The Cupcake Queen by Heather Hepler Page A

have handled it better,” she says. Blake shakes his head. “You hungry?” she asks. I guess I’m not going to get the whole story now.
    “Starved,” I say, and follow them into the kitchen. We stand around the island, munching on apples and oatmeal cookies. I count six cats now. Blake turns on the radio. “I love this song,” I say. Tally bites into her apple.
    “You like Nathan’s Sunday?” Blake asks.
    “Like them? Doesn’t everyone?” I ask. He nods and smiles. “I tried to get tickets when they played Madison Square Garden.”
    “No luck?” Blake asks.
    “No. I mean, maybe if my mom had let me camp out overnight.” That was a huge argument between Mom and me. One that lasted for weeks. It’s funny—I used to really stand up to her on things. But moving to Hog’s Hollow has changed that somehow. Now I can’t even stand up to her when she wants to buy Super Chunk Skippy instead of the smooth Jif that I like.
    Blake reaches for another cookie and I turn and gaze out at the ocean. The whole back wall of the kitchen is windows, so you can see a wide length of the beach. The sun is fighting through the clouds, brightening the sky. Hanging in front of the window are dozens of glass balls, each swirled with color.
    “They’re Poppy’s,” Tally says, seeing me looking at them.
    “She made those?” I ask. Tally nods. I walk over and reach up to touch one of the balls gently. It spins slowly, casting rainbows of light all over the room.
    I hear a door slam and soon Poppy enters the kitchen. She pulls a handkerchief from her head, letting her red hair spill across her forehead.
    “You found the cookies,” Poppy says. She takes one of the apples and bites into it. She reaches down and rubs an orange cat behind the ears.
    “These are amazing,” I say, touching a ball covered in spirals of blues and greens. “It looks like the ocean.” Poppy leans against the counter, watching me. I walk along the window, examining all of them, but I’m drawn back to the first one, the ocean one. I touch it again, watching the waves of blue and green shift as it spins gently. I always feel like I’m not going to say the right thing about someone’s art, like I don’t know the right words. “They are really beautiful,” I say.
    Poppy smiles and says, “Thank you,” and I feel like maybe I did say the right thing. Is it that easy—just say what you think?
    “Oh,” Tally says through a mouthful of cookie, “I saw Mr. Fish the other day.”
    Poppy looks at Tally. “I haven’t seen him in a long time.” She takes another bite of apple and chews thoughtfully. “Not really since he moved.”
    “He seemed good,” Tally says. “He’s working at the dairy.”
    “If you see him again . . .” Poppy stops and looks at the apple in her hand. “I was going to tell you to ask him to drop by.” Tally nods, and they look at each other for a moment. “Maybe I’ll swing by the dairy and just say hi.”
    Poppy smiles at me. “Penny, feel free to come over anytime. You seem to have a real eye for art.” She picks up the handkerchief and ties it over her hair again. “Of course I mean that in a very self-congratulatory way.” She laughs at herself. “You’ll have to excuse me. I have a date with a soldering iron.” She lobs the apple core at the trash can as she walks toward the window. “The rain’s stopped. You should go out.” She smiles over at Tally. “You know, fresh air and all that.”
    Tally rolls her eyes, making Poppy laugh again.
    “I am always up for a walk on the beach,” Blake says. I nod, feeling a little flutter in my stomach. Quiet, I tell it. I can’t be all fluttery over some boy I’ve only just met.
    We head out, pulling on jackets and sweatshirts against the mist that the rain left behind. We walk along in silence for a while. Tally seems lost in thought and Blake is munching on the two cookies he swiped before heading out the door. We step over a long swath of seaweed and pass a