The Cupcake Diaries Collection: Katie and the Cupcake Cure; Mia in the Mix; Emma on Thin Icing; Alexis and the Perfect Recipe (43 page)

Dylan shook her head again with a look of
pity. “No, Alexis, the problem is that the tasty one is ugly and the pretty ones aren’t very tasty.” She shrugged. “Back to the drawing board?”

“Argh!” I screamed.

“Girls, girls, you all did a wonderful job. Dylan, how about a thank-you, first of all, to the Cupcake Club,” instructed my mother. I could tell she was mad.

“Thank you,” Dylan muttered without looking at us.

My friends were all standing there, not sure what to say. I was mortified. Who was this mean girl and what had she done with my sister, Dylan?

My mom took Dylan by the arm and led her out of the kitchen, which was a good thing, for Dylan’s own safety.

“Well, I loved them!” Dad said enthusiastically. “How could anyone possibly choose? Now, let’s see, if I was having a birthday . . .” He was clearly trying to make us feel better, but it was not helping.

“It’s okay, Dad. We’ll just clean up,” I said, gently shooing him out.

Later, as I was washing off the frosting bowl, thinking about how mean and ungrateful Dylan was, my party dress popped back into my mind.
Ha!
I thought.
I’m glad I got a pink dress! Why should I have
to go along with everything Dylan says and wants, anyway? I’m sick of having to do everything she says.
Now, instead of dreading what she would say about my dress, I couldn’t wait to see her face when I put it on!

Hello, New Me!

R
ight before Dylan left for cheerleading practice, she sent out an e-mail my mother made her write. It was to everyone in the Cupcake Club:

Dear Cupcake Club,

Thank u 4 the cupcakes u baked 4 me.

I’m sorry if I was a difficult customer, LOL.

I’m sure we will reach an agreement at some point.

Dylan

It felt a little halfhearted, if you ask me. Note that she said “
if
I was a difficult customer” not “
that
I was a difficult customer.” That is pure Dylan. Anyway, I figured that my parents are the real clients and
I knew we could find something that would work for everyone. I just felt bad about Emma and her gold flakes, not to mention embarrassed in front of my friends that I had such a jerky sister.

The others were nice about it, though, and in the end we were all laughing. Plus, they got me excited about my dress, and I actually tried it on and modeled it for my parents a few minutes after Dylan had left for practice. My parents loved it, and my mother said, “eh,” when I told her that Dylan would probably be really mad. My father twirled me around, and we both decided it was perfect for our dance. I only hoped Matt would like it as much as everyone else did.

My father and I were still twirling, and my friends and mother were talking in the living room, when Dylan suddenly rushed in, breathless. I froze.

“Has anyone seen my other sneaker?” she cried in despair.

Then she saw me and narrowed her eyes. “
What
are you wearing?” she asked.

All the courage I felt before about standing up to her left me. “Um . . . ,” I said.

“It’s her dress for your party!” Mia sweetly answered.

“Yes, doesn’t she look amazing?” Katie added.

Oh, great. I braced myself for a big speech from Dylan.

“What?” she shrieked before stamping her foot. “It’s pink! This is not one of the dresses that I picked out! You know what the party colors are—”

Before Dylan could launch any more ugly words at me, Mom grabbed her and pulled her out of the room. Again! My friends and Dad and I were all speechless for a minute.

“Whoops,” Emma finally said.

“I should not have said anything!” Mia said, looking really upset.

“Don’t worry, girls,” Dad said, “I apologize for Dylan’s rude behavior . . . again. Don’t ever turn sixteen!” He left the room to look for Mom and Dylan.

“Wow,” I said. “Sorry about that. I guess I knew it would come, sooner or later.”

No one knew what else to say, so we stood around awkwardly until Emma suggested that they leave. I hated for my friends to leave on such a sour note, but it was probably a good idea.

As the girls headed out the door, Emma turned to say, “Thank you for a lovely afternoon.” And we all started laughing, hard.

“Oh! Don’t forget these!” I said, handing each
of them their black-and-gold party invitations. “Dylan can’t wait to see you all at her party next month! Just don’t forget to wear pink!” This got us all howling again.

“What are we doing tomorrow?” asked Katie once she stopped giggling.

“Is Dylan free?” Mia asked with a straight face, and we all fell down laughing.

When we finally stopped laughing, my friends left, promising to talk again later. I cringed at the thought of them discussing Dylan. Ugh. Emma was lucky she had brothers.

Mean sister + friends witnessing = total embarrassment

As mad as I was about Dylan’s behavior, I didn’t feel like asking Mom what happened when she talked to Dylan. I needed a break from thinking about her. All I could think about was working on Project M. T. But first I had to throw my Merrells to the back of my closet. “Buh-bye,” I whispered. “See you guys some time after never.”

Then I opened my locked drawer and took out my notebook, grabbing some forbidden SweeTarts
along with it. I sat at my desk and first logged in my most recent encounters with Matt, noting who said hi first and (possibly) why. Then I turned on my computer and googled some studies about how to attract boys.

I found out some crazy stuff! Like girls care more about boy’s looks than boys care about girl’s. And that boys like faces that are symmetrical. That is their main thing, not that they actually realize it. Just the researchers did.

Hmm. I wondered about my face. Do I have a symmetrical face? Doesn’t everyone? I mean, I have two eyes, two eyebrows, two nostrils. I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked pretty symmetrical. But was I really?

I clicked on the lamp and propped my chin on my fists. I wanted to examine myself scientifically. Here’s the data I collected: My left eye was a little bigger than my right eye if you looked really closely. Also, my left eyebrow kind of had a pointed arch while my right one was more of a smooth arch. Eek! Was that bad? My nose looked the same on both sides, and my cheeks, ears, whatever. I couldn’t tell if one was off.

