Last-But-Not-Least Lola and the Cupcake Queens Page 3

  “N-n-n-no,” she cries. “I’ve just never ever gotten in trouble and gone to the principal’s office. I’m not bad like you.”

  “I’m not bad!” I yell, but part-way through I turn the volume down because yelling is bad. Especially right in front of the principal. “She’s the one running out of class and hiding in the music room and getting Dr. Witherspoon to drop a whole box of kazoos on the floor.”

  “Well, she’s the one hogging the best costume and telling whoppers about missing dogs!” Savannah belts out.

  “Come sit, girls,” Principal McCoy says. “Why don’t we all calm down?”

  We get settled into two chairs and I let Savannah have the hard one in case she thinks the fluffy-like-a-cat one has claws like I used to before I sat in it a couple of times.

  “Now, who would like to explain how the two of you ended up in the music room blowing and banging on the instruments?” Principal McCoy asks.

  “I went in there for some alone time,” Savannah says.

  “And I went in there to get her back to class,” I say. “Where she left. And I had permission. And she didn’t.”

  “Well, I had strong feelings,” Savannah says. “And my mom teaches yoga in a hot room. And she says everybody needs alone time. That gets you processing your feelings.”

  “I don’t get it,” I say to Savannah.

  “I think Savannah is saying that she was sad,” Principal McCoy explains. “Why were you sad?”

  Then Savannah tells Principal McCoy ALL about the Cupcake Queens and Strawberry Sweetie Pie.

  “Well, girls, this is quite a problem,” says Principal McCoy. “How are you going to solve it?”

  “We could both be Strawberry Sweetie Pie Cupcake Queens,” I say.

  Principal McCoy gets a big grin. I get a big grin. Problem solved.

  Sniff, sniff.

  Savannah’s sad all over again.

  Principal McCoy’s smile slips right off. “Savannah,” Principal McCoy says. “Why don’t you tell us why you’re upset? Again?”

  “I can’t,” she sniffs.

  “Did your mom go back to California?” I ask.

  “No,” she says. “It’s just that I want to be the only Strawberry Sweetie Pie. I don’t want there to be two.”

  “Chances are there will be more than one on Halloween when you trick-or-treat,” Principal McCoy says.

  “But not in Mrs. D.’s class,” Savannah says. “And Lola is already special because she’s Z and last.”

  “That’s not special!” I say. “That’s just last.”

  Principal McCoy makes a finger bridge. He thinks for a minute. “Savannah, I can understand why you want to be the only Strawberry Cutie Pie . . .”

  “Sweetie Pie,” me and Savannah say at the same time. And that makes us both smile.

  All of a sudden, Lola Gooderman gives Lola Badderman a surprise karate chop.

  “I don’t even care about being Strawberry Sweetie Pie,” I say really fast. “But Amanda and Jessie wanted me to. So I could match with them and be like the show.” The dumb show, I think, but I keep it to myself because if you don’t have anything nice to say, keep a lid on it. Granny Coogan told me that one. She’s got a lid on it almost all the time except when Grampy Coogan let his hound dogs sit on her brand-new sofa and matching loveseat.

  And uh-oh. ’Cause Savannah’s shiny eyes start leaking tears all over her freckles.

  “But they’d be just as happy if you could be Strawberry Sweetie Pie,” I say, as fast as Mrs. McCracken’s cat Dwight White zips when Patches is chasing him.

  “Oh, Lola!” Savannah says. She springs right out of her chair and wraps her arms around me and gives me a big tight hug. “Oh, thank you! Thank you!”

  “I can always be something else,” I say. “Like a glob of mud.”

  And on our way out the door, Principal McCoy says, “Lola, I’m very proud of you. It feels good to make someone else feel happy, doesn’t it?”

  Fishsticks. ’Cause that’s the kind of question adults ask when they already know the answer.

  7. GUESS WHO?

  ALMOST THE WHOLE CLASS already played the WHOLE COSTUME GUESSING GAME. Except for Savannah. And I need a do-over.

  “Mrs. D., I’m not going to be Strawberry Sweetie Pie,” I say. “Can I go again?”

  Mrs. D. looks at me. Then at Savannah. Then she nods.

  “I’m picking a new costume,” I tell everyone.

  Amanda’s mouth drops open. So does Jessie’s.

