Either with a large spatula or spoon (or wash your hands and dig in!), mix together the cake crumbs and the frosting until completely and thoroughly combined. Chill in the refrigerator for 30 minutes.
Line two rimmed baking sheets with wax paper. Remove the cake–frosting mixture from the refrigerator and, with a melon baller or a tablespoon, scoop the mixture onto the baking sheets and roll into balls of about the same size.
Chill the cake balls in the refrigerator for at least 4 hours (or overnight), or place in the freezer and freeze them to speed up the process.
When the cake balls are firm to the touch, you can store them in a sealed container in the refrigerator and remove them to serve. The next steps are optional.
Place the chocolate chips in a microwaveable bowl and heat on 50% power, stirring every 15 seconds, until the chocolate is completely melted and smooth.
Take your plastic fork and break off the two middle tines to make a cake ball dipper (you balance the cake ball in between the two outer fork tines). Alternately, use a toothpick or two, or a spoon. Place wax paper on baking sheets nearby and remove a few cake balls from the refrigerator, leaving the rest to stay cold until ready to be dipped.
One at a time, dip the cake balls into the melted chocolate with the fork, rolling it around quickly to completely cover, and then placing on the wax paper to cool and harden. Repeat until all of the cake balls have been covered in chocolate, melting additional chocolate as necessary.
If you want, sprinkle a little of the coconut flakes on top of each cake ball, or if you’re feeling daring, try to roll the cake ball in coconut flakes to cover completely.
Insert a toothpick or lollipop stick about halfway into each cake ball, being careful not to poke through the other end.
Leave the cake balls out until the chocolate hardens (about 1 hour), then store in tightly sealed containers in your refrigerator.
White-Chocolate Frosting
INGREDIENTS:
6 ounces white-chocolate chips
1/2 cup margarine
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 cups confectioners’ sugar
INSTRUCTIONS:
Melt the white-chocolate chips in a small bowl in the microwave, then set aside to cool to room temperature.
In a large bowl, using a handheld mixer, cream the margarine until lighter in color. Add the vanilla extract, and then slowly add the confectioners’ sugar in 1/2-cup batches, mixing completely before adding more.
Add the melted white chocolate and beat on high speed until the frosting becomes light and fluffy, about 3–7 minutes.
I’m dipping a cake pop in white-chocolate frosting when I hear the bell jingle over the door. This cake-pop thing is harder than it looks. The real trick is getting the frosting to go on evenly. If you can do that, then you’re golden. All you have to do is dip the pop into sprinkles or mini-chips, or whatever, and they look great.
But my frosting keeps glopping. Yes, that is the technical term.
I let out a low growl and toss the cake pop into the trash. This is the fifth one I’ve ruined.
I’m minding the café by myself. Unless you count Rupert and Chloe, who are also here. Rupert is playing the piano, and Chloe is sketching at a table nearby. We have the place to ourselves. Well, we did … up until one minute ago.
“Ahem,” a voice says behind me. “Uh — anyone home?”
I turn to see Kyle standing at the counter, smiling. “Hey, Kyle,” I say. “It’s Hayley.”
“I figured. I just wasn’t sure you were open — it seemed like you were busy.” Kyle is legally blind, but he can still make out shadows and shapes.
“I’m here — struggling with frosting.”
“Better than struggling with hungry sharks.”
“Or rabid monkeys.”
“There! Now you have a whole new outlook.” He grins, and a lock of curly blond hair falls into his gray eyes.
I wipe my frosting-covered hands on my apron. “Can I get you something?”
“What do you have in the cupcake department?”
“I’ve got caramel with white-chocolate frosting, banana with chocolate frosting, salty chocolate with chocolate frosting, and lemon with lemon frosting.” I make a mental note that we’ve run out of the pumpkin spice with maple frosting. Time to bake more, I think.
