Confectionately Yours #2: Taking the Cake! Read online

  (makes approximately 12 cupcakes)

  Ah, cornbread. Just like the Pilgrims would’ve had … you know, if they’d had cupcakes.

  INGREDIENTS:

  2 tablespoons brown sugar

  1/4 cup honey

  1/2 teaspoon Chinese five-spice powder

  1 cup chopped toasted pecans

  1 cup milk

  1 teaspoon apple cider vinegar

  1-1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract

  1/2 cup granulated sugar

  1/3 cup canola oil

  2 tablespoons maple syrup

  3/4 cup gluten-free all-purpose flour, such as Bob’s Red Mill

  1/2 cup cornmeal

  3/4 teaspoon baking powder

  1/2 teaspoon baking soda

  1/2 teaspoon salt

  INSTRUCTIONS:

  Preheat the oven to 350°F. Line a muffin pan with cupcake liners.

  In a small skillet over low heat, melt together the brown sugar, honey, Chinese five-spice powder, and pecans until the sugar is fully dissolved, then remove from heat and set aside the syrupy pecans to cool.

  Mix the milk and vinegar in a bowl and let sit a few minutes to curdle. Once curdled, add the vanilla extract, granulated sugar, oil, and maple syrup.

  In another bowl, sift together the flour, cornmeal, baking powder, baking soda, and salt, and mix.

  Add the dry ingredients to the wet ones a little bit at a time, and combine with a whisk or handheld mixer until smooth, stopping to scrape the sides of the bowl a few times. Add the syrupy pecans and stir a few times to marbleize the batter.

  Fill the cupcake liners two-thirds of the way and bake for 20–22 minutes. Transfer the cupcakes to a cooling rack, and let cool completely before frosting.

  Mascarpone Frosting

  INGREDIENTS:

  8 ounces mascarpone cheese

  1/2 cup margarine or butter, softened to room temperature

  2-1/2 cups confectioners’ sugar

  1 teaspoon vanilla extract

  INSTRUCTIONS:

  In a bowl, using a handheld mixer, cream together the mascarpone cheese and margarine or butter completely. Slowly add the confectioners’ sugar in 1/2-cup batches, mixing completely before adding more.

  Add the vanilla extract and beat on high speed until the frosting becomes light and fluffy, about 3–7 minutes.

  Meghan and I are sitting on the steps of city hall, watching people go by and drinking hot apple cider while we munch on the gluten-free cupcakes I’ve made for us both. Meghan has celiac disease, so she can’t have wheat and certain other grains. I have to be really careful when I bake for her — even just a trace of flour could make her super sick. (We made these at her house.) But she’s so grateful whenever I make her a cupcake that I’m happy to do it.

  We’re playing “Love It Like Crazy!” which is a game I made up where you point out clothes or accessories or whatever that are either really cool or really hideous. It’s one of those perfect fall days — cool, but not cold. Crisp, with a blue sky and scudding white clouds.

  “Love those boots like crazy!” Meghan says to me, nodding at a woman in a pair of neon-green cowboy boots. They’re way cool.

  “Love that hat like crazy,” I add, because the same woman is wearing a fabulous cheetah-print hat.

  “Yeah, she’s got style.” Meghan grins. “Love this cupcake like crazy,” she says as she polishes it off.

  “Thanks.” I smile and take another bite. Honestly, they really did turn out well.

  “Love that bandanna like crazy,” Meghan notes. A cute Australian shepherd prances by, rainbow scarf around his neck. Adorable.

  A bald guy is holding the dog’s leash. I whisper, “Love those face piercings like crazy.”

  “Ooh, yeah, and the snake tattoo. Like crazy!”

  Ugh. She’s right. It’s the worst tattoo ever, like maybe the guy let his five-year-old draw it up the back of his neck. We break into giggles … but not too loudly, because the guy looks like he could easily rip our arms off.

  Meghan takes a sip of hot cider. She spots something, and her eyes narrow.

  I follow her gaze to see Artie and Devon crossing the street toward us. Artie is holding a bag from Faces in one hand. The other is resting on Devon’s arm. She’s gazing at him, but Devon is waving at us. Me, specifically.

  “Hayley!” Devon calls. He quickens his pace, and Artie’s hand falls from his arm. “I’m so glad we ran into you! Hi, Meghan.”

