The Cupcake Diaries Collection: Katie and the Cupcake Cure; Mia in the Mix; Emma on Thin Icing; Alexis and the Perfect Recipe (34 page)

T
he next morning the phone rang and it was Mrs. Mellgard. She had a change of plans and wondered if I was free to take Marley out for a long walk and playdate. She’d be willing to pay me double. Ten dollars! I jumped at the chance and said I’d be right over.

On my way out the door I loaded my pocket with liver snaps for Marley, then grabbed two of the remaining four bacon cupcakes from the night before for Mrs. Mellgard. The cupcakes were, if I do say so myself, delicious. The ribbons of salty caramel burst in your mouth when you took a bite of the sweet yellow cake, and the bacon gave a satisfying crunch as the frosting swirled across the roof of your mouth. Everyone had adored them; Sam
had had four when he got home from work. One for each movie pass, he joked.

At the Mellgards’, I left the cupcakes on the counter with a note for Mrs. Mellgard, then took Marley out for a good time. It was a nice day, and I tried not to think about everyone trying on the dress. The fresh air felt good and so did running around with Marley. When I got back after more than two hours of Frisbee and running with Marley, Mrs. Mellgard was back and standing in the kitchen.

“Emma!” she cried. “Oh my God!”

I was alarmed. “What?” I cried. Had I been gone too long? Was Mrs. Mellgard worried about Marley? I really should have checked my watch.

Mrs. Mellgard grasped at her chest. “The bacon cupcakes. Oh my God!”

“What?” I was panicked now. Had I accidentally baked something into a cupcake? For a second I thought maybe I poisoned Mrs. Mellgard. Then I saw her smile.

“They are the
best
thing I have ever tasted! Wow! Thank you so much!”

I grinned, relieved. “I’m glad you liked them. I really like them too.”

“Like them? I love them!” said Mrs. Mellgard
giddily. “I wonder . . . is there any chance you might have time to make me some for my book club meeting on Wednesday?”

“Sure!” I said, without even really thinking about it. “I’d love to. How many do you need?”

“About two dozen, considering my husband will probably have four.” Mrs. Mellgard laughed.

“Done. I’ll deliver them on Wednesday around six, okay?”

“Great. What do I owe you?” asked Mrs. Mellgard.

“Oh, we usually charge thirty dollars for two dozen.” I wasn’t supposed to do this. I was supposed to run all orders by the club so we could agree and prioritize and price them. But . . . well . . . I needed the thirty dollars. I knew it was wrong. But Operation Dream Dress was about to be a bust. I had to do something.

“Who’s we?” asked Mrs. Mellgard with interest.

“Well, three of my friends are in a Cupcake Club with me. We bake for parties and events. We’re actually baking cupcakes for a wedding!”

“Well!” said Mrs. Mellgard. “Sign me up!”

It wasn’t until I skipped down the driveway that I realized I should be heading back to Mona at The Special Day on Wednesday to purchase the dress.
I felt nervous again. Well, I’d just have to make it work.

On Sunday I had another dog emergency. The Jensens’ daughter’s swim team had made it into the finals at a tournament out of state, and their labradoodle, Wendy, needed walking while they were gone, in the morning and afternoon. Since it was a weekend I had the whole day to fit the walks in, so it was okay. I just had to do it before the Cupcake Club meeting. But part of me wanted to miss the Cupcake Club meeting. I was tired of Mia’s looks and people talking behind my back. And in all honesty, I wasn’t sure I could bear sitting through a reenactment of the magical hours spent at The Special Day. So like a coward, instead of calling, I sent off an e-mail to the group saying something had come up and I couldn’t make the meeting. I knew it was lame. But when I pressed send, part of me was proud for doing it. After all, I didn’t need those girls if they were going to be so mean. And I could do my own cupcake orders. I already did, with Mrs. Mellgard.

Katie and Mia didn’t reply. Alexis e-mailed right back with “Are you okay?”
No,
I thought miserably. I hit delete without responding.

On Monday at school Mia and Katie were okay
but distant. Nobody asked what my emergency was yesterday, and I didn’t ask how Mia’s special recipe turned out. Alexis kept trying to talk to me, but I brushed her off. At lunch I managed to squeeze in a flute session in one of the music department’s practice rooms, so I avoided the lunch table. I told myself I was just being organized and making the most of my time. But I knew I just didn’t want to deal.