“I’ll take banana with chocolate,” he says. I reach for a square of wax paper and pull out one of the cupcakes. Just as I’m placing it on the plate, Kyle says, “This is the kind you gave Ben, right?”
His voice is so casual that for a moment, I think I’ve misheard him. “What?”
“Didn’t you make one of these for Ben Habib? He told me about it.” Kyle hands me a five-dollar bill, like we’re just making normal café conversation. Rupert’s fingers dance over the keys, and I feel my heart flutter in time to the quick notes of the piano.
I stand there a moment, considering what to say. It probably took Ben about three seconds to figure out where the cupcake came from. Of course. Dur, I think. I mean, I’m not the only person on earth who knows how to make cupcakes. But how many people at our school would make a banana one topped with chocolate frosting and a teeny-tiny marzipan banana?
“Am I embarrassing you?” Kyle asks.
“No.”
“Because I can’t see your face, so I don’t know.”
“I’m not embarrassed — it’s just … Yeah, I made the cupcake. But not in that way! It was from … someone else.”
“Oh.”
“But now Ben thinks it’s from me?”
“Well, kind of.”
Rupert stops playing suddenly, and the room is quiet.
“Would you tell him that it isn’t?”
“Sure.”
“Because I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.” Why am I going on and on about this?
Kyle smiles. “No problem, Hayley.”
For a moment, I wonder why we’re still standing there. Then I look down at the five-dollar bill in my hand and remember that I need to make change. “I’ll be right back,” I say, and head over to the register.
Once I hand Kyle his change, he takes his plate and walks over to the piano, which Rupert has just abandoned. Kyle puts down his plate on top of the piano, then feels the outer edges of the keyboard. He places his fingers at the center and begins to play. It’s a piece of music I recognize. Brahms. It’s lovely, and seems perfect with the fading late-afternoon light that is streaming through our front windows.
I look over at the trash, where my lumpy cake pop sits atop a pile of napkins and empty paper cups. My frustration has faded away, and I feel ready to try again. Besides, Kyle is right — struggling with frosting is a lot better than struggling with hungry sharks — or other things.
I guess I just needed some perspective. I’m glad Kyle came in, I realize. And I’m glad I got to clear up that Ben thing. I didn’t want Kyle to think I really was behind all of the insane romantic behavior. I mean, I didn’t want Ben to think that.
It doesn’t really matter what Kyle thinks.
Right?
Gingered Pumpkin Cupcakes
(makes approximately 12 cupcakes)
This is the perfect blend of spice and sweet. Finally, something I can really be thankful for.
INGREDIENTS:
1 cup canned pumpkin
1/4 cup milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup brown sugar
1/3 cup canola oil
1-1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
2 teaspoons ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/3 cup diced candied ginger, plus more to sprinkle on top (optional)
INSTRUCTIONS:
Preheat the oven to 350°F. Line a muffin pan with cupcake liners.
In a large bowl, whisk together the pumpkin, milk, vanilla extract, brown sugar, and oil
.
In another bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, ground ginger, and salt, and mix.
Add the dry ingredients to the wet ones a little bit at a time, and combine using a whisk or handheld mixer, stopping to scrape the sides of the bowl a few times, until no lumps remain. Add the diced candied ginger and combine completely.
Fill cupcake liners two-thirds of the way and bake for 22–24 minutes. Transfer to a cooling rack, and let cool completely before frosting.
OPTIONAL: Sprinkle additional diced candied ginger on top of the frosted cupcakes.
Ginger Cream-Cheese Frosting
INGREDIENTS:
1/3 cup cream cheese, softened to room temperature
1/2 cup margarine or butter, softened to room temperature
2-1/2 cups confectioners’ sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 teaspoons ground ginger
INSTRUCTIONS:
In a bowl, cream together the cream cheese and margarine or butter completely. Slowly add the confectioners’ sugar in 1/2-cup batches, mixing completely before adding more.
Add the vanilla extract and ground ginger and beat on high speed until the frosting becomes light and fluffy, about 3–7 minutes.
