Alexis's Cupcake Cupid (9 page)

“I'll go with you, Lex,” said Emma.

It sounded more like a command than an offer, so I said, “Fine.”

We all said good-bye, and Emma and I set out. Even though at first I enjoyed the chilly air, it started to get a little too cold for us, and we both began to move more quickly. The ice crunched under us.

“Alexis,” Emma said after almost a block of silence, “you are my best friend, and I think it's really mean you're letting your Matt drama get in the way of our friendship.”

I'd known it would be coming. I just didn't realize she'd take the aggressive tack right out of the gate. It made me feel defensive. I breathed out a long puff of air and watched the smokelike vapor hang in front of me. I considered how to reply.

Finally, I said, “I don't want to be in a fight with you, Emma. I just . . . I'm not even sure I want to go tomorrow. It's just still too raw. Did you know I saw him at the mall last night?” I asked, wincing at the memory.

She turned and looked at me. “No. He didn't mention it.”

I nodded. “Well, it was really, really awkward.
He almost acted like he was . . . mad at me or hurt or something, which is really weird. I mean, obviously I didn't give him a valentine to be
mean
! And I'm actually kind of mad at
him
right now. Besides being embarrassed, that is. So, I am sure it will get better one day, but right now I just don't want to be around him. I'll do my best to figure out how to be around you without that getting in the way, though. Does that make sense?”

Emma nodded. She was a rational person. I mean, she
is
my best friend after all. But then she said, “Okay. But if you don't come to the movie with us tomorrow like we've all planned, then you're not my best friend anymore. And I'm only kind of joking when I say that. It's going to be so much fun! I really wish you'd reconsider.”

The rest of our walk was a little awkward, to say the least. And by the time I got home, all I could think was,
Great. Now I've got the whole Taylor family against me.

At dinner, my mom tipped her head at an angle and studied me. I knew I was being mopey, but I didn't have the energy to be otherwise.

“Honey, you love salmon teriyaki,” said my mom. “Eat up!”

I pushed a piece of broccoli around on my plate and sighed.

“Still having a tough time of it?” asked my mom. She looked at my dad, and he raised his eyebrows. Right then, I knew they'd been discussing me, which is always annoying.

“About what?” I asked. I wasn't going to give them an inch, those traitors! Talking about me behind my back!

“What's up, people?” said Dylan, clueing in to the conversation. “I smell drama.”

“Gosh, what is this, family therapy?” I huffed.

“It can be if you want it to,” said my mom.

“No,
thanks
!” I said vehemently. I stabbed a piece of salmon and forced myself to eat it to show I was fine, even though I wasn't very hungry.

“Middle school troubles?” said Dylan. “Those were the days. I had it so easy. Who knew at the time?”

“All right, Dilly, enough,” my dad said, laughing a little.

“Seriously, Alexis. What's the deal? Tell your big sister. Maybe I can help. Remember, I've seen it all.”

I hesitated for a second, then figured,
What the heck?

I explained about Matt and the cupcake. Then I told them about the mall and Emma.

“Oh, sweetheart. She's just hurt and maybe a little jealous,” said my mom. “You two have been such good friends for so long!”

“Well, I think it's mean and immature,” Dylan said fiercely.

“Thanks,” I said.

“But more to the point,
why oh why
didn't you consult me first before giving Matt a valentine?” Dylan moaned.

I shrugged. “I didn't think of it. It was just . . . impulsive!” I said.

Dylan stared at me. “Never. Be. Impulsive. When. It. Comes. To. Boys. Get it?”

I gulped. “Okay,” I agreed meekly.

“Excellent advice!” my father said, nodding vigorously. “I couldn't agree with you more, my dear.”

My mom was nodding too, so I guess we had a consensus.

“Let's move on,” said Dylan. “It was a bold move, and I commend you for that.” She flipped her hair. “We will continue with this conversation after dinner in the privacy of my own room, where we will come up with our plan of action.”
Then she gave me a meaningful glare.

“Right!” I agreed.

“Nothing bold! Nothing impulsive!” my dad added.

“Right,” agreed Dylan. And she winked at me.

Right,
I thought.
Here we go!

O
f course you're going. You
have
to go. And you have to look
fabulous
,” commanded Dylan. “Make him see what he's missing! And when you see him, give him a big smile, but then ignore him.”

“Wait. I'm confused,” I said. She'd almost had me up until then, but that part made no sense. “Smile . . . then ignore him? I don't get it.”

“Exactly!” Dylan cheered. “You'll be intriguing . . . mysterious . . . exciting! He won't know what you'll do next.”

“Oh. Okaaaay?” I wasn't too sure.

“Now,” she continued, “if you
do
catch his eye, try to look mysterious.”

I was completely baffled. “What does
mysterious
even look like?”

“Like this,” said Dylan. She gave her head a toss, lowered her chin, and let the front lock of her long hair drop over one eye. She looked up and kind of widened her eyes, then she looked down and away. It was totally weird and phony looking, like a girl villain from a cartoon or something.

“Um, yeah. That is totally not me, so I don't think I'll be doing it.” I almost shuddered at the idea.

“Well, practice, anyway. A little mystery goes a long way. Remember that,” Dylan said. “Now, let's talk about your outfit. We'll lay it out tonight. I'm thinking jewel tones. Powerful. Bright. Confident. Don't you think?”