On Monday night I thought about telling Mom about the dress. But Mom seemed to have forgotten about it and, anyway, I just didn’t know how to bring it up. As the days went on, Mom looked more and more tired, and she and Dad seemed worried.

I went to my room and laid all my money out to count, including today’s dog-walking receipts. I calculated the thirty dollars I’d get from Mrs. Mellgard on Wednesday. The cupcake expenses were probably around fifteen dollars, so that was really only fifteen dollars profit.
Wow,
I thought coldly,
I can make a lot more money if I don’t have to split it four ways.
Then I thought of my friends. I missed them.

Later that night there was an e-mail from Alexis requesting an emergency meeting of the Cupcake Club on Wednesday to discuss three
impending new orders that needed to be addressed. Wednesday. Alexis didn’t do her usual “Hi, Cupcakers” or sign off with “XOXO.” Something was up. Plus, it was on Wednesday. Right in the middle of baking, walking the dogs, and buying the dress (if that could even happen). How was I going to do it all? And what’s more, was it really to discuss new orders or were they calling the meeting to vote me out? I stared at the e-mail, trying to read between the lines. Alexis had sent another e-mail: “Call me.” Nobody else replied.

Just then there was a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” I demanded crankily, hustling to gather up the money.

“It’s me,” said Matt.

“Come in,” I barked. Great, now I probably had to watch Jake on top of everything else. I began folding the money to put back into the cosmetic bag I kept it in.

Matt opened the door. “Wow. That’s a lot of money,” he said first. Then, when I didn’t comment, he shrugged. “Hey, is the favor department open?” he asked.

I sighed. After Matt had been so nice about the flyers, I felt I had to say yes. “Sure. What do you need?” I asked.

“Uh, do you think you could bake some bacon cupcakes for my team dinner? It’s Wednesday.”

Of course it is,
I thought. “But Wednesday is a Jake day for you,” I said with my voice shaking.

“Well, that’s the other thing. I can do Jake from pickup till five thirty if you can take over after that. Then I’ll owe you two hours.”

Wednesday was starting to look like it would be the worst day of my life: I had to bake cupcakes for Mrs. Mellgard, walk three dogs, babysit Jake, make it to a Cupcake Club meeting to get kicked out, and somehow find time to buy the bridesmaid dress before Sydney. How was this all going to happen? But I did owe Matt.
I can do it,
I tried to cheer myself on.
If I just say it, it always gets done.

“I’ll pay you . . . ,” Matt offered, eyeing my pile of money again.

“No, you don’t need to pay me,” I said. “I’ll do it. And I’ll take Jake.” I should be all done by six thirty anyway. It would be okay as long as I was organized.

Matt smiled a huge smile. “That’s awesome. People are going to freak out over those cupcakes. Thanks.”

“Sure,” I said, returning the smile. That was as much of a compliment as I would ever get from Matt.

“So what’s all that money for, anyway?” asked Matt.

I shrugged. “Well, it’s not enough for anything, right now. I need to buy a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar bridesmaid’s dress on Wednesday, or my enemy will get it and my so-called friends will officially also become my enemies. And I don’t want to ask Mom and Dad to help me. I’ll probably get kicked out of the wedding party and kicked out of the Cupcake Club. So actually, I don’t know what this money is for.” I zipped the cosmetic bag closed.

“Wow. It’s expensive being a girl,” said Matt, half teasing.

“It sure is,” I said angrily.

Matt hesitated, as if he was going to say something but then didn’t. He left, closing the door gently behind him and leaving me feeling sadder and lonelier than I had all day.

But on Tuesday I was feeling in control. It was a Jake day, but I only had two dogs to walk. I decided I’d get the dogs, then meet Jake’s bus, then take them all to Quickie Mart to pick up the baking supplies for the bacon cupcake bakeathon the next day. It should be no problem. I had a plan. I felt good.

But what I hadn’t banked on was Franco the
dachshund having diarrhea. Yes, it was a total mess and a total bummer. He must’ve eaten something in his house that made him sick because when I showed up, he had pooped all over the kitchen. Though it technically was not my job to clean it up, I didn’t feel right leaving it. So I went around with cleaning spray and paper towels, then pocketed a wad of emergency paper towels and headed out to get the other dog. But now I was behind schedule. I knew I should just go home and wait for Jake’s bus, but I also didn’t want to just sit and wait, and I was better off having both dogs ready to go when Jake got home so we could then head in the other direction to the Quickie Mart.