“The Snoopy balloon — turn it up!” I tell Chloe, who obediently pokes at the remote.
“Who are all of these bands?” my sister asks as another obscure music act lip-synchs atop what looks like a gingerbread boat. “Are they all from some TV station that we don’t get?”
“All of the real celebrities are busy celebrating Thanksgiving, like normal people,” I tell her.
“Couldn’t they get some British bands?” Chloe demands. “They don’t celebrate Thanksgiving.”
“Well, they should.” I spread cream-cheese frosting on top of the gingered pumpkin cupcake I’m holding. It’s eleven in the morning, and the house smells amazing. Gran made her famous cinnamon buns, and I’ve already had two.
“How are we doing?” Mom asks as she walks into the kitchen. “Hayley, honey, those look gorgeous.” She reaches toward the cupcake as if she’s going to steal a bit of frosting, but I yank it away. “Not until after dinner!”
Mom laughs and hurries off to straighten a fork that has gone askew. Mom set the table in our little apartment last night, and Gran insisted that we use her good china, so everything is gleaming and ready.
The doorbell rings, and Chloe runs to get it. “It’s Ramon!” she shouts unnecessarily when she peeks through the peephole. He’s the only person we invited, and he’s right on time.
Ramon looks surprisingly handsome in black pants and a bright blue button-down shirt. His shoes are shined, and he looks freshly showered. He’s carrying a large casserole dish.
“What have you brought us?” Mom asks, taking it from his hands. “It smells wonderful.”
“Paella,” he replies, smiling warmly.
When Mom lifts the lid of the dish, a spicy aroma makes my stomach growl loud enough for Chloe to say, “Excuse you, Hayley!”
I blush and go back to frosting my cupcake as Gran walks in with a vase of red flowers. She oohs and ahhs over Ramon’s paella, and before I know it, dinner is on the table, and we’re ready to eat.
It’s lunchtime, really, and the meal doesn’t look like any Thanksgiving we’ve ever had before. Gran has cooked salmon, Mom has made kale spiced with garlic and red pepper, and — of course — we have paella. No stuffing. I’m trying not to feel disappointed.
I take a bite of Ramon’s dish — and have to admit that it’s my favorite thing on the table. It’s a spicy mix of sausage, rice, tomatoes, and seafood.
“This is awesome!” Chloe gushes, and I agree.
Ramon tells a story about the time he tried to explain the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade to his relatives in Honduras. “They like to tease me because my Spanish isn’t perfect. So when I told them that there were giant balloons, they laughed. ‘You’re saying giant balloons!’ They thought I must have meant something else. ‘You’re saying balloons as big as a house!’ It took forever for me to convince them that I really meant balloons, after all.”
Mom clears away the plates, and I pass out cupcakes while Chloe hands everyone a pale blue piece of paper and a pen.
“What’s this?” Ramon asks.
“It’s so that you can write down something you’re thankful for,” Chloe tells him. She looks at me. “We’re starting a new tradition.”
“I’m thankful that I didn’t have to cook a turkey this year,” Mom says.
Ramon smiles at her, but it’s a faraway smile, as if he’s thinking of something else. “I have much to be thankful for,” he says, and then he bends his head over his piece of paper, writing something.
“As do we all.” Gran smiles at me, and I know instantly that she’s thankful that Chloe, Mom, and I came to live with her.
I hear Chloe’s pen scratching, and I imagine that she’s thankful to have met Rupert. Or to be in a new school.
Mom is writing, too, but I can’t imagine what she’s thankful for. Is she glad she got divorced? Or is she writing something goopy about Ramon?
I peer down at my blank paper.
I have a lot to be thankful for. I know that. We have a home here with Gran. I get to make cupcakes whenever I like. I found a good friend in Meghan.
But I don’t feel like writing any of that.
I’m thankful that this year is ending.
I’m glad it’s almost over, that it’s rolling away into the past, leaving only the future.
