Alexis Cool as a Cupcake Read online

  On my way to the cafeteria, I met the math department head, Mr. Donnelly, in the hallway. He asked me if I had a few minutes to speak to him. I have an A+ average, so I figured he was just asking me to tutor some kid in the coming school year. Now that I had all this free time, I could say yes. But that wasn’t it at all!

  “Alexis, I have a great opportunity for you,” he said. “I think you should join the Future Business Leaders of America, and I’d be happy to nominate you.” He smiled at me happily.

  Wow! That was not what I’d been expecting at all! “Oh, Mr. Donnelly! That’s . . . that’s just sooo great! Thank you! I can’t believe I’d be eligible.” My stomach flipped over in excitement, and I got goose bumps up and down my arms.

  The Future Business Leaders of America is part of a national organization, and we have a small chapter here at Park Street Middle School. The kids who are in it are by far the smartest kids in the school—the ones who are straight A+ students, honor roll all the way (well, like me, I guess). It’s hard to get nominated. You can’t ask anyone to nominate you—you have to be chosen, and it’s a huge honor. They only choose four kids a year from each grade. And the best part is, the kids meet all the time with the faculty supervisor, who teaches them cool business stuff, like marketing and accounting theories, and then at the end of the year they go to a big convention in the city and meet with all kinds of famous businesspeople. It’s supposed to be amazing!

  Mr. Donnelly could tell I was thrilled. “I’ve heard so much about your wonderful Cupcake Club, and of course I sampled the goods at the school fund-raiser last year, and I think you’ve got a terrific business going. Your hands-on experience running it would bring a lot to the group.”

  “Well, my friends and I all run it together,” I said modestly. But that really wasn’t true. Except now, maybe it was. I kind of felt unsure of my role and didn’t know what to say. I wondered if I’d be joining the FBLA under false pretenses if Mr. Donnelly thought I ran the whole Cupcake Club by myself.

  “You’d be an asset either way. What do you think?”

  I mentally scanned my other commitments and my time schedule. “Can I think about it for a day and discuss it with my parents? I have so much on my plate right now,” I said. I was so flattered, I wanted to say yes immediately, but it’s never good to agree to new responsibilities in a spontaneous fashion.

  Mr. Donnelly smiled at me. “Spoken like a true professional,” he said. “And absolutely. Let me know. The deadline is in about two weeks, so you have a little time to think about it, but it does look better if you submit early.” He winked. “The early bird catches the worm.”

  “I know it!” I agreed. “Thanks, Mr. Donnelly!”

  “Anytime. Just keep me posted!” he said as I sailed off to the cafeteria.

  I could hardly wait to tell the others, but when I spotted them across the lunchroom, all sitting together and chatting excitedly, I knew they were not discussing Cupcake business but instead the pep rally parade and what they’d wear and who they’d walk with and all that. I felt myself deflate a little. I couldn’t tell them about the FBLA. They wouldn’t get it. And, anyway, there was something a tiny bit underhanded about only me getting nominated. After all, it’s supposed to be all four of us in business together.

  I trudged over to sit with them, dreading the discussion and wishing I could share my real news. It would just have to wait until I got home. My parents and Dylan would be ecstatic for me, I realized. Just picturing their reactions cheered me up a little and gave me the patience to listen to the pep rally chatter.

  * * *

  Dylan wasn’t ready for my undorking when I got home, so I went to my room to start reading one more book before summer was over. I had decided to save my news for dinner.

  At exactly seven o’clock, I skipped down the stairs to the kitchen table. My parents had come up to say hi when they’d gotten home from work a little earlier, but I’d restrained myself, even though I felt like I was going to burst. I wanted to see everyone’s faces at the same time when I told them.

  I sat down and waited until everyone had settled and we’d passed around the platter of stir-fried shrimp and veggies, and then I said, “Mom, Dad, Dylly, I have major news. Major good news!”

  I looked with pleasure at the expectant faces of my family: Mom, Dad, and Dylan.

  “Matt asked you to be his parade partner?” said Dylan excitedly.

  My parents looked back at me with big smiles on their faces. I was irritated.

  “No. Nothing to do with that.” Now I wasn’t sure how to make the transition. “It’s about school,” I said.

  “Oh! I know! You’re going to run for class president!” my dad said, grinning.

  This was getting more and more irritating. “No. I am not running for class president,” I said through gritted teeth. “This is not a guessing game. I am going to tell you.”

  “Oh! Sorry, dear,” said my mother, blotting her mouth with a napkin. “Because I was going to guess that they put you on varsity tennis.”

  “Noooo! No more guesses!” I huffed. “Now my news isn’t so great. I think I’m going to just keep it to myself,” I said. Jeez, the nerve of these people.

  “No, we’re sorry, sweetheart. What is it? We’ll be thrilled for you no matter what, because if you’re happy, we’re happy!” said my mom, beaming.

  I rolled my eyes.

  My mom scolded me. “No pouting, now,” she said. “Turn that frown upside down!”

  Ugh. I hate when she uses her parenting-class voice on me. It’s so humiliating.

