Confectionately Yours #4: Something New (9 page)

I
t’s not that I’m jealous, or possessive. I’m not like that.

It’s just weird to think that maybe Artie and Meghan are eating frozen yogurt and talking about me.

Maybe Artie is telling Meghan all about the time she confessed to me that she had a crush on Marco. Maybe she’s telling Meghan that she saw me kissing Marco just a few weeks later.

Maybe Meghan is thinking that it’s strange that I never told her about the kiss.

Maybe Meghan is thinking that we aren’t good friends after all.

Maybe Meghan is thinking that she likes Artie better than she likes me.

Maybe Artie is coming up with all kinds of great ideas for the barbecue.

Maybe she’s working on more fabulous posters for Meghan right now.

I imagine them wondering, “Why are we even friends with Hayley, anyway?”

And Artie says, “She can’t even get her posters done.”

And Meghan says, “Maybe you should run for vice president, Artie.”

I imagine them tasting each other’s frozen yogurt and laughing, and talking about making each other friendship bracelets and planning sleepovers and stuff.

But that probably isn’t happening, right?

It definitely isn’t.

Except that they were going to talk to me about my posters.

So who knows?

It’s not that I don’t want my friends to be friends with each other. Well, it’s not exactly like that. Maybe it’s a little like that.

I just want them both to like me best.

Is that wrong?

Pistachio Cupcakes

(makes approximately 12 cupcakes)

INGREDIENTS:

INSTRUCTIONS:

1. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Line a muffin pan with cupcake liners.
   
2. In a large bowl, sift together the flour, ground pistachios, baking powder, baking soda, ground flaxseeds, and salt.
   
3. In a smaller bowl, stir together the sugar, milk, vanilla extract, and oil. Using a whisk or a handheld mixer, add the wet ingredients to the dry ones a little bit at a time, stopping to scrape the sides of the bowl a few times, and mix until no lumps remain.
   
4. Fill cupcake liners two-thirds of the way and bake for 20–22 minutes. Transfer to a cooling rack, and allow to cool completely before frosting.
   

Pistachio Buttercream Frosting

INGREDIENTS:

INSTRUCTIONS:

1. In a large bowl, with an electric mixer, cream the butter until light in color, about 2–3 minutes.
   
2. Slowly beat in the confectioners’ sugar in 1/2-cup batches, adding a little bit of milk whenever the frosting becomes too thick.
   
3. When all the confectioners’ sugar has been combined, add the vanilla extract and ground pistachios, and continue mixing on high speed for about 3–7 minutes, until the frosting is light and fluffy.
   

“S
o? So?” Dad puts down the magazine he was idly flipping through and stands up. Annie looks up from the e-reader she brought with her. “How did it go?” Dad asks.

“Take it down a notch,” I murmur, then turn to wave at the Islip admissions officer who just interviewed me. I wave at Ms. Stoneham, and she waves back.

“Thanks so much for coming in, Hayley.” She smiles at my dad. “It was so nice meeting you, Mr. Hicks and Ms. Montri.” This woman is built like a stick bug — all bony arms and legs. She’s wearing a dowdy skirt and a pink sweater set, but somehow looks elegant, anyway.

“I know Hayley will be very happy here,” Dad says.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes and say, “Dad!” Instead, I just smile and smile until my face aches.

“Is it all right if we look around the campus?” Annie asks.

“Yes! In fact, I encourage it. There’s a small café in the library, if you’d like an espresso or latte, and it’s a very pleasant walk to the other end of campus. Do you have a map?” Ms. Stoneham pulls one from a display on the wooden coffee table at the center of the room.

I take it, even though I already have a map somewhere in my book bag. My dad makes small talk for another few minutes, and then we head out into the light drizzle.

“So, how did it go?” Dad asks once the door to the admissions building has closed behind us.

“I don’t really know. Well, I think.” I’m pretty sure Ms. Stoneham liked me. She smiled at my report card and laughed twice during the interview. But I’d never had an interview before, so I wasn’t really sure what they were supposed to be like. Maybe laughing is bad.

The campus is made up of several classical brick buildings, and you would think that it might look dreary on a
gray day. But the light rain is actually making the lawns look brilliant green. “It’s so beautiful here,” I say.

“Isn’t it?” Annie agrees. “Wow. Can you imagine going to school here? My school back in Thailand was a single building! And not even a very big one.”

“Hayley’s current school looks more like an old mental institution,” Dad says.

“Dad!”

“Sorry. But it’s that old giant prison style….”

I shake my head. What he’s saying is true. But still. I like my school, even if it’s kind of ugly. I mean, it can’t help being ugly.

A knot of girls in pastel denim skirts and pretty sweaters heads toward us. Two of them have brightly patterned umbrellas, and the third has a black one with a lining that looks like a blue sky dotted with white clouds. Those umbrellas reek of expense, and I can’t help glancing up at my somewhat lopsided red one, which is coming off the spoke in one place.

