corner, and we're still figuring out how to cram around it when Alexandra appears, wiping her hands on a bright green Marks Makes Cakes apron she is, for some reason, wearing.

“You three are late!”

Sadie glances at the clock above the register. “Um, according to this, we're five minutes early, Miss Worthington.”

“Precisely. Which is ten minutes late. All planners must be present and accounted for fifteen minutes prior to any scheduled meeting time. It's line item twenty-seven on the addendum to the contract I sent over last week.”

Sadie squirms a little in her chair. “Sorry, ma'am. It won't happen again.”

Alexandra slips her apron over her head and drops it across the cupcake display case. “Good. See that it doesn't. Now, I gave the bakery a few instructions for the décor I'd like to see on our cakes for today. She had some nonsense about not decorating the samples as we're just here to taste the flavors, but that's ridiculous. How will I know if I want real flowers or sugar flowers if I haven't seen them displayed for me? I was informed this will take some additional time, which is just fine as I have lots of other details to discuss with you.”

Yowza. I already felt sorry for Mrs. Marks, having to have Linney for a daughter and all, but now I feel doubly triply bad for her. Alexandra thumps a giant binder onto the table, and Sadie cringes like she's seen this monstrosity before.

Poor Sades. She's definitely been getting the worst of the wedding-planning stuff since it's her phone we use as our business number, and also because the rest of us kinda figure she knows what she's doing best out of all of us, on account of the years she spent helping her mom. But maybe we should have been more helpful. I'm for sure going to be waaaaay better from now on. I mean, that is if I can take time away from my new favorite hobby—checking my pocket mirror to see what's stuck in my braces
now
.

Alexandra flips to a tab in the middle and flops the book open to a page of photos of women in old-timey dresses. “Okay, girls, now here's what I'm thinking. We send a ‘look book' to all of the guests, composed of outfits I would consider appropriate for them to wear in order to match our vintage theme.”

Vintage theme? Is this a new one? Because last I knew it was rock-and-roll and before
that
it was fairy tales. I've forgotten the ones that came before those; there've been so very many!

Alexandra doesn't even take a break for air. “For example, here are a slew of early-nineteenth-century fashions that would work well. Perhaps you girls could compile a list of shops in each guest's home city where he or she could procure cloches and elbow-length gloves.”

I only know a cloche is a fancy hat because I consider it my duty to be fashion-forward, but I'm guessing Vi has never heard that word. In. Her. Life.

Sadie opens and closes her mouth a few times and then just nods. I gape at her, and when she catches my eye, she gives me a look like
Shh, let me handle this!
, which I am really not so sure about, but I nod too, mostly because she's my bestie and also because one of the little rubber bands in my mouth is doing something distracting and weird.

Next, Alexandra stares at Vi for, like, five whole seconds and then reaches over to touch her ponytail and says, “So, I want to get your take on something, girls. I've asked the blondes in my wedding party to dye their hair brown for the occasion because I want to be the only blonde in my photos. But I'm wondering if I should extend the order to all the guests. You know, in case the photographer wants to get some shots from above. Speaking of which, I think we might need to rent a glider for some aerial shots. I was considering a helicopter, but they're so loud, and since gliders don't have engines . . . or maybe a blimp? Know where we could rent a blimp around here?”

I'm pretty sure my (sore) jaw is on the floor. I steal a quick glance at Sadie and Vi, and they are studying the linoleum like someone dropped a contact lens. I quickly duck my head down to do the same before I have to be the one to break it to her that the town's only wedding photographer gets so motion sick that just being on a boat makes him barf (exhibit A: the fateful
Little Mermaid
wedding that got Sadie f-i-r-e-d). Which means I'm eleventy-billion percent sure he isn't going up in a blimp. Or a glider. Before any of us can figure out how to yank Alexandra off the cray-cray train, Mrs. Marks appears with a small cake in each hand.

“Who's ready for a sugar buzz?” she sings. We all sigh at the sight of the decorated awesomeness. I'm pretty sure everyone else's are happy sighs. But mine is way more of a
why did I have to ruin my life and get braces so that I'm not even sure if frosting will hurt my teeth?
It
looks
so innocent and squishy, but then again so did the applesauce this morning. Alexandra reaches across the table and grabs a fork out of Mrs. Marks's hand, along with one of the cakes.

“What flavor is this one?”

Mrs. Marks still has her plastered smile. “That's raspberry lemon. This other one here is carrot, and I have my dark chocolate–peanut butter one just about ready.” She sets four plates in front of us and passes me, Sadie, and Vi the other forks.

“It's so nice you girls have this party-planning company. I wish my Linney would find a fun hobby like this.”

Writing songs is a hobby. Vi's beach volleyball is a hobby. Sadie's obsessive organizing of school supplies is a . . . well, no, that's just plain weird. But either way, forcing hair dye on unsuspecting wedding guests is not a hobby. It's WORK. Besides, her precious Linney totes has a hobby too. It's called “torturing the rest of us.” Sadie just smiles at Mrs. Marks and politely thanks her while Vi mashes her lips together, probably to keep from saying what she really thinks about Linney.

Alexandra is ignoring us and closing her mouth around a forkful of raspberry-lemon cake. She puts it down without comment and reaches across the table to the cake at Sadie's place. She swaps plates and digs into the new one. Eww. She didn't even wipe her fork off or anything. I'm suddenly seeing how this cake tasting is gonna unfold.

Mrs. Marks looks super nervous, probably because Alexandra isn't giving any reaction at all. Like, at
all
. “I'll be right back,” Linney's mom says, and disappears into the kitchen again.

By the time she comes back a minute later with the final cake, Alexandra has taken three more bites of the others, and still: zip zero nada change to her facial expression. She also hasn't offered any to us, so we're just sitting with our forks in our hands looking like we're on a hunger strike or something (which actually might not be that bad of an idea with this whole Great Braces Saga stuff).