  “I’m round as a circle,” I say.

  Madison Rogers’s hand shoots up. “The sun?”

  “Nope. I have a hole in my middle,” I say.

  Ruby Snow waves her hand. “A donut?” she guesses.

  “Nope. I’m three minus three.”

  “Zero!” Sam Noonan yells. I pretend I don’t hear him ’cause teachers don’t hear yellers.

  Gwendolyn waves her hand in the air. I call on her.

  “Zero?” she asks.

  “That’s right!” I say. “You’re next.” Only Gwendolyn already went, since almost the whole class played the game without us.

  Mrs. D. writes Lola at the end of one long column and then Zero at the end of another. She luh-huvs columns.

  I sit down.

  Savannah hurries to the front. “I’ve got pink legs.”

  “A flamingo!” Madison guesses.

  “I have a pretty dress with a bow.”

  “Santa!” Rita Rohan guesses.

  “I have a strawberry on top of my head.”

  “Strawberry Sweetie Pie,” Amanda calls out. She has a big smile on her face. Fishsticks.

  “Yes,” Savannah says, only she kind of yells it.

  Amanda’s up next. I guess she couldn’t figure out anyone’s costume. Poor, poor Amanda. Even Timo guesses Chocolate Cherry Cupcake Queen.

  Timo says, “I am Finnish.”

  “Are you Timo?” Harvey asks.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “You can’t be yourself for Halloween,” Harvey says, but not mean.

  “Is your Halloween character also Finnish?” Mrs. D. asks.

  “Yes. I am the son of Ilmatar.”

  “In real life or are we guessing your costume?” Rita asks.

  “Guessing my costume,” Timo says. “Here’s another clue. It took 730 years for me to be born.”

  “Are you Finnish molten lava?” Ben Wexler asks.

  Timo shakes his head. “I discovered fire in the belly of a fish in the belly of a fish in the belly of a fish.”

  We all groan.

  “Timo, perhaps you could give us one more clue,” Mrs. D. says. “And then you may have to tell us if no one can guess.”

  “Very well,” Timo says. “I will give you a very good clue. I am the popular folk hero of the Finnish national epic poem The Kalevala.”

  “You’re Väinämöinen,” Sam shouts. “’Cause you told me at recess yesterday that Väinämöine is the Finnish Superman.

  “Yes!” Timo says with a big smile.

  After Timo, there’s only Charlie and we all know he’s Sir Rodney Strong from Charlie’s most absolute favorite book series, Sir Rodney and the Battles of Glockenshnitt.

  Mrs. D. stands in front of us. “Now everyone gets to guess who I will be for Halloween,” she says. “I love mud.”

  “Are you a pumpkin seed?” Dilly Chang guesses.

  “No, I’m not, but that’s a lovely idea,” Mrs. D. says. “I travel by crawling,” she adds.

  “Are you a baby?” Gwendolyn asks.

  “No. But you’re right, babies do love mud and they do crawl.”

  “Not me,” Harvey says. “My mom said I never crawled. I just started walking.”

  Mrs. D. says, “That seems believable. Okay, here’s another clue. I breathe through my skin.”

  We’re stumped.

  “One more. I eat garbage,” Mrs. D. says.

  “You’re a worm!” I yell. “An earthworm!”

  “You’re ri
ght, Lola!”

  I’m happy until I remember what I’m about to forget—all my lines in Once Upon a Pumpkin. Fishsticks.

  8. CUPCAKE QUEENS DON’T LIKE BEANS

  “WE’RE THE CUPCAKE QUEENS, we’re the Cupcake Queens! We bring you fun! And lots of frosting!” Amanda sings. She’s good at making up songs. But she didn’t make that one up. She got it right off the TV.

  Amanda, Jessie, and Savannah are holding hands and dancing in a circle.

  “Cupcake Queens don’t like beans!” I help out Amanda from the outside of the circle. “They make you toot. That’s not for queens!”

  Amanda stops singing. Jessie stops dancing. Savannah scowls at me. A scowl is a cross between Scat! and growl.

  “Lola Zuckerman,” Amanda says. “That is NOT a Cupcake Queens song.”

  “Cupcake Queens do not toot,” Savannah says.

  “It was your choice not to be a Cupcake Queen and take advantage of an absolutely free deluxe costume,” Jessie informs me.

