“So you should come by the ARK one Saturday,” Tally says. “We open at nine for adoption.”
“I have to ask Gram,” I say for the hundredth time.
“She’ll say yes,” Tally says. She’s probably right. Gram probably will say yes, but I still have to ask. “I know,” Tally says, spinning to look at me, “bring her with you. Then she’ll be sure to say yes.”
I nod and start the next cupcake.
“Just say yes to Tally,” Blake says. “She won’t stop until you do.”
“Marcus will be there,” she says. “He’s always there on Saturdays.”
If I needed any more convincing, that was it. “Okay,” I say, pretending to be a little annoyed. “Yes.”
Dot. Dot. Line.
“Tell me again why you think Charity is going to go for it.”
Line. Dot. Dot.
“She’s not fat,” I say.
“She’s fourteen and she has to walk across a stage in a bathing suit,” Tally says.
“Maybe,” I say. “But why would she trust anything we say? I mean, she hates us.”
“I’m betting that Charlotte’s not going to share the source of her information. She is going to tell Charity that she heard it on the radio and she checked the Web site.”
I nod, agreeing. That much is pretty sure. Charlotte is always following Charity around like a lost puppy. Having the inside scoop on something would make her seem more important in Charity’s eyes.
“The Web site’s pretty lame,” I say. I smile over at Tally.
She shrugs and smiles back. “That’s what you get for seventy-five dollars,” she says.
“You have to admit that the success stories are pretty good, though,” Blake says. He and his brother, some sort of computer genius, put the whole thing together. The money was for buying server space.
“They’re totally over-the-top. Fifteen pounds in two weeks?” I ask.
“It has to be over-the-top,” Tally says. “It has to promise big results. Otherwise she might not go for it.”
“When will we know?” I ask.
“I predict that by Monday there’s going to be a rash of lard purchases at the Shop ’n Save.”
I shake my head and look back down at the cupcake in front of me. Lard. Yuck.
“Tell me the stuff in the can isn’t lard,” I say, thinking of the spoonfuls of goop she’s been eating every day.
“It’s vanilla frosting,” she says. “It’s not as bad as lard, but pretty gross anyway.” I nod. That’s one thing about working at the bakery, you get pretty sick of sweet stuff. I keep piping, trying to stay on track.
“Who gets married at dawn?” Blake asks, tucking more cupcakes into one of the big pink boxes.
“I think it’s romantic,” Tally says.
“Romantic is getting enough sleep.” Blake keeps putting cupcakes into the boxes, avoiding eye contact with Tally.
“Remind me to get you an I HEART SLEEP shirt for Valentine’s Day,” Tally says.
I put the pastry bag down and shake out my hand again. Tally looks over and frowns. “I wish we could help more with that.”
I shrug and smile. They helped with the first coat of frosting, but I have to do the fussy decorating work myself. “I’m going to need more buttercream soon,” I say, twisting the pastry bag a bit to make sure all of the icing is forced toward the tip. Blake and Tally both touch their noses at almost the same time.
Gram comes into the kitchen from the front, wiping her hands on the towel tucked into her apron string. “Why are we touching our noses?” she asks.
“Last one to touch has to make buttercream,” I say.
“Are we out?” Gram asks, pulling the refrigerator door open. She opens a big plastic storage tub and shakes her head. Blake is still standing with his index finger on his nose. Tally sighs. “I’ll make it,” she says. “Just tell me what to do.”
I start rattling off the recipe. If I had to guess, I’d say I’ve made about three hundred batches of buttercream since I’ve been here. That’s in addition to the fudge and cream cheese icing, and the mountains of whipped cream I’ve made. I keep decorating, mumbling the pattern under my breath while Tally starts stirring the mixture of egg whites and sugar over the double boiler on the stove.
“I’m going for pizza,” Gram says, pulling her jacket on. “Any requests?” We each throw in some suggestions. Tomatoes and spinach for me. Mushrooms and extra cheese for Blake. Tally wants pineapple. She winks at Blake when she says it, and he smiles. Gram pulls the back door shut behind her and then I hear her Volvo wagon start up.
Tally keeps stirring the mixture on the stove, trying to get the sugar to dissolve completely. “Hey, Rip Van Winkle,” she says. “Can you get some butter out of the fridge for me?”
