Chain Reaction 4.4: Cupcake

 

Aspen Herrera

     Teendom: It feels anticlimactic.

     I'm standing here waiting for Brylee to show up, curious how she may have changed. I suppose it doesn't matter. She'll always be my favorite person.

     Back in Bridgeport, my life sucked. I was brutally bullied for wanting to be different. No one would accept me for who I was; they wouldn't let me be who I wanted to be. The therapist Mom sent me to recommended a change of scenery, somewhere completely new where no one knew us. That brought me here to Eden.

     When Mom registered me for school, no one questioned anything. I was simply the new girl Aspen, and I was set free to start my new academic life. But I was afraid of how the other kids would treat me. I didn't approach anyone, scared they might "know" and the cycle would begin again.

     Then I met Brylee.

     She'd gotten into a disagreement with her other friends Jessica and Cohen that day, and she was looking for somewhere else to sit in the lunchroom. I was sitting alone, so she pushed her presence onto me. We got to talking and found out we liked a lot of the same stuff. At first, though, I was a bit put off by her extra-bubbly attitude. However, after a few weeks, I discovered she constantly fights with depression, using that as her weapon of choice. "If you keep smiling, you eventually FEEL better," she would say. She's loads stronger than I first gave her credit for.

     "Aspen?" I hear behind me, and I turn to see that familiar shade of red hair.

      "I love what you've done with your hair," she tells me as she walks by, and as she does, the smell of her perfume blesses my nostrils. It's some expensive brand that Jessica talked her into.

     "Thanks," I reply. "I decided it was high time I looked a little more girly."

     She giggles. "Well, I'm glad." She turns to face me, in front of me now.

 

      "So what do you think?" she asks, showing off her new aged-up look.

      "I like it." I smile.

      Total understatement. Nature has blessed her in all the right ways, in all the right places, and if I look too hard at her, I get a jittery feeling in my stomach. Holy plumbob she's gorgeous. 

     "I don't know." She looks down at her chest. "It's a big change. I don't know if I like it."

     "Don't say that! Not all of us are as lucky as you are." I think mainly of myself and my struggles.

     She gets a kind of 'well, plum' look. "We always want what we don't have, huh? Like I wish I had your blonde hair."

     "Brylee, stop it. You're gorgeous. It's unfair."

     "Oh, I'm gorgeous, huh?" she asks in a flirtatious way.

     "Ah, but..." Ow. "Um..." I get suddenly lightheaded as she giggles at me. Plum what is wrong with me? 

     "I'm teasing, silly." She giggles harder.

     I fake laugh back, bending slightly. "Sure, okay." Then I pretend to fix my coat as I stand straighter again. Change the subject! "So are you sure you didn't want a party?"

     She sighs. "Yeah. I'd be too broken up about it if nobody came. Or... if too many people came, including a certain jerk who would just end up teasing me. So, I avoided both." She smiles triumphantly.

      "Avoidance is my trick, remember? I'm sure plenty of people would've come, and if he came, your dad could just kick him out. Or, if that didn't work, I'd throw him out for you." I got into a fight last year when a boy thought he could get 'handsy' with me. Unluckily for me, the wrestling coach was the one to break it up. When the dust settled, he recommended I try out for the girls' team. I declined. I won't do sports. I have my reasons.

     She giggles again. "Aspen: my guardian angel. Anyway, I didn't want a party. It was hectic enough just going to Cohen's." Cohen's family are millionaires. It's a wonder she doesn't go to Everton. But then again, there is that entrance exam that is surprisingly not corrupt. Cohen's party was enormous, and she'd invited Scott Johnson (the 'he' we referred to earlier) even though Brylee had begged her not to. He's not as obvious about it as he was a few years ago, but he refuses to give up, trying more subtle ways to get Brylee's attention. I hate him.

     "Cohen was a bitch for doing that." I mean inviting Scott.

     She looks like she agrees with me. "She kept saying 'but he's the most popular boy in school' and some such garbage."

     I just want to hold her face in my hands. Why do you have to be so perfect? I remind myself once again not to look at her too much. "That's not how friends should treat friends. She knew he made you uncomfortable, and she did it anyway." I think for a second. "You know, we should have our own party."

     She winces. "When?"

     "Right now. Just you and me." I smile. "Let's just go get some cake and celebrate ourselves."
     Tears threaten her eyes. "Oh! You're so wonderful." Then she wraps her arms around my waist.

       My senses are assaulted in the best way possible. She must never know. Ever. I'd kill myself if I lost her friendship. I would seriously rather die. I don't want to put Brylee in that awkward position. I will gladly carry the burden of knowing what can never be because losing her would be so much worse. I know eventually some guy will come along and sweep her off her feet, and I'm working on accepting that. As for me, I'll never want anyone but her, so I know I'm destined to be single my whole life. No one will want me. That's the price I have to pay, I guess.

     Turns out a lot of places closed early tonight, but we do find a café that's still open.

 

     "Well, cupcakes are still cake," she tells me as I bemoan the fact they had no actual cake.

     I smile. "All right, cupcake." We tap our cupcakes together as if making a toast and proceed to devour them. She gets icing on her nose, and I have to look away. Then I have to turn back when she starts giggling. "What?"

