Mia's Baker's Dozen (13 page)

A counselor had sat on the end of the seat, scrunching Jake in between us so he couldn't run away. Jake was wailing, and the counselor—a nice girl named Paige who is about twenty-one and probably was wishing she were somewhere else too—was speaking in a soothing voice to him. She
looked over his head at me and smiled and said, “Don't worry. This happens all the time. We always get one of these guys. He'll settle down within the week.”

The week?!
I wanted to die, but instead I nodded and looked out the window again. I also wanted to kill Jake that moment, but it was only seconds later that his wails turned to quiet hiccups. Then he slid his clammy, chubby little hand into mine and squeezed, and I felt a little guilty. “It's going to be okay, Jake,” I whispered and squeezed his little hand back. He snuggled into me and looked up with these really big eyes that get me every time. It's not the worst thing in the world to have a little someone in your life who looks up to you.

I sighed. “Feeling better, officer?” Jake is big into law enforcement, so it usually cheers him up if we play Precinct. At least he wasn't crying anymore. Paige gave him a pat on the head and went to help some other kids get on the bus. But Jake wasn't feeling better, I could tell just by looking at him.

“I feel sick,” he said.

Oh no. Jake isn't one of those kids who fakes sick. My mom always says on car trips that if Jake
says he feels sick, we pull over because he
will
throw up, 100 percent of the time.

I jerked the bus window open and flung Jake over me so that he was sitting in the window seat. “Put your head out the window, buddy. Take deep breaths, in through your nose, out through your mouth. We're going to start moving soon, so the wind will be in your face . . . deep breaths.”

I rubbed his back a little and looked up to see if anyone I know was getting on at this stop. My best friend and co-Cupcake Clubber Alexis Becker was going to the same camp, but her parents were dropping her off on their way to work. I fantasized about them driving me, too, and leaving Jake to his own devices. Ha! As if my parents would let me get away with that! At the very least, I did have our Cupcake Club meeting to look forward to later today. Just quality girl time, planning out the club's summer schedule and reviewing the cupcake jobs we had coming up. Chilling with my best friends—Alexis, Katie, and Mia—and brainstorming. It was definitely going to be fun.

A bunch of little kids streamed on and sat mostly in the front of the bus. Suddenly I spied a familiar shade of very bright blond hair and my stomach sank. Noooo!!! It couldn't be.

But it was.

Sydney Whitman, mean girl extraordinaire and head of the imaginatively named Popular Girls Club at school, came strolling down the aisle, heading straight for the back row, where only the most popular kids dare to sit. I quickly looked out the window and pretended that I hadn't seen her. But no luck.

“Oh, that's so cute! You and your little brother sitting together! I guess that's easier than trying to find someone your own age to sit with?” She smiled sweetly, but her remark stung just as it was meant to.

Jake hates Sydney Whitman as much as I do, if not more, so when he turned his head to look at her, he began to gag. Sydney's eyes opened wide, and her hand flew up to cover her mouth. “Oh no! He's going to—”

Luckily, Jake turned to the window just in time and hurled the contents of his stomach out onto the road.

“Disgusting!” shrieked Sydney, and she fled to the back of the bus.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. It's just one more nail in the coffin of my possible popularity—not that I ever really stood a chance. And not that I really wanted to. But it was also kind
of hilarious to have Jake take one look at Sydney and throw up. Definitely not her desired effect on men. I made a note to tell the Cupcake Club later. They'd love this.

Jake barfed a couple more times and then sat back down, looking white as a sheet. The good news about Jake's car sickness is that once he throws up, he's always fine after. I pulled a napkin from my lunch bag and gave it to him to wipe his face. Then I cracked his thermos and gave him a tiny sip of apple juice. I felt sorry for the poor guy. I hate throwing up.

Jake smiled wanly. “Thanks, Emmy. Sorry.”

I laughed. “I feel the same way when I see Sydney Whitman.” I wasn't sure I would have been so psyched about going to this camp if I'd known Sydney was going—or at the very least that she'd be on my bus. It definitely put a cramp in my happiness.

Jake rested his head back against the seat and promptly fell asleep. In a minute his head was resting, sweaty and heavy, against my shoulder. First days can be hard for anyone, especially little kids. At least tomorrow we wouldn't have the same problem. I looked out the window and prayed that Sydney Whitman wasn't in my group.

At camp, we got off the bus and a crowd of cheering counselors with painted faces was there to greet us. My mom must've called ahead to tip off someone because one really pretty girl counselor was holding a sign like people do at the airport. It said
OFFICER JAKE TAYLOR
. That at least allowed me to peel him off and hand him over so I could go with my group, Team Four, to our rally zone (whatever that was) at the arts and crafts center. The boys and girls have separate areas of campus, so I wouldn't see Jake again all day, thank goodness. And thank goodness again, because Sydney Whitman headed off in the opposite direction with Team Five.

I didn't have a minute to review who was on whose team, and anyway I didn't know a lot of the kids here, but I did know that wherever she was, Alexis and I would be together. (We requested it, and my mom
promised
me that she spoke to the camp director.) And that's all that matters.

As I headed across the green lawn to the arts and crafts center, I heard someone calling my name. I turned, and it was Alexis, of course! I had never been so happy to see her in all my life.

“Thank goodness!” I cried, and threw my arms
around her like a shipwreck victim who has finally been saved.

Alexis isn't much for big displays of affection, so she patted my back awkwardly, but I didn't mind. Plus, she just saw me a few days ago.

