Confectionately Yours #4: Something New Read online

  “No way. He’d never go for it. It has to be something normal — something that a lot of kids are doing. He hates to feel dumb.”

  “He isn’t dumb.”

  “I know that. And you know it. But his grades don’t show it. And his dad —” Omar stops, like he doesn’t really think he should say more. I understand. These aren’t really his secrets to be sharing.

  “I won’t tell anyone,” I say. “But I’ll push Meg to get behind the tutoring program.”

  “I’ll do it myself, if I have to,” Omar says, and his voice is like a promise.

  “Eeee!” The Tea Room door bangs open and Chloe rushes out, trailed by our mom. And she plops right down in front of the miniature pinscher and starts patting her. The dog jumps up and licks her cheek, and Chloe giggles. She scoops the dog into her arms like a baby doll.

  “Oh, she’s cute,” my mom says.

  “I saw your doggie through the window!” Chloe exclaims. “Oh, you’re so soft!” The dog wiggles happily, licking her arm.

  “She isn’t my dog,” Omar explains. “I volunteer at the animal shelter.”

  “I love dogs!” Chloe gushes. “So — wait — is this dog up for adoption?”

  Omar grins as my mother says, “Oh, no.”

  “Please?” My little sister gives my mom the Big Bunny Eyes look.

  “No, absolutely not.” Mom shakes her head, but she doesn’t sound as firm as she should, in my opinion.

  “But look at how sweet she is!” Chloe insists. Now even the dog is giving my mom the Big Bunny Eyes.

  “Chloe, we have a small apartment —” Mom says.

  “Well, this is a small dog,” Omar points out. “And you could think about fostering her instead of adopting.”

  “What’s the difference?” I ask. I’m not liking this at all.

  “You would just take care of her for a while, until the shelter finds her a new home,” Omar explains. “The shelter loves to put the dogs with families whenever they can. The dogs are happier, and it makes the transition to moving them to their forever home easier.”

  “Did you memorize the brochure?” I ask Omar, just as Chloe says, “Yes! Fostering! We can foster the dog, Mom!”

  “Well …” Mom is thinking about it, I can tell.

  “Mom, dogs are a lot of work,” I say. Chloe glares at me, and I wince. I know how much she loves dogs, but …

  “I’ll do it!” Chloe insists. “I’ll take care of the dog! I really will! I’ll do everything!”

  “You can always bring the dog back to the shelter, if you’re having problems,” Omar says. “You’re just fostering, not providing a permanent home. It’s temporary!” And he shoots his gleamy white-toothed grin, and Chloe and the dog have their Big Bunny Eyes on, and Mom only holds out for about three seconds.

  “Oh, all right,” Mom says at last.

  Chloe gives a shout and the dog starts to bark with happy, excited yips, and Omar claps Chloe on the back, and just like that — we have a new family member. Well, sort of like that. Omar can’t just hand the dog over. He has to take her back to the shelter and we have to fill out paperwork and everything, but it’s happening.

  It’s happening.

  Lord help me; it’s happening.

  Omar used to have a dog. Its name was Alabama.

  As you know, I’m not wild about dogs, but Alabama was sweet and moved slowly. He was a black dog with a gray muzzle and watery brown eyes, and his tail would wag slowly back and forth whenever he did anything — greeted a stray dog, ate a treat, stopped to sniff.

  He must have been very, very old, because his walk was jerky, like his joints needed oil. One day, I saw Omar carrying him down the street. The dog wasn’t wriggling or trying to get away, or anything — he was just patiently letting Omar haul him around.

  “Taking your dog for a walk?” I joked.

  But Omar didn’t laugh. “Well, he made it up the street,” he said. “But I don’t think he can make it back.” He pressed his cheek against Alabama’s ear, and Alabama licked Omar’s face. Omar didn’t say anything else. He just carried the dog very carefully across the street toward home.

  Northampton is a small town, but it has a lot of creative types. It’s not unusual to see people on the street doing something peculiar. You might see someone hooping with multiple hula hoops, or a dad and a baby sporting matching green Mohawks. A kid carrying a dog didn’t register as interesting for most people.

  But it was interesting to me.