  “Hey, Devon. Hey, Artie,” Meghan says.

  “Artemis,” she corrects. Artie flashes us a thin smile, as if she can barely endure our presence. It’s a real ego boost to get a look like that from someone who used to be your best friend, let me tell you. Love it like crazy!

  Meghan takes another sip of her cider, then leans back on her elbows, sort of draped casually across the steps. She doesn’t reply to Artie’s name change.

  “Have you had one of Hayley’s cupcakes?” Devon asks Meghan. “They’re amazing! Right, Artemis?”

  I feel myself flush with happiness, but Artie just nods. “Mmm.”

  “Hayley makes me gluten-free cupcakes,” Meghan replies. “I just had one that was literally the best thing I’ve eaten in three years.”

  “So, I had this brilliant idea, Hayley,” Devon says. “How about you come up with some original, crazy cupcakes to sell as a fund-raiser for the musical?”

  “For the musical?” Artie’s eyebrows fly up. I can read her mind: You mean my musical?

  “Why not?” Devon says. “I mean, you guys are good friends, right?”

  We look at each other for a moment. “Oh, right,” Artie replies.

  I give a tight little smile and a shrug that could mean anything.

  Artie hesitates. “Still, I’m not sure Hayley has the time….”

  I’m not wild about the idea, either. The fact is, Artie and I aren’t friends anymore, and she clearly doesn’t want me busting in on her Devon Time. “We’re not allowed to have bake sales at school anymore,” I point out.

  “Right!” Artie says.

  “Yeah, but you could sell them during the play, at intermission,” Devon suggests. “We always sell treats then. It isn’t during official school hours. Why don’t you come to rehearsal tomorrow and we can suggest the cupcake idea to Ms. Lang. Then you can stay and watch. Maybe it’ll help you come up with a few ideas —”

  The whole time Devon is saying this, Artie is scowling at me like it’s my fault that the World’s Cutest Guy likes my cupcakes. “Devon, the drama club can just sell candy,” she snaps. “Hayley doesn’t have to come to our rehearsals and go crazy baking —”

  “It sounds like fun.” I don’t know what makes me say this. Maybe an evil part of me just wants to see Artie squirm, the way she made me squirm the other day.

  “What?” Artie’s head snaps toward me. “Aren’t you too busy, Hayley?” she asks through clenched teeth.

  “I’m never too busy to help a friend!” I say in my sweetest voice.

  “Isn’t she the greatest, Devon?” Meghan asks.

  “Definitely!” Devon says.

  “Oh, yes, definitely,” Artie echoes faintly.

  “So we’ll see you tomorrow?” Devon asks. “Four p.m. — the rehearsal’s in the auditorium.”

  “I’ll be there,” I promise.

  “Awesome!” Devon says, and he and Artie walk off.

  Meghan grins and throws her arm across my shoulders. “Love that Hayley like crazy!” she shouts after them, and we both crack up. “Well, it looks like young Mr. McAllister is in like,” Meghan mutters once they’re out of earshot. She drains the last of her apple cider.

  “Yeah, he’s really into Artie.” I sip my drink, but it’s gone cold.

  “Artie? Devon likes you.”

  “Oh, please.” I shift on the stone step uncomfortably. My heart is flailing madly like a squirrel in a trap, and my brain is going: Ohmigoshcouldsheberight?ButMeghanisnuts!But ohmigoshshemayberight!

  “It�
�s obvious,” Meghan replies. “Nobody’s that into cupcakes.”

  I look up the street, where Artie and Devon are peering into a store window. He taps her on the shoulder and she smiles up at him. Did that mean anything? I wonder. Artie thinks he likes her … but maybe he doesn’t.

  My heart throbs like a bruise.

  “So, what? I should try to steal my ex–best friend’s boyfriend?”

  “He isn’t her boyfriend,” Meghan replies. “That’s obvious. You can’t steal something that doesn’t exist.”

  I press my lips together. This is making me feel weird. I’m not the kind of girl that guys crush out over. And I’m also not the kind of girl who stabs a friend in the back.

  But what about an Ex-Best?

  I feel awful for even thinking it. But how could I not think it?

  Too late, anyway: It’s already been thought.

