Then I catch a flash of another face.
Familiar, but I can’t place it because of the rows of people in the way.
Kellen’s gone. I scan the crowd again and there’s no sign of her. The other face is gone, too. Or maybe it was never there in the first place.
The auditorium smells of sugar and butter. Some of the contestants already have cookies in the oven, so I focus on my cookie dough again. I wonder if I’ll hallucinate and see Noelle or Charlie, too. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m here alone, and my subconscious wishes for anyone familiar.
BY THE TIME MY
first batch of cookies is baking in the oven, I have two hours left—halfway through our time. I start rolling another batch to make sure I have plenty of stock to decorate, in case I screw up. The gray-haired judge comes by twice more, crinkling up her nose at God knows what when she sees me rolling dough. What is her problem anyway? None of the judges look very happy, and I’ve noticed some of them shaking their heads when they jot down notes. I’m praying the icing incident is my only snafu.
The timer beeps for my first batch in the oven, and then timers go off all over the room.
One and a half hours remain on the clock when I start decorating the first batch, working in layers as I always do. I set down one color first on each cookie before I gather the next piping bag. I lose one cookie to an air bubble in the bag, three to my nerves, and one to the floor when I look back up for that familiar face I thought I saw in the crowd.
We have to turn in a tray of designed cookies to the judges. Each cookie has to look the same. Out of my first batch I’m happy with half of them. With the next batch, even more.
With three minutes left, I quickly arrange my cookies on the tray with my contestant number and carry it over to the judges’ tables.
Other contestants bring their trays, too.
A picture-perfect girl made cookies that look like little wedding cakes, dripping and sugary with tiers and fondant and sugared flowers. She bows to the judges after she deposits her stupid little entry.
She should be disqualified. It’s not a cake contest.
I’m suddenly afraid my cookies might look and taste like shit. For a second I consider dumping the tray into the garbage.
Despite my feelings I set the tray down at the table. The gray-haired judge almost cracks a smile as she looks at my entry, and I hope it’s not because she thinks mine’s a joke. I turn fast to walk back to my station.
THERE IS AN AUDIBLE
gasp from the judges’ tables, and when I turn around many of them have converged on my tray. I hear whispers and see a lot of frantic note-writing. They don’t ask the contestants to explain their designs. I’m thankful. I’ve never been excited about the required Valentine theme. Maybe if Charlie and I were together I might’ve been inspired by sick and drippy love and happiness. Instead, I took inspiration from what Kellen did to me, and then to my family.
By their smiles I know the judges see what I intended them to see: pretty sugar cookies with pink icing and raspberry puree, and glossy black accents piped in careful precision over the top, highlighted with glittery sugar sprinkles. They think I’ve stuck to the Valentine theme, and they’ve spotted the X on the bottom with the smaller O on top.
They see a kiss and a hug instead of the skull and crossbones silhouette. They don’t realize the pink cookie piped with glittery black lines is the cage of my chest, twisted inside out. They don’t know that the raspberry-filled heart shape is just an empty cavity, a bloody, pulpy hole.
When I look back I see one of the judges smiling and chewing as she jots something on her clipboard. Then she dips part of my broken cookie bone into the bloody hole.
Biting my lip, I walk back to my station. I don’t want to look too confident. I clean up quickly, washing my tools and stuffing them into my bag, wishing I could walk around and look at the other entries, but we aren’t allowed to do that until tomorrow when the winners are announced.
I’m unscrewing a decorating tip when the feeling of being watched comes back.
Now I have time so I stop and scan the audience again.
And that’s when I notice him, staring at me.
Charlie.
20.
Roll flat and dust.
..........................................................
I turn and peek again to be sure I’m not hallucinating. His face is so unexpected; like waking up on a Monday-morning school day and looking out the window to see everything buried in snow.
Most of the other contestants have left the auditorium when I finally carry my things out. There’s a velvet rope about ten feet away that blocks non-contestants from entering, and Charlie waits on the other side of it. His eyes start smiling before the rest of his face does, and he nods once as I walk toward him, parallel to the rope. Neither of us can seem to remove our eyes from the other as we make our way on either side of the rope. I have to look around every few steps to make sure I don’t run into a wall or people in front of me. It’s all I can do to not jump the rope.
We don’t say anything. My stomach feels empty and jittery.
“Dear?”
“Uh, huh?” I only realize the checkout lady is talking to me when she gently taps my hand.
“Name, dear?” She smiles sweetly. “You are checking out, correct?”
I look back to Charlie, smiling with his hands in his pockets. “Uh, Kara McKinley, and yeah, I’m done.”
“Did you enjoy yourself, dear?” She hands me a pen.
Charlie stands there, and I’m fiercely proud that he’s here for me, even though no one else gives a crap. I stare at the pen, having no clue what to do with it.
“Dear, you have to sign out here. Right here.” She points. “Go ahead.”
I take my eyes off Charlie long enough to sign and hand the pen back to the kind lady.
“Good luck, dear. I sure hope you win.” Again, she smiles so sweetly I actually believe she wants me to win.
I walk toward him. His hands are tucked into his jean pockets and he rests a shoulder against the wall, one leg crossed over the other. His smile is tentative. He acted like a jerk the last time I saw him, and maybe he’s remembering that. But now I don’t care, because he’s here, and when he reaches out an arm for me, I drop my stuff and walk right into him, letting his other arm find me, too.
“Sprinkles.” His breath is warm when he whispers into my ear. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to say.”
He presses my head against him, and my forehead rests below his chin. With his other hand he reaches down to weave his fingers into mine, lifting them to his lips. After a minute I speak.
“Why are you here?”
