Emma's Not-So-Sweet Dilemma (3 page)

“On no.” I began to sob, which of course made my nose hurt more and my face look even uglier. “I'm not going to be able to leave the house for weeks!” I wailed.

My mom put her arm around me and hugged me tightly. “I think you're going to have to wear a hat and maybe some sunglasses for a few days,” she whispered into my hair.

“More like for the rest of my life!” I whimpered.

T
hat afternoon, I was lying on the couch with yet another ice pack on my nose when the phone rang. My mom picked it up in the kitchen, but I couldn't hear who she was speaking with. Then she came and peeked her head into the TV room, the phone clutched close to her chest. I think she thought I might be asleep, but I wasn't.

“Oh. It's Mona,” she whispered. “Can you take it, or should I tell her you'll call her back?”

“I can take it,” I said, sitting up.
Did you tell her?
I mouthed, and gestured at my nose. My mom shook her head, and I gave her a thumbs-up.

“Hi, Mona,” I said into the phone, trying to sound bright and cheerful. I do love Mona, but I was really not feeling my very best at that exact moment.

“
Darling
! How
are
you?” Mona is a very dramatic speaker. A very dramatic person in general, actually. I had to smile when I heard her familiar, throaty voice.

“I'm . . . pretty good,” I lied, crossing my fingers.

“Well, I have the most
divine
news,” said Mona, using her favorite adjective. There was a dramatic pause, and then she announced, “Harry Rosner has finally agreed to let me carry his line. Can you stand it?
Harry Rosner
at The Special Day bridal salon!”

“Congratulations, Mona!” I said enthusiastically. I was genuinely happy for her; she'd been pursuing Rosner's very exclusive line for a year or more.

“Thank you. It's too, too
faboo
! So he'd like to come in later this week, and he'll have some bridesmaids samples, and I wondered if you might be free for a spell after school one day?”

“Oh . . . I . . .” Yikes! I wanted the job, I needed the money, and I wanted to help Mona out. But my
nose
! Could I really show up to model looking like this? I had to tell her the truth. “Well, Mona, I'd love to do it. There's just one little problem. . . .” I explained about my nose.

“Oh, darling, don't be ridiculous!” she said emphatically. “You're divine, nose or no nose. Harry Rosner can see past that, anyway. He's a professional.
We're just looking at fit and drape. It has absolutely nothing to do with noses!” she said.

I wasn't so sure about that. I'd heard Harry Rosner was a perfectionist, handpicking every account that carried his work, and even handpicking many of the models.

“Well . . .” I stalled.

“Just say yes, darling. We'll cross the nose bridge when we come to it. Thursday? Friday?” she offered.

As much as I wanted the extra day for healing, I had to bake on Friday for the holiday boutique. “Um, let's say Thursday, then, if you really think it won't matter?”

“Darling, you'll look
divine.
See you then. Thanks so much. Big kiss!” And she made some kissy sounds and hung up.

I clicked off the phone and breathed a huge sigh of dread. “Oh boy,” I whispered. I took a selfie with my phone, so everyone could see how this injury had progressed, then I texted it and the news to the Cupcakers, asking for any advice. With Mia's mom a stylist, and Katie's mom a dentist, I figured someone, somewhere might have some advice for me.

Sure enough, Mia invited us all over the next day and promised that her mother would be on
hand with advice. Phew. At least it was a start! I hoped I would already be on the mend by then.

But boy was I wrong!

The first thing I did when I woke up on Sunday was race to the mirror over my dresser to inspect my face.

“Noooo!” I wailed. Even though the doctor said it was possible, it was worse today than yesterday. The bridge of my nose was a deep reddish purple, and massive blue circles had appeared under my eyes, like Jake had colored my face with his crayons. I looked like a colorful raccoon!

I spent the morning doing my homework and icing my face, debating whether I could even leave the house. Finally, my mom pointed out that since there was no way I was staying home from school on Monday, I might as well get used to being out in the world, and I decided I'd go to Mia's after all.

I arrived at Mia's after lunch, and the other Cupcakers were there; had been there, it seemed, for a little while. When I walked into the kitchen, they were hiding something behind them. Alexis's eyes twinkled, and Katie was obviously trying to stifle a giggle.

“What?” I said, a dumb smile on my face. I could tell there was a joke about to be revealed.

Then Katie and Alexis stepped apart, and Mia called, “Tadaaaaa!” I saw a platter of cupcakes behind them. Bacon and caramel cupcakes, in fact. My favorite kind!

“Oh, guys! That is so nice! My favorite!” I crossed the kitchen to the platter, but everyone was giggling now.

“What?” I asked suspiciously. “Are they poisoned?”

“Just look closely!” Katie blurted, so I did.

Every one of the cupcakes was smushed a little, or dented. Just . . . imperfect. Like, we would have rejected any one of them if they were for a client.

“Get it?” Alexis laughed.

