Frosting and Friendship (13 page)

I run into my room, shut the door, and yell into my pillow. It helps. A little. When I sit up, I ask myself what it is that I need more than anything. And an answer pops into my brain right away.

I need a friend. Someone who will help me get the cake pops ready, but more than that, someone who will help me get through the day without falling
apart like a really dry cupcake. I need someone to help me keep it together.

I go to the phone and call Abigail.

“Hello?”

“Oh good, you're home.”

“Hey. What's going on? You excited about tonight?”

“I have a huge favor to ask you,” I say as I sit on my bed. “Can you come over and help me bake some cake pops?”

She laughs. “You just will not let this baking thing go, will you?”

“My mom was going to help me,” I explain, “but she's sick. And I already promised Isabel we'd have cake pops at the party. She was really excited about them when I told her. Please, Abigail? It'd mean a lot to have you here.”

“Okay,” she says. “I'll have one of my parents bring me over after lunch. Is that enough time?”

“I think so. We need to have everything done by five, when Isabel is scheduled to get here with the decorations.”

“Oh yeah, we can do it,” she says. “Piece of cake.”

I'm starting to get a little bit annoyed by that saying.

“Thanks, Abigail. See you in a while.”

“Okay, bye.”

I quickly take a shower and get myself ready. I throw on old clothes, since I'll be baking all afternoon. I can change later, after Isabel and I finish decorating the house.

When I go back downstairs, I find Madison, dressed in her softball uniform, rummaging around in the refrigerator.

“Mom's sick,” I tell her.

She turns around, holding a small bottle of orange juice, and shuts the fridge door.

“Yeah. I know. I'm sorry, Lil. You gonna be okay? I hope you have a backup plan in case your cake pops don't turn out.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Backup plan? You think I'm going to need a backup plan? Thanks a lot, Madison.”

“Hey,” she says as she twists the lid off of the bottle, “it's good to be prepared. That's all I'm saying.”

“Well, I don't have a backup plan, so be quiet. Abigail's coming over in a little while to help me make the cake pops. Together, we'll be fine.”

She takes a long drink of her juice before she asks, “Where's the band going to set up? They're bringing their own equipment, right?”

“Yeah. I've been thinking about where to put them, and I think maybe the garage is the best place. I mean, you know how Dad is. It's spotless out there, and it's bigger than any room in the house. We can put some balloons and streamers out there too, right?”

She shrugs. “Whatever you want to do. It's your party.” She starts to leave and then she turns around and says, “So did the other band say they were fine with your band using their instruments? Because some people are really uptight about that kind of thing, you know.”

I gulp. “No. I just assumed they would let us use their equipment. I thought it would be easier that way.”

“You didn't ask them?” I shake my head. “Are they good friends of yours?”

I'm pretty sure my sister can tell by the look on my face the answer to that question is a big, fat no.

I
remember that I'd talked to Dad about moving his studio equipment upstairs for the party before I found out the New Pirates were going to play. My heart skips a beat at the thought that maybe he remembered to move the equipment before he left this morning. It's not anywhere in the house, so I cross my fingers as I check the garage. But it's empty. He forgot. And I didn't think to ask him.

Just as I'm shutting the door to the garage, my phone vibrates in my pocket.

“Hi, Dad,” I say. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Lily, I'm so sorry. I forgot to ask you if your band had decided to play tonight. Was I supposed to move the equipment and instruments upstairs for you?”

I sink down into the sofa in the family room and lean my head back. Then I tell him about the New Pirates and the plan to have them play and how I was hoping our band could play too.

“What do you think?” I ask. “Will they let us use their stuff?”

“I doubt it. Most people are really protective of their instruments. It's kind of like letting someone else drive your really fancy sports car when you don't know if her driving skills are any good.”

“But we won't break anything,” I say, trying to keep the tears back.

“You can't promise that, sweetie,” he says softly. “I know you'd be really careful, but what if something did happen? It'd be pretty horrible, right?”

“Zola and Abigail really wanted to play tonight. I don't know how I can tell them the whole deal is off.
Abigail's going to be here soon to help me, since Mom is sick.”

“You're just going to have to tell them. And please apologize for me. It's partly my fault.”

“Okay,” I mutter.

“And, Lily, I know I probably don't have to tell you this, but you kids can't move that equipment. It needs to stay in the studio. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Look, I have to go. We stopped to get gas, and the guys are ready to roll. I'm really sorry. But don't let this ruin the party, okay? You'll have other opportunities to perform.”

“Bye, Dad.”

“Bye.”

I make myself eat some cheese and crackers and a banana because I know hunger doesn't help my mood. When I'm finished, I check on my mom. She's sleeping, so I tiptoe out of the room and quietly shut the door.

Abigail arrives a little while later. She knows right away that something is wrong.

“Uh-oh. Are you feeling sick too?” Abigail asks.

“Not that kind of sick.”

