Free Confectionately Yours #1: Save the Cupcake! by Lisa Papademetriou Page B

Mr. Malik’s sister.
    Her flashing eyes land on her brother, and he gives her a huge smile. “Ah, Uzma! Just in time to join us in a cup of tea.”
    “Where did you put the information for tomorrow’s orders?” she demands, without acknowledging me or Gran.
    “Where they always are.”
    “I can’t find them.”
    “Well, you’ll have to wait. I’m having a cup of tea with my friend Mrs. Wilson.”
    Uzma glares at Gran. She notices the purple orchid beside the cash register and scowls, as if she wishes she could vaporize it with her eyes. She’s never been very happy about Gran and Mr. Malik’s barter arrangement. “I need your help now, Umer.”
    Mr. Malik is unruffled by his sister’s temper. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
    With a huff, she storms through the door. Mr. Malik smiles gently at Gran, who looks down at her saucer. The happy mood between them has been snuffed out.
    It’s amazing that one person can have that power.

O nce, when I was a little girl, I went into the flower shop with Gran to choose a bouquet for a friend of hers who was in the hospital. Mr. Malik wasn’t there for some reason — maybe he was on a delivery — so Uzma was helping Gran. I was bored waiting for Gran to pick out what she wanted, so I made a game of smelling all of the flowers in the shop. I sniffed all of the cut flowers, and then moved on to blooming plants.
    Well, one of them had a dead leaf on it, so I picked it off.
    Uzma Malik must have caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, because she started screaming at me. She even came out from behind the cash register to scold me, wagging a finger in my face. Naturally, I started to cry, and my grandmother became very stern. She told Ms. Malik that it wasn’t her place to speak to a child that way, and that if she had anything to say, she could say it to Gran. Well, Ms. Malik did not like that at all . She called Gran an imperialist. That made Gran so mad that she dropped the bouquet on the counter, grabbed my hand, and dragged me out of the store.
    When Mr. Malik heard about this incident, he came over with the flowers and an apology, but things have never been the same between Uzma Malik and my grandmother.
    All because of a stupid dead leaf.

“W here were you?”
    Artie’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. She’s standing on the other side of the counter, her face flushed and happy. “I thought you were going to wait for me!” She’s speaking a pitch higher than usual, almost as if someone has turned up the volume on her tongue. I catch sight of the two college guys at the corner table looking over at her, and it strikes me that this is what she wanted. “I got out of the audition and couldn’t find you anywhere.”
    “Sorry — I’m sorry. I just — I realized I had to get back here. I’d told Gran I would help out ….” I look over to make sure that Gran is out of earshot. She’d call me on a lie faster than you can smack a bug.
    “I went trekking all over school looking for you!”
    “Sorry,” I repeat. I want to tell her about what happened with Marco, but we’re in the middle of the café, and besides … “Have a cupcake.” I pass it across the counter to her.
    “I got the part,” Artie announces, beaming.
    “That’s great!” I rush around the counter and wrap her in a hug. She leans toward me and closes her eyes, still smiling, and — somehow — I get the feeling that we’re in a movie, or maybe that Artie thinks we’re in a movie. I’m not sure if I’m explaining that right, but it’s how I feel. I say, “Congratulations.”
    “And Devon got his part, too! I’m so glad we got the chance to run lines last Saturday. I think that really made the difference.”
    “Saturday?”
    Artie takes a bite of the cupcake. “Yeah — after I couldn’t come over, I called up Devon and asked if he wanted to practice. He only lives about five blocks away — did you know that?”
    “You called him?” Why am I turning