The Cupcake Diaries Collection: Katie and the Cupcake Cure; Mia in the Mix; Emma on Thin Icing; Alexis and the Perfect Recipe (26 page)

“Oh no! Am I rambling on too much?” asked Mia, embarrassed. “You know I could talk about fashion all day!”

I instantly felt rotten about putting any kind of damper on what should have been a great moment for Mia. I didn’t want her to think I wasn’t excited.

“No, you’re not rambling at all! And I am so psyched about your mom’s wedding. I think it’s so cool that we get to do the cupcakes, and I am so excited about us being junior bridesmaids. It’s so amazing.” I really did mean it. It was great news.

Mia smiled. “Thanks! I can’t wait!”

“It’s just . . .” I wanted to tell my best friends about our money troubles, but I just couldn’t. It would be
embarrassing, not to mention kind of disloyal to my family. And anyway, I didn’t want to lay it all out and then have to run out the door and potentially leave them all talking about me and feeling sorry for us Taylors. “It’s just that I have to go home and watch Jake. And I’m worried I’m going to be late for his bus! But I don’t want to run out on all this great news! I want to talk about all the dresses, but then I’ll be late!”

Well, it wasn’t a total lie. I did have to watch Jake, but not until tomorrow, when my brother Matt had basketball practice. It was his turn to watch Jake after school today. Running out on them for Jake sounded more legitimate than running out on them for a dog, that’s all.

“Oh no! Go! We’re totally done,” said Mia sweetly.

“What about the Garner job? The four-year-old’s birthday party? We need to submit a bid for that . . . ,” said Alexis.

I froze. I was halfway to standing up, and I plunked back down on the couch. The club rule was that we all had do to the planning together so no one got stuck with it (even though I secretly thought Alexis would totally be okay doing all of it).

But Mia waved. “Go, go. You can’t be late! We’ll
e-mail you what we come up with, okay?”

I was torn. I hated feeling like this. “Really?” I knew I was biting my lip.

“Go! It’s fine!” said Katie nicely. “Really!”

I looked at Alexis, and she nodded.

“Okay,” I said. “Sorry.” I gave Mia a big hug. “Just let me know the details . . .” Then I grabbed my backpack and hustled out.

I am going to be so late,
I thought as I dashed out of Mia’s house, which I loved. Everything here was so stylish and neat and clean in contrast to my house, where everything was sturdy enough for three boys and slightly trashed and of questionable cleanliness. Just yesterday I had to kick three pairs of Matt’s disgustingly stinky socks off the sofa before I sat down.

I clipped my bike helmet on and hopped on my bike. Well it was mine now. It was a hand-me-down from Sam, my eldest brother, by way of Matt, the next one down. It was a boys’ bike, with a bar, and it was gray and a little too big for me. But it was in decent shape and totally reliable. I pumped hard for the seven blocks home, standing up on the pedals almost the whole way, and taking the most efficient route.

I passed Jake’s bus, which was stopped on the
block before our house. Flying by at top speed, I just waved at all of the windows. One of them had to be Jake’s. I turned up the driveway, ditched my bike in the rack so I didn’t get yelled at for leaving it out, ran into the mudroom and dumped my backpack and flute case into my locker (yes, we actually have lockers at home; it is the only way to contain the madness, my mom says), and was about to dash back out to get Jenner for his walk.

“Where have you been?” Matt screeched. He went flying past me out the door, dressed in his basketball uniform with his jacket over it, the jacket flapping open in his haste. His light, curly hair was smushed under a baseball hat and his blue eyes flashed with impatience.

“What?” I asked, not comprehending. I followed him out to the driveway.

“They changed my practice time!” yelled Matt, hopping on a bike.
My bike!

“Wait, that’s my bike!” I yelled. “And what about Jake?”

“He’s all yours! Mom said! And it used to be my bike so I still can claim it!” And Matt went sailing off.

The bus pulled up, and Jake shuffled out. His shaggy blond hair was all messed up and his blue
eyes looked tired. He had on jeans and his favorite T-shirt; it was blue and said NYPD.

“Bye, buddy!” called Sal, the driver. Sal waved at me. I sighed and waved back. This was not what I bargained for.

