Rule of Three (17 page)

Stevie
: That’s all I wanted to hear you say. That you’re sorry.

Me
: So, you’re not mad at me?

Stevie
: Nope. Not anymore. I took that out on a few dozen cupcakes. I mean, OK, it did hurt my feelings that you’d say something on purpose that could hurt my chances of getting the lead. But let’s face it — that’s not why Mr. Cannon didn’t pick me. He didn’t pick me because he wanted to pick you. Alex.

Me
: Are you sure?

Stevie
: Mr. C said from the beginning that he needed me in the chorus, and I think he meant it.

Me
:
(Sniffling.)
Really?

Stevie
: Yeah. And I’m OK with that. Of course, burning your hair not-on-purpose did help me feel a little better.
(Laughs awkwardly.)

Me
: You mean you forgive me?

Stevie
: You forgive me for burning your hair totally-by-accident, right? Hey. You’re my sister.

(Click. Door opens!)

(Stevie opens hand, holds out missing Comedy charm, and presses it into my palm, just before Act 2.)

I was singing “Happily Ever After” from
Once Upon a Mattress
as I swirled a ruby-slipper-red ribbon of fruit into the batter, mixing up a brand-new batch of cupcakes. Vanilla-raspberry-swirl batter with light pink fluffy icing.

I stopped mixing to line each space in the muffin tin with a different cupcake liner. Shiny gold foil for Alex like a princess crown, smiley faces for Jo/Joey, G clefs and musical notes for me.

“More cupcakes?” Mom asked, coming into the kitchen. “They sure smell good.” She looked surprised when she saw the fluffy pink icing I was whipping up. Baby pink. Bubble-gum pink. Princess-not-porcupine pink.

“This is new,” she remarked, reaching a finger into the bowl. I didn’t even bother to swat away her hand today.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“Heaven,” said Mom.

“Well, I’m going to call them Pink Velvet. Like Red Velvet, only pink. With my special secret ingredient.” I showed Mom all the crazy cupcake liners I’d found at this store with Olivia. “I’m going to make individual ones for Alex and Joey and you and Dad and everybody. Each one will have its own personality.”

Mom pointed to the tin that had already come out of the oven. “I think this one has a split personality,” Mom said, picking up the cracked-in-half cupcake.

“You can have that one,” I said, laughing.

Mom took a bite as I began to ice the cupcake for Alex. Using a fine tip from my cake decorating set, I squeezed out a fancy letter
A
onto the pink icing, and dotted it with candy silver pearls.

“Stevie, these are really remarkable. Mmm
.
I thought maybe you’d be out of the cupcake craze now that the cake-off’s over.”

“No way. Making cupcakes puts me in a good mood. See, whatever I’m feeling, I put it into the cupcakes.”

“Like the I-Hate-My-Sister cupcakes I heard Joey mention?” Mom said in her disapproving tone.

“Joey, who, wha?” said my little sister, following her nose into the kitchen.

“Just in time, Duck. You can help choose what you want on your special cupcake. I have candy hearts.”

“Did you girls know that candy hearts with sayings have been around —”

“Since you were a girl!” Joey and I said at the same time.

Mom laughed. “I was going to say since the Civil War, thank you very much.”

“Same difference,” said Joey, and we both cracked up again.

Joey fingered her way through candy heart sayings, reading off
GO FISH, HEART OF GOLD, QUEEN BEE
. She handed me three that said
UR A QT
.

Joey looked at the pink fluffy icing, dotted with flowers and hearts and rainbows. “These look different. Not like the mad ones you’ve been making lately. These are almost happy!”

“These are more like Make-Up-with-My-Sister cupcakes. The other ones were more like Break-Up cupcakes, when Alex and I were mad and fighting. It’s OK to bake cupcakes when you’re in a good mood, too, you know. Cupcakes make people happy. It’s like a rule.”

“Stevie, is this what you’ve been doing all along?” Mom asked. “Not just stockpiling cupcakes for the cake-off, but baking to deal with your feelings?”

“Stevie always bakes cupcakes when she’s mad,” said Joey.

“I guess so,” I said. “It’s not like I planned it. But it works. You guys put feelings into acting. I put them into baking cupcakes.”