  “Fine. Mr. Donnelly asked me to join the Future Business Leaders of America. It’s a really big deal. Only four kids from each grade are picked—”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful!” said my mom. “What an honor!”

  But Dylan did not have the reaction I was expecting.

  “No,” she said. “Absolutely not.” She folded her arms and leaned on the table, in direct defiance of my mom’s strict mealtime-manners code, and she looked me in the eye. “You. Will. Not. Do. It. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Wait, what?” I asked. I was confused.

  “You have to say no. It’s one thing to feel like a dork. It’s another to take out a billboard announcing it. The FBLA is for total dorks. Complete, unredeemable, dorkorama! You cannot do it. Period.” Dylan sat back in her chair and patted her mouth with a napkin. Having said her piece, she was confident I would obey.

  “Dylan! That was absolutely inappropriate!” said my mom, in shock.

  “Don’t listen to your sister, sweetheart. Maybe she’s just feeling a little . . . tiny, tiny bit envious,” said my dad.

  “Ha!” Dylan guffawed. If she’d been drinking her milk at the time, it would have come out of her nose. “That is one thing I am not.”

  I was stunned. Dylan was an overachiever, just like me. How could she not think this was a big, exciting deal?

  “Dylan, you need to apologize to your sister. I’m counting to three. One, two . . .”

  “Mom!” protested Dylan. “Stop! Alexis has hired me to help her undork herself in time to get a date for the pep rally. She has empowered me to advise her. And this is my first piece of advice: The FBLA is sudden social death. Do not join. If you take even one piece of advice from me, let it be that. I shall say no more on the topic.” And she picked up her fork and began eating again.

  I, on the other hand, had lost my appetite.

  CHAPTER 3

  The Commandments of Cool

  My parents banned the topics of dorkiness and the FBLA for the rest of dinner, but it didn’t leave us much to talk about since that was all that was on my mind, anyway.

  Afterward, I retreated to my room to continue reading my book while they cleaned the kitchen, and then I took a shower. A few moments after I closed my door, someone knocked.

  “Come in,” I said warily.

  Dylan came in holding a file folder and sat on my bed, all serious. “Listen, you’re the one w
ho always says ‘knowledge is power,’” she began.

  I nodded and then shrugged.

  “And you asked me to give you help and to share my wisdom.”

  Annoying but true. I nodded again.

  “I’ve put together a report on the state of dorkiness and how to convert it to coolness in six easy steps. It’s all in here.” She fanned the folder at me.

  I rolled my eyes. I didn’t want to play into her hands, but I really did have an urge to grab the folder and devour its contents. Instead, I waited.

  “It’s up to you which path you take, but I have illuminated the way to coolness for you, and I hope you will make the right choice. And just to reiterate, the FBLA is not the right choice. Nothing personal.”

  Dylan moved to hand me the folder and I let it hang in the air for an extra second, then I took it from her and tossed it on my desk supercasually, like I didn’t really care what it said.

  “Thanks,” I said finally, good manners winning out over my annoyance with her and her directives.

  “Good luck” was all she said as she closed the door behind her.

  I stared at the folder, knowing that once I opened it, my life would be forever changed, whether I acted on her advice or not. Maybe I didn’t care if I was a dork. Maybe being cool would take up too much time and keep me from doing the things I really wanted to do, like joining the FBLA.

  But knowledge is power; it’s true that I always say that. And nothing tempts me like a well-done research project sitting inside a folder.

  I sighed and picked it up, and then I began to read.

  The report was long and involved. Dylan had really done her homework, as usual. There was a long list of “Don’ts” in the Dork section, as well as a list of individuals we both knew who were cited for their dorkiness (including my parents!). There was a filmography part, referencing movies I should see that would help to illuminate the differences between dorks and cool people, and there was a recommended reading list of magazines and blogs that would “cool me up,” according to Dylan. It all looked like a lot of work.

  But the main body of the report came down to the Six Commandments of Cool, as Dylan called them. They were:

  (1) Do well in school, but never mention it. Even deny it at times. (See Section A for examples of when and how to deny.)

  (2) Smile and be friendly, but not too friendly. (Do not encourage dorks by acting like they are your equals.)

  (3) In public, pretend that you do not care about the following: what you wear, how you look, who likes you. (But in private, DO pay close attention to these things.)

  (4) Do not be too accessible, either via e-mail, online social sites, IM, phone, etc. (and often say you have plans, even if you do not).

  (5) Go with the flow and just let things roll. (It’s dorky to make a fuss.)

  (6) Always have a good guy friend. (See Section B for reasons why.)

  I slumped in my desk chair and thought about all the advice.

  This would be a lot of work. And some of it went against my better instincts. Like, why would I deny getting good grades? That was preposterous to me. And how could I not be friendly to people who were dorks? According to Dylan’s list of dorks, many of them were my friends! Maybe not people I’d invite to sleep over, but certainly people I’d pick first as a lab partner in science class. I was suddenly supposed to not be too friendly to them? That would be impossible. And worse, I’d get stuck with a dumb lab partner and get a bad grade!

  But the Cool Commandment that was the hardest for me was number six. I really didn’t have any guy friends, and I wasn’t even sure who’d be a good candidate.

