Bittersweet (37 page)

“Nat’s gone.” Marianne stands in the doorway, straddling
the dining room and kitchen with her hand against the door. “Guess the ham—” She stops herself when she sees Bug, lowering her voice. “The
incident
really upset her. Between that and the reviewer, she cracked. I don’t think she’s coming back.”

“For someone trying to become a nurse,” I say, “she’s got a pretty weak stomach.”

“Perfect.” Mom throws a pot into the sink, metal clanging like an old church bell. “One less person I’ll have to ax when that review shuts us down.” She looks back to me, head shaking as if she doesn’t really want to know. It’s all just too much, the lying, our earlier argument, the less-than-enthusiastic food critic, the missing hamster, me in my old skating dress like we just fell back in time.

A month ago—even a day ago—I would’ve done anything for a chance to burn the Hurley Girl dress, a chance to leave this place free and clear. But now, Mom talking like the diner could actually close, the last of her fragile hope evaporating, my heart sinks. Good or bad, this place was always her dream. Her identity. My mother
is
Hurley’s Homestyle Diner.

“Hurley’s isn’t going to tank, Ma. It’s been here forever. One bad review isn’t the—”

“A bad review on top of a bad economy, a bad winter, a bad year … Hudson, that really was our last shot—we
needed
a stellar mention in the paper. We can’t do it anymore. Unless you’ve got another cupcake miracle up your sleeve that can pack this place every night for the next two months, I can’t even afford to keep the grill lit.”

“But I thought—”

“Just take your brother home, okay? I need to clean up in here and go over the books. I can’t …” She rakes her eyes over my dress again, lingering on the silver rabbit still pinned to my shoulder. “I can’t deal with you right now.” She retreats to her office and gently closes the door, leaving nothing in her wake but the hissing sounds of the grill and the muffled, front-of-the-house scrape of silverware on dishes.

“Doesn’t look like anyone heard about the incident,” Dani says, sticking an order ticket into the slot over the grill. “I think we’re in the clear. Sub mashed for fries on both of those, Trick.”

“Dani?” I whisper.

Her eyes flash over me for a minute, then she turns, reaching up into the pantry for condiments. “Well, don’t just stand there withholding info again. How’d it go?”

“It didn’t.”

“You didn’t place?” She turns to face me, a ketchup bottle in each hand, her forehead crinkled with concern and confusion.

I shake my head. “I didn’t skate. I forfeited.”

“So you bailed on us tonight, and you didn’t even—”

“Look, I know you probably hate me, and whatever you want to say, say it.” I grab the ketchups from her hands and set them on the counter. “But first I need you to do me the biggest favor in history.”

Her cheeks go from brown to plum as she takes a step closer. “You’ve got some kinda nerve coming at me with this. I can’t believe—”

“For Hurley’s. For my family. I don’t have time to explain. Just say you’ll help.”

“Convince me. Ten seconds.”

“Mom says we need a miracle, right?”

“Five seconds.”

“I’m changing the specials to half-price apps. Then I’m packing up all of the cupcakes and desserts from the pastry case.” I grab my coat from the stool and dig out the keys, dangling them in front of her. “Warm up the Tetanus Taxi and wait for me in the passenger seat. I’ll meet you outside in five minutes.”

“Hud, what are you—”

“I’ll explain on the way. Five minutes!”

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?” Dani wipes the fog from the window with her sleeve as we roll out of the parking lot, the entire backseat covered in white bakery boxes and paper plates.

“Mom was really counting on that review tonight,” I say.

“Yeah, thanks for caring, like, three hours ago when we could’ve used the help.”

“Just because I’m mad at Mom doesn’t mean I don’t care. I don’t want her to lose the restaurant.”

“You should’ve been there, Hudson.”

I smack the steering wheel with my fist. “The guy didn’t like the food! He—”

“You still should’ve been there. It’s your
family
.”

“I know. And this is the only way I could think of to get Hurley’s back on the map.”

“What way? Where are we going?”

I downshift, slowing on an unplowed stretch of road. The wheels slip, but I keep us going in a straight line. “Baylor’s.”

“The Wolves game?”

“Finals. It’s a big-deal game.”

She shakes her head and lets out a half laugh. “Are you really that selfish, or—”

“The whole school’s there tonight, Dani.” Snow falls in big, sideways flakes against the windshield. I turn the wipers to a higher speed and downshift again, the engine whining in response. “Half the town, too.”

“Yeah, and I’d be there with them if I could, but some things are more important—”

“And they’re all probably hungry.” I flip on my turn signal and ease into the right lane. “Mom asked for a cupcake miracle? Well, here comes the freaking holy angel of icing, at your service.”

Dani looks at the white boxes stacked across the backseat. From the corner of my eye, I catch her smiling.

“Angel of icing?” she says. “That’s the craziest, corniest, most whack-ass stuff I ever heard in my
life
.” She turns away, looking out the window as the Fillmore smokestacks rush by. “Freaking brilliant,” she whispers.

I wasn’t supposed to hear that last part, but I did, and I smile, too.

Dark chocolate espresso cupcakes topped with cinnamon café au lait icing, white chocolate chips, and chocolate-covered espresso beans

I bribe Marcus, the Baylor’s manager, with two cupcakes in exchange for
locating a folding table and setting us up near the rink exit. With only minutes left in the game, Dani and I spread the cupcakes out on plates in a colorful display, chocolate and sugar and mint mascarpone mingling in a wave of sweet air.