“Sounds good,” I said. I was curious to see what kind of outfit Dylan put together for me, even if I didn't go to the movies in the end. Dylan started flipping briskly through the hangers in her closet. The girl
does
enjoy a good makeover.

“Aha!” she said. She pulled out a vintage leopard-skin patterned dress. “This, for sure! Me-
ow
!” She made her hand into a claw and pretended to scratch the air with it.

But I was already shaking my head. “Seriously, Dyl? To wear to the movies? In the afternoon?”

“Oh, right. I was getting a little carried away.”

Push, push, push—the hangers squeaked along the metal pole in rapid succession.

“Okay, now
here
we go.
That's
what I'm talkin' about!” Dylan pulled a black leather biker jacket from the rod and held it toward me on its hanger. “Go on. Put it on. This thing was made for tomorrow.”

“Where did you even get this?” I laughed. “Mom and Dad would never let me go out in this.” But I shrugged it on anyway and turned to look in the mirror.

“I got it in a vintage store in the city. Killer, right?” she said.

“Yeah. More like, I look like a killer. I don't think so,” I said, taking it off and handing it back to her. “Sorry.”

Dylan pursed her lips. “You are not making this easy. Okay. Think, Dylan, think,” she scolded herself. She stood in front of the closet and heaved a big thoughtful sigh. Then, after a minute, she continued thinking out loud, talking to herself.

“Okay. We want her to look fantastic. Her best color. But casual. Superperfect, but looking like she hasn't tried. Like ‘This old thing?' Okay.”

She reached up on her shelf and brought down
one of her prized possession: a beautiful deep emerald-green cashmere turtleneck sweater given to her by her godmother. It was thick and fuzzy, folded perfectly, still with the dry-cleaning tissue wrapped around it. Reverently, she held it out to me. The way it caught the light, it almost seemed to glow.

I put up my palms in protest. “Oh, Dylan. I couldn't. That is so nice. Seriously. Thanks.”

Dylan nodded. “I know,” she whispered. “But you really need to wear this. Please. Take it.”

“Thank you,” I whispered back. “I promise I'll take good care of it.
If
I go.”

“Put it on,” Dylan commanded in a normal voice.

Quickly, I whipped off my shirt and pulled the sweater on over my head. It felt wonderful against my skin, like the softest baby blanket in the world. Popping my head out of the top, I blinked and pushed my hair out of my eyes. Dylan was there to primp.

“Here, fold the turtleneck down, I think. And then fluff your hair like so . . .” She tweaked the waistline and where it sat, and then she gave a gentle tug to align everything. Then Dylan nodded happily. “Yes!” she shouted. “Just look!”

I turned around and looked in her full-length mirror. I couldn't believe how nice I looked.

I gasped. “It's fantastic! It's . . . it's magical! It's so pretty, I could cry!”

“It's ridiculous how good that sweater looks. Like it was made for you. Emerald green is definitely your color,” Dylan said.

I turned back, drew closer to the mirror, and I had to admit she was right. The emerald green complimented my pale skin perfectly, made my eyes sparkle, and my red hair glow. What's more, it fit me perfectly, and boy, did it feel wonderful on. She was right. I had to wear it.

“Um, okay. You're right. I'll wear it. But with what?”

“Something casual. Something that makes the sweater look like, ‘This old thing?' What do you have for pants? Cords, maybe?”

“Oh! I have those new cream cords? I was kind of saving them, but—”

“Perfect! Go get them. And you can wear them with those brown leather boots Grandma got me for Christmas.”

I dashed into my room and rummaged to the bottom of my pants drawer and found the cream cords I'd gotten at Big Blue when my grandmother
took me and Dylan shopping for the January sales. They were also soft and cozy. It would be a fitting way to break them in. I threw them on, fixed the sweater's hemline, and popped back into Dylan's room.

“Here are the boots,” said Dylan.

“All your favorite things, Dilly? Are you sure?”

“Yes. You need to come out with all guns blazing!”

The boots were a teeny-weeny bit too small (my feet are bigger than hers, and I'm almost taller than Dylan already), but she said I could wear a thin sock and still rock them, so I couldn't refuse. The outfit looked awesome—more like someone in their twenties would wear than someone in middle school.

I grinned at Dylan, but she was looking at me appraisingly again. “The hair,” she said.

I put my hand to my head. “What?”

“We'll need to fix it. What time's the movie tomorrow?”

“Four o'clock.”

She nodded, “Yup. Let's do it. Come home straight from school. Quick shower, then I'll blow it out and make it all smooth and wavy the way you like it.”

“Really? Like, don't you have four million other things to do?”

She smiled. “I'm meeting Alvaro at the café when his band practice is over! At five!”

I smiled. “Love has made you very generous,” I said.

She shrugged. “I was always generous. I just found you annoying, so I rarely gave you anything.”

“Way to burst my bubble, Dyl.” I laughed. “Thanks a lot.”

“Kid-ding!” she singsonged.

“I'm going to go take this all off. Tomorrow, I'll change into it when I get home, after you do my hair! Then at the movies—”

“Wait, so you're definitely going?” asked Dylan. “I wasn't sure.”