Confectionately Yours #2: Taking the Cake! (12 page)

“H
ayley? Hayley? Are you okay?” Annie is knocking on the door to the bathroom stall, where I’m kneeling over the toilet, heaving.

I don’t answer her. I can’t answer her. I’m sick.

The white marble floor is so cool under my knees. So clean. I never want to leave.

Besides, I can’t come out — I can’t go back into that restaurant. When I threw up, everyone stopped talking. Everyone stared at me. One eight-year-old boy in a navy blazer said, “Eeew!” and it echoed through the restaurant. I’d ruined their fancy Thanksgiving dinners that they’d paid a zillion dollars for.

But at least I was wearing my sneakers. I ran to the bathroom so fast that nobody at my table even had time to react.

Annie had come after me. “Would you please excuse us?” she said to the washroom attendant, who left without questioning Annie. Annie’s mom followed a moment later, then Chloe. Now here we are — a cozy group gathered in the ladies’ room. I love having an audience when I puke.

I heave up some pinkish chunks as Annie and her mother start to argue in Thai. I lie back on the marble, gasping, as the fight goes on.

“My mom wants to see you,” Annie says at last.

I don’t reply. I’m not coming out. Ever.

Mrs. Montri says something in a low voice, and a moment later, Chloe’s face appears below the stall. “Hayley?”

“Sick,” I mutter. Seriously, I can’t say more.

My sister Spider-Mans under the door and crawls over to me. It’s a lucky thing we’re in a fancy restaurant. I wouldn’t want my sister crawling all over the floor at a gas station.

“I thought you could use some company,” Chloe says, taking my hand.

“I should’ve taken the handicapped stall,” I manage to choke out. “Then everyone could come in.”

Chloe laughs a little. “You look horrible.”

“I know,” I say from my place beside the toilet. “It’s because of my shoes.”

“Listen, Hayley, do you think you can come out?”

“No.”

“You have to come out sometime.”

“Maybe after they close.”

Chloe brushes my hair away from my face. Some of it is stuck to the sides of my mouth. Only a sister would do that for you. “Hayley, I’m going to unlock the door, okay?”

“No.”

“Mrs. Montri is a doctor. Besides …” She leans forward to whisper in my ear. “She might be our grandmother someday.”

I sigh and wave my hand in an
I give up
gesture, so Chloe opens the door. Mrs. Montri walks in and kneels down beside me. “Thank you, Hayley, for letting me in,” she says as she lifts my wrist. She stares at her watch for a few moments. Then she looks at my arm.

“It’s all blotchy,” Chloe says.

“Hives,” Mrs. Montri tells her. “When they’re this big, they’re called plaques. Hayley, did you eat anything unusual earlier today? Get stung by a bee — something like that?”

“The paella?” Chloe suggests.

“Didn’t it have lobster in it?” I ask. “I’ve never had that before.”

Mrs. Montri nods. “Annie, help me get Hayley to her feet.”

“I don’t think I can sit through dinner,” I say.

“We’re leaving immediately,” Mrs. Montri tells me. “We’re just informing your father.”

Annie and her mother work together, and in a moment, I’m standing. “Where are you taking me?”

“To my office,” Mrs. Montri says.

Chloe dashes ahead, and I see my father react when she arrives at the table, pointing at us. The other diners in the restaurant are either oblivious or too polite to notice us — nobody looks up as I walk by. Except for the eight-year-old who said, “Eeew!” He watches me with a curled lip.

My dad stands up as I near the table. “Everything okay?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, just as Mrs. Montri says, “Hardly. Your daughter is having a severe allergic reaction. You see this?” She holds out my arm. “This is anaphylaxis. In severe cases, the throat closes. We’re leaving to get some medication.”

I want to say something to comfort my dad, but Mrs. Montri is already steering me through the restaurant, with Annie and Chloe trailing behind.

I
TOLD YOU I WAS SICK! I told you! I told you! You don’t LISTEN! You have to have what YOU want! Nobody else matters!

I hope that Annie’s parents think you’re a jerk.

I
t’s all true, though.

It’s just that there are some things you can’t say.

“S
weetie?” Mom steps hesitantly into the dark living room. “Your dad is on the phone.”

“I’m too sick to talk to him.”

Mom hovers a moment. She glances at Meghan, who is seated on the couch beside me. Blue light plays across Meghan’s face, the glow from the movie we’re watching. Meghan shrugs a little, and my mother sighs. “Okay, Hayley,” Mom says at last. “I’ll tell him.”