  “That’s because somebody—” I say.

  “Is enjoying her brand-new puppy,” Savannah interrupts.

  Fishsticks.

  “Besides, you’re going to be a Zero and your mom will make you a really neat costume,” Amanda says and pats me on the arm.

  “Yay,” I say and yay stands for I changed my mind. “But I have a different idea. I want to be a Cupcake Queen. Not Strawberry Sweetie Pie,” I say before Savannah can open her trap. “Can’t we make up a new one?”

  “A new one?” Jessie says. “I don’t get it.”

  “Like . . .” I think for a second. “Butterscotch Baby Cupcake Queen. I could be a little tiny baby Cupcake Queen.”

  “There’s no such thing,” Amanda says.

  “That’s not on the show,” Jessie says. “That would be a spin-off show.”

  “That’s four Cupcake Queens,” Savannah says. “And there are only three.”

  Three Cupcake Queens. One Zero.

  “Fine,” I say. “I’m going to memorize my Pumpkin lines.”

  “Good idea,” Jessie says. “’Cause you have the most lines in the play.”

  “How do you know?” I ask.

  “Well, when my brother Dustin was in that play, he was the Pumpkin and he had to study all day and all night,” Jessie says.

  And now my tummy feels like I ate a pumpkin. A rotten one.

  9. RUNAWAY DOG!

  JACK LOOKS UP FROM HIS BOOK 100 Creepy TRUE Facts About Halloween. “So you’re the pumpkin in Once Upon a Pumpkin? I was the moon. All I had to do was beam down on the pumpkin patch and say, ‘Don’t worry, little pumpkin!’”

  I hang off my chair just like Harvey does. And Once Upon a Pumpkin hangs with me. I have to memorize SEVEN whole lines. That’s TWO more than anyone else.

  “You better start learning your lines pronto,” Jack says. “Before you know it—BAM—you’re on that stage. The lights are shining on you. All those people are staring at you . . .”

  I feel hot inside my eyeballs. And electricky. “STOP!” I yell.

  Mom comes running in. She’s got a big piece of green cloth on her shoulders and a measuring tape around her neck. She looks like Super Green Mom.

  “Kids! Enough!” Mom says. She slaps two spoons, some celery, and a jar of peanut butter on the table. “Two dresses down, twenty-eight to go,” she mutters. Then she pauses and her eyes focus on me. “Lola, you absolutely, positively have to brush your hair after your bath tonight,” she says.

  “But—”

  “No buts.”

  “Did you know people used to carve turnips, not pumpkins?” Jack tells us.

  “Hmm,” Mom says, and that stands for she wasn’t even listening.

  On the way out of the kitchen, she reaches into a cupboard and pulls out a box of raisins. “Catch!” she yells to Jack. And then she tosses the box of raisins to him. He catches it with one hand.

  “Good throw, Mom,” Jack yells. “Why are you wearing a cape?”

  Mom smiles. “Like it?” Then she hurries back to the guest bedroom/sewing room.

  “She didn’t even make us our ants-on-a-log,” I say.

  “I guess we’re big enough to make our own,” Jack says.

  “You are, but I’m not,” I say. “And she forgot to ask me about my day.” We look at the guest bedroom door, and guess what? It’s shut tight like the lid on a pickle jar.

  “Here,” Jack says. He unscrews the peanut butter lid. He takes a scoop of peanut butter out and smears it all over the celery.

  “That’s not how you do it,” I say. “Give me that.” I take the peanut butter and spoon from him. “Watch me.” I carefully spoon peanut butter right down the celery aisle. Then I get out some raisins and plink them into the peanut butter. “See?” I hand one to him and then I make myself one. Patches whines for some peanut butter. He luh-huvs peanut butter.

  I rest my feet on Patches. Poor Patches. “He’s sad,” I say. “He’s starving to death.”

  “No, he’s not,” Jack says. “He already grabbed an apple off the counter.”

  “Oh. Well, he looks hungry.”

  Jack eats his ants-on-a-log in three bites. “Mm, that was good. Can you make me another one? I’ll tell you more facts about Halloween.”

  I scoop more peanut butter and plink more raisins. Jack tells me that Americans spend six billion dollars on Halloween and eat ninety million pounds of chocolate. Then he wolfs down his ants-on-a-log.