“Like the My-Sister-Is-a-Porcupine cupcakes and the I-Burnt-My-Sister’s-Hair-and-Feel-Bad cupcakes,” said Joey.

“Mmm-mmm.” Mom made more yummy sounds, but she had a stare-at-the-toaster, Fondue-Sue look on her face at the same time. “Stevie?” said Mom, polishing off the last of the icing on her finger. “Any chance you could finish decorating these later?”

“Huh?”

“And come with me?”

“Why? Where are we going?”

“To the studio. Grab a jacket. You, my brilliant middle daughter, have just given me a genius of an idea.”

I made a funny face at Joey, but she didn’t notice. She had her nose too far into the icing bowl. “Don’t eat all the icing!” I called over my shoulder, as Fondue Sue grabbed me by the hand and herded me out of the kitchen.

Mom asked me to wait outside the program
manager’s office. I couldn’t figure out why she’d dragged me all the way down here just to sit and watch her through the window arguing with her boss.

Actually, I couldn’t quite tell if all the waving of arms meant that she was excited or frustrated. The last time I’d been at Mom’s studio was when I’d blurted out about wanting to audition for the play. That’s when my fight with Alex started. It seemed like forever ago now that we’d made up and the play was over.

I found myself there again, flipping through old magazines. In the middle of some women’s magazine, something caught my eye: an ad for moisturizing lotion with a French-sounding name.

From the French phrase
bien dans sa peau,
which means to be happy in your own skin.

Happy in your own skin.

The words jumped off the page at me, making my heart skip. Maybe I had been trying too hard to do the things Alex does. Wanting to act in plays, stealing her shirt, going out for the same role.

Even though I think it’s never a bad thing to take a risk and try something new, I wasn’t Alex. I would never be Alex. I didn’t even want to be Alex.

I was Me. Myself. I.

Stevie.

Happy in my own skin.

Or as the Bard himself said:
To thine own self be true.

Being true to myself was singing — using my voice to sing in the play. And already making plans for next year’s cake-off: world’s biggest cupcake!

Who knew that moisturizer held the secret of life?

I’d almost forgotten about Mom when she tapped on the glass and waved me into the office.

“Hi, honey, c’mon in. You remember Betsy. Betsy, this is my middle daughter, Stevie.” Mom hooked a hunk of hair behind her ear, pushing it back into place. “Stevie, I pitched an idea to Betsy for our next show, and she’s agreed to go to the station manager on the strength of the idea and push for more episodes of
Fondue Sue
next season. Now, you tell me, isn’t that just
fan
tastic?”

“Yeah, Mom, that’s great!” I tried to sound as happy as Mom even though I still didn’t have a clue what that had to do with me.

“It’ll be all about baking as a way of channeling your feelings and emotions,” said Betsy. “Your mom’s been telling me about all your cupcakes.”

“Hey, yeah! That’s a great idea for a show, Mom.”

“Maybe we can even think of a way to make them healthy,” said Betsy. “You know, like, zucchini cupcakes or carrot-cake cupcakes.” I exchanged glances with Mom, trying not to laugh.

“And that’s not all,” said Mom. “Betsy had another brilliant idea.” Mom nodded toward her boss.

“I was thinking, if you’d be willing, how would you like to come on the show with your mom, help her do some baking, maybe talk a little bit about your cupcakes? What do you think?”

“Me? On TV? Are you serious?”

“I think it would be great,” Betsy said. “Help us reach out to a younger demographic. Get kids interested in cooking and baking.”

It was all I could do to keep from jumping in the air, throwing my arms out, and screaming YAY!

“Honey, isn’t this exciting?” Mom said, squeezing me in a sideways hug.

I had to leave Mom and Betsy to work out some of the details with the station manager. Inside, I was turning somersaults as I walked back out into the hall. I tried to steady myself by staring at animal pictures in
National Geographic.
I even tried solving a
Reader’s Digest
crossword puzzle.

Seven down. Expression of high joy. Eleven letters.

OVERTHEMOON.

“Mom?” I asked, when she was finally done and we got back into the car. “Do you mind if — could we make a stop on the way home?”

“No way!” shrieked Alex.