Frosting and Friendship

“A half a song,” Abigail says as she passes out music for each of us. “That’s what we have.”

  “Just remember,” Zola says with a smile, “all we need is one. One amazing song, one amazing performance, and we’re in. So let’s focus on that. You ready, Dots? From the top!”

  I sing while they play, and when we get to the end of what we have written, we brainstorm some more lyrics. Actually, Zola and Abigail brainstorm some more lyrics. I’m too busy watching the clock on the wall to make sure I don’t let the cake burn.

  “Earth to Lily, Earth to Lily,” Abigail says as she brushes the bangs out of her eyes. “Can you help us out here? Please? This is really important. If we don’t finish writing the song, we can’t practice the song.”

  “And if we can’t practice the song,” Zola says, “we can’t win the audition. Guaranteed.”

  Fifteen minutes. That’s how long I have before I need to check on the cake. I grab a pencil from Dad’s small desk in the corner. “Okay, sorry. I’ll focus. How about this? Let’s all think quietly on our own for, like, five minutes, and then we’ll share and decide which sounds the best. Okay?”

  I get two more pencils and pass them to Abigail and Zola. I read over the chorus again and hum the tune in my head.

  Wishes swirl and

  wishes twirl,

  around and around they spin.

  Wishes here and

  wishes there,

  when one comes true, I win.

  Wish on stars or

  wish with coins,

  who cares, all right, just wish!

  When you wish, my wish for you

  is that your wish comes true.

  I wish for my cake to turn out. I wish for it to taste delicious. I wish for the birthday party to be so much fun that Sophie will never forget it. I wish to be remembered forever as the nicest friend in Willow, Oregon, and the best cake baker too.

  And so it goes, wish after wish, until Zola says, “Okay. Time’s up. Let’s share what we have.”

  I look down at my blank piece of paper. Did I really just spend practically the entire time wishing? Oh brother.

  Abigail shares her lyrics, which sound great, and then Zola shares hers, which are good, but not quite as good as Abigail’s. When it’s my turn, I say, “I really love Abigail’s lyrics. I mean, I like yours too, Zola, but can we just go with Abigail’s? Mine are pretty terrible, honestly.”

  “I didn’t see you writing anything down,” Zola says, her arms crossed as she sits on the stool behind the drums.

  I bite my lip, trying to think of how to respond. “Oh, right, well, they’re in my head. But I knew they were bad, so I didn’t even bother writing them down.”

  Abigail shrugs. “Okay, let’s add my lyrics to the song and we can try them out. See how it sounds.” She looks at Zola. “Is that all right with you?”

  “I guess so. Seems like this song is going to be Abigail’s song, not the Dots’ song, but if that’s the way you guys want to roll, whatever.”

  Abigail looks hurt. “Zola, please don’t be upset,” she says. “Please? You want to write the last verse all by yourself? If you want to do that, it’s fine with me. I don’t care. Really.”

  “Maybe we should make Lily write it,” Zola says. “Make sure she’s committed to this band.”

  I look at the clock for the fiftieth time tonight and then jump out of my chair. “You guys, I’m sorry, but I have to check on the cake. I’ll be right back. I promise. And of course I’m committed to the band. Not everyone can be good at songwriting, okay? I think there are lots of bands where one person mostly writes the songs. It’s a special talent, and obviously, Abigail has that talent.”

  Neither of them says a word, and Zola still looks kind of mad, but I don’t have time to try and smooth things over right now. I run out the door and up the stairs. I find Madison at the oven, peeking in on the cake.

  “I could smell the chocolate all the way in my room,” Madison says. She shuts the oven door and turns around. Her eyebrows are scrunched up and I can tell something’s wrong before she even says it. “Something doesn’t look right, Lily. They’re about done baking, but the cakes didn’t rise very much. I don’t know what happened, but I think you did something wrong.”

  The story of my baking life.

