Bakers on Board (3 page)

Bright and early Saturday morning, Jenna came downstairs to eat breakfast. There was no time for sleeping late: she had last-minute packing to do for the cruise the next day.

“I'm not sure how much sunscreen to bring.” She poured herself a bowl of cereal and sat down next to Marisol at the kitchen table. “I'm planning on lounging by the pool a lot.”

“Uh-huh,” Marisol said, distracted. She was on her laptop again.

“Did you hear a word I said?” Jenna asked, annoyed. She hated when her sister tuned her out.

“What?” Marisol said, finally looking up.

“What are you so busy with anyway?” Jenna asked, trying to catch a glimpse of the screen.

This time, Marisol didn't slam it shut. “Can you keep a secret? A big one?” she asked her youngest sister.

Jenna gulped. She remembered what Lexi had said about her not being a great secret keeper. “I can try,” she said.

“No, you have to pinkie swear you will tell no one,” Marisol insisted. She held up her pinkie.

“Okay, okay, I pinkie swear,” Jenna said, linking their little fingers together. “What's the huge secret?”

Marisol sighed. “Well, you know how Mami always talks about me being a doctor one day,” she began.

“It's 'cause you're supersmart,” Jenna replied. “You'd make a great doctor.”

“True,” Marisol joked. “I am brilliant. But I've been doing a lot of thinking. I couldn't sleep last night after I talked to that photographer, Mr. Hammond.” She turned her computer screen around to face Jenna. On it was an application for a photography scholarship to the Los Angeles Film School—the school Mr. Hammond had told her about.

“Los Angeles? You want to go to college in California?” Jenna exclaimed.

“Shhh!” Marisol hushed her. “Do you want to wake up Mami and Leo?”

“Mami is going to freak,” Jenna insisted. “What happened to going to Stamford or Wesleyan, not somewhere so far from Connecticut?”

“I think I'm going to apply for a scholarship,” Marisol said quietly. “Mr. Hammond says my photos are really good.” She clicked on a picture on her desktop that showed shadows dancing across the grass in their backyard.

“Wow,” Jenna said. “That
is
good.”

“So do I apply for the scholarship…or not?”

Jenna had no idea what to advise her sister—it was usually Marisol's job to advise
her
. But she was honored that Marisol had asked her opinion, so she wanted to give it a lot of thought. On one hand, she was all for following your dreams wherever they took you. But on the other hand, she knew the news of Marisol moving across the country—and not becoming the first doctor in the Medina family—would upset her mother terribly.

“
No sé
,” Jenna replied. “I don't know what to tell you. It's a really tough decision.”

Marisol nodded. “I know. I've been so torn that I haven't even packed yet for the cruise.”

“That's okay,” Jenna said. “I'm sure Gabby hasn't put a single bikini in her bag yet. I better go wake her up.”

Marisol went back to reading up on the Los Angeles Film School's photography curriculum. “Thanks,” she told Jenna.

“For what?” Jenna asked. “I didn't do anything.”

“You listened,” Marisol replied. “And you didn't judge.”

“Follow
sus sueños
,” Jenna told her sister finally. “Follow your dreams. Like you said last night in the car, you need to do something that makes you feel excited. If film school is what you want, I think you should do it. Mami will understand. She wants you to be happy.”

• • •

When Jenna knocked on her other sister's bedroom door, all she heard was snoring coming from inside. “Gab, time to rise and shine,” she called. “Only twenty-four hours till cruise time.”

There was no response—not even Gabby's usual “Get out! Leave me alone!”

Jenna poked her head in and found her sister buried under the covers. “Okay, lazybones, time to get up.” She pulled the covers back and saw Gabby's face, which was covered in tiny pink dots.

“
Dios mío
!
” Jenna exclaimed. “What is that?”

Gabby opened one eye and yawned. “What's what?” Her hand touched her face and unconsciously began scratching.

Jenna grabbed a mirror off her dresser and handed it to her. “Your face. It's polka-dotted!”

Gabby bolted up in bed and stared in the mirror. “No! It can't be!” The more she looked at the dots, the more they began to itch.

Her mother, Leo, and Marisol came running into the room to see what all the commotion was about. “
Dios mío
!
” Betty shouted.

“You can say that again,” Marisol said, her mouth hanging open. “Your face looks awful!”

