Free The Cupcake Queen by Heather Hepler

would have run into her. But it’s not her I’m looking at, it’s who she’s talking to. Marcus. He doesn’t even look in my direction; instead he seems intent on something beyond my left shoulder. Without acknowledging me, he moves past. I turn and watch him walk over to a group of guys all in varsity soccer uniforms. Charity smirks. “Stare much?” she asks. There’s a burst of laughter behind me.
    Tally’s waiting for me at her locker. She raises her eyebrows at me as I walk over. I shake my head and lean against the row of lockers beside hers, trying to look like I’m not actually looking at what I’m looking at. Marcus is still talking with the soccer players. He takes a ball from one of them and bounces it from one knee to the other before catching it. Then, finally, he looks over to where I’m still trying to seem like I’m not looking. He watches me for a moment and then disappears down the hall, the group of soccer players following.
    “That’s Marcus,” Tally says.
    “Yeah,” I say, feeling the heat on my face. She keeps watching me, smiling. I try not to meet her eyes. Instead I check out the inside of her locker. Her books are stacked neatly according to size, but that’s not what makes me pause. Perched on her book tower is a huge can with a spoon sticking out of the top. It’s one of those cans you find only in Sam’s Club or Costco or maybe in the Impossibly Big Food aisle of the grocery store. It’s the generic brand, with no picture or even any color on its label. It only has one word on it, in huge black print: LARD.
    Tally looks around like she’s about to do something she doesn’t want anyone to see. Once she does it, I know why. She takes the spoon out of the can with a big glop of lard on it and puts it into her mouth. I hear a series of gasps behind me. I don’t even have to turn around to know who is standing there watching.
    “Have you lost your mind?” I ask. Tally doesn’t answer. She just sticks the spoon back in the can and closes her locker. She makes a big production of swallowing, even making a happy noise at the end, like you might hear after the first bite of pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving. I turn and look behind me in time to see Charity and her friends walking away, whispering.
    “What was all that about?” I ask. I’m thinking reverse anorexia, weird cravings.
    “Trust me,” Tally says. She picks up her notebook and starts walking, making me follow. I’m still trying to get my head around the Can of Animal Fat Show, but Tally’s already moved on. “So, Marcus,” she says. “I told you he runs on the beach around dusk.” I just nod. “Okay, then,” she says, and smiles.
    “Okay what?” Blake asks, walking up to us.
    “Nothing,” I say. I feel myself blushing again.
    “Nothing,” Tally says, and she winks at me.

chapter nine
    I lean my elbows against the top of the display case and watch people walk past on the sidewalk. I know the only reason my mother asked me to work the front of the bakery this afternoon was because Thursday afternoons are always so slow. That and she didn’t have anyone else. Gram is in Lancaster doing a series of portraits for a family. I helped her load her milk crate of snuggle toys into her car before she left. She threw in a couple of puppets and a plastic fishing toy with a clump of feathers glued to the string. “Whatever it takes to get the shot,” Gram told me before pushing the back closed and climbing into the car.
    Then Mom left about an hour ago with strict instructions not to leave the front unless there was an emergency. I have to fight the urge to put my head down on the counter. I suddenly feel really tired through and through, from the end of my ponytail to the bottoms of my still slightly squishy sneakers. I had no idea gesso could stay damp for so long. I ditched the borrowed jeans for a clean pair at home, but I couldn’t find any other shoes. I open the back of the case and start rearranging the