Frosting and Friendship (9 page)

I grab one of the leftover bowls of instant butterscotch pudding Mom made last night for dessert and then I shut the refrigerator door. After I get a spoon, I sink into a chair at the kitchen table.

I sigh. “Isabel, I—”

“Oh no,” she interrupts. “I should have checked with you first. I'll be so sad if they can't play. I know Sophie will love having live music. I thought about asking you and your band to play, but you're hosting the party and that's enough for you to worry about. Besides, who won't love a band called the New Pirates, right? I hope it's okay. Can you check with your parents and get back to me? Please?”

My heart feels like it's a rope in a tug-of-war game. Isabel and Sophie are on one end while Abigail and Zola are pulling on the other.

Part of me wants to tell her no. The New Pirates can't play because my band should perform if we're going to have a band. The other part of me wants to tell her yes, of course the New Pirates can play, because she loves the idea, which means Sophie will love the idea, and I
really
want Sophie to be happy.

I don't know what to do. All I know is my heart
hurts from all that pulling. I can tell she is in love with this idea. Offering up my band as a replacement won't be the same. After all, her dad and Bryan's dad are friends. And Bryan's cute. I know I should say something—stand up for the Dots. But just the thought exhausts me. “Sure. I'll ask them tonight and see what they say.”

“Thank you so much, Lily. You're the best. How's the food planning coming along?”

I take a bite of the pudding. It is delicious. “Mom and I are going to make cake pops. Little cake balls on sticks? Have you seen them?”

“Oh, fun! That's a great idea.”

“Sophie loves chocolate-chip cookies, so we'll probably have some of those too. Don't worry. My mom and I have it under control. It's all good.”

“Yay!” she squeals. “It's going to be fabulous! Oh, and I wanted to tell you, I've had seven people say they can't make it. So counting you and me, we'll have about twenty-five people there. Now all we need is a way to get Sophie to your house.”

I set the spoon down and lean back in the chair. “Maybe we should talk to Sophie's mom. You know,
tell her about our surprise. They might be planning a special dinner or something for her that night.”

“You're probably right,” Isabel says. “Should one of us call her? Or go over there? What do you think?” I start to answer, but Isabel keeps talking. “You know what? I'll just call her mom right now. I'll use my mom's cell phone. That way Sophie won't recognize the number, and if she answers, I'll just hang up.”

“Good idea.”

“Let's talk again tomorrow, okay? I'll tell you what her mom and I come up with and you can tell me what your parents say about the band.”

“Okay. Bye, Isabel.”

“Bye.”

I take another bite of pudding as I think about the New Pirates playing at the party. The more I think about it, the angrier I get. Isabel should have asked me about our band. It's not right to assume I wouldn't want to do it.

Now she's pushed me into a corner, and I have to figure out how to get myself out.

I
'm in my room at my desk doing homework when my mother bursts through the door, a smile as big as the sun on her face.

“Guess what,” she says.

“What?”

She doesn't answer right away. It's like she's trying to figure out if she should drag the surprise out any longer. “Who is your favorite chef on TV?”

I give her a curious look. “Chef Smiley?”

She rushes over, takes my hands, and pulls me out of my chair. She's dressed up in a suit and her long brown hair is pulled back in a bun. She must have had meetings today at work. “Yes! We're going to see him. Tonight! He's in Portland this week. The radio station is hosting a class for radio listeners, and I just won two tickets!”

My mouth drops open. “Mom, are you kidding?”

“No,” she says, holding up her hand like she's being sworn into court. “I swear it's true. We need to get ready right now so we can leave in thirty minutes. It'll be rush hour soon, and we'll have to stop for dinner on the way too. So get ready and I'll see you downstairs.”

She starts to leave, but I call out, “Mom. Wait! My bandmates are coming over tonight. I can't go. I promised them we'd finish our song tonight.”

“Lily, this is the chance of a lifetime. Call them and explain. They'll understand. Now, please hurry. I don't want to be late.”

She doesn't give me time to protest any further. Her mind is made up. We're going. And I admit, it
sounds fun, but how can I let Abigail and Zola down again? I wish she'd won four tickets. I'd invite the two of them to go with us.

I get my phone and call Abigail, hoping I can figure out how to break the news to her gently. When she answers, she doesn't even say hello.

“If you're going to cancel practice tonight,” she says, “I might have to take you to the zoo and feed you to the bears.”

I close my eyes and wish for forgiveness. “Abigail, I'm sorry. It's just, my mom won two tickets and it's a once-in-a-lifetime chance.”

“Bears, Lily. Big, hungry bears.” She sighs. “Tickets? Like, concert tickets?”

I feel my chest tighten. “No.”

“What kind of tickets, then?”

I open my eyes and pace the floor. “My mom won them on the radio. Isn't that cool? They were giving tickets away for a special class, and she won. She just left my room to get ready. You know, she really didn't give me a choice. I have to go.”

“What kind of class?”

Obviously, she is not going to let me off the hook.
“Have you ever watched Chef Smiley on TV?”

It's silent for a few seconds. Finally, she says, “You're kidding, right?”

“He's in Portland this week, and the radio show is sponsoring a class for some of its listeners. Doesn't that sound amazing?”

I cross my fingers and hope she agrees with me. “Wow,” she says. “I guess you really do want to be a baker, don't you?”

I shake my head and plop down on my bed. She doesn't get it. “I don't want to be a baker. But I do want to be a
better
baker than I am now, which is a terrible one. What's wrong with wanting to learn how to bake?”

“Nothing, Lily, if you have all the time in the world. But you don't! Those auditions are coming up fast, and it seems like you don't even care.”

