100 Days of Cake (24 page)

“You really want me to go to this thing?” he asks.

“It would mean an awful lot to me.”

“Okay.” He folds the flyer and tucks it into his pocket. “I'll try.”

T
onight is the night!

The night when all of our hard work pays off and we prove to Charlie that FishTopia is worth it, or the night that we find out that we're big fat failures. Never mind that fiancée-free Dr. B. might show. All day I've felt like I might puke. I wonder if Alex was this excited about his show—the one I blew off. Well, this time I'll be there even if it's just to support FishTopia; cheering him on is V's job now.

I'm a few minutes late because it was hard to pedal over on Old Montee in a dress. The occasion seemed momentous enough to warrant a change from my summer uniform, so I'm wearing this silky, flowing tank dress I borrowed from Mom. Of course it's a little big in the boobs, but the print is this wavy blue-and-green pattern that reminds me of how
we painted the walls of FishTopia so it looks like an ocean. And I swung by the salon and let Mom braid my hair again. I even put on some lip gloss and mascara, but I probably sweated all of that off on the ride over.

Chaining Old Montee to a signpost, I decide that if we do save FishTopia, I'll sign up for driver's ed. This night could be the start of the rest of my life.

“Wow. You look, wow,” Alex says as he comes over from the parking lot, guitar in one hand, amp in the other.

“Thanks.” Despite everything going on with him and my sister, I'm still happy he noticed.

“You look really good too.” It's not a lie. His jeans fit really well (V's doing?), and he's done something different with his hair so that it's a little more tousled.

“Who knew we cleaned up so nice?” He smiles.

I pull open the door for him. “Should we go save some fish?”

Inside, the store looks amazing. All the tanks with their neat Alex-made labels, everything clean and relaxing, the fan keeping everything cool; it really wouldn't be a bad place to spend the afternoon. Maybe we could even add a small café? Some partnership with Wang's? The world tonight feels full of possibilities.

Elle is behind the counter selling tickets, and she practically tackles me the minute Alex goes upstairs to finish setting up the equipment.

“Have you met his band yet?” Elle demands, and grabs my hand.

“No, I just got here—”

“The keyboardist—he goes to Maxwell—has the same hemp-weave bag I do, and it turns out that he is huge into Greenpeace. We talked about sustainability for twenty minutes!”

“That's sooo cool!”

“Also, he's smoking hot.”

I laugh. “Why was Alex holding out on you?”

“I know, right!” Elle is practically giddy. I think she's in love. “Anyway, he's got these amazing dimples, and black glasses, and his thumbs—”

“His thumbs?”

“He did this thing where he sort of cracked them. It was flat-out sexy.”

“Wow.”

“And.” Elle lowers her voice as though FishTopia were teeming with spies. “Alex said he asked if I was single.”

“Ohmygod!” I'm so stoked for her. Flickering thought of Dr. B.; he has to come, right?

“You have to meet him!”

Elle is going on and on about her knight in a shining Prius, when headlights from a Mini Cooper temporarily blind us through the glass windows of the store. Veronica hops out of the car, achingly beautiful in a short, strapless romper
and gladiator sandals. I haven't spoken a word to her since the night she told me to kill myself.

“What is
she
doing here?” Elle's eyes narrow, and she looks cartoonishly angry, like steam puffs might come out of her ears.

“Coming to see her boyfriend's band play, I guess.” From my stomach the cold murder-rage bubbles into my esophagus.

Stabilizing breath. This is the night we save FishTopia; no time to waste on my backstabbing baby sister.

“Do you need me to punch her in the tit for you?” Elle asks, and I tell her that won't be necessary.

Opening the door, V gives Elle a wave and a “Hey, Elle.”

Elle crosses her arms and refuses to acknowledge V. She might actually make a “humph” sound.

V shrugs and turns to me. “Hi, Molly.” Offering a sheepish smile, she jams her hands into her pockets.

“Thanks for coming,” I say, stiff and formal, the president of the United States greeting a head of state from an uneasy ally.

“Of course. I know how important this is to you, so I tried to get people from Jaclyn's to come, but Nina's parents are out of town, so she's having a big party.” V looks inordinately sad about this. “Chris and a couple of those guys promised to stop by in a little while, though. Hope that helps.”

I tell her that's really nice, because it is. Thawing ever so slightly, I wonder what she wrote in that note I didn't read.
But I don't have time to deal with any of this, not tonight. If we can save FishTopia, everything else will sort itself out.

“Alex is upstairs setting up,” I tell her, and she looks wounded.

“Okay, um, I guess I'll go say hi.”

Elle gives me a confused look once Veronica is in the stairwell, and I flip up my palms.

“Well,” she says, “if you change your mind, I can still tit-punch her.”

Upstairs it really does look like an enchanted under-the-sea dance.