“I hope you’re right about this.” Dani licks a smudge of vanilla frosting from her finger. “And I hope they dig your skatetrix getup.”

I drop some plastic forks into a cup at the end of the table and shake my rainbow-sequined ass. “I rock this thing and you know it.”

“Oh no, you did
not
just say that.” Dani laughs, but we’re
both startled by the loud, game-ending buzzer. For a split second time stops, and then the cheers grow louder, a roar pushing out from the rink as the arena doors fly open. The crowd is insane, swarming the ice en masse. Above the center line, the school jazz ensemble flashes its brass horns, ready for a victory song.

Trust me—until you’ve heard Watonka’s future jazz stars blow Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like the Wolf,” you haven’t lived.

“They won!” Dani stands on her toes, trying to catch a glimpse inside.

Seconds later the first wave crashes through the doorway, breaking on our table like an avalanche.

“Get your free Wolves victory cakes here!” I cup my hands in front of my mouth and shout over the roar of the crowd as they surround us, mouths open, hands outstretched. “Free cupcakes, courtesy of Hurley’s Homestyle Diner! Stop by tonight for half-price appetizers with every meal.”

“Free cupcakes!” Dani echoes. “Free Hurley’s gourmet cupcakes! Celebrate a sweet season with a sweet treat!”

“Stop by Hurley’s on Route Five for more great food and great company!” I say it as often as I can, whenever another hand reaches out from the mob to snag a cupcake. Their rabid, mannerless devouring is the highest compliment, and with every cupcake-muddled thank-you, I make a wish that this crazy plan is enough. Enough to save Hurley’s. Enough to mop up the spills. Enough to bring us all back from the abyss.

For the next half an hour we’re engulfed in a sea of blue and silver, but the boys aren’t in it. No way they would’ve spotted us from the ice, and by now they’re in the locker room recapping their epic win and planning a well-earned night out. Papallo’s, maybe, or one of Luke’s or Amir’s infamous parties.

I hand a Razzle Berry Blast Cupcake to another waiting fan, ignoring the burn in my chest. I miss celebrating with them. I’m sure Dani’ll score an invite from Frankie later, but these days, Princess Pink isn’t high on anyone’s A list.

By the time the crowd blows over, we’re completely cleaned out, nothing but cake crumbs and chocolate smudges from table to floor. After we clean up and stash the table with Marcus, I slip into the arena, hoping against logic for a glimpse at Josh. But save for the cleaning crew sweeping up rejected popcorn kernels and other left-behinds, the place is vacant. On the rink the Zamboni machine does its usual circuit, erasing slashes and gouges, the on-ice evidence of tonight’s record-breaking victory march wiped clean.

Back on Route Five, in an unprecedented comeback of its own, Hurley’s diner is slammed.

Dani and I push our way through a small mob in the front doorway, wading through wall-to-wall bodies to get to Marianne.

“Hudson, you genius little devil!” Marianne calls across the crowd, beaming. “We’re on a forty-five minute wait for a table. Get in here!”

Dani throws her coat under the hostess stand and jumps
back onto the floor while I zoom to the back, digging my reserve cupcakes out of the cooler. Dani delivers them as fast as I can thaw and frost, no time for a nonsmoke break, no time to explain this half-baked plan to Mom. Out in the dining room Earl’s got the Sassy Seniors Knitting Club taking orders and refilling coffees. Even Bug has a job, writing down names for the wait list in his notebook, Mr. Napkins tucked secretly and securely in the backpack on his shoulders.

From my usual spot at the prep counter, surrounded as always by cupcakes and mixing bowls and white rubber spatulas, I look out through the window over the grill, right into the dining room. The joint’s so rowdy, I can’t pick out a single conversation. Underneath all that laughter and togetherness, bright circles of red and orange and yellow and white dot every table, some half-eaten, some still untouched. Only a true cupcake connoisseur knows the rules—you wait for when the conversation pauses, the moment you can devote your entire mouth to the all-important task of snarfing down the goods.

Mom catches my eye from across the dining room, and my stomach bubbles. I steady myself and wait for the glare, the portent of oh-honey-red-alert troubles to come. But she just tilts her head and smiles, looking at me over the entire city of Watonka. Most of it, anyway.

Body aching and sequined dress splattered with icing, I smile back at my mother, and her eyes sparkle like they haven’t in years.

Me and my bright ideas.

As Trick’s radio hums those sad, familiar notes, I lean against the bricks outside, enjoying a long white puff on my noncigarette. I must’ve been on my feet for two hours straight, running between bowls of cupcake batter, the ovens, and the dining room before we finally got off that wait.

My friend the seagull is still hanging around the Dumpster, scratching at the ground for crumbs. He pretends not to notice me and I close my eyes, loosening the tangle of thoughts and images I haven’t had time to sort out this winter. Walking away from the Capriani Cup. My father and his blog. My brief stint with the Wolves. My briefer stint with number seventy-seven. Everything that almost happened with Josh, but didn’t. Finally apologizing to Kara. All the arguments with Dani, still unresolved. My mother. The diner. My future, even less certain now. That old Erie Atlantic whistling on the track, still calling me to run as Trick’s radio sings into the night.

I been downhearted baby, ever since the day we met …

Guitar.

Horns.

Bass.

Cue those smoldering—

“You really are brilliant, you know.” Dani bangs her way out the door, startling the seagull into a shadowed corner. “What you did tonight? That was pretty rock star, Hudson. We’re still taking tables. And a bunch of people asked about catering and
stuff. Your mom is, like, perma-smile. I don’t think she even remembers about the food review guy.”