“I do care. Honest.”

“Then tell your mom you want to stay home and practice. Maybe she can find a friend to go with her.”

I take a deep breath and try not to get upset that she's making this so difficult. “We can practice tomorrow night. You guys don't have lessons, so that
should work, right? Look, I have to go. Can you call Zola and ask if we can change practice to tomorrow?”

“Lily.”

“Abigail, please? If it were you, I'd understand. I'd want you to go and have a good time. It's one night. That's all. Okay?”

She pauses before she replies in a softer voice. “Okay. I'll call her. Will you be at school tomorrow?”

“Yes. We'll probably get home late, but my mom won't let me stay home. I'll see you then, okay?”

“Bye.”

I hang up and rush to my closet, trying to figure out what a person should wear to meet a well-known pastry chef. I decide on a simple black jersey knit dress. I wear my new polka-dot sneakers, too, for luck. I really hope a little bit of Chef Smiley's baking skills can rub off on me.

*  *  *

A few hours later, we're seated in a classroom at the Western Culinary Institute. On the way over, Mom explained it's a school where people learn how to become chefs. The classroom has a counter covered
with kitchen tools and ingredients. Behind the counter, along the wall, are a stove, a sink, and a refrigerator. It looks like a small kitchen in a home, but is set up so people can sit and watch what's happening in the kitchen.

I was hoping it'd be more of a hands-on class, where we'd all get to bake something, but that would probably be really hard to do.

When Chef Smiley comes out, wearing his white chef shirt, he says, “Good evening, friends. I'm so glad you're here to bake with me!” Everyone applauds.

“Tonight you're in for a real treat. Literally.” He rubs his belly and laughs. “We are going to make strawberry-lime cupcakes. But as you'll see, these aren't your normal cupcakes. They have a tasty surprise in each one.”

Mom and I look at each other and smile, and I admit, I'm excited. Maybe I can learn how to make fabulous cupcakes like Isabel.

Chef Smiley continues. “Before I get started, I want you to reach under your chairs. Taped to one of them is a bright orange piece of paper with a few
words written on it. Everyone check, please, and if you find the piece of paper, raise it high in the air, so I can see it.”

I lean to the side of my seat and then reach up and search the bottom of the chair with my hand. When I feel something on my fingertips, I have to cover my mouth with my other hand to keep from squealing.

I pull the piece of paper away from the chair and read what it says.

CHEF SMILEY'S

PERSONAL ASSISTANT

FOR THE EVENING

Mom and I look at each other again. She puts her arm around me and gives me a squeeze. “Looks like you get the best seat in the house.”

“Mom, what if I mess up?” I whisper to her. “In front of all of these people? Maybe you should do it.”

“It'll be fine,” she says. “Don't worry. He'll help you.”

I guess I don't have a choice. Everyone is looking
around, wondering who found the note. My heart races as I hold the sheet high in the air, just like Chef Smiley said to do.

“Oh, good,” the chef says. “Come on up here, please. Let's meet the person who will be my helper this evening.”

I force my shaky legs to stand up and somehow I make it to the front of the room without falling down. Chef Smiley directs me to go around the counter until I'm standing right next to him.

“Well, hello there,” he says. He looks just as nice and friendly up close. “Can you tell us your name, good and loud, so everyone can hear you?”

“Lily.”

“It's wonderful to meet you, Lily. I assume you like to bake, if you're here tonight?”

I hold on to the counter for support. “Well, I'm here because I want to be a better baker. I'm pretty much a disaster in the kitchen.”

He gives me a look of concern. “Disaster? What do you mean?”

“Nothing ever seems to go right when I'm baking. I overfill the cake pans or use the wrong ingredients
or I forget to do something important, like put the lid on the blender.”

He puts his arm around me and talks to the audience. “I already like this girl. Don't you love her honesty?”

Everyone claps, and I feel my cheeks getting warm.

“Here's what I want you to remember, Lily. More than anything, baking should be fun. Do your best and have fun! If something doesn't turn out, well, you've learned something for the next time, right? It took a lot of years and a lot of practice for me to get to where I am now. So let's see if I can teach you a few things tonight. How do you like the sound of that?”

I nod as I feel myself relax a little bit. Chef Smiley is so nice and maybe I will learn something.

He claps his hands together. “All right, then. Let's get started. Lily, I'll have you wash your hands behind me while I go over the ingredients with our guests.”

I turn toward the sink and pinch my hand to make sure I'm not dreaming. Nope. Wide awake.
This is really happening. I'm baking with a famous pastry chef. Unbelievable.

Chef Smiley talks while I turn the faucet on and pick up the bar of soap. “Lily mentioned using the wrong ingredients, and that's our first lesson tonight. It's so important to follow the recipe closely and make sure you use the correct ingredients. For example, this recipe calls for all-purpose flour, so you want to make sure that's what you're using.”

I dry my hands and go back to standing next to him. He points to each ingredient, which seem to be all measured out in various-sized bowls along the counter, while he talks about each one.

“Lily,” he says as he puts the beaters into the mixer, “I'm going to ask you to go through the fresh strawberries in that bowl and pick out the best ones for our recipe. While she does that, I'm going to cream the butter, sugar, and eggs until fluffy. That's another mistake people make—when mixing ingredients, don't undermix or overmix. If the recipe says this mixture should be fluffy, then I'm going to keep beating until it's fluffy. Okay?”

He passes me the bowl of strawberries before he
starts mixing the ingredients. A wave of panic washes over me. What does he mean by best? Biggest? Reddest? Juiciest?