  Chapter 11

  chocolate marshmallow cookies

  PERFECT TO SHARE WITH A FRIEND

  After we pulled the pans out of the oven, with the very flat cakes inside of them, I wanted to cry. Madison tried to make me feel better by telling me the cake still might taste good, but it was no use. I felt like a failure.

  Abigail and Zola came upstairs a little while later to see why I hadn’t come back, their faces telling me they weren’t too happy with me. I tried to apologize and offered to go back downstairs with them to practice a while longer, but they just wanted to go home. Madison offered to give them a ride home, so they took off and left me alone with the pathetic cakes. I almost threw them out, but I was curious how they tasted, so I sat there and stared at them, waiting for them to cool off.

  Later that night, when my mom got home, she went over the recipe with me. I learned regular milk shouldn’t be substituted for buttermilk. Apparently, the buttermilk has an ingredient in it that works with the baking soda to make the cake rise.

  That’s not the only thing I did wrong, though. When we tried the cake, it tasted terrible. My mom asked what kind of cocoa I used and when I told her about the hot cocoa mix, she explained that when a recipe calls for cocoa, it means unsweetened baking cocoa.

  No wonder cake mixes are so popular. Baking a cake from scratch is hard! Like, harder than singing the national anthem at the Super Bowl. Not that I’ve ever sung the national anthem at the Super Bowl, but still, I can imagine.

  Now it’s Saturday morning, and I’m trying to figure out what to do next. Mom said she would take me to the store to get the ingredients to try making the cake again, but I don’t know if I even want to have the party now.

  Actually, I want to have the party and give Sophie a thirteenth birthday she’ll never forget, but I don’t think I’m good enough to pull it off. What will she think of me if the party turns out to be a disaster just like every recipe I try to make? I want to be someone Sophie admires, not someone she’s ashamed of.

  I’m trying to get up the nerve to call Isabel, to tell her I can’t do it. I stare at the phone, trying to find the right words, when it rings.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Lily. It’s Sophie! How are you?”

  “Oh, hi, Sophie. I’m all right. What’s up?”

  “My mom needs to do some shopping for Hayden. He’s had a growth spurt and all of his pants are way too short. Every time I see him with his high-water pants and his white socks showing, I can’t help but laugh. I guess my mom finally got the hint and figured out she needs to buy him some new ones.

  “Anyway, we’re going to the mall this afternoon. Thought I’d see if you might want to go with us. We don’t have to hang out with them, of course. I want to shop for some new shoes. You know how I love shoes!”

  I smile. She does love shoes. I do too. But I should call Isabel. I should practice the audition song. I should write a cupcake song. I should start reading the book for the next book club meeting. I should do a lot of things. But going to the mall for the afternoon sounds like fun and I’m tired of worrying about everything in my life right now.

  “Sure. I’d love to go with you.”

  “Okay,” Sophie says. “We’ll pick you up around one o’clock. See you then.”

  “Bye.”

  Mom tells me she thinks it’s a good idea for me to get out of the house and take a break from worrying about the party and everything else. So I eat lunch and get myself ready, and with each passing minute, I’m feeling happier and happier. Sophie and I haven’t hung out together in a while and I’m so excited to see her and to do something that doesn’t involve flour, sugar, and eggs.

  When we get to th
e mall, Sophie’s mom and little brother head in one direction, while Sophie and I take off in another. I have thirty dollars from my allowance that I’ve saved up, and my mom gave me twenty more, in case I find something special to buy.

  We walk toward the big department store, and before we know it, we are laughing our heads off.

  First, there’s the kiosk in the middle of the mall with the special hand cream called Marvel a salesperson wants us to try. When we say, “No thanks,” and keep walking, she walks along with us, begging us to stop and try it.

  Then there’s the remote-control flying helicopter toy I almost run into, and Sophie can’t stop giving me a hard time about it. I was busy making sure the hand cream lady had stopped chasing us down, so I didn’t notice the small helicopter flying in the air.

  When we finally make it to the shoe department, we collapse into two chairs, trying to keep the laughing tears back.

