Confectionately Yours #4: Something New (3 page)

T
he large sugar maple on the seventh-grade corner is already pale green — just starting to leaf out overhead. It’s as if it has just started to wake up and think leafy thoughts, but hasn’t gotten to work making real leaves yet. At the edge of our brick school building, a hedge of yellow forsythia gleams bright against the dull grass, damp and dirty from the retreating snow. It’s still cold, but the light out is springlike, which warms me up somehow. Thirty-four degrees in March doesn’t feel the same as thirty-four degrees in December. I don’t know why. Maybe because everyone’s so busy thinking about the end of winter.

So it’s cold, but everyone kind of has the idea that it isn’t,
so we’re all hanging out on our corner before the first bell, like we did at the beginning of the year.

Meghan is making notes on her pad. She likes to carry around a clipboard. She thinks people take her more seriously with a clipboard, which is true, though they might take her even
more
seriously if the clipboard weren’t hot pink and covered with Hello Kitty stickers. I’m just saying.

“Okay, I think we’ve got food covered for the Spring Fling,” Meghan says, checking something off with a purple pen. “You’ve got dessert. Artie is going to help with decorations and centerpieces. But I still need to get something for the drinks —”

“I have a big cooler,” Marco offers. “I could bring that.” Marco is one of my best friends and used to be my next-door neighbor.

“That would be great!” Meghan makes a note of it. “And maybe some ice?”

“Sure. I can take photos, too, if you want.” Marco is an excellent photographer.

“That would be great! We could post them —”

“Hey, Meg!” Omar is loping toward us, his huge backpack bouncing against his back as he runs. “Meg — I need to talk to you.”

Meghan narrows her eyes as Omar joins us. “Why?” She really manages to pack that single syllable full of suspicion.

“What’s up, Omar?” I ask.

“You’re class rep, right?” Omar turns to Meghan. He slings his bag from his shoulder and plops it onto the damp ground. “Look, I have this idea for a tutoring program. A lot of people are having trouble with algebra, and I thought that maybe some of the kids who are really good at it could volunteer to help out. People could sign up, then meet at the library during lunch, or maybe at one of the back tables of the cafeteria.”

“Hey, great idea,” I say. “We could do other subjects, too.” I’m thinking I could help some people with Spanish.

“I could use some help in English,” Marco mutters.

“Right!” Omar grins at me.
Omar’s actually a really good-looking guy
, I realize,
with his huge brown eyes and golden skin
. I just never think of him as handsome because he’s such a pain.

“Hmm,” Meghan says.

“Would you help me?” Omar asks. “I think we’ll probably need to clear the idea with the administration and stuff, especially if we want to use the library.”

Meghan gives Omar a little one-shoulder shrug. “It sounds like a good idea. Let me think about it.”

Think about it?
I’m really surprised. This idea seems so … Meghan-ish to me. I’d expected her to be all over it.

“Oh.” Omar looks a little disappointed. “Sure. Think about it and let me know, okay?”

Meghan doesn’t even say, “Okay,” or anything, she just nods. Then she sort of looks at Omar from under her eyelashes until he grabs his backpack and walks away.

“What’s up?” I ask as soon as Omar is out of earshot. “I thought you’d be into that idea.”

“I am,” Meghan admits. She starts doodling on her yellow pad. “But you know Omar. I’ll do all the groundwork, and by the time the administration clears the whole thing, Omar will have forgotten all about it.” She draws a star. Then another star. Spike after spike until her margin looks like a bush full of thorny burrs.

“I’ll bet a lot of other kids would be into the idea, though,” Marco says. “Even if Omar flakes out.”

Meghan huffs out a sigh, which sends her bangs fluttering. “I’ve already got a million things to do.”

“Just get another super organizer to handle the sign-ups and everything,” I suggest.

Meghan barely looks interested. “Like who?”

I scan the clump of seventh graders on the corner.
Not Ellie Fisk
, I think.
No way would Oscar Chang be interested. Danielle Fitzgerald doesn’t do anything but watch TV. Hmm …
My eyes land on a girl wearing an orange jacket and dark skinny jeans. Her hair is up in chopsticks. “What about Sadie Sunrise?”

Sunrise
isn’t Sadie Sunrise’s last name — it’s her middle one. But everyone calls her “Sadie Sunrise” or just “Sunrise.” That’s what happens when you have a super-cool middle name. My middle name is Claire, which is fine, but not exactly nickname material.