  But Jack’s still hungry. We look in the fridge.

  “There’s baked macaroni and cheese in here,” I say. “But I think it’s for dinner.” I hold up a big ol’ bag of mac and cheese that Mom made a hundred years ago and froze and now it’s thawing out.

  “Maybe spoon me a few servings of that,” Jack says. “You’re good at this, Lola. Here’s another fact for you. The signs of a werewolf are a unibrow, hairy hands, and tattoos.”

  “But don’t I have to heat it up or something?” I ask.

  Jack looks at it.

  “’Cause I’m not supposed to use the stove.”

  “Maybe we could ask Mom?”

  Patches grabs the bag right out of my hand and takes off running.

  “PATCHES!” I yell. “COME BACK HERE!”

  Patches dives left into the living room.

  “Kids, keep it down out there!” Mom warbles from the guest bedroom. “I’m trying to work in here.”

  Patches wings up the stairs. I race after him. Jack races after me.

  “Jack, stay right there and catch him,” I whisper-holler.

  “No, you stay, and I’ll chase him,” Jack says. He sprints after Patches.

  The front doorbell rings.

  “Someone get the door!” Mom yells.

  Jack and I freeze. Patches darts by with the mac and cheese bag hanging in his mouth. I grab it and—zloop. The bag slips right out of my hands. Patches goes bounding down the stairs with it.

  “Bad dog!” I yell. But he rumbles like I gave him a compliment.

  The doorbell rings again.

  “COMING! I’m COMING,” I hear Mom holler.

  “PATCHES! What do you have in your mouth?”

  I hurry down the stairs, zippety, zippety.

  “Lola, you have some friends here,” Mom calls. She’s standing at the front door holding a slobbery bag of mac and cheese with teeth holes in it and cheese oozing out. She’s got a piece of tape stuck right on her forehead. But I’m not about to tell her. No, sir. “We’ll talk about how Patches got hold of the mac and cheese later, Lola,” Mom loud-whispers. Then she says real sweet, “Come on in, girls.”

  Before we can even say a word, Mom hurries off. She calls, “Snacks in the kitchen,” throws the drippy bag of mac and cheese in the garbage, and then disappears into the guest room/sewing room.

  It’s Amanda, Jessie, and Savannah.

  “We came to meet the puppy,” Jessie tells me.

  “You know,” Savannah squeaks. “The PUPPY.”

  “The o
ne you pinkie-promised about,” Amanda says. She folds her arms up like a big ol’ bandage.

  Fishsticks.

  10. ONCE UPON A WHOOOO

  “WELL, WHERE IS IT?” JESSIE asks.

  Amanda is tap-tap-tapping her foot like a mad ol’ woodpecker.

  Savannah’s face is red as the strawberry on Strawberry Sweetie Pie’s head. “Amanda and Jessie wanted to come over to my house to see my puppy. I told them that my puppy missed its mom, so it had to go back to the Lola Puppy Farm. So you got a new puppy for me. Today. Right?”

  “Riiiiight,” I say.

  “They wanted to see it. But we forgot to call you. So here we are!” Savannah says.

  “We thought it was weird that the Puppy Farm is called the Lola Puppy Farm,” Amanda informs me.

  “Where’s the puppy?” Jessie blares. “Here puppy, puppy, puppy!”

  “Shush!” I say. “My mom has to make twenty-eight Lola dresses for the Kute Kids Clothing Company. Come on in, everybody,” I whisper. I tiptoe into the kitchen. Patches trots right in. He wags his tail so hard his whole body wags.

  “Well,” Jessie says in her loud ol’ TV voice. “There’s Patches. Where’s the puppy?”

  Uh-oh.

  Mom comes out of her guest room/sewing room. She has a pin in her mouth even though she told me to NEVER EVER do that.

  “Girls, could you possibly take your play date outside?” Mom asks in her That’s-Not-Really-A-Question Voice. “And Jack, why don’t you go shoot some hoops?”

  “Want me to teach you how to sink a ball blindfolded, Mom?” Jack asks.

  “Maybe later,” Mom says. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

  Jack slinks out the door.

  I grab Once Upon a Pumpkin off the kitchen table.

  “Let’s go practice our lines. And when Mom’s all done working, she can show us the puppy,” I say.