Before we went home to change a few hours ago, Elle, Alex, and I spent all day setting up the roof—stringing up these fish-shaped Christmas lights that Elle found at a secondhand store, and creating a makeshift stage for the bands. We constructed a “bar” with a soda station and little snack bowls filled with Pepperidge Farm Goldfish (get it?) and a bunch of cupcakes Mom and I made last night. Unfortunately (though, not at all surprisingly), we weren't able to get a keg, but JoJo got us a couple of six-packs and some cheap wine.

The roof is hardly packed, but it's still early, and people are slowly trickling in. That redheaded mom that Alex helped shows up with her non-ginger husband; a few people Elle still hangs out with from the swim team; Gina
and Tina from AP English, who immediately ask me how far I've gotten on the summer reading list; a few of the Hot Topic girls with black nail polish (oh, well; they're V's problem now).

For once Elle's mom shows up, with Jimmy—who's wearing his stuffed-animal pelt from the playroom massacre—by her side. Giving me a kiss, she asks about my summer.

My own mom arrives with Gram, and already the two of them are arguing about something (“I know, Ma!”), but they stop long enough to tell me how great the place looks.

JoJo and her boyfriend with the stash of teeth are holding hands and look like they're getting along. “I have to admit, you did a great job, CCH,” she says, and I'm kind of touched.

Toupee Thom comes up from the steps and looks a little lost, still in his lawyer suit.

“Molly.” He gives me a quick hug, and I remember how attentive he was to my mom. Fresh splash of guilt that I'm the reason they broke up. “I saw one of the flyers, so I figured I'd stop by.”

“Thanks,” I say. “It's really nice to see you.”

“Well, clients always really love the tank in the lobby. The fish have a very calming effect.” My mom used to talk about how sometimes she could hear the dueling exes through the floors, so anything that helps is probably huge.

After a few minutes more of small talk, I notice he's looking around.

“Mom and my grandma are over by the food,” I say. “I'm sure they'd love to say hi.”

His face brightens, and he goes off to find them.

On the makeshift stage, Alex and the guys from his band call me and Elle over.

“I'm afraid it's not going to be much of a battle.” Alex shakes his head. “I'm so sorry.”

Apparently the bassist and drummer from Sinking Canoe haven't recovered from mono, which we had sort of expected. That would still have left us with three bands . . . except Sinking Canoe's drummer was hooking up with the singer from Terminal Bitch, and now all the TB members are sick too. And McLovin—the band that was totally blowing up when we planned this—literally blew up and parted ways over creative differences this morning. (They plan to re-form soon, but that's no help for us tonight.) So we've got Alex's nameless band, which, by definition, doesn't have a huge following.

“We're happy to play extra sets or whatever you guys need,” Mark—the eco-friendly keyboardist—offers, looking directly at Elle. He is kind of cute, but his thumbs don't do a thing for me. Batting her eyelashes with her own dash of Blanche Devereaux's magic, Elle pronounces him a “lifesaver.”

“Since we were advertising four bands and now it's only one, maybe we should charge five bucks instead of ten?” Alex suggests, and everyone agrees that seems fair.
Elle starts handing out five-dollar refunds to poeple already there.

Still, when I do the math, I'm not sure it will be enough to save the store, especially since we already lowered the price when we couldn't get the keg. The numbers start the spiral thinking in my head. But I push it back. This will work; it has to.

Alex and his nameless quartet take the stage and announce that they're ready to get the party started, and the thirty or so people cheer.

They start with a song I heard Alex tinkering around with once, and I can't believe how awesome they sound. No joke, they could be on the radio. They are kind of like those alternative bands that my mom and Dr. B. love so much, but more fun, with so much energy. Their drummer—this big teddy bear of a dude with great hair—flips a drumstick into the air and actually catches it, and when Alex plays a guitar solo, he closes his eyes and throws his whole body into it.

The keyboardist announces that one song is about global warming, and Elle literally swoons. That song is awesome too, and so rollicking that you don't even notice the preachy lyrics.

Before the next number, Alex takes the microphone. “This song goes out to a little guy we recently lost,” he says. “Pickles, this one is for you, buddy.”

It's so silly and sweet that I get a little misty. From the corner of my eye, I catch V talking to Toupee Thom and
wonder if she's jealous that Alex mentioned Pickles. She looks unfazed, but she also thought Pickles was a lobster.

The band breaks into the song that Alex and I danced to while painting the store—the one about the guy who does all that crazy crap to forget the girl he's into. Bopping my head, I can't help but sing along to the chorus.

“I know that you don't care, but I see you everywhere.

In a boat or with a goat,

Flying high while eating pie,

On a train with my aunt Jane,

Just no way to escape, the beauty of your face.”

And for the whole four minutes, I'm not worried about whether or not we'll save FishTopia or about Alex and V or about everyone racing off to start these bright shining lives. I'm not obsessing about whether Dr. B. will show up, or if he will still have a fiancée if does. I'm just having a good time.