By now, Gabby was hysterical. “I know it looks awful! I look like one of Leo's ties!” she sobbed.

Leo tried to calm everyone down. “My ties aren't that bad, and neither is chicken pox. I had it; your mother had it.”

“I thought I had a shot for it,” Gabby wailed.

“
Sí
,” her mother replied. “Which is why you won't have a bad case and will heal very quickly.”

“It's not fair,” Gabby said, scratching furiously at the red dots on her arms and legs.

Manny and Ricky came into their room in their pajamas. “Mami, I feel hot,” Ricky said, holding his head and sniffling.

“And I feel itchy,” Manny added, scratching at his stomach.

“Oh no, not you too!” Betty said, examining the twins.

“Is it the chicken pops?” Manny asked. “Priscilla in our class got it last week.”

“I don't like chicken pops. I like lollipops,” Ricky whined.

“I'm so sorry,
mi amor
,” Betty told Leo. “It's very bad timing.”

Gabby sniffled. “What do you mean ‘bad timing'?”

Leo sat down on the side of her bed. “You can't go on the cruise with chicken pox, and neither can Manny and Ricky.” Leo looked at his wife. “What will we do?”

“You go with Jenna, Marisol, and Maggie. I will stay here and take care of everyone,” Betty insisted.

“I feel terrible,” Leo said, taking Betty's hand. “And I have four extra tickets now.”

Jenna suddenly got a brilliant idea. “Four? That's perfect! That's exactly how many I need,” she said.

Leo looked—as Delaney would say—confuzzled. “Perfect for what?”

“For taking Sadie, Lexi, Delaney, and Kylie on the cruise. Please, Leo? Pretty please? If we get everyone's parents to agree?”

Leo scratched his head. “On one condition: Peace, Love, and Cupcakes bakes cupcakes for our big pirate-themed party onboard.”

Jenna threw her arms around him and gave him a huge bear hug. “You are the best!
El mejor
!
”

Before he could change his mind, Jenna raced to her room to call Kylie.

“I have great news,” she said excitedly. “My sister and brothers have the chicken pox, and PLC is setting sail tomorrow!”

Kylie, Delaney, Sadie, and Lexi had to do some quick convincing, but twenty-four hours later, they were joining Jenna on the cruise.

“My mom said I have to write my social studies report while we're on the ship,” Sadie announced.

“What's it on?” Lexi asked as they waited in line at the ship terminal in New York City.

“That's the problem—I have no idea what to write about,” Sadie said, sighing.

“How about how
long
it takes to board a cruise ship,” Jenna replied impatiently. Besides going through security and checking passports, they each had to wait till their cabin assignments were ready. Leo ran around with a clipboard, making sure everything his marketing team had ordered was being loaded aboard the ship.

“What about the balloons? The giant Ralph Warren logo banner? The confetti cannon?” he asked his assistant, Mitchell.

“Yes, sir, all accounted for,” Mitchell answered. “And just in time. He's here! He's here!”

Ralph Warren, the famous fashion designer, pulled up to the ship's terminal in a long, black stretch limo. He was dressed impeccably in a navy suit and a red, white, and blue tie with tiny anchors on it.

“Leo!” he said, shaking Jenna's dad's hand warmly. “I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to this collection launch—especially the runway show at sea.”

“You are? I mean, you are!” Leo replied nervously. “We all are. It's going to be amazing.”

“We hope,” Mitchell muttered under his breath.

“I'll see you onboard then,” Mr. Warren replied. “Anchors aweigh!”

Leo mopped his brow with a handkerchief and began checking and double-checking his clipboard for the third or fourth time.

“Dad looks a little frazzled,” Maggie said.

“It didn't help that half our family is home sick with chicken pox,” Jenna said. “He felt terrible leaving Mami. And she was so disappointed.”

Marisol overheard their conversation and gulped. She, too, was worried about disappointing Mami. What if she told her mother she didn't want to be a doctor and Mami burst into tears? Or worse, what if she decided to be a photography major—and Mami grounded her for life? What then?

“Next!” a cruise agent bellowed, waving his hand in Marisol's face. “Unless you want the ship to set sail without you, young lady?”

“I'm sorry,” she said, handing him her passport and ticket. “I was just daydreaming.”