  I take another swig of my cider, but it tastes horrible to me now.

  Artie and I have been friends since we were toddlers. Her backyard bordered on mine, and we used to play together all the time. We always got along. Not like me and Marco. When he and I were little, we fought like crazy.

  People used to say that Artie and I were like sisters. But I have a sister, and it’s nothing like being friends with Artie was. Sisters fight. Artie and I never fought. We were more like … cousins. Just happy to be together.

  But … eventually … there was a fight.

  In third grade. I barely remember what the fight was about. But I do remember how it felt to walk into class and see Artie sitting by someone else. It felt scary. It felt like I was in the middle of the ocean, with nothing to hold on to.

  Everyone else had their friends. They had things to do after school. They had people to sit with at lunch. I’d never needed them before, but now that I did, I could see that they didn’t even realize that I was desperately treading water. They didn’t notice that I was alone.

  At home, the phone didn’t ring. And Marco was out of school that week, which made everything worse.

  But Artie — well, it didn’t seem like Artie was having the same problems I was. She just sat right down next to Tricia Guererro and struck up a friendship in about five seconds. The next thing I knew, Artie, Tricia, and Jade Jackson were spending all of their time together.

  Tread, tread, tread.

  I couldn’t keep it up. So I called up Artie and apologized.

  I expected her to say that she was sorry, too. That she’d missed me. But she didn’t. Still, the next day, she showed up at my house after breakfast so that we could walk to school together.

  We sat beside each other in class.

  I ate lunch with Artie, Tricia, and Jade.

  Things returned to normal, more or less.

  But, like I said, we were never like sisters. Sisters are for life.

  This time, I think the ship is really gone.

  “He’s reading it!” Meghan says as she comes up for a sit-up. I glance over at the bleachers, and she pops up again. “Don’t look over there!” Back down.

  We’re in the gym, taking the state-mandated fitness test. Well, Meghan is taking it. I’m holding her legs. She does another sit-up. Another fifty seconds of this, and we’ll change places. The boys have already finished their sit-ups and are sitting on the bleachers, watching.

  “Ten,” she says as she comes up again.

  “That was eight,” I correct her.

  “He’s still reading it!” She pops up again. “Twelve. Ugh! I despise sit-ups! Can you tell if he’s smiling?”

  I nonchalantly look over at the bleachers, where Ben Habib is reading a note. “I can’t believe you actually gave him that letter,” I tell Meghan. “And I can’t believe he’s reading it here.”

  Meghan’s bangs aren’t green anymore. She dyed them bright pink, and right now they are plastered across her sweaty face. “It’s so romantic!” she coos, then grunts. “Urgh.”

  Right. Romantic. We are wearing the required gym uniform — blue-and-white-striped shirts and navy shorts. Polyester. Our gym smells like gladiator sweat and a bucket of dirty disinfectant water. Isn’t that a romantic place to read a love note?

  Oh, right: No.

  The coach calls time, and now it’s my turn to do sit-ups. We change places, which gives Meghan plenty of time to narrate the rest of Ben’s reactions to her secret-admirer note.

  “He’s folding it up,” she says as I crunch my abdominal muscles. “He’s putting it back in his backpack. Hayley, he’s saving it!”

  “How many sit-ups is that?” I ask the next time I’m upright.

  “Oh, jeez, I have no idea,” Meghan admits. “Five?”

  It’s eight. I roll my eyes. For someone who’s a genius nerd, Meghan isn’t too good at counting sit-ups.

  “I’m going to write him another one,” Meghan gushes as I crunch away.

  “Bad idea,” I grunt.

  “Bad?” Meghan smiles, like I’m teasing her. “Are you kidding? The first one worked out; now it’s time to go bigger!”

  I’m not so sure this is a good idea. Ben is shy. He may get overwhelmed by too much romance.

  “Maybe I’ll write some poetry,” Meghan is saying. “Or make him something. A painting …”

  The whistle blows, and I roll over onto my side, my stomach muscles aching. “Why don’t you wait awhile?” I suggest as everyone gets to their feet.

  “‘You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough.’” Meghan’s round pink face is positively glowing.

  “Did you get that off a bumper sticker?”