  Because Omar can be a pain … but a guy who loves his dog that much can’t be all bad.

  “Who moves to Baltimore?” Meghan demands as she drops her lunch bag on the table and clatters into her seat.

  “Is this one of those games where the answer is in the form of a question?” I ask her.

  Meghan is so upset, she’s practically vibrating, like heat shimmering on pavement. “Sunrise is moving to Baltimore!”

  I nibble my sweet potato fry, which is just the right combination of salty and sweet, crunchy and soft. It’s hard to get upset when you’re eating something this good. “Why is she moving to Baltimore?”

  “Her mom is going to head up some school out there,” Meghan says, as if it’s completely absurd for someone to take a new job in a different city. “Now I have to get someone else to run for veep!”

  “Too bad,” I say. “Sunrise would’ve been perfect.”

  Meghan rips the aluminum top off of her yogurt, then stirs it like she’s out for revenge.

  “You don’t really need a running mate,” I point out.

  Meghan takes a bite of yogurt and looks out the window, thoughtful. “It’s raining out.”

  “It’s spring.” I nibble another fry. “It’s always rainy in spring.”

  It’s an offhand comment, the kind people make all the time, but Meghan looks at me with her clear blue gaze. “Flowers need rain,” she says.

  “Yeah.”

  “Just like I need an organized person for vice president,” Meghan explains.

  “Hmm,” I say. “Are those two things related?”

  “I can run by myself, but I’m not sure I’d be a great president unless I could work with someone good for vice president. My ideas can’t bloom, Hayley, unless I have some help!”

  I make figure eights in my ketchup, thinking it over. “Well, maybe you should ask Omar.”

  “Omar!” Meghan tries to snort, but it comes out a cough, and she ends up hacking all over the table.

  “Don’t cough on my fries,” I tell her. “Yes, Omar. He’s smart, and he’s pretty organized.”

  “No.”

  “And he really cares —”

  “No,” Meghan snaps. Her voice is like a door slamming. “Look, Hayley, I know you’re trying to help. But Omar won’t take being vice president seriously. Trust me. I need someone more like you.”

  The word you hangs in the air there, buzzing like a dragonfly, and Meghan’s eyebrows lift.

  “I don’t think so,” I say.

  “Yes! You! Why didn’t I think of it before?”

  “I’m not really the student government type.”

  “Of course you are!” Meghan insists. “You helped me with the campaign to keep bake sales in school.”

  “Which totally failed!” I point out.

  “But still! And you helped with the talent show.”

  “Because you made me.”

  “Well, I’m making you again!” Meghan grins. “Oh, come on, Hayley. Look — it’ll be fun! I’ll do most of the work, anyway. You can just help me keep on track. You’re good at color-coding things — and at coming up with good ideas.”

  I feel like my mom must have, with Chloe and Omar and the dog all begging her to give in. “Oh, boy.”

  “Look, Hayley. It’s mostly throwing parties. You love parties!” Meghan smiles sweetly. She interlaces her fingers and props her chin on them, batting her eyelashes.

  Here’s the problem: I can’t think of a good reason to say no. If Meghan w
ere president, we probably would have fun putting on parties together. And she has a point — I do enjoy color-coding things. I get that from my mom. “Okay, Meghan, I’ll think about it.”

  “I knew you’d do it!”

  “I said I’d think about it!”

  “Oh, that’s as good as saying yes. So we should probably start thinking about your campaign speech.”

  “Speech?”

  “I’ll let you see what I’ve written for mine, and then I’ll help you work on yours. Okay, look, we have to submit your name to the office so they can put you on the ballot!”

  “Wait — I never said —”

  But Meghan has already darted off. To the office for my paperwork, no doubt.

  It’s amazing how some people manage to get a yes even when the answer is no. What’s the trick to that?

  And why hasn’t anyone ever taught me?

  Avocado Cupcakes

  (makes approximately 12 cupcakes)

  Avocados are nature’s butter! They’re just so creamy and delicious … and I always like putting something green into my cupcakes. It makes them seem healthier somehow.