I fold my paper in half and give it to Chloe, who collects the scraps. Then she walks over to the fireplace and tosses them in.
I watch the flame lick the edges of the paper. One of the pieces turns to ash and flutters up the chimney. I like to think that one is mine.
Silence settles over the room, and then — out of the blue — Ramon starts to sing. It’s a gentle song in Spanish, so I have no idea what he’s saying, but the sounds are sweet and a little sad. He has a lovely voice. Not loud or showy, just nice, and I imagine that he’s singing about the year ending and something new beginning.
His face blurs, and I realize that tears are welling in my eyes, threatening to spill down my cheeks. I hide my face in my napkin, then get up to go to the bathroom, where I splash water on my face and look at myself in the mirror. My skin looks pale and blotchy. I look ill, to tell you the truth. I feel queasy.
Happy Thanksgiving, I think.
When I come back into the living room, Rupert is sitting at the table, munching a cupcake. “These are delicious,” he tells me.
“Thanks,” I reply. “What are you doing here?”
“Hayley!” Chloe squeals.
“I just mean — Rupert, aren’t you having Thanksgiving at your own house?”
“Yes, and that’s why I’m here. I’m just taking a break from the noise.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s so nice and quiet here.”
Mom and Ramon are in the kitchen. She’s washing the dishes, and he’s drying. Gran is sitting in a chair by the fireplace, reading.
“Yeah, it’s quiet,” I say.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Hayley,” Rupert says, “but you look awful.”
“I feel pretty awful,” I admit.
“Maybe you’d better lie down,” Chloe suggests.
“I think that’s a good idea.” I head off to our room to be alone.
Even though I don’t think that lying down is going to fix what’s wrong with me.
By four o’clock, I feel like something is trying to claw its way out of my stomach. I drank a glass of ginger ale to settle my stomach, but it just seems to have made everything worse.
Chloe knocks on the door. “Hayley, are you okay?”
“No,” I say weakly.
“Dad’s here.” Her voice is soft.
“Okay.” I stand up and smooth my clothes. I splash a little water on my face, trying hard not to get it on my new dress. I take a deep brea
th. Then another. Then I fluff up the fake flower, which has wilted at my waist.
I head all the way downstairs and into the café to say good-bye to Mom and Gran. My dad is there, and I can tell that he and Mom have been arguing. They stop talking when they see me.
“How are you feeling?” Dad asks.
“Terrible,” I tell him.
His blue eyes flash in irritation. “What’s wrong?” he demands, as if I have gotten sick just to inconvenience him.
“My stomach.” I shake my head. I feel awful, like I need to lie down again. I feel a trickle of sweat creep down the back of my neck.
“I don’t think Hayley should go,” Mom says.
Dad looks at her, then at me. “Is that what you want? To stay here?”
“I don’t feel well.”
“You don’t have to eat anything,” Dad says. “You can just sit there.”
I put a hand on a tabletop to steady myself. Dad is dressed up. He’s wearing a gray suit that looks new and a beautiful orange tie. He wants me to go to this dinner. I know the set of his jaw and the tone of his voice — I’m going.
“Okay,” I say at last. “I’ll just sit there.”
“Hayley —” Mom says, but I just give her a hug.
“Bye, Mom. Bye, Gran.”
“Good-bye, darling,” Gran says. She has been listening to the entire conversation with a dark-eyed glower, and she shoots daggers at my father as he, Chloe, and I walk out the door.
Annie is waiting by the car. “Everyone ready?” she asks with a smile. “Oh, Hayley — is that — are those …” She’s looking at my shoes, and her smile has disappeared.
“You can’t wear high-tops to the country club,” Dad announces. “Go change.”
But my head is swimming, and my muscles ache. I think about the stairs to the apartment and feel dizzy. “I don’t have any nice shoes.” My voice sounds far away to me, like someone else is phoning it in.
“You don’t have any heels?” Dad asks.