Alexis Gets Frosted (8 page)

“Mmm-hmm?”

“Why the heck did you dress like that in the eighties?”

W
hen we got back late Saturday afternoon, I called Matt. I know, can you believe it? I just picked up the phone and then called him. Of course, my heart was fluttering the whole time, but I
did
need his help. Or I wanted his help, anyway!

We caught up for a minute and then I told him about the dollhouse. He was really psyched for me, saying it was a lucky break we'd be working off a model that was to size.

“Okay, so you're e-mailing me a photo of the house, and all the room dimensions, right?” he summarized.

“Yes. If you need any more info, I can either call my granddad or put you two in touch, or you can e-mail him directly.”

“Cool,” said Matt. “He's nice. I remember him from your holiday party.”

“Yeah. I mean, yes!” I corrected myself, thinking of my mom.

“All right, so, I'll be in touch. Probably Monday, okay? I know you're in a rush.”

“Thanks. There're lots of free cupcakes in this for you,” I said.

“That's okay. Don't worry about it. I can use it in my portfolio.” Matt is always trying to grow his digital graphic design business, so he takes on assignments from the Cupcake Club for posters and flyers, or this sort of thing. Then he uses them in his portfolio to show potential new clients what he can do. It is just another level that we connect on—as businesspeople, I mean.

“Great. Thanks!”

“Bye.”

Next, I called Katie and explained my encounter with the Victorian dollhouse. She was thrilled, which made me feel really good. I e-mailed her the dollhouse photo, and we made a plan to visit the baking supply shop the next day. We'd work off the photo to find appropriate decorating supplies.

“This will be so much fun!” she squealed before we hung up.

After my calls, I felt much more in control of the project (even though it was really in Matt's hands now), as well as extremely lucky to have such generous and helpful friends. I spent the time until dinner researching Victorian-era houses online and working on my notecards for my presentation, and I got a really good chunk of work done. Not bad for a Saturday!

On Sunday morning I got up really early and basically finished the oral presentation component. I'd left a few spots where I'd have to see the finished model in order to insert a couple of facts, but I was in good shape.
Eat your heart out, Olivia Allen,
I thought.

I knocked off my other homework to clear the decks, and since I had a little time to spare, I started a spreadsheet to organize our time capsule. I had a sandwich, and then my mom took me to pick up Katie and then take us to the mall.

While she drove, Katie told my mom about what she'd collected for the time capsule so far.

“So, I have my tap dance shoes from when I was little, a recipe book with all my favorite recipes in it, and my stuffed bunny. The only bummer is that my favorite photo of me when I was little is with Callie,” she said, looking at me sadly.

“Katie, that's totally okay!” I said brightly, trying to smooth over her still-hurt feelings from her falling out with Callie. (Long story.) “I mean, you can't just erase your past. It's what made you who you are today. And she was a big part of your life.”

She shrugged. “But don't you think it's like I'm sucking up to her if I put her in our time capsule? And it's kind of disloyal to you guys.”

“I don't mind,” I said. And I was telling the truth. “She's not that bad on her own. I think she still likes you. Maybe you'll be friends again one day.” I wanted Katie to feel better.

“Do you think so?” asked Katie hopefully.

“Yeah,” I said. “I mean, yes. Your moms are still friends, anyway, right?”

Katie nodded and looked out the window.

I saw my mom glance at us in the rearview mirror, and I met her eyes. She made a worried face, like she felt bad for Katie but didn't want to interfere.

“You know, Katie, when my mom was little, there was a mean girl in her class named Susan . . .,” I began. And I met my mom's eyes again, and she grinned.

At the baking supply shop, Katie was excited and full of ideas. Since I am traditionally the business end and not the creative end of the Cupcake Club, my only goal was to stay within the budget my mom and I had set. But it was fun to watch Katie brainstorm. She can pick up a package of black candy wafers and say, “Roof tiles!” Or black licorice whips and say, “Wrought-iron railings!” It takes me a second, but then I get exactly what she's talking about and how perfect it will be.

We'd decided the base, or sidewalk, around the house would be red brick, so Katie suggested we paint matzo with a solution of red food coloring diluted in water to simulate brick. We could use frosting to glue them down. That was pure genius and not expensive, which made me very happy. I wrote “food coloring” and “matzo” on a list I'd started, because they'd be cheaper to get at the huge grocery store on Route 48. Into the basket went the candy wafers and the black licorice whips, though.