  INGREDIENTS:

  1 cup milk

  1 teaspoon apple cider vinegar

  1-1/4 cups all-purpose flour

  1 teaspoon baking powder

  3/4 teaspoon baking soda

  1/2 teaspoon salt

  3/4 cup granulated sugar

  1 teaspoon vanilla extract

  1 cup ripe avocado, mashed (about 1 medium avocado)

  INSTRUCTIONS:

  Preheat the oven to 350°F. Line a muffin pan with cupcake liners.

  In a large bowl, whisk together the milk and apple cider vinegar and let sit for a few minutes to curdle.

  In a separate bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.

  Once the milk has curdled, add the sugar, vanilla extract, and mashed avocado. With a whisk or handheld mixer, add the dry ingredients to the wet ones a little bit at a time, stopping to scrape the sides of the bowl a few times, and mix until smooth.

  Fill cupcake liners two-thirds of the way and bake for 18–20 minutes, or until an inserted toothpick comes out clean. Transfer to a cooling rack, and let cool completely before frosting.

  Super Quick and Easy Chocolate Buttercream Frosting

  INGREDIENTS:

  1-1/4 cups butter, cubed and softened

  2-1/4 cups confectioners’ sugar

  1 teaspoon vanilla extract

  2 tablespoons milk

  3 ounces unsweetened chocolate, melted and cooled

  INSTRUCTIONS:

  Add all the ingredients to a food processor at once. Pulse to combine, and then process until the frosting is smooth.

  “Come on, Tessie,” I say, giving the leash a gentle shake. It turns out that our new foster dog is a sniffer. Right now, she’s smelling a tent pole for all it’s worth. I wonder what it smells like. What could be so interesting? Did a squirrel rub up against it or something? I shake the leash again, but Tessie won’t budge. I glance down at the list Mom gave me. If this dog and I don’t get a move on, the farmers’ market will close down around us. “Come on, girl.”

  “Fred?” A boy with curly blond hair turns away from a bucket of flowers to smile at me.

  “Hey, Kyle. Yeah, it’s me.” Kyle is legally blind. He can see shapes and colors, but sometimes he needs a little help identifying faces.

  “Who are you talking to?”

  “Our new dog. Tesseract.” Kyle laughs, and I add, “Chloe named her. It was Rupert’s suggestion. They’re reading A Wrinkle in Time.”

  “Well, that makes sense, then.” Kyle kneels down and slowly reaches out his hand toward the dog. “Hello,” he says softly. “Hi, Tessie.”

  Tessie stops sniffing the tent pole and starts sniffing his fingers. Then she starts licking them.

  “Hah! I just had fries,” Kyle says. “I must be pretty delicious.”

  “Nice and salty,” I agree.

  Tessie finishes licking him and puts her paws on his leg to reach up and sniff his nose. Kyle sniffs back. I’m over being afraid of our little dog, but I’m still not one of those people who likes getting licked and having a dog breathe in my face and stuff. Sometimes, I think I’m the only person in the world like that. I wonder if it’s genetic or something.

  “What brings you to the farmers’ market?” Kyle asks.

  “Mom sent me for some greens, and to see what other veggies they’ve got. But there isn’t a lot here.”

  “It’s early in the season. You could have some rhubarb.”

  “Right.” I look around. “Or some baby plants. What are you here for?”

  “I might get a couple of plants. I have a tiny garden. It’s, like, three square feet,” Kyle admits. “Mostly, I just like coming here to smell stuff.”

  I laugh. “Is the farmers’ market smelly?”

  “Totally smelly,” Kyle says. “Didn’t you know?” We’re standing by a long table covered in plant starts. Kyle runs his fingers over the leaves and pinches off a leaf, then lifts it to his nose. “Lemon verbena,” he says, holding it out to me.

  I smell the leaf, inhaling a sharp citrus smell. “Wow — it smells just like lemon!”

  “It’s good in tea.” He feels around the plants and pinches off an oblong leaf. He smells it first, then hands it over. “Lavender.”

  “Mmmm. This smells like my grandmother’s fancy soap.”

  “Is it the kind of soap you’re never allowed to use?”

  “Exactly. It’s in a pretty dish next to the towels we’re never allowed to use.”