Blake walks over and rummages in the refrigerator for a few moments. “Where is it?” he asks. Tally sighs and walks over to where he’s standing. She starts pushing things aside.
“It’s in the big brown box on the bottom,” I say. Tally pulls the box out and upends it over the floor. Empty. I hold up the almost empty pastry bag. “This isn’t enough.”
“Call the dairy,” Blake says. We all look at the clock. Seven-thirty. “Probably not.”
Tally walks toward the desk in the back and picks up the phone book. In Manhattan there were four huge volumes of numbers. Here it’s barely the size of a magazine.
“What is she doing?” I ask Blake.
He shrugs. “You’ll learn not to ask,” he says.
She pokes some numbers into the phone and waits. She starts talking. All I hear is mumbling and then a laugh. She turns and looks at me while she talks. “Done and done,” she says, pushing the
Off
button on the phone. “Someone from the dairy will be here in about ten,” she says. She goes back over to the stove and scrapes the bottom of the bowl again, folding the sticky mixture. “You might want to go and freshen up a bit.”
“Why?” I ask. I look over at Blake, who is shaking his head and making a slicing gesture across his neck.
“Don’t ask,” he says in an exaggerated whisper.
“Trust me,” Tally says. She laughs right after she says it, which doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. But I put down my pastry bag anyway and head for the bathroom.
For me, freshening up consists of washing off the blob of buttercream that somehow made its way onto my cheek and making my ponytail less chaotic. Against Blake’s advice I did ask Tally why I should care about what I look like, but she just shook her head at me and smiled. I feel foolish cleaning up for the dairy delivery. It’s usually either this old guy named Gus, who always
always
calls me Patti, or this woman who constantly pops her cinnamon gum while I check the order.
“Better?” I ask, walking back out into the kitchen. Blake is standing with Tally at the stove. He has his chin on her shoulder, and she is leaning into him. They spring apart at the sound of my voice. I notice that Blake even blushes on the top of his head. It’s weird sometimes how they are, all teasing and jokey when other people are around, but then so sweet to each other when they think no one can see.
“Let’s see,” Tally says, making a circle with her finger. I spin slowly. She nods and reaches into her pocket. “Here,” she says, tossing me a tin of Altoids.
“Tal, what is going on?” I ask. I hear the sound of a motor in the alley behind the bakery, but it’s not loud enough to be either the dairy truck or Gram’s wagon.
“Hold that thought,” Tally says. I look over at Blake, but he won’t meet my eyes. He just keeps smiling into the bakery box that he’s filling. I hear the back door open and then Tally’s voice saying, “Come in, come in.” She rounds the corner, followed by someone carrying a huge box of butter.
Marcus.
“Put it anywhere,” she says, then laughs slightly. Every spare surface is covered with half-filled boxes of cupcakes. Tally clears a small corner of the desk.
“Hi,” Marcus says, smiling at me. He puts the box down. Tally immediately starts ripping into the box and hauling out several pounds of butter.
“Hi.” I’m probably blushing more than Blake did. “Thank you so much,” I say, gesturing toward the box of butter. I notice that Marcus is blushing a little, too. It seems that only Tally is immune to embarrassment. She just hums as she starts pouring the buttercream base into the huge Hobart mixer. I help her put the whisk on.
“What can I do?” Marcus asks.
“Oh, you don’t have to—” I begin.
“Maybe he wants to,” Tally whispers, elbowing me.
“Maybe I want to,” Marcus says, smiling.
“You can help box cupcakes,” I say, pointing to where Blake is trying to put the tops on some of the boxes before sliding them into the refrigerator.
“Yeah. I could use an assistant,” Blake says.
Tally rolls her eyes at him. “Okay, Blake, you’ve been working here for an hour. I’m pretty sure we’ll be starting Marcus off at the same level.”
Marcus washes his hands and pulls an apron off one of the hooks in the back so he is outfitted like the rest of us. “Just tell me what to do,” he says.
I have to study the cupcake in front of me to remind myself where I am in the pattern.
Dot, dot, line. Marcus. Line, dot, dot. Like me as much as I like you.
Gram comes in carrying two large pizzas. The smell immediately makes my mouth water.
“Yum,” Blake says, starting for the first box.
“Not until you’re done,” Tally says, her voice sounding just like Blake’s when we were picking tomatoes.