“Hi, Emmy,” said Jake as he trudged up the driveway. His backpack was bigger than his whole back. I couldn’t imagine what he carried in it besides his lunch.

“Hi, pal.” I sighed again and took a deep breath. I didn’t want to snap at him. It wasn’t Jake’s fault Matt had ditched him. It wasn’t his fault that Mom had a new part-time job so she couldn’t be home to meet him after school.

I thought about how I was going to negotiate this. Jake requires careful planning. “I’ll grab you a quick snack while you use the bathroom and then we’ll go walk Jenner real quick, okay?” I said, trying to keep my voice light. Jake could be a bit of a tyrant, and if he wasn’t in the mood to do something, there was no way he’d do it. It was a little like taking care of a puppy.

“But I’m tired!” whined Jake, his shoulders drooping. “I just wanna stay home and watch TV!”

I could see the Jenner walking job slipping away, and I couldn’t let that happen. I had to think fast.
“You can bring your scooter and . . . we’ll go to Camden’s, and I’ll buy you a piece of candy!” It would cost me, but it would be worth it.

Jake paused as if weighing his options: tantrum or candy. I held my breath. Finally he spoke. “Two pieces.”

Phew.
“Two pieces it is, mister, but hustle now. Poor Jenner is crossing his little doggy legs, he needs to pee so badly!”

This sent Jake into peals of laughter, and I knew I had him. And it was only 4:10.

One problem at a time conquered with a little planning.
That’s how we roll, baby,
I said to myself as I hustled us out the door.
That’s how we roll.

J
enner leaped excitedly behind the Andersons’ door as I got the key from its hiding place and put it in the lock at 4:20. Jake watched the dog closely through the window with wide eyes. Jenner could be as much of a handful as Jake sometimes.

“You stay here, Jakey, while I go in and get his leash on, okay?” I said. Once he was on his leash Jenner would be fine.

Jake nodded. He didn’t hate dogs, but he wasn’t crazy about them either. Especially big, excited ones.

Sliding my knee through the opening in the door, I forced Jenner gently backward, then pulled the door shut. He was a good dog, but a little energetic at first.

“Hey, boy! Hi, buddy!” Jenner jumped up and tried to put his two front paws on my shoulders. I grabbed him firmly by the collar and spoke to him in a soothing voice and patted his head. It had taken a few tries, but I learned that you just had to be very calm with him. Kind of like when you were talking to Jake on the verge of a meltdown. Sure enough, Jenner stopped jumping, and I grabbed the leash from the hook and clipped it to his collar. Then I picked up the pooper-scooper Baggies holder and put it in my pocket. All set.

I looked around before I left. The Andersons’ mudroom was so neat, with everyone’s shoes in individual cubbyholes and the Anderson girls’ jackets and sporting equipment neatly aligned. I loved organization. I inhaled deeply. Something smelled really good.
Mmm,
I thought. Beef bourguignonne—a savory stew. Mom used to make it a lot. Mrs. Anderson worked full time at an insurance agency so, because of her schedule, she was a big Crock-Pot aficionado. A Crock-Pot cooked all day, and every time you came into the house you smelled dinner. Lately we ate mostly microwave stuff. It didn’t smell nearly as good.

Jenner gave a short bark, and I realized I had been standing there for a minute. “That’s a good
boy, now. Time for your walky,” I said. Poor guy. He probably really had to go.

I opened the door, and Jenner charged out, yanking on the leash. “Easy, boy,” I said. Then I turned to find Jake, but he wasn’t standing where I had left him.

“Jake?” I called. Where could he have disappeared to so quickly?

Jenner pulled on the leash toward the sidewalk where we usually go, but I thought Jake must be in the Andersons’ backyard. They had a swing set and that would have captured his attention. I pulled Jenner along and peered over the low, white picket fence into the backyard. No Jake. Uh-oh. He could only have headed down the driveway to the sidewalk. Now I felt a little nervous.

“C’mon, Jenner,” I said, and we trotted quickly down the driveway to the street. I looked left. No Jake. Then I looked right and there, way off in the distance about two blocks ahead, was Jake, motoring along on his scooter. “Oh no!” I cried, and we took off. How long had I been in the house?