     "You have icing on your nose." She reaches over and scoops it off with her finger. Then she puts her finger in her mouth. My face burns. "What?" she asks.

     "You didn't have to eat it."

     She shrugs. "Why let good icing go to waste?" Pause. "Should I have let you lick it off my finger?"

     Oh plumbob. "No, it's fine." I look at my shoes and mention the icing on her nose.

     She laughs and proceeds to get the icing off her nose before asking me if I want it.

     "No thanks." I want to scream.

     "Okay." She licks her finger again.

 

     "I like this place," I tell her.

     "Even though it doesn't have cake," she teases.

     "Well, I'm not always going to want to eat cake. And the coffee's delicious."

     "It is," she agrees.

     "You wouldn't know. You didn't get coffee."

     "Yes I did!"

     "Cappuccino isn't coffee."

     "Sure it is! It's coffee on steroids, so, ultra-coffee."

     I can't help but laugh. I still disagree, but it doesn't matter. For all I care, she could have a double macchiato with extra whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles and still call it coffee, and I'd just shake my head and smile. "You have a very broad definition of coffee, then."
    She puts on a silly kind of sophisticated air. "I am accepting of all drinks, hot and cold, that wish to designate themselves as being in the coffee family, and I call them all coffee." She grins.

      I smirk. "So what about warm milk with three dollops of mayonnaise? What if that wanted to consider itself coffee?" I love our ridiculous conversations.

      She makes a face. "Well, first of all, that would be disgusting."

      "How would you know? Have you tried it?"

      She shakes her head. "I wouldn't have to. It's just... ugh!"

      "Answer the question, though."

      "According to what I said earlier, I would have to, right? Even though it has absolutely no association with the coffee bean."

      "But people put milk in their coffee..." I leave my statement hanging.

 

     "I know you're just messing with me. But even though it's just an occasional ingredient of some people's preferred way of drinking coffee, if mayonnaise milk--"

     "Warm mayonnaise milk," I correct her.

      She sighs. "WARM mayonnaise milk wants to be coffee, then by all means, be coffee." She pauses. "But honestly, why would it want to? Just being itself is so unique that why would it want to categorize itself into something with such a broad spectrum?"

      I think for a moment. "To blend in. It is an odd beverage. Maybe it just wants to pretend not to be so odd." I smile. "Although, if it comes across something like hot cherry soda with two dollops of mayonnaise, it might decide to re-categorize because then it wouldn't be so alone."

     "Hm. I think the mayonnaise might actually curdle if it's put into soda."

     "It might actually taste damn good, though."

      We pause and then start cracking up laughing, tears rolling down our cheeks.

     "We should get you home before your mom freaks out and you get grounded."

     She lets out a puff of air. "It sucks being the oldest. I know that when John gets to be my age, they probably won't be near as strict."

     "Strict isn't that bad," I say quietly. Beats being ignored. My mom works late hours. Strippers usually do. With her career, it made the move to Eden easier. There's always work--no matter where you go. Still, she hated leaving Bridgeport for me, and she blames me and what she calls my 'odd twisting of nature.' Thanks, Mom.

     Brylee gives me a sympathetic look, understanding half of my thoughts. "She's working later and later, isn't she?"

     We stand up and exit the café.

     I shrug. "She's getting older, and she wants to have some work done to her. That takes more money." And the older I get, the more she despises me, the more she would rather dance naked in front of perverts than be with her own flesh and blood.

 

     I turn and face my best friend. "And besides, look at all this beautiful freedom I have! A teenager's dream, right?"

     She frowns, seeing right through me. "Aspen, if it ever gets real bad, you'd tell me, right? Because I know my parents wouldn't mind it if you moved in with us."

     What the plum? My heart beats faster.

      "I'm fine. You... What have you told them?"

      She blushes. "Just that... that your mom works late hours and leaves you alone for long stretches of time."

      My mouth drops. "Are you trying to have me taken away by child services?"

      She pales. "No! Would they do something?"

      "I don't know!" I start pacing. The last thing I need is someone poking into my life!

      "Aspen, I'm sorry! I'm only trying to help." She pouts, on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry. I did something stupid again."

      Oh no. 

     "It's okay. You didn't do something stupid. You're a sweet, caring person, and you're trying to help me." Dammit. I hate it when she cries, and it's made worse this time because my freaking out did it.

     "But I don't want them to take you away! I want you to live with me. Maybe we could share my room." She sniffs.

     I chuckle and look at the stars. "That might be a disaster."

     She pulls back. "What? Why?"

     "I'm not an easy person to live with, Bry, for various reasons." And if she figured out everything about me, she'd hate me, and if we shared a room, she'd figure it out.

     "What 'reasons'?"

     Fuck. "Just let it go. Please? Believe me, I'd love it, but I'm afraid you'd grow to hate me. Anyway, I'm fine, okay? I'm not the first kid with an almost-absent single parent. It's made me strong."

     She takes a deep breath, and I want to wipe her cheeks. I dare not, though.

     "Okay," she says. "But promise me you'll tell me if you change your mind."

     "Sure. I promise."

     Quick hug. Then we go our separate ways.

      She calls out over her shoulder, "Happy age-up day!"

      "You too, cupcake!" I watch her give me a strange look, and I cackle with laughter as I make my way home.