Unfortunately, I didn’t realize how long it would take me to get home. Again. By the time I got home, the bus had passed our house. I could see it a block up ahead. I set out chasing it, but Franco was butt-scootching across the pavement and couldn’t be rushed. I tied the dogs to a pole and set out at a dead sprint to get to the bus, nearly getting hit by a car in the process. I had to catch it. They wouldn’t let Jake off unless there was someone there. I ran faster than I ever ran before and caught up to the bus on the next stop as the door was closing, and waved at Sal the driver. Sal opened the door and
called to Jake, but he had a concerned look on his face.

“Hey, Emma, I’m sorry, but I have to write you up for missing the bus today,” Sal said. “I hate to do it, but it puts my job in jeopardy if I don’t follow the protocol.” He shrugged. “Sorry.”

I sighed heavily in defeat. I understood. I had messed up and Sal was just doing his job, but the timing was terrible. If you got more than one write-up, you couldn’t take the bus anymore. Dad was going to freak out. “Okay,” I said, then nodded and tried to look as bad as I felt, hoping Sal would take pity on me. “I’m really sorry.”

Jake came wearily down the stairs. He had fallen asleep on the bus again; I could tell by the way his hair was sticking up. “You forgot me!” he yelled.

“No, I didn’t, Jakey.” I sighed. “I was just late.”

Here we go again,
I thought. There would be no trip to the Quickie Mart. Not with Jake in one of his moods. We trudged down the block to the waiting dogs. I decided I’d be better off just taking them to our yard. That way I could get Jake home.

I sent Jake in to watch TV, and then I played with the dogs for half an hour. Franco had diarrhea two more times, and I had to get out the hose to spray it
away, but the yard still smelled like dog poop. Eventually I had to get Jake to come with me to take the dogs home. Jake complained the whole way, but I managed to drop them off without Franco having another mess. “Let’s go to the Quickie Mart now,” I said cheerily. “I need a few things.”

“I don’t wanna,” said Jake. I hoped he would just keep walking anyway. But as we passed our house on the way, Dad was standing in the doorway, his mouth set in a grim line and his hands on his hips.

“Hey, Dad’s home!” Jake cried, running up the driveway.

“Jake, run up to your room to play for a minute. Emma and I need to have a little discussion,” said Dad in his most steely, no-nonsense soccer-coach voice. I felt scared. This would not be good.

“Let’s go sit in the kitchen,” said Dad. He spoke firmly and decisively, but he did not seem angry as much as disappointed. That was worse.

“Emma, Sal told me you actually missed the bus once before,” he said. “This is the third strike. You know what that means.”

I wiggled nervously in my seat. I had learned never to offer up a punishment, but rather to wait until it was doled out. In the past I had made the
mistake of suggesting something that turned out to be worse than what was coming.

“No more dogs. No more cupcakes. Just school, flute, and Jake.”

“But . . . ,” I began. What on Earth was I going to do about tomorrow? The most-booked day ever?

“No buts. You were fairly warned. Tomorrow you will come straight home from school and get right to work. That’s all.”

“But I have commitments,” I protested.

“Call them and explain that you are no longer free. It won’t be the end of the world,” said Dad. “You haven’t been employed by any of these people for very long. Though I’m sure they adore you, and rightly so, they did manage to get along just a week or two ago, before you started with them.”

“But the cupcakes . . .”

Dad nodded. “We will revisit that issue next week. I think a week off is a very wise idea. Your friends will understand,” he said.

“No they won’t!” I wailed. “And the dress!” I cried, but instantly regretted it.

“What dress?” asked Dad, a look of confusion on his face.

Just then Matt walked in. He took quick stock of
the scene and put his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. “Just passing through,” he said, and he dashed up the stairs.

Dad looked at me. “What dress?”

“Oh, never mind!” I sobbed, and stood up from the table to leave.

“Do we understand each other?” asked Dad.

I nodded miserably.

“Okay, then,” he said.

No, it was not. It was not okay at all.