She grabs my hands. “Come on. It's not that bad. We are going to make the best cake pops you've ever seen. It'll be okay. I know you're probably worried they're not going to turn out, but you really shouldn't be. I've come prepared.”

She reaches into the bag she's carrying and pulls out a pink and white apron, a bag of lollipops, and something else. It's white and shaped like an egg.

“What is that?” I ask.

“My mom's lucky timer.”

“Why's it lucky?”

“Because nothing has ever burned when she's used this timer. It's like . . . magic.”

“What are the lollipops for?”

“My backup plan. If the cake pops are a disaster, you just serve lollipops instead. They're cute and delicious too, right?”

It makes me smile. She is trying so hard to help me and to cheer me up. She loops her arm through mine and says, “Come on. Let's get baking!”

Abigail is being really sweet and I'm already feeling better. I know it's time to tell her the news and
get it over with. Then we can focus on the cake pops.

“I need to tell you something,” I say when we reach the kitchen. “I have some bad news.”

She sets her bag on the kitchen table and then walks over and places the timer on the counter. “What?”

“My dad left this morning to play at a wedding reception this afternoon, and he forgot to move the instruments and equipment upstairs.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we can't play. We can't play our songs at the party tonight.”

Abigail's face droops like a wilted daisy. “We can't move the stuff ourselves?”

I shake my head. “He specifically told me not to. I'm really sorry, Abigail. He feels bad, and so do I.”

She takes a deep breath. “Oh well. Guess there's nothing we can do then.”

There's one more thing I have to do. A part of me is still hoping I can convince Belinda and the rest of the band to let us use their instruments when they're done. It's going to be tricky, trying to get my friends to come to the party when they don't even
know Sophie. But I want to try. I don't know what they'll say when they find out the New Pirates are playing and we aren't, but I figure I'll deal with that later. One thing at a time, like my mom always says.

“I still want you and Zola to be here tonight,” I tell Abigail. “I don't know most of the kids coming and I'd love it if you'd stay and hang out. Keep me company.”

She slips the apron over her head and ties the straps behind her back. “You don't think your friend would mind, when she doesn't even know us?”

“Oh no. She's really nice. I can tell her you're my helpers. Or something.”

She shrugs. “I don't have anything better to do. My dad is going to pick me up at four. I'll go home, eat dinner, and come back. You should call Zola and tell her we're not playing. She might be upset if she shows up here and finds out.”

“Okay. I'll give her a call while the cake is in the oven.”

Abigail claps her hands together. “All right. Get your apron, Lily. You think Chef Smiley's a genius in the kitchen? Well, he'll be shaking in his boots
when the entire state of Oregon is talking about our magnificent cake pops.”

I giggle. “Shaking in his boots? He's a pastry chef, not a cowboy, silly.”

“Fine. He'll be shaking in his chef's hat. Or apron. Whatever. He's gonna be scared—that's what I'm trying to say.”

Abigail's confidence makes me feel like I can do anything. Like I'm putting on a cape instead of an apron. Now let's just hope her superfriend powers combined with the magical egg timer work!

W
hile the cake bakes in the oven, I call Zola and tell her the bad news. She's disappointed we won't be playing, but I beg her to come anyway, and she finally gives in.

I also get my mom's laptop and look up the video on how to make cake pops and show it to Abigail. We watch it three times.

“Piece of cake,” she says once again, like it's the funniest thing ever.

That joke is really getting old.

I also show her the cookbook Chef Smiley gave me.

“Whatever works?” she asks when she reads the page that he signed. “What does that mean?”

“If there's an easier way to do something, even if it's not fancy or the most popular way, it's okay. You shouldn't feel bad about doing something that works for you.”

The egg timer lets out a really loud, annoying screech, making us both jump.

She runs over and turns it off while I check the oven. “So that's why it's magic,” I say. “That thing's loud enough to let the people across the street know the cake's done.”

“Exactly,” she says.

The chocolate cake looks good. It's a little lopsided, but it doesn't bother me at all because I know it doesn't matter.

While the cake cools, I find a tablecloth and throw it on the dining room table. Abigail helps me arrange the plates, napkins, cups, and silverware.

Then we go to work making the cake balls, following the instructions in the video. When we have four dozen and the bowl is empty, I stick them in the freezer to harden for an hour.

“Man, baking is exhausting,” Abigail says as she plops down at the kitchen table. She reaches back and tightens up her ponytail.

“Thanks for helping me,” I say as I sit down across from her. “It means a lot.”

“We're halfway there, right?” she says. “We'll get the chocolate candies melted, do some dipping, and we're done. You can finally call yourself a baker, Lily! Just like you've wanted, right?”

I smile. “Yeah. I guess I can.”

The doorbell rings.

“Who's that?” Abigail asks me as I stand up.

“I have no idea.”

Abigail comes with me. When I peek out the peephole, I see Bryan standing there, his hands in his jeans pockets, looking as cute as ever.