With Gram helping me decorate, Tally turning out another batch of buttercream, and Marcus and Blake boxing, the remaining cupcakes go quickly. “Last one,” I say, poking the final silver ball onto the last cupcake.
“Sweet,” Blake says, placing it into the box and taping the top shut. We don’t bother to clean up right away. Instead we fall onto the pizza, all of us eating like we haven’t had any food in a month. Blake manages to put away almost a whole pizza all by himself. “I have only two words for that,” he says, leaning back against the shelves behind him. “Goo-ood.” Tally just shakes her head, but she leans into him slightly, so that her shoulder is against his. After only a little bit of convincing, Tally gets Gram to agree to come to the ARK with me. Blake pushes the last bite of crust into his mouth. “Who’s up for dessert?” he asks. Even Gram groans at that one.
It takes a while to clean up. Not only do we have to wash all of the equipment and make sure everything is properly boxed and labeled and put away, but we also have to mop the floor. Blake loses at RPS to Tally in a best of three out of five. He gets stuck with the floor, while Tally and I start washing out the pastry bags.
“So, Marcus,” Blake says, his back to us, “how’s your knee coming along?” I look over at Marcus, who is struggling to wash out the big mixing bowl.
“It’s better,” he says to Blake. “Why? You worried?”
Tally sees the expression on my face. “Soccer,” she says, and rolls her eyes. I start washing the decorating tips, using a skewer to get the icing out of their tiny ends. I half listen as Marcus and Blake talk about the upcoming season. They both played forward on rival teams all summer. Marcus’s team won the final. Blake’s got second place.
“Saw you on the field yesterday,” Blake says.
Marcus turns to look at him. “When?” His voice sounds funny. Tense.
Blake shrugs. “Four-ish. Didn’t know
she
played soccer.” His voice sounds weird, too, almost hostile.
I feel my stomach twist, thinking about Charity alone with Marcus on the soccer field. I look over at where Blake is leaning on the mop. Tally looks up, too, but Blake won’t meet our eyes. Marcus keeps scrubbing the bowl, but the back of his neck is red.
“So, what’s the deal?” Blake asks. Tally shakes her head at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Nothing,” Marcus says. “There’s no deal.” He finishes with the bowl and turns to me. I can’t tell whether he’s angry or embarrassed or if his cheeks are just flushed from the steam coming off the water in the sink. “Want me to take the trash out to the Dumpster?” he asks, nodding toward the two bags waiting by the back door.
“Sure.” He walks over and opens the door, picking up both bags in one hand.
When he is out of earshot, Tally asks Blake, “What was that all about?”
Blake goes back to mopping. “Just telling him what’s up.”
“What are you talking about?” Tally asks.
Blake looks over at me. “Just making sure he knows I’ve got my eye on him.” He points to his eye and then to the door. He goes back to mopping. I look over at Tally, but she just shrugs.
Marcus comes back in before any of us can say anything else.
No one says anything to him for a moment. “Thank you again for helping,” I say to him, breaking the silence.
“It was fun,” he says, untying his apron.
“Anyone need a ride?” Gram asks, coming back into the kitchen from the front.
I’m about to say yes, but Tally elbows me and says, “I think we’re good.” Gram winks at me before heading out, with reminders to lock up when we leave. We finish up quickly and trade our aprons for our jackets.
“Okay, then,” Tally says, stepping out onto the back porch. I flick the lights off and pull the door shut behind me, hearing the lock click into place. “Marcus, can you give Penny a ride home?”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I can walk.”
“Maybe he wants to,” Tally says in an exaggerated whisper.
“Maybe I want to,” Marcus says, smiling.
chapter nineteen
Marcus takes a second helmet from the compartment under the seat of his four-wheeler. Either this was planned or he’s used to riding with someone else. But I’m not going to think about that and ruin a perfectly good night. Before I can thank them for everything, Tally and Blake are riding off side by side on their mountain bikes. I can hear Tally laughing even as they make their way around the corner onto Main Street.
“You ready?” Marcus asks. I pull on a helmet and climb on behind him, aware of how close we are. “Hang on,” he says. I look for somewhere to put my hands. “To me,” he says softly. It’s good that it’s so dark. I’m pretty sure I’m hitting a personal best for blushing. The four-wheeler rumbles under us as Marcus starts it up. I slide my hands around his waist, feeling his warmth beneath his fleece coat. “Do you have to go straight home, or do you want to go see something first?” he asks.