  “It’s William Blake!” Meghan grabs my arm and we start toward the locker room. “The English poet. And yes — it’s on my neighbor’s Corolla. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true!”

  “Why don’t you send your letter to William Blake?” I suggest.

  I’m joking, but Meghan rolls her eyes. “He’s been dead for about two hundred years.”

  Well, then, you won’t have to worry about embarrassing yourself, I think, but before I can say anything, Marco comes up to us.

  “Hey, Hayley, I was just wondering —” He casts a sideways glance at Meghan, then angles his body so that she’s behind him. “Um — could I look at your math homework again?”

  “Sure, Marco,” I tell him. “I’ll give it to you after I change.”

  “Thanks.” He’s more than just grateful, I realize when I see his smile, he’s relieved. For a moment, I have a flash of what it feels like to deal with Mr. Carter every day. It feels horrible.

  Meghan doesn’t say anything as we make our way to the locker room. But I feel like I need to offer some kind of explanation, anyway. “He has a lot of trouble with math,” I say.

  Meghan shrugs. “Then he should do the homework.” She pulls open the door to the locker room.

  “He tries; he just needs help.” I keep my voice down, since the locker room is so echoey.

  “Okay,” she says, but the way she says it makes it sound like it isn’t okay, not really, and suddenly I’m annoyed. Who is Meghan to judge? Marco and I have been friends for years. “You don’t know what his life is like,” I snap.

  “What’s it like?” Meghan asks as she sits down on the bench and kicks off her shoes.

  The question hits me like a slap. What’s Marco’s life like? “His parents are …” I’m not sure what to call it. “… strange. And his sister is autistic. Like, very autistic.” I don’t want to say more. I nibble my pinkie nail as our classmates mill around us, everyone trying to get changed while never letting anyone see their bodies. Half of them probably have an ear out for stray gossip. It stinks worse in here than it does in the gym. It’s not a place you can really talk. “It’s not a big deal, Meg,” I say at last. “What’s one homework assignment? It’ll help him.”

  Slowly, Meghan pulls her fresh clothes out of her locker. “Are you sure that you’re really helping him?”

  I picture Mr. Carter’s sneer. “Yes.”

&nbs
p; She looks right at me with her straightforward blue eyes. “Okay, Hayley,” she says.

  Okay, I tell myself. Okay.

  But my hands are shaking as I pull off my socks, and I don’t even know why.

  Chloe and I are downstairs in the café, ready, when Dad pulls up on Saturday morning. I’m wearing jeans and my hiking boots, and I have a backpack with water, a few granola bars, and — naturally — three cupcakes. We’re going for a hike, so of course I had to bring a few snacks. You can’t hike without snacks.

  Chloe jumps out of her chair the moment she sees Dad’s car. “Bye, Gran!” she shouts, heading for the door.

  “Tell your father that I said hello,” Gran says to me.

  “Okay,” I say. Right. Um, hey, Dad, your ex-mother-in-law says hi! I’ll skip it.

  I head out to the sidewalk, where Chloe is giving Dad a huge hug. “Where’s Annie?” Chloe asks, peering in the front seat.

  “She’s going to meet us at the mall,” Dad says.

  “Mall?” I echo. I look up at the perfect blue sky. “I thought we were going hiking.”

  Dad cocks his head, as if this is the first he’s hearing of it. “Annie wanted to help you girls pick out something to wear for Thanksgiving.”

  “But … last week we talked about what we wanted to do and —” I have to fight to keep the tears from rising to my eyes. I wanted to go hiking with my dad and Chloe, not shopping with Annie.

  “I’m sorry, Hayley. I didn’t realize you thought that was a definite plan. But now I’ve told Annie to meet us.”

  “I don’t mind,” Chloe chirps. “This’ll be fun!”

  I sigh and feel like a jerk for complaining. If Chloe doesn’t mind going to the mall, then I am definitely not going to make a big stink about it. Even if it is probably the last nice weekend before winter hits us with a frigid slap.

  Annie meets us in the cosmetics section of a big department store. She’s spraying something from a purple glass bottle onto a strip of heavy white paper when Chloe rushes up behind her and gives her a huge hug. Annie startles in surprise, then hugs back.

  “Chloe, I’m so glad you’re here! What do you think of this?” She waves the paper under Chloe’s nose.