“What's going on?” she asked as we separated and followed our counselor.

“Jake drama. Screaming, puking, the whole deal.” I lowered my voice. “And Sydney Whitman saw the whole thing.”

Alexis waved her hand in the air like,
whatever!
That is just one of the many things I love about Alexis. She doesn't care at all what other people think. “Too bad he didn't puke on her,” she said with a laugh. “Or did he?” Her eyes twinkled mischievously.

“No such luck. But the good news is, we aren't on the same team as her.”

We'd reached the log cabin that was the headquarters for our team. On its porch stood two teenage counselors—a guy and a girl. As the crowd amassed in front of them, I counted twelve campers: all girls, of course. Yay! Finally! A break from all the boys in my life!

“Hello, people! Listen up!” The guy counselor
was clapping his hands and kind of dancing around in a funny way to get our attention. Everyone started laughing and listening.

He bowed and said, “Thank you, ladies! My name is Raoul Sanchez, and this is my awesome partner, Maryanne Murphy.”

Maryanne did a little curtsy, and we all clapped. She is pretty, short, and cute, with red hair and freckles. Raoul is tall and thin with rubbery arms and legs, and his face has a big goofy smile, topped off by black hair in a crew cut. It was obvious that neither of them is shy.

“We are going to have the most fun of any team this summer! Raoul and I personally guarantee it!” said Maryanne enthusiastically.

Raoul nodded. “If this isn't the most fun summer of your life, I will take you to an all-you-can-eat pizza party when camp is over, on me.”

There were cheers and claps.

“Okay, we have a lot to tell you, so why don't you all grab a seat on the grass and get ready to get pumped!” said Maryanne.

Raoul and Maryanne then proceeded to tell us how we'd get to pick our own team name. (“Team Four” was just a placeholder, they said.) They told us about all the fun activities we'd do: swimming,
kayaking, art projects, team sports, field trips, tennis, and more. Then they told us about the special occasions that were scheduled: Tie Dye Day, Pajama Day, Costume Day, Crazy Hat Day, and finally, the best day of all . . . Camp Olympics, followed by the grand finale: the camp talent show!

Ugh. The camp talent show? Getting up onstage in front of more than a hundred people?
So
not up my alley.

I made a face at Alexis, but she was listening thoughtfully, her head tilted to the side and her long reddish hair already escaping its headband. She was probably wondering if there was any money to be made here; business was mostly all she thought about. In fact, her parents said if she did an outdoor camp for part of the summer, she could go to business camp for two weeks at the end of the summer. Sometimes I wonder how we are friends at all—our interests are so different!

“Thinking of signing up?” I whispered.

“Myself? No. But you should,” she whispered back.

I laughed. “Yeah, right. What's my talent? Babysitting?”

Alexis raised her eyebrows at me. “Maybe. But I'm
sure you can come up with something more marketable than that.”

Right. I can't even keep the kid I babysit for from throwing up.

The Hotcakes

O
kay, so I'm not a naturally rowdy person but something about Raoul and Maryanne brought out my inner cheerleader. By midmorning I was chanting, screaming, yelling, and having an all-around (loud) ball!

First we played a getting-to-know-you game called Pass the Packet. The “packet” was a brown bag filled with something, and we each took turns holding it while telling the group about ourselves and then said what we wished was in the bag. (I said I wished it had tickets to the taping of
Top Che
f
). When it was Alexis's turn, she told the group how she and I and Mia and Katie had a cupcake club and about all the business we do, baking cupcakes for special events. The other girls in the group thought
it was so cool. I felt great, and Alexis and I promised to bring in cupcakes for the group.

At the end, Maryanne opened the packet, and it was filled with these awesome friendship bracelets for each of us. We all grabbed for the color we wanted. I, of course, grabbed a pink one.

Then we got down to business, naming our team.

A very pretty girl named Georgia, with light red hair and dark eyes, suggested we be the “Rock Stars.” I thought it was a great idea but because it was the first idea, everyone still wanted a chance to make their own suggestions.

A girl named Caroline, who turned out to be Georgia's cousin, said, “How about the ‘A-Team'?” which everyone thought was funny. Alexis said the “Winners,” because the power of positive branding would intimidate our competitors. I had to laugh.

Then a girl named Charlotte with bright blue eyes and dark, dark hair suggested that since we would be having cupcakes a lot that we should be the “Cupcakes.” (She laughed and looked at me and Alexis when she said it.) But then right after that, a funny girl named Elle said, “No, the ‘Hotcakes'! ” and that was it.

“The Hotcakes! I love it!” cried Raoul. He and
Elle high-fived. “Let's take a vote, girls! All in favor of the Hotcakes, put your hands in the air!”

Everyone screamed and waved their hands up high and that was that. Maryanne announced it was time for the Hotcakes to change for swimming before lunchtime.

Alexis and I grabbed our backpacks and headed to the changing rooms.

“This is superfun, don't you think?” I said as we walked across the central green.

“Yes,
and
I think we have the best group,” said Alexis in a definite voice.

I laughed. “How do you know?”

She shrugged. “I counted how many girls we have versus the other two teams in our age group, then I evaluated up how many of our girls are nice and smart. As a percentage, we have the nicest team by far. I would also venture that one hundred percent of our team is smart, and with Sydney on Team Five and stupid Bella on Team Three, their intelligence rate is at least ten percent below ours.”