  Section B said guy friends were good for stand-ins when you need a date but don’t have one (Hellooo, pep rally parade!), and they can introduce you to other guys, one of whom might be boyfriend material. Guy friends also signal to other guys that a girl is okay. Like, if a girl is cool enough to be friends with this guy, then go ahead and like her because she’s preapproved or something. Guy friends also give you a good perspective on what boys like in a girl and what’s important to them. Also, talking with boys who you are not romantically interested in gives you practice for talking to the ones you do like. And so on and so on.

  Section B wiped me out. I closed the folder, set it back on my desk, and then just sat there, stunned. I had an urge to do the only thing that would make me feel better: work on the Cupcake Club. But having resigned my duties, there was nothing for me to do.

  There was another knock on the door, and this time it was my dad.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” he said from my doorway. “Can I come in?”

  “Hi, Dad,” I said. I was happy to see him, but I knew the lecture that was coming. I could have recited it myself.

  He came in and sat on the corner of my bed so recently vacated by Dylan. “Alexis, your mom and I and all your friends and all your teachers think you are wonderful just as you are. You are talented, smart, ambitious, organized—”

  I interrupted. “Thanks, Dad. But I’m okay. I don’t need a pep talk. I really did ask Dylan for her help.”

  My dad pressed his lips together into a thin line and looked up at the ceiling while he gathered his thoughts. “I guess what your mom and I want you to know is . . . cool is temporary. It’s a barometer kids use for a few years, when they are too unsure of themselves to be individuals. So they create this system that evaluates people based on criteria that literally have no bearing on the rest of your life. Trust me, once you are out of middle school and high school, there’s no such thing as who’s cool and who’s not. So we suggest you forget about all that temporary stuff and just follow your passions. Those are what make a person great and attractive to others—being energized and excited about life! Not being boxed in by some rules or regulations . . .”

  Boy, would his eyes pop out at Section A, I thought. I tried not to smile. It was just that his advice was such a contrast to Dylan’s. I knew he was right when I really thought about it, but the truth was, I did have to get through these next few years worrying about the cool factor. That was just a fact of life. Following your passions, if they were dorky, did not exactly get you a partner for the pep rally parade.

  “I know, Dad. You guys tell me this all the time,” I said, trying to be kind but also wanting him to stop.

  “We do?” My dad’s face brightened. “Oh good! Then you’re actually listening! That’s great news!”

  I smiled.

  “Listen, honey, I just came up here to tell you that your mom and I think you should go for it with the Future Business Leaders of America. And don’t listen to anything Dylan the Drama Queen tells you. Even if you did ask for her help. Okay?”

  I nodded. “Thanks,” I said, though I had every intention of doing the opposite of what he’d just told me.

  He stood up and then planted a kiss on my head. “Get some sleep, now. It’s late.” And he walked out the door.

  “Good night, Dad,” I said.

  I heard my dad enter Dylan’s room and start lecturing her. I smiled with happiness, pushing aside the twinge of guilt I felt for bringing this all on Dylan. She really was just trying to help me, after all.

  I picked up a pen and chewed on the cap, which is what I always do when I’m thinking. I was at a loss. I kept feeling anxious, like there was something I had to do. Then I’d realize it was the Cupcake Club and that, in fact, there wasn’t anything for me to do now. I was so stressed about the other girls getting it all done, but at the same time I refused to chase them down with IMs and e-mails to make sure they were. It was just that one or two botched jobs could ruin our business for months, if not for good. When you run a business on word of mouth and good recommendations, your reputation is all you have. I chewed the pen harder.

  Finally, I snapped. I decided to send an e-mail to the club to ask them for a Cupcake meeting at lunch tomorrow after our decorations committee discussion. With so many loose ends assigned to other people, we needed a meeting to catch up and to see h
ow things were going, just for the good of the business. I vowed to myself that I would not take over or do any of the other girls’ assignments. I just needed to put my mind at ease that the others were doing their jobs.

  I hopped onto my e-mail account and sent the group the lunch meeting request. There was an e-mail in my in-box requesting that we do cupcakes for a book club meeting of a friend of Katie’s mom. I forwarded it to Katie, since she was doing the scheduling now.

  After pressing send, I packed my ledger and CC notebook in my backpack and then went to brush my teeth, wash my face, and get into my pj’s. With my retainer in, I called downstairs to my mom that I was ready for her to come up to say good night.

  While I waited I climbed into bed and grabbed the Cool folder from my desk. I just couldn’t help myself. I flipped it open and then began to read it again.

  CHAPTER 4

  Go with the Flow

  There were lots of kids at school the next day for various pep rally committees: the refreshments committee, the entertainment committee, and, of course, the decorations committee. I strained to hear if anyone was talking about who they’d march with, but I didn’t hear any of the other girls mention boys’ names. I hated to ask them directly; it would be rude. But I was dying to know if they were marching with boys.

  I ran into Mr. Donnelly on the way to the cafeteria, and he immediately wanted to chat about the FBLA.

  “Alexis! I haven’t heard back from you about the Future Business Leaders of America! Are you interested? Did you discuss it with your parents?” He smiled expectantly at me.