  “We have some of that. For display only.” Kyle’s gray eyes twinkle. I know he can’t see me well, but he’s really good at making me feel like he does.

  He picks off a few more leaves, always careful to take one from the larger plants. Rosemary, chocolate mint, garlic scapes, each has a distinct, pungent smell. It’s funny that I’ve never paid attention to that before.

  It’s amazing how being with a blind person makes you look at things differently. Or, experience things differently, I guess.

  We fall into step toward the maple table. They have maple syrup, maple candy, maple cream, and brooms made from maple wood. A familiar figure in a purple miniskirt, hot-pink top, and plaid tights is buying a maple cookie. “Hey, guys!” Meghan chirps. “Look — they’ve got gluten-free cookies! Am I lucky, or what? Hayley, speaking of, do you think you could make a couple of GF cupcakes for the barbecue?”

  “Sure,” I tell her. “That’s easy.”

  “Thanks! You’re my GFF!” Meghan takes a bite of her cookie. “My gluten-free friend!”

  “What barbecue?” Kyle asks.

  “Kyle! The Spring Fling Barbecue! Haven’t you seen the posters?” The words fall out of her mouth, and she freezes, then blushes a brilliant red.

  “Meghan!” I squeal.

  Kyle just laughs, though. “Wow — no. How did I ever miss them?”

  “I’m such an idiot!” Meghan wails.

  “You’re fine, Meg,” Kyle reassures her. “Don’t worry about it. Hayley, could you just grab me a maple lollipop?”

  “Sure.” I take one and hand it over as Kyle pulls a five-dollar bill out of his pocket. It’s folded into a square, and he opens it before handing it over to the ponytailed guy behind the table. When the guy counts Kyle three ones back, Kyle folds them in half before tucking them away. That’s when I realize that the folding is part of knowing what bills he’s got. Amazing.

  Meghan is giving Tessie a super rub along her smooth back, and the little dog closes her eyes slowly, blissed out. “Listen, Hayley,” Meghan says, “do you have time to talk about the election?”

  “What are you guys running for?”

  “I’m running for vice president, and Meghan’s running for president,” I explain.

  “Oh, against Omar,” Kyle says.

  “What?” Meghan screeches, and Tessie gives a little startled jump. “Sorry,”
Meghan tells the dog. “But —” She looks up at Kyle. “What?”

  “Didn’t you know that Omar is running?” Kyle asks.

  “He’s actually doing it?” Meghan is clearly still stunned.

  “Wow,” I say.

  “Tell me that Jamil isn’t running for veep,” Meghan says.

  “I don’t think you’re in danger there,” Kyle admits. “Jamil isn’t really interested in student government.”

  “Neither is Omar,” Meghan snaps.

  “Hmm,” I say, and Kyle nods.

  Meghan nibbles her gluten-free cookie. I wonder if she’s still feeling lucky. “Okay,” she says at last. “So, Hayley, now we really need to think election strategy, or else you’ll end up working with Omar.”

  “This election is getting complicated,” I say.

  A look of horror crosses Meghan’s face. “You’re not dropping out, are you? You can’t!”

  “I won’t, I won’t,” I promise. Although I wish I could, I think.

  Kyle pops the lollipop into his mouth. “This is going to be interesting,” he says.

  That’s the understatement of the year, I think.

  Even though Kyle is blind, I get the feeling he sees things pretty clearly.

  A lot of people don’t pick up their dog’s poop. Not to be gross, but when you have a dog, they’ll go and sniff anything that smells interesting. And, apparently, the most interesting smell in the world is poop. Having a dog means never just walking by someone’s mess.

  There are a lot of dogs in this world. The only thing dogs like to sniff more than poop is other dogs. When you actually have a dog, you meet them all.

  People like to talk to dogs. When I walk down the street by myself, nobody says a word. When I’m with Tessie, everyone’s like, “Hello, doggie!” and “Hi, dog!” and “Who’s a good girl?” I don’t bother pointing out that she doesn’t speak English, as it seems to make people so happy just to say hello.

  Apparently, I drop a lot of food on the floor. Seriously, this dog is getting, like, eight meals a day.