  “I can see it now,” Sophie says between her laughs. “The headline reads, ‘Girl at mall is seriously injured when she collides with a toy helicopter because she was too busy running from the crazy hand cream lady.’ ”

  “Can I help you?” a man asks us. He’s about my dad’s age and dressed in a nice, silvery gray suit, with a white shirt and a purple tie.

  We stop laughing, because I think that’s his way of telling us to behave, in the nicest way possible.

  “Look, Sophie,” I say, trying to catch my breath, pointing at his tie. “Purple. Your favorite color.”

  “Or purplicious, as Isabel and I like to say.” As I learn of yet another special thing Isabel and Sophie have between them, it feels like someone pokes my heart with a needle. I tell myself it’s just a silly word and to forget about it. “I’ve never seen a purple tie before,” Sophie continues. “It goes really well with your silver suit.”

  “Hey, silver and purple, just like the colors for the . . .” I stop, my hand flying up to my mouth. I can’t believe I almost gave it away. I almost told her about the surprise party we’ve been planning for her. The man must see that I could use some help about now.

  “Thank you,” he says as he runs his fingers down the side of the tie. “I’m glad you like it. It’s one of my favorites. My wife and two sons gave it to me for Father’s Day last year. She wasn’t sure I’d wear it, but I think it’s awesome.”

  Sophie looks at me. “What were you going to say?”

  I’m thankful the guy gave me a minute to think of a good cover. “Oh, um, just that my mom told me when she and my dad got married, their wedding colors were silver and purple.”

  “That must have been so pretty,” she says. “Maybe I’ll have those colors at my wedding.”

  The salesman is still standing there. “We’re going to look around,” I tell him. “If that’s okay.”

  He nods and smiles. “Absolutely. Just let me know if there’s a shoe you’d like to try.”

  “We will,” Sophie says.

  Between the two of us, we must try on twenty pairs of shoes. I’m pretty sure the man with the purple tie regrets ever approaching us in the first place. Sophie ends up with a cute pair of wedge sandals, and I buy a pair of polka-dot sneakers, like Zola’s, except black with off-white dots. I love them. As I pay for the shoes at the register, I realize I need to call both Abigail and Zola and apologize again for getting distracted last night. Our song isn’t finished and it’s all my fault. I hope they’ll forgive me.

  We have some time before we’re supposed to meet up with Sophie’s mom and brother, so Sophie and I get two giant cookies and two cartons of milk from the Cookie Shack and sit down at a table.

  “Yum,” Sophie says as she takes a bite of the chocolate marshmallow cookie. “This cookie reminds me of the piece of pie Isabel and I had at Penny’s Pie Place. It was the pie Jack made for the baking contest. That’s where Isabel met him.” We both take a bite at the same time. “Good, huh?”

  I nod as I wonder if there’s anything that doesn’t remind Sophie of Isabel. I start to say something about it and stop myself. That won’t do any good. If I want to be as good of a friend to Sophie as Isabel, I have to show her how much she means to me. I realize that one of the best things I can do to make our friendship stronger is to be the person who gives her an amazing birthday party.

  She takes another bite of her cookie and I decide to pick her brain while I have the chance. “So if you had to pick one dessert, and that’s the only dessert you could eat for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

  She sets her cookie down on the plate and wipes her mouth with her napkin. “Well, definitely not brownies. I like them, but after doing the commercials for Beatrice’s Brownies, I’m a little tired of them.”

  “Are you done with those commercials for a while?” I ask as I pick up my carton of milk.

  “Yep. All done. My agent is looking for new opportunities for me now.”

  “Okay,” I say, “so no brownies. What would it be, then?”

  She leans back in her chair and stares at her plate. “One dessert. And only one. Hm. I guess I’d have to go with the classic chocolate-chip cookie. I mean, no one ever gets tired of chocolate-chip cookies, right?”

  “Really? You wouldn’t want something more special? More . . . complicated?”

  She gives me a funny look. “Complicated? I don’t think something has to be complicated to taste good. Sometimes the best things in life are the simplest things, you know?” She smiles. “Like shoe shopping with a friend. Or reading a good book. Which reminds me, have you started the next book yet?”