Katie said we'd use royal icing to pipe all the pretty white details around the outside of the doors and windows. The Cupcake Club has its own pastry bag and fittings, so I wrote “confectioners' sugar” on the grocery list—the main ingredient in making
royal icing—and we kept looking. Katie picked out a package of something called “isomalt sticks,” which looked like wax glow sticks and were clear in color. We'd melt them and then pour them out to harden into flat sheets, she said, and then trim them to use as window glass. I thought it sounded hard, but Katie assured me it would be one of those final touches that would take the house from normal to amazing. She told me to add vanilla wafer cookies to the grocery list, so we could use them to make the front stairs. (Katie said we're going to skip doing stairs inside because it's too much work and not that important. I was relieved. If it's too much for her, it would be insanely hard for me!)

It didn't take us long to find everything we needed. Mom would take us to the grocery store next.

We were chatting happily as we spun out of the store and right into Callie and Olivia. Ugh. Why do we always seem to be at the mall at the same time as those girls? I'd been having so much fun, I hadn't given Olivia any thought in almost an hour. My palms were instantly sweaty, like I was gearing up for a confrontation, though I knew I'd avoid talking with her at any expense.

“Hey,” said Callie cautiously. We all think she
still likes Katie but thinks she can't be seen being friends with her because it will affect her status in life or something. Callie didn't actually stop moving her feet, but she kind of slowed down and turned back to face us, like she might stop.

“Oh, hey,” said Katie casually.

I could see Katie struggling with whether to stop and chat or keep walking. I wanted to keep walking—and not because of Callie!

Olivia gave me a dirty look and flounced her hair, but at least she didn't make some snarky comment. She didn't even break her stride.

We kept walking, and the encounter was over.

A little ways down the hall, we got on the escalator, and I finally breathed a sigh of relief. “Awk-ward!” I singsonged, but Katie was quiet.

“Katie?” I asked.

She turned reluctantly toward me, and her eyes had tears welling up in them. “Oh, Katie!” I cried, and then I tried to give her a hug. Hugging on escalators is not a good idea, by the way, and I recommend you never try it. But at least our nearly crashing to our deaths got Katie giggling, and her unshed tears only leaked a little.

“Sorry.” She sniffled, but the crisis had passed. “I just couldn't believe that we'd just been talking
about her, and then there she was, with her new life!”

“I know,” I agreed quietly.

“And then . . . I had nothing to say to her! Nothing! And she used to be my best friend!” Katie's lip quivered.

“Well, I bet she would never have asked you to do a whole class project of hers, now would she?” I joked. “And she never would have made you march in a parade in costume, so she could be with her crush, huh? Would she? Now what kind of a friend is that?” These were all things Katie did for me.

Katie got giggling again.

“Anyway, how about me? I feel like I'm going to throw up whenever I see Olivia. I'm surprised she didn't figure out a way to insult me as she strolled on by! Like, maybe she could have said, ‘Hey, Alexis, looks like you're having a hard time walking with that bag full of fattening supplies!' ”

Katie grew serious. “Is she still doing that?”

“Totally,” I said. My stomach clenched, dreading seeing her in school.

“It's funny she didn't do it just now, when there were other people around.”

“I know. She's a sneak attacker,” I said. Now I felt miserable. We had almost reached my mom's
car. “And the worst part is, my mom thinks I need to apologize to her!”

“What?” Katie was shocked, but I couldn't finish the story now.

“I'll tell you at the grocery store,” I whispered. “Hi, Mom!” I called in a fake-cheery voice, getting into the car. I gave Katie a serious look, and she nodded; we would not be discussing any of this with my mom.

At the grocery store we filled the cart with the items from the list I'd made, plus the gingerbread ingredients we'd need. Katie also threw in some waxed paper and a couple of other supplies that would come in handy.

As we walked, we discussed what I should do about Olivia. Katie understood my mom's point about apologizing, but she knows Olivia as well as I do. She knows that apologizing might only set me up as a permanent victim in Olivia's eyes.

“That girl does
not
need a new punching bag,” Katie said seriously.

She had a point.

“But I need to apologize. It wasn't nice of me to say that. But it also doesn't justify the way she's been treating me. So after I apologize, then I want
to follow it up with something strong, you know?”

“Yes, and at the same time. Like, you can't let the apology hang out there and then later do something strong, because she'll be gathering her strength, thinking she's beaten you after the apology. And then you'll never beat her. Let's think of a plan.”

“Okay.”

I loved that Katie was always helping me. She is a good friend, and I can't in a million years think of why Callie would have thrown her over for that mean and snobby group of girls. It really meant that something was wrong with Callie. Anyway, we didn't come up with a plan right then, but Katie promised to keep thinking about it, and obviously, I would too.

We finished our shopping and then checked out. The purchase was expensive, and I was not psyched. I like to make money, not spend it. Let me correct that. I don't mind laying out cash if I know I'll make some back on the outlay, but I hate spending money like this, knowing it will go to nothing. I tried explaining this to Katie.