Jenna tapped her on the shoulder. “You should take lots of pictures on the cruise,” she whispered. “You know, in case you need some to send with your scholarship application to film school.”

“I haven't decided if I'm applying,” Marisol said, looking around to make sure Leo wasn't in earshot. “I told you to keep it a secret, so don't blab.”

“Blab what?” Delaney poked her head in between them. “What's all the whispering about? Did I miss something?”

“Nada,” Jenna said. “Marisol was just wondering if they have a chocoholic buffet at midnight tonight.”

Delaney's eyes grew wide. “Chocoholic buffet?” she gasped. “Now those are two words I love to hear.”

The girls all got their cabin assignments and waited for Leo to board the gangway with them.

“Daddy”—Maggie waved at him—“are you coming?”

Leo was shouting loudly into his phone. “Isn't there anything you can do? Hire a private jet or something? Mr. Warren just boarded the ship. What am I supposed to tell him?”

“Uh-oh,” Maggie said, watching her father's face turn bright red. “Something's wrong.”

“Qué pasa, Leo?” Jenna asked him gently.

He waved her off and continued yelling into the phone. “What am I supposed to do? Who is going to photograph the collection? You've left me in a terrible bind!”

When he had finished with his conversation, he turned to his family and friends. “Major
problema
. Patrick De Olivier, the famous photographer I hired to shoot the new collection, missed his flight this morning from Paris. Now he'll never make it here before we sail.”

“I'm sure you can find someone else to take pictures,” Kylie said, trying to cheer him up. “I mean, there must be a gazillion photographers who could do it.”

“On this short notice? When we're sailing in less than three hours? I doubt it.” Mitchell echoed his boss's concern. “This is a disaster.”

“Beyond disaster,” Leo said, sighing. “I could lose my job for this.”

Marisol suddenly remembered Mr. Hammond telling her how he got his start shooting the runways in Paris. “I know someone who might be able to help you,” she told Leo. “He gave me his card.” She pulled it out of her purse.

“Okay, I'm desperate. I'll try anything,” Leo said, handing the card to Mitchell to call. “Let's hope ‘Harold Hammond, Professional Photographer' has no plans for the next week.”

• • •

There was only an hour left before the ship set sail, and Harold was still nowhere in sight.

“All ashore who are going ashore,” a crewman's voice rang over the loudspeaker.

“What could be taking him so long?” Leo asked anxiously.

“Maybe he's stuck in traffic,” Mitchell suggested. “Or maybe he needed a little nap.”

Just then, they saw a gray-haired man in Bermuda shorts and a Hawaiian shirt inching his way up the gangway. He was pulling a suitcase on wheels and carrying a large bag filled with cameras and lenses over his shoulder.

“It's him! It's him!” Leo said, relieved. He raced over to give the photographer a hand.

“I made it,” Harold said, out of breath. “That was a close one!” He extended his hand to Leo to shake. “Thank you so much for the opportunity. It's been ages since I had an assignment.”

Leo tried not to let on how nervous he was. “Yes, well, thanks for coming. I hope you're up to it.”

“Up to it? This isn't the first Ralph Warren runway show I've worked,” Harold boasted. “I shot his resort line at Paris Fashion Week in the nineteen eighties.”

“Oh, how lovely,” Mitchell muttered under his breath. “He hasn't taken fashion photos in thirty years.”

“I'm sure you'll do a great job,” Leo said, patting Harold on the back.

“Where's my assistant?” Harold asked, looking around.

“Assistant? You didn't mention anything about needing an assistant,” Mitchell replied.

“A photographer always needs an assistant.”

Mitchell was practically hyperventilating. “The ship is sailing in five minutes. Are we supposed to make an assistant magically appear out of thin air?”

“Marisol will do just fine,” Harold replied.

Leo looked stunned. “Marisol? My Marisol? My stepdaughter? You must be mistaken.”

“No, I'm not,” Harold insisted. “She showed me some of her work Friday night when the girls were at my house. I'd love to hire her for the cruise to assist me.”

Leo shrugged. “I guess… I mean, if she wants to.”

“I have a hunch she might,” Harold said, winking. “In the meantime, I do believe you mentioned a private cabin with a balcony and a chocoholics buffet.”

He handed Mitchell his suitcase. “Lead the way!”