  “No,” I say. “I’ve been so busy with school and my band. Hopefully soon.”

  “I love the name we came up with for the book club, don’t you? The Baking Bookworms. I think it’s great we all love to bake.”

  Just hearing her say that makes my stomach hurt. After all of my recent disasters in the kitchen, I would be thrilled if I never had to turn the oven on again.

  I wonder what she’d say if I told her. What would she say if I told her that I wish I could bake as well as she and Isabel do, but baking and I don’t seem to get along? Would they kick me out of the book club? I’d hate that. I want to be in the club. More than that, I want to be Sophie’s other best friend.

  “What about you?” she asks.

  I gulp. “What do you mean?”

  “If you could only eat one dessert for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

  “Oh.” I think for a few seconds. “Probably doughnuts. I love doughnuts.”

  She smiles. “See? You like simple too.”

  As we eat our cookies, I think about that. Would Isabel be disappointed if I decided to serve something simple, like cookies or doughnuts, at the party? What was it that she said? She should have an amazing dessert for becoming a teenager.

  Suddenly, making both Isabel and Sophie happy seems about as impossible as beating the New Pirates at the Spring Fling audition.

  Chapter 12

  white-chocolate raspberry cheesecake

  A TRUE BAKER’S DELIGHT

  It’s Sunday night and I’m watching Chef Smiley make cheesecake. And so far I’ve learned one thing. Sweet Uncle Pete, that’s complicated! Yeah, nothing simple about cheesecake, that’s for sure.

  When I’m done watching, I go find Mom in her office. Her door is open, so I walk in and sit on one of the chairs she has in front of her desk.

  “Hi, Lily,” she says, not even looking up from her computer. “How’s it going?”

  “Not so good.”

  Now she looks up. “How come?”

  “Tomorrow Isabel wants me to tell her what I’ve decided to do as far as food goes for Sophie’s birthday party, and I have absolutely no idea.”

  Now she stops what she’s doing and looks at me. “Honey, if it were up to you, and it didn’t matter what anyone else thought, what would you serve at the party?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to think of something fun and different. Something . . . special. But not
too hard. That’s the problem. Everything I might like to make just seems too complicated.”

  Mom types something into her computer. “You know what I think we could make fairly easily? And would be really fun and unique? I saw some at the coffee shop earlier today.”

  “What?”

  “Cake pops. Have you heard of those? They’re little pieces of frosted cake on a stick. Here, I found a how-to video. Come watch.”

  I hop up and go stand behind her. The lady in the video walks us through how to make them. You bake a cake using a mix in a rectangle pan, let it cool, and then you break up the cake into pieces in a big mixing bowl. You add some canned frosting to the bowl (that helps the cake stick together), mix again, and roll the mixture into small balls. They go in the freezer for a few hours before they’re dipped in icing made by melting chocolate coating pieces, either white or regular chocolate. You put lollipop sticks into the balls, dip them in the icing, and finally, roll them in decorations.

  “Mom, those are so cute!” I say. “And because you crumble the cake up after it’s baked, it doesn’t matter if it comes out of the oven crooked or lumpy or a hundred other things.”

  Mom smiles. “Exactly. And we could use a cake mix from the store. I think together you and I could make these cake pops.”

  “You really think so?” I ask her.

  She stands up and pulls me into a hug. “Yes. I do. I’m pretty sure it’ll be a piece of cake.”

  I smile at her joke, even though I’ve heard it before from Chef Smiley, as I pull away. “Should we practice first?”

  “Lily, I have a really busy week. And I know you have other things you should be doing too. Let’s wait and deal with them on Saturday. We’ll make them work. I promise. Is there anything else you’d like to serve?”

  “Maybe some chocolate-chip cookies? They’re Sophie’s favorite.”

  She nods. “How about if we get some cookie dough at the store? That way all you have to do is bake up the cookies Friday night or Saturday morning.”

  “Mom, I think Isabel wants everything to be homemade.”