I went back to the computer. How symmetrical did you have to be? I googled again and learned
that on a scale of one to ten, Angelina Jolie is only a 7.67 in symmetry. The researcher said she lost points because of those lips. Gosh. If Angelina wasn’t a perfect ten, that was not good news for me. I am no Angelina Jolie, that’s for sure.

I read on. Another article said boys liked makeup on girls, but only two kinds: foundation to even out skin tone, and eye makeup, to darken the eyes. My skin is pretty even, but eye makeup was something I could try.

I reached into my top drawer and took out an eye makeup kit that Mia had given me at a sleepover. It had dark shadow, light shadow, medium shadow, eyeliner, and mascara. I had no idea how to use any of them, but how hard could it be? If I needed help, there was a little map in the box that showed how to put it all on.

I suddenly decided I needed a total makeover.

Makeup + hairdo + new outfit = gorgeous and noticeable Alexis

I grabbed the eye makeup kit, along with the curlers from my grandmother, the new ice-blue
shirt, and purple beads I already had, and hustled down the hall into the bathroom. I ran a shower, shampooed my hair, and then, following the directions on the package, I rolled my hair up in the curlers and used a blow-dryer. Next, I put on the blue shirt and beads, and began applying the eye makeup.

I used eyeliner to draw a thick line along my upper and lower lashes, just as I’d seen my old babysitter do when I was younger. I stood back to look at what I’d done. Wow, I looked a lot older! Then I leaned back in and brushed light shadow just below my (asymmetrical) eyebrows and then, following the diagram in the kit, medium shadow in the creases of my eyes, and finally, the darkest shadow along the rim of my lid. Finally, I opened the mascara and brushed my eyelashes to a staggeringly long length.

I stood back again. OMG.

I either looked like a raccoon or a supermodel. I couldn’t decide which. I turned my head all the way to the left and looked back at the right side of my face; then I looked back at my left side. I liked the left better. Next, I looked straight at the mirror and sucked in my cheeks, trying to look vampire-ish. Then I tucked my chin under and
looked up through my eyelashes. That was the best look, I thought. The only thing ruining it was the curlers. I put my hand to my head and touched them. They were dry. Time for the big reveal!

I loosened the curlers without looking, then I flipped my head down and ruffled my hair with my hands, finally flipping my hair back as I stood up and looked in the mirror.

Uh, wow? I had a huge head full of curls—and it looked ridiculous! Or maybe it looked great? I didn’t know! I knew I looked different, that was for sure.

Just then there was a knock at the door. “Alexis, dinner,” Dylan called.

Yikes! I had been so busy making myself over that I forgot what time it was.

What do I do now? Wash it all off and pull my hair back into some kooky kind of ponytail? Or go down there as if nothing was different? I didn’t want to spill anything on my new shirt, though.

“What’s for dinner?” I called back.

“Grilled trout, broccoli rabe, and quinoa,” replied Dylan.

It sounded pretty stain-free. And it was only my family. They’ve seen me at my worst.

So I smiled and winked at myself as I took one
last look in the mirror. Then I gave myself a big spritz of the cinnamon bun perfume that Dylan had on her side of the vanity. Yum! I smelled like . . . the food court at the mall. Oh well.

“Ta-da!” I cried as I flung open the door, but no one was there.

Just then the phone rang. I looked at the caller ID. It was Emma.

“Hey!” I called out, when I picked up the phone.

“Oh, hello, dear. Is that Alexis?”

It was Mrs. Taylor! “Oh, sorry, Mrs. Taylor. I thought you were Emma!” I said, laughing. “Are you calling for my mother?”

“Oh, no, don’t bother her. I’m just calling to RSVP to the lovely invitation to Dylan’s party! You were so kind to invite us all. We’d love to come.”

“W-w-we?” I stammered.

“Yes, Mr. Taylor, Emma, and the boys and I. It sounds like great fun!”

I couldn’t believe it! Matt was coming to Dylan’s party! I had visions of seeing him at the party, of him seeing me in my new, fuzzy, touchable dress.

“Alexis . . . are you still there?” Mrs. Taylor asked. Oops!

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s great that all of you can come!”

“Will you tell your mom for me, please?”

“Of course! She’ll be so happy. Thank you! Thank you so much!” I gushed.

Mrs. Taylor laughed. “Actually, we thank you! We’ll see you soon, dear.”

I did a victory dance after we hung up, then ran down the stairs. “Mom!” I yelled. I couldn’t wait to share the good news.

The Beckers Try Harder

M
om!” I skidded in my sock feet into the kitchen, breathless. “The Taylors can come! All of them!”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, honey. Write it down in the RSVP notebook by the phone, then grab a plate,” Mom said without looking at me. She seemed extra focused on tossing the salad. “We have a lot to discuss.”

I frowned at what she’d said. Her tone told me someone was in trouble, and I knew it was not me.

But Dad did look up and did a double take when he saw the new me. “Whoa, tiger!” he said, laughing.

I wrote the first RSVP on the list and turned to face him. “Hello, Father,” I said casually—just as
Dylan walked in and immediately screamed.

“Alexis! What on Earth did you do to yourself?”

At that, Mom finally looked up. “Oh, Alexis!” she exclaimed.

Suddenly I wasn’t so sure about my new look. “What? Don’t you like it?” I asked (fake) confidently.

Mom came over and lifted a curl. She let it go, and it sprang back against my head. “I love the curls!” she said. “I’m not wild about the makeup, though.”