We watch a little more of A
Christmas Story
. Meghan called this morning to see how Thanksgiving had gone. I told her about the whole scene the night before, and she showed up this afternoon with flowers and the movie, which is one of my all-time favorites. I watch it every year.

“Kind of mad at your dad, huh?” Meghan says.

“Yep.” I keep my eyes on the screen.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nope.”

Meghan picks up the remote and hits pause. “I kind of think you should talk about it,” she says.

“Stop being bossy,” I tell her.

“I try, but I can’t help it!” She leans her head against the arm of the chair. “You have no idea how hard it is.” Meghan gives me a big, weepy-eyed look. “You should feel sorry for me!”

“Look, I told my dad I was sick, but he didn’t care. He only cared about my shoes, and the fact that I was embarrassing him. Well, good — I hope I did embarrass him when I barfed into the bread basket.”

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Meghan says.

“Right.” I put my face in my hands and take a few deep breaths while Meghan pats me awkwardly on the shoulder. “So — don’t you have any instructions? Or, like, words of wisdom?”

Meghan shakes her head.

“Not even an inspirational quote?”

“Hang in there?”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Okay, then, no. I don’t have anything inspiring to say. I just thought that talking might make you feel better.”

“It didn’t.”

“Well, I told you — not all of my ideas are winners.”

That, at least, makes me laugh.

“Speaking of — Ben Habib called me. Seems he’s figured out that I’m his secret admirer.”

I gasp. “I can’t believe you’ve been here for an hour and you’re only mentioning this now! What did he say?”

“He was really sweet.” Meghan picks up a throw pillow and hugs it to her chest. “I mean, he didn’t quote Shakespeare or say I was the girl of his dreams or anything, but — he sounded kind of …
regretful
. Or maybe that was all in my mind. Anyway, it was nice to think that maybe he wished things could’ve turned out differently. But he said that his parents don’t approve of dating before you’re really ready to get married.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him we should just get married.”

“Meg!” I squeal. “You’re so crazy!”

“No, I didn’t really say that.” Meghan grins at me, showing her dimples. “That really would’ve been insane. What I said was, ‘That’s a bummer.’ He said, ‘Well, I guess I’ll just keep this note in the same place I’ve got the ones from all the other girls,’ and then we both laughed and we said good-bye.”

“Wow,” I said. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” Meghan tugs at a tassel on the pillow. “I knew it would end this way.”

“So, why did you do all that stuff? The whole secret-admirer campaign?”

“I just wanted Ben to know how I felt.”

“But — aren’t you embarrassed?” I couldn’t imagine being Meghan and having to go to school and see Ben on Monday.

“Why would I be?” Meghan asks, and I realize something — she’s serious. She does not understand why someone would hide feelings. She doesn’t care if the whole grade thinks she’s a fool.

“I think you’re amazing, Meg,” I say.

“Really?” Her face brightens. “You really think I’m amazing? I think you’re amazing, too.”

I laugh. “Okay.”

“No, I’m serious! I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” She reaches out and touches my arm.

I smile. “I know you wouldn’t, Meg.”

Olive-Oil Cupcakes

(makes approximately 12 cupcakes)

INGREDIENTS:

INSTRUCTIONS:

1. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Line a muffin pan with cupcake liners.
   
2. Whisk the milk and apple cider vinegar in a
   measuring cup and set aside for a few minutes to curdle.
   
3. Sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt into a bowl, and mix.
   
4. In a separate large bowl, mix the curdled milk with the sugar, and olive oil. Add the dry ingredients to the wet ones a little bit at a time, and combine using a whisk or a handheld mixer, stopping to scrape down the sides of the bowl a few times, until smooth and no lumps remain.
   
5. Fill cupcake liners two-thirds of the way full and bake for 22–24 minutes. Transfer to a cooling rack, and let cool completely before frosting.
   

Rosemary Frosting

INGREDIENTS:

1. Remove the rosemary leaves from the branches and chop them roughly. In a small saucepan, gently heat the milk until warm. When very small bubbles appear on the edges, remove the pan from heat. Add the rosemary leaves and set aside for 10 minutes to steep.
   
2. In a large bowl, cream the margarine or butter until lighter in color, then add the vanilla extract.
   
3. Strain the rosemary leaves from the milk. Measure the remaining milk to ensure that you still have 1/4 cup of milk, and add more fresh milk if necessary. Reserve some of the rosemary
   leaves and chop them finely to make about 1 tablespoon.
   
4. Slowly add the confectioners’ sugar in 1/2-cup batches and mix until fully incorporated, adding the milk in small amounts in between batches. Add the finely chopped rosemary leaves and beat on high speed until the frosting is light and fluffy, about 3–7 minutes.