Jenner needed little encouragement to run. Greyhounds can reach a top speed of forty-five miles per hour, which is why people use them for racing, and Jenner must’ve been a champion in his
day. I was in pretty good shape from volleyball at school, but I could barely keep up with him. Up ahead, Jake was nearing a busier street, and since he had already crossed the two quiet cul-de-sacs that intersected the Andersons’ street, I knew he’d have no qualms about crossing the next street. I had to reach him fast.

“Jake!” I screamed. He looked back at me over his shoulder and kept on going. He could be so bad! All I could think about was that my mother was going to kill me. Jake was still halfway up the next block, scootering at full speed. “Jake! Stop!” I cried, louder this time. But he didn’t even turn around.

Jenner strained at his leash. Jake was nearing the corner, with only thirty feet to go. Jenner and I crossed the final cul-de-sac—I looked both ways first—and we were only about half a block behind Jake. “Jake!” He looked back one more time and his scooter swerved a little, but he straightened it out and kept going. He was headed right for the busy main street. I froze. Then, in a split second, I just let go of Jenner’s leash. He took off at double the speed we’d been running and reached Jake in about fifteen long strides.

Jake was so spooked by the big dog chasing him
that he jumped off his scooter sideways, landing with a thud on a soft mound of lawn just before the corner.

I ran as fast as I could and flopped down next to him, gasping, and grabbed his shirt, just in case he hopped back on. Jenner was licking Jake maniacally, and Jake was crying. I grabbed Jenner’s collar, too, so I was hanging on to both of them.

“Jenner! Sit!” I said. “Stay,” I said firmly, holding my palm out flat toward him. I still had one hand on Jake. “Jakey, are you okay? Are you hurt?” I asked. “Don’t cry.”

Jake was more scared and mad than anything else. “That doggy tried to bite me!” he accused, pointing a finger at Jenner. Jenner looked at him and whimpered but didn’t move.

“Good dog,” I said. “Jake, he didn’t try to bite you. He saved you! You can’t just take off like that. It’s dangerous, and dumb, and . . . illegal!” Jake was into law enforcement big-time, so I knew to throw that in.

That got him. Jake stopped crying. “It is not!” he said.

I nodded, knowing I had him now. “Yes. Kids aren’t allowed to scooter alone on the sidewalk until they’re eight. It’s a law.”

Jake looked at me skeptically. “I don’t believe you.”

“Well, it’s true. If we see a police officer on the way to Camden’s, we can ask. Now come on, let’s go. And don’t ever take off on me like that again, or I’ll have to turn you in at police headquarters.” I tried to make my voice sound stern. I didn’t even know where the headquarters was.

I picked up Jenner’s leash and helped Jake back onto his scooter. I let out a big sigh of relief. Everything was under control again. Jenner stepped off the curb to do his business.

“I still get my candy. Two,” said Jake stubbornly. It wasn’t a question but rather a statement.

“Well . . . ,” I said. Mom was always talking about not rewarding bad behavior. And Jake was definitely bad, taking off like that.

Jake’s lower lip began to tremble. “You said!” he accused.

I knew I was in rough territory, but suddenly I was mad too. “Well, that was before you took off, mister!” I said. The aroma of Jenner’s business at the curb was unpleasant. I fished in my pocket for the Baggies clip.

“I hate you!” accused Jake.

I sighed and bent to pick up Jenner’s poop,
standing on his leash so he didn’t wander away. Jake was being a pain and now I had yucky dog doo. Nothing was going according to plan. It couldn’t get worse. But as I stood up, I found myself face-to-face with Sydney Whitman, neighborhood resident, founder and president of the Popular Girls Club, and all-around mean girl, and her hench-lady Bella.
Well,
I thought,
I guess my day can get worse.

I never ran into Sydney except at the worst possible moments. Weeks could go by without seeing Sydney. Then I’d go outside to get the mail in my pajamas on a Saturday and she would walk by, saying, “Oh, Emma, are you sick?” I really didn’t like her. I looked at Jenner’s poop bag and Jake’s tear-streaked face, and my heart sank.