Meghan’s eyebrows fly up. “That could work….” she says slowly.

“Yeah, how come Sunrise isn’t a class officer, or anything?” Marco asks. “She’s the type. She’s all organized with those perfect binders.”

“And the excellent handwriting. Plus, everybody likes her,” I add.

Meghan taps her purple pen against her lips. “Hmm. Maybe I should get her to run for student council with me,” she says. “Maybe she’d like to help with the Spring Fling Barbecue, too!” Then, all of a sudden, she darts off to talk to Sunrise.

I turn to Marco. I’m smiling — I’m about to congratulate him on his excellent idea — but before I can say anything, Marco says, “Hey, Hayley … about the Spring Fling Barbecue … do you want to go together?”

Last year, Mr. Forbes, our science teacher, told us about this woolly mammoth that had been found by scientists in the Arctic Circle. It was perfectly preserved in ice. Like, the Ice Age had just come and —
zap!
The woolly mammoth was frozen solid.

Well, that’s how I feel. Totally frozen solid, out of the blue.

Marco is one of my best friends. And he kissed me once. But that never turned into anything. So now he’s asking me to this dance, and I don’t know what it means. Is it as friends? Or is it some kind of date thing?

But there he is — my good friend, looking at me hopefully with his familiar dark eyes. Behind me, the bell to start
school rings, and I feel the students, who had been littered across the front lawn and lining the walkways, all start to move as one toward the building. I have to give him an answer.

So I say the only thing I can think of.

“Sure, Marco,” I tell him. “Of course I’ll go.”

Papaya Chocolate-Chip Cupcakes

(makes approximately 12 cupcakes)

INGREDIENTS:

INSTRUCTIONS:

1. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Line a muffin pan with cupcake liners.
   
2. In a large bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, ground cinnamon, and salt.
   
3. In a separate bowl, stir together the papaya puree, sugar, coconut milk, vanilla extract, and oil. With a whisk or handheld mixer, add the wet ingredients to the dry ones a little bit at a time, stopping to scrape the sides of the bowl a few times, and mix until no lumps remain. Then fold in the chocolate chips.
   
4. Fill cupcake liners two-thirds of the way and bake for 20–22 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center of a cupcake comes out clean. Transfer to a cooling rack, and let cool completely before frosting.
   

Banana Frosting

INGREDIENTS:

INSTRUCTIONS:

1. Scatter the coconut flakes on top of a baking sheet (preferably with ridges around the edges) and put in the oven to toast until they turn golden brown. Keep a careful eye on them, and occasionally stir them so that the coconut browns evenly. It will happen quickly, so be careful! Set the browned flakes aside to cool.
   
2. In a large bowl, with an electric mixer, cream the butter until it’s a lighter color, about 2–3 minutes. Then add 1/4 cup of the confectioners’ sugar and combine completely.
   
3. Add the vanilla extract and slowly beat in the rest of the confectioners’ sugar in 1/2-cup batches. When all the confectioners’ sugar has been added, beat in the mashed banana. Turn the mixer on high speed and beat for about 3–7 minutes, until the frosting is light and fluffy.
   
4. OPTIONAL: Mix in mini chocolate chips with a spoon for extra yumminess.
   
5. Frost each cupcake, add the toasted coconut flakes on top, and serve!
   

“S
hould we guess the flavor?” my father’s girlfriend, Annie, asks as I walk into the dining room with a large platter of cupcakes.

“You never will,” Chloe says, lifting herself onto her knees in her chair. Chloe is in third grade, and small for her age. She usually sits cross-legged or on her knees, otherwise her legs dangle six inches from the floor.

“Well, yellow frosting is a clue,” Dad says, scratching his salt-and-pepper hair. “Vanilla?”

Chloe huffs, as if she’s insulted by the uncreative answer. That makes me laugh a little, because it isn’t as if Chloe made the cupcakes.

“Oh, that’s too easy,” Annie says. “Something more original. The cake is pink — rosewater, maybe?”

“Still way off,” Chloe replies.

“They’re papaya chocolate-chip,” I say, “with banana frosting.”

Everyone lets out an “Ah!” and I hold out the platter to Chloe first. Of course, she chooses the largest cupcake.