One of the girls — the one with long, glossy black hair — smiles at me as they all three keep walking down the path toward the arts building. Yes, they have a whole
building for the arts. That’s just the visual arts, by the way: painting, sculpture, photography, and so on. Dance and theater have a separate building. So does music.

“That girl is carrying a Marc Jacobs bag.” Annie sounds shocked.

“Is that —” My dad shakes his head. “What is that? Is that good?”

“It’s
expensive
,” Annie says.

“Even I’ve heard of it,” I say, to give Dad some idea. He knows I have zero clue when it comes to clothing brands.

“My parents never would have let me have a bag like that when I was a teenager,” Annie says. “Not even if they were zillionaires. Which they were
not
,” she adds quickly.

“So … it’s bad?” Dad seriously doesn’t know what to make of it.

Annie and I exchange a glance. “It is what it is,” I say to Dad. But I know what Annie is getting at. These people
are
zillionaires. At least, they dress like it. And they — I don’t know — they walk like it. They have umbrellas like it.

The truth is, I’m feeling a little shabby.

I can’t really picture myself at Islip Academy. Mostly because I can’t picture someone in jeans with pistachio
cupcake batter on her sweatshirt roaming across these perfect green lawns. And I can’t see myself wearing a skirt and a button-down shirt for a regular old school day, like the girls we just passed.

I’m too busy wondering how those girls manage to have gleamy hair and glowy skin to notice the puddle in front of me, so I step in it. “Ugh!”

“What’s wrong?” Dad asks.

“Oh — the water just sloshed through the hole in my shoe,” I admit. Now my shoes are squish, squish, squishing and my toes are cold.

“Why don’t we get you some new shoes?” Dad suggests.

“Well — I don’t wear fancy shoes much,” I admit.

Dad is looking at me with his head cocked to the side. It’s the same look Tessie gives when she’s trying to figure out what we mean when we say “sit.” It’s like, “
Yo no comprendo
.” “Does it make sense to have nice shoes with a hole in the bottom?” Dad asks.

“Uh, no.” I feel a blush creep to my cheeks.

“Let’s go downtown and get the shoes,” Annie says. “Then we can go out to dinner.”

I have to laugh a little. Annie’s always up for shopping.

“Well, there is a pair that I saw at Frantic,” I admit.

“So, let’s get them!” Dad crows. “Once we’re finished poking around the library.”

“Sounds good to me,” Annie says, and I hesitate a moment, then nod.

I may never be a rich girl, and I may never fit in at Islip, but I can have the right shoes. And I guess that’s better than nothing.

“H
ayley? It’s Meg.”

“Oh. Hey! What’s up?”

“Meh. Campaign insanity and barbecue awkwardness.”

“Yeah …”

“That Artie moment was pretty painful.”

“Don’t talk about it.”

“Okay … What’s the story there? Does she like Marco or something?”

“Is this not talking about it?”

“Sorry. Sorry. But — can I ask one question?”

“If I say no, will you ask it anyway?”

“Why don’t you like Marco? He’s a nice guy. I mean, he has a temper, but he’s sweet. And cuh-yoot! Those eyes! I
mean — you know, you’ve been friends for such a long time. Maybe it makes sense to try something else.”

“Meghan! It isn’t like that! I can’t like someone just because I, like, should.”

“Hmm.”

“It doesn’t make sense, I guess.”

“No. It does. I mean, I had that crush on Ben Habib, even though it was hopeless, right? Besides, maybe you like someone else better … If you know what I’m saying … Hello? Are you still there?”

“Yeah.”

“You like Kyle, right?”

“What? No.”

“Hmm.”

“Whatever. Maybe. I don’t know!”

“It’s okay.”

“Look — I don’t even know. Do you think that he thinks I do?”

“I have no idea.”

“He asked me to the barbecue.”

“Ooooh.”

“What do you mean, ‘Ooooh’?”

“I mean that I’m putting some stuff together in my mind. Like, Kyle asked you to the barbecue, but you’d already said yes to Marco, and so you had to say no. And weirdness ensued. No wonder you’ve been acting …”

“What? What? How have I been acting?”

“I don’t know. However you’ve been acting. Like, full of thought? Even Artie was like, ‘What’s up with Hayley, she hasn’t done her posters.’ Anyway, I get it now.”

“Okay.”

“Are you mad? Don’t be mad.”

“I’m just — okay. I’m not mad.”

“Good.”

“Meg —”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever wish we were back in third grade? Like — do you ever wish we didn’t have to think about crushes and barbecues and all of that stuff?”

“No. I like planning barbecues. Obviously. Why — do you?”

“Sometimes. I guess I just wish things were simple.”

“Were things simple in the third grade? That’s not how I remember it. Are things simple for Chloe?”

“Not exactly. You’ve got a point, Meghan.”

“I usually do. Somewhere in there. Listen, I’ve got to go. My mom is screaming that I have to tell her what I want in my lunches for the rest of the week or I’m getting nothing but Tofurky sandwiches on gluten-free bread.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Whatever — it’s working. I’ll see you at school, okay?”

“Sure, Meg. Bye.”

“Bye, Hayley.”