“Ummm . . . they were all dropped?” I offered.

“No! They're all a little smushed on the outside, but still perfect on the inside. Like
you
!” said Alexis, giggling.

“Ohhhh . . . ,” I said, in an
I get it
tone of voice. But I couldn't giggle back. It just wasn't funny, really. I mean, I know
they
thought it was funny and clever, or whatever, but . . . they weren't the ones with dented faces.

I glanced at Mia and saw her looking at me
sympathetically. Then she said briskly, “Okay. Not funny. Sorry about that, Em. The joke fell flat. We thought it was sending you a positive message, but . . . maybe it's a little too soon. Never mind! Let's just eat the cupcakes and forget about the whole mess, okay?” Mia reached over and grabbed me in a hug. “Sorry,” she whispered into my hair. I smiled at her gratefully.

“Thanks,” I said. “Anyway, thanks, all of you, for the cupcakes. It really was thoughtful.”

Alexis and Katie nodded quietly. “Sorry,” they both said.

I waved it off. “Don't be silly. I'm just being oversensitive.”

Mrs. Valdes walked in, then, with warm greetings for me. She hugged me, then held me at arm's length and studied my face. “Oh,
mija
, don't worry! With a little concealer, no one will see it at all.”

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Katie said, lifting a tiny shopping bag from the side counter. “These are some holistic remedies for swelling and bruising, from my mom. It's her new thing—holistic and herbal medicine. Anyway, it can't hurt, right?”

“Thanks, Katie!” I said, giving her a big hug.

We chatted with Mrs. Valdes while we ate our cupcakes, and then we headed up to her fancy
and elaborate dressing table in the sitting area of her bedroom. The other girls sprawled on her bed and loveseat while I sat in the dressing table chair and Mrs. Valdes pulled up a little bench. She directed the magnifying light on me, and I winced at the brightness.

“Sorry! I know, it is so bright, but the good news for you is you have such gorgeous skin, it still looks great under this light! I, for one, should retire the bright bulb for something a little more flattering!”

I smiled, and she lightly took my chin in her hand and turned my head this way and that, nodding. Then she pulled out a handful of sticks and creams and tubes and got to work, very gently brushing cosmetics onto my nose, my under-eye area, and a little bit of my forehead, stopping occasionally to blend it in and then pull back and squint at me. Finally, she seemed satisfied with her work. She took a massive fluffy brush, dabbed a little powder on it, tap-tap-tapped it off, and after telling me to close my eyes, she dusted my face. (It all actually felt really good.) Then she said, “
Bueno
. Look in the mirror,
mi amor
.”

And I looked.

I couldn't believe it! Aside from the swelling,
which only I and maybe my closest family and friends would even notice, there was no sign of the bruising whatsoever. I stood up and leaned on the dressing table to get a closer look in the mirror, turning my head from side to side.

“Wow!” I said breathessly. “Thank you!”

The other girls crowded around, inspecting me.

“That's amazing! Like magic!” cried Alexis.

Mrs. Valdes just smiled calmly and shrugged fake-modestly. “All in a days' work!” And we laughed.

“So what should I get at the drugstore, so I can do this at home?” I asked, getting down to business.

Mrs. Valdes said she would give me a few of her things, and when I protested, she waved me off, saying she gets free samples all the time. Then she went to her closet and took out a big plastic tub and laid it on the bed. It said
SAMPLES
across the top in hot pink marker. She lifted the lid, and we all gasped. Inside was every brand name cosmetic you could think of, all in their original box or package, all in sample sizes.

Mrs. Valdes laughed. “See? I can't get rid of them fast enough! I think they multiply while they sit in this box!”

“It's like Christmas!” said Katie, who doesn't even wear makeup.

“All these are
free
samples?” Alexis asked incredulously. “How can this be economical for these companies?”

We laughed, because Alexis will always look at the business angle of things. That's why she's CFO of the Cupcake Club.

“Go ahead, help yourselves,” instructed Mrs. Valdes. “Just let me pull a few things I know Emma will need.” And she sifted through the box, selecting a tiny powder compact, a set of mini–makeup brushes in a small Christmas-themed box (“Merry Christmas!” she said, handing them to me), and a little tube of concealer and a jar of foundation.

“Wow, thank you so much, Mrs. Valdes,” I said gratefully.

“My pleasure, my dear. Let's quickly go over how to apply it all. I'll write it down for you, even.”

“Great!” I said.

I knew I was lucky to have such great friends, but I was even luckier that they had such great moms!

A
fter our fabulous cosmetics interlude, we decided we'd better go downstairs for another cupcake, smushed or not. At the table, I opened the bag from Katie's mom to see what was inside. There was a white note card with Mrs. Brown's small, neat handwriting that listed what was there and what to do with it. It said:

Arnica cream: apply in the morning and at bedtime, a light layer over all areas of bruising.