Annie’s long fingers reach for the prettiest one. It’s funny how — in a batch of twelve cupcakes — there’s always one that comes out looking worse than all the others. And there’s always one that comes out looking better. And of course Annie spotted it. She’s into pretty things — she dresses beautifully, her nails are always perfectly done, and her black hair always gleams. She even helped my dad pick out some stuff for the apartment. When he first moved in, it was pretty … blank. He had a bed and a desk and even a TV with a recliner in front of it, but there wasn’t anything on the walls. After six months of dating Annie, there are ferns and paintings and floor lamps. Even curtains. In fact, the apartment kind of looks like a page in
House Beautiful
.

Dad picks a cupcake at random, and then I take one and
sit down at my usual spot. The dinner dishes have already been cleared away — Annie and Dad made pad thai — and Chloe put out the dessert plates. But mine is now covered with a large white envelope.

“What’s this?” I ask. I pick up the envelope and move it off my plate so I can put down my cupcake.

“Open it and see,” Dad urges. He takes a big bite of his cupcake and lifts his eyebrows at Annie, who smiles.

I lift the flap and pull out a brochure. Well — it’s bigger than a regular brochure. It’s more like a magazine, with thick, heavy paper. There are several pictures on the front: A girl with glossy blond hair and blinding tennis whites hits a ball. A serious-looking girl with glasses and dark cocoa skin frowns at a Bunsen burner. A muscular boy with a sharp profile shakes hands with a man in a tie. I recognize the man. He’s one of our senators.
Islip Academy
, reads the headline.
Creating Leaders
.

I look up at my dad, unsure what to say. “Um, thanks for the brochure?”

“What is it?” Chloe asks, peering across the table. “What does it say?”

I look at my little sister. “‘Islip Academy. Creating Leaders.’”

“Oooh!” Chloe’s mouth drops open. “Oooo — ooooh!”

Dad laughs. “Hayley, I thought you might be interested in checking it out.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Because it’s one of the best schools in the whole country, Hayley,” Dad says. “Wouldn’t you like to go there?”

I look down at the brochure. “Isn’t it a boarding school?”

“They have day students,” Annie explains. “You don’t have to live on campus.” She tosses her long, gleaming black hair over her shoulder. With her elegant rose-colored silk shirt, porcelain skin, and shiny hair, she looks more like one of these perfect, perfect Islip students in the brochure than I do, even if she’s twenty years older.

“Let me see!” Chloe darts out of her seat and comes to stand beside me. She plucks the brochure from my hands and starts flipping pages. “They give all the students a laptop!”

“You have to pay for it,” I say.

“It’s included in the tuition,” my dad explains. “They have great science labs, and an excellent drama department —”

“Dance!” Chloe points to a photo of students at a ballet barre.

“I know — I was looking at that, too,” Annie says with a laugh. “I want to go!”

“But — I like my school,” I say.

Dad leans back in his chair. I drop my eyes to the uneaten cupcake on my dessert plate, but I can feel my father studying my face. I don’t want to say what is really on my mind, which is the $130 for my Spanish book.

I know my mom mentioned it to my dad. I overheard her telling him while they were on the phone. And she also told him about the dentist bill. They share the cost of all that stuff. But the difference is that my dad has tons of money. He took a new job a couple of years ago, and his salary — which had been pretty low as assistant district attorney — suddenly shot up. Then, about six months ago, his law firm made him a partner. That was when all the new furniture and home décor appeared.

So. I wasn’t sure what Mom would think of private school when she was worried about buying a textbook.

“This school goes through high school. If you go starting next year, you’ll be all set.” My dad leans his elbows on the table.

“It would be hard to leave your friends,” Annie says gently. “But education is more important, don’t you think?”

Annoyance pricks at me. Annie is nice, but she often just doesn’t get me. It’s not like it’s her fault. She really tries. Anyway, I’m irritated that she thinks I just don’t want to leave my friends, when there are really a lot of reasons I’m not sure about Islip.

“Why don’t you just think about it?” Dad suggests. “Look through the brochure, and maybe we’ll go check it out.”

Chloe has already wandered back to her seat, her nose still buried in the pages of the Islip brochure.

I don’t want to get into a big argument, or hear more reasons why I should want to go to one of “the best schools in the whole country.” So I say, “Sure, Dad.”

Kind of the way Meghan humored Omar.

And then — topic over — I eat my cupcake.