Confectionately Yours #2: Taking the Cake! by Lisa Papademetriou Page B

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    For years, singing was a private, almost secret thing that Artie did. I was her best friend, so I knew about it. She never, ever wanted to sing in public.
    Not until I made her audition for the fall musical.
    I look down at my notebook and scribble the word pop . Maybe I can make some cupcakes with pop. Or poppy seeds. Pop rocks? This seems like a bad idea, but I write it down, anyway. You never know when a bad idea will somehow turn into a good one. It happens.
    “Got anything good?” Devon whispers as he slips intothe seat behind mine. He has to lean forward and his lips are near my ear, which sends a shiver down my spine.
    “Not yet,” I confess. “Still thinking.”
    Devon nods, and we finish listening to Artie’s song. “What do you think of the play?” he asks when it’s over.
    “Oh, I love it.”
    “Can I ask you a question?” I turn to look into his blue gaze. There’s a fleck of gold in his right eye, like a beam of sunshine is caught there. “What do you think of my accent?”
    I must be hypnotized by that glimmer of gold, because instead of saying something sensible, like, “It’s genius,” I tell him the truth. “It’s kind of hard to understand.”
    Devon sucks in a deep breath. He drops his head.
    “I’m sorry,” I say quickly.
    “No,” he says. He smiles, and then takes my hand. A current travels up the length of my arm, almost like an electric shock. “That’s what I thought. It’s just — the actor who plays the role in the movie has a Scottish accent….”
    “So you want to sound like him?”
    “Yes. But it’s hard….” Devon shakes his head, and a lock of blond hair tumbles across his eyes. “Ms. Lang says to keep trying….”
    “It must make it hard to sing.”
    Devon looks at me for a long moment. “It really does.”
    My heart stutters in my chest and I feel that look of his — almost like the one he gave Artie before, in the scene. Except, in that moment, he was acting. And now …
    The silence between us drags on. Finally, I say, “I think you should just try using your own voice.”
    “That’s just what I needed to hear.” He presses my fingers and I feel as if my whole body has gone numb — everything except for my hand and arm, which are alive, crackling with energy.
    “Hi, guys! What’s up?” Artie stands beside Devon, and he drops my hand.
    “Artemis — Hayley and I were just discussing cupcake ideas,” he says.
    Artie doesn’t even look at me. “You’re in the next scene, Devon.”
    “Okay.” He flashes me one last grateful look. “Thanks for your honesty, Hayley.”
    “You’re welcome,” I whisper as Artie glares. She trails after him toward the stage for a moment, then turns and lopes back toward me. She’s smiling, so I smile back. I figure she’s going to thank me for making cupcakes for the play, or something, but instead she leans close to me and hisses, “Stay away from my boyfriend.”
    A cold dagger stabs through me as she leans back, still smiling. For a moment, I think I’ve misheard her. Then her eyes narrow.
    There are so many things I want to say, and they all come rushing into my head at once: Are you sure he’s your boyfriend? and What do you think I’m going to do? and Are you threatening me? But before I can say anything, she turns and walks away.
    I look down at my hand, which is sitting in my lap.
    The hand Devon held.
    Suddenly, I feel a little sorry for Artie.

T he arts wing is nearly deserted as I leave the auditorium. The hallway is eerily quiet — so quiet that I become extremely aware of the noise my shoes make as the rubber soles squeak across the marble floor. My head is still swirling with thoughts about cupcakes and Artie and Devon when I round the corner and hear a soft rain of musical notes echoing down the hall, reverberating off the metal lockers.
    They grow louder as I near the end of the hall and come to the practice rooms. The rooms are soundproof, but someone has left a door open and is