“Nice to see you, too.”
I pull away and pick up my bag.
“Your mom, Kara.”
“What! Is she here?”
Charlie puts a finger to my lips. “She got your note. I told her what I knew, just to calm her down a bit. I mean, she went nuts.”
My hands go to my head as I walk around the corner to find somewhere to sit down. Other contestants walk past, happily chatting and accepting congratulatory pats on the back from the parents who traveled with them. I find a little alcove with a bench on one wall and a mirror on the other.
Charlie sits next to me and opens his mouth, but I don’t let him get a word out.
“I planned on calling when I was done! And wait a minute—you only came down here because of my mom?” I turn to find the answer on his face and feel crushing disappointment.
“Kara—”
“I’m so stupid.” My face is hot and tears threaten. For two seconds I actually thought he came because he cared about me, because he wanted to be with me.
“I bought my ticket the day after you bought yours,” he says in a rush. “I always planned on coming down here. I talked your mom out of coming, and I told her I’d take the quickest flight. She just didn’t know I already had the ticket.”
“You shouldn’t have come.”
“I didn’t want you to be alone.”
I catch myself in the mirror on the opposite wall, in my white chef’s getup. Even though it’s bulky and obnoxious to wear, I felt so proud to put it on this morning. Now, my hair is dusty with flour and it sticks up in all the wrong places. Black and pink icing smears decorate my boobs, and raspberry puree has bloodied my cheek. “Why?”
Mirror Charlie turns to face me but I keep watch on his reflection as he speaks. “Because, Kara McKinley, I’ve loved you since I was five. Besides, who else here would tell you that you have frosting in your hair?”
21.
Ice and sugar them.
..........................................................
Before I told Charlie my secret, I started casting him in my bakery daydreams. In my dream he works with me and puts peach pies in pink boxes. He slides baguettes, crusty and warm from the oven, into paper sleeves. He rings up a baker’s dozen of pastries and hollers to me that we’re out of cinnamon twists and raspberry scones again. He carefully places snicker doodles into small, sticky, and eager hands.
I’ve loved you since I was five.
Charlie rides a bike everywhere.
Charlie is trading yard work for that tired old truck because he doesn’t have money.
But he still bought a plane ticket so I wouldn’t be alone.
I lean over and take his face in both of my hands, kissing him full on the lips.
“Where are you staying?”
“I hadn’t really planned that part. I’ll check and see if—”
“Stay with me. I have two beds,” I reply, noticing the giant Snowflake Sugar contest poster hanging in the hotel lobby. “We’re having Cup O’ Noodles for dinner.”
“The valet told me the best cheeseburgers in town are a block away.”
A black icing smear keeps pulling my attention to my chest. “I don’t have cheeseburger money.”
He reaches out and cups my chin. “It’s on me.”
WE EAT OUR DINNER
at the back of the bus on our way to the dorms. When I’m done I send a text to Mom, telling her I’m fine, and that I did awesome. I add that I’m happier than I’ve ever been, so please don’t spoil it. I don’t say I’m sorry, because I’m not. As soon as I get home, I’ll be grounded for life, but I don’t care.
If I win first place, my problems are over.
I turn the phone off before she can call me back. That makes me feel bad, but she’s put me through a lot, too. I’m sucking down the last of my milkshake when it occurs to me. “Charlie?”
“Mmm?” He answers with a mouth full of burger.
“When did you get here?”
He finishes chewing but I notice he won’t look at me. “Late last night. Really late.”
I’m thinking about the guy who was asking after me. Maybe I should tell Charlie, but I push the thought away.
We don’t talk much for the rest of the bus ride. I’m exhausted and Charlie hasn’t stopped eating since we sat down. “Where’s your stuff by the way?”
He grins. “Only brought what I could stick into the pockets of my jacket. Toothbrush and clean skivvies.”
THERE ISN’T ANYONE AT
the front desk when we get back and I’m relieved because how else could I sneak Charlie into my room?
Once we’re inside he disappears with my soap and shampoo, and I barely have time to think about our sleeping arrangements before he’s back, wearing only his jeans. The pit of my stomach warms and so does my face. I smell my soap on his skin as he leans into the mirror and runs his hand through his wet hair. I can’t take my eyes off of him. The warmth inside of me spreads and I want him close to me.
“Do you want to go do something?” he asks.
“Uh, I’m kind of tired and I don’t think we should risk it since they don’t know you’re here. Probably safer to stay in.” I know eventually I’m going to have to shower and change. Thankfully when I picked out pajamas I knew I’d probably be sharing a room, but I’m still not sure I want Charlie Norton seeing me in them.
“Yeah, you’re probably right.”
My eyes follow as he sits on the edge of the other bed, flipping through a magazine. He turns quickly, catching my stare and I pick at the blankets.
“What time do you find out tomorrow?”
“Eleven. We have to be back at eleven.” The thought of it twists my stomach. I have to win.
“Crap,” he replies. “My flight leaves at ten. I’ll miss it.”
“It’s okay, it was sweet of you to come anyway, even though you didn’t need to. I can—”
“Take care of yourself, yeah, I know, you told me.” He sets the magazine down. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to stand him so close to me, all clean and still without a shirt on. But the fact that it makes me want to kiss him is probably a good thing. Maybe I won’t be screwed up forever.
“I’m going to go, uh, change and stuff.” I stand up slowly because my lower back hurts and I didn’t bring any pain relief with me. I gather up my toiletry bag and clothes and head to the door.
Charlie stands up and grabs his shirt, pulling it over his head. It flattens his damp hair but he sort of shakes it out. “I’ll go to that rec room down the hall and find something for us to do.”