Sticker Girl and the Cupcake Challenge Page 2

  “Speak for yourself,” Scott says.

  I take Mom’s laptop from my bag and hold it for the others to see. “I made a commercial over the weekend to show you how we can reboot the typical bake sale.”

  When I hit PLAY, Craig fills the screen, staring straight into the camera. His expression is mean, like a cupcake tough guy. “You want a piece of me?” he asks. “Well, do you?” He’s holding out his fists like he’s ready to fight, but then smiles into the camera. “OF COURSE you want a piece of me,” he says. “I’m a CUPCAKE! Come on down to the elementary school this Friday and pick up your favorite treat! See you then!”

  What I don’t tell the others is that this ten seconds’ worth of footage took eighteen takes because Craig couldn’t get his lines down. (Cupcakes might be fun to hang out with but they’re terrible at memorizing lines. I finally had to agree to let Craig improvise and quote old movies.)

  “This is great!” Mike says. “We can put it on the school website and have Ms. Graham do an e-mail blast to all the parents and share it on the social media sites.”

  “We can start signing people up tomorrow,” Samantha adds. “Make a list of who’s bringing what so it’s not all chocolate chip cookies.”

  “Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Scott says.

  “You did a great job, Martina. But how did you animate that cupcake?” Mike asks. “It looks pretty real.”

  I make up a story about Eric helping me with the animation software he has on his computer.

  “I’m getting into video editing too,” Mike continues. “I could come over and help make more videos to generate buzz for the sale.”

  I hate lying but I tell him that Eric is picky about letting other people use his computer. “I’ll do the videos,” I say. “Do you want to help recruit volunteers?”

  Mike is really nice and making commercials for the sale with him would be fun, but I can’t risk letting anyone else but Bev know I’ve got a real talking cupcake living in a plastic container in my room.

  Dad picks me up at school after the meeting and, sure enough, the second I walk in the door, Bev appears.

  “Before we get into any new stickers, I have some presidential duties to attend to,” I tell her.

  We hurry to see if Ms. Graham uploaded Craig’s bake sale commercial to the school’s social media accounts. She did, and Bev nearly falls off the edge of the bed from laughing when she sees Craig’s tough-guy act.

  “Martina, this is HILARIOUS,” she says. “You have to tell Ms. Graham to tag Cupcake Challenge on these!”

  Bev’s idea is a great one. Getting a like or a comment from our favorite web series would be a nice accomplishment for our class—not to mention the publicity it could get our school. Maybe they’ll even give us a shout-out on the next episode.

  I leave comments on all the posts tagging Cupcake Challenge. Bev leans over my shoulder. “We should also tag the host too and double the chances of it getting seen by the right people—especially Christy Morales.”

  “Since when did you become such a hashtag expert?” I ask.

  “My mom does this for a living, remember?” Bev answers. We fist-bump and Bev heads to my bag to pull out the sticker sheet.

  “Come on, Sticker Girl,” she says. “I know two kittens just dying to come out and play.”

  Meow

  Bev doesn’t realize that there can be disastrous side effects when you bring a sticker to life. Never mind the whole magic thing, there are several reasons keeping kittens in the house could get me in trouble. First off, Eric hates cats. Second, how do I explain them to my parents? But the BIGGEST problem is how I’m going to introduce them to Lily, my Chihuahua. She’s been more than patient with Craig and with Walter the chipmunk ballerina; cats, however, are a different thing altogether. Whenever Mr. Rutledge’s Siamese cat, Queenie, sneaks out of their house down the street, Lily doesn’t stop barking at the window until Queenie goes back inside. The barking will be 24/7 with two kittens living here.

  To be safe, I rummage through the garage and dig out the small crate we used to train Lily and bring it inside my room. Lily’s not too happy about losing her freedom, so I coax her inside the crate with her favorite salmon treats.

  Bev hands me the sheet of stickers from my desk and asks if I’m ready. She might explode if I keep these kittens from her any longer.

  suddenly appear in my room. Bev and I have to control ourselves not to squeal with excitement.

  Lily barks from inside her crate. I try to calm her down while Bev frames the kittens with her mom’s phone and takes a photo.

  “Don’t be fooled,” Craig says. “They may seem tame, but they’re wildcats! I’ve lived with them on that sheet—I should know.”

  “But they’re such sweeties!” Bev sits next to me on my bed. “What filter do you think I should use to take a photo of them?”

  We scroll through a few filter options until Lily starts barking like crazy.

  I rush over to my faithful Chihuahua and pick her up from the crate. “What’s wrong, girl?”

  “Uhhh, Martina,” Bev says, “where did the kittens go?”

  We look under the bed, in the closet, and even in a few dresser drawers. The kittens are gone.

  So is my sheet of magic stickers!

  Come out, Come out, Wherever You Are

  “I told you those kittens were trouble,” Craig says.

  “Why didn’t you stop them?” I ask him.

  “I didn’t realize I was supposed to do everything around here,” he answers.

  “Do you think Lily can track their scent?” Bev asks. She holds out her sweater where one of the kittens was lying. It doesn’t take long before my dog is hot on their trail.

  Lily races out of the room with Bev and me close behind her. We slow down when we reach the kitchen, where Dad is preparing fish for dinner.

  “Looks like Lily’s in a hurry to get outside.” Dad laughs. “You’re cleaning up any accidents, not me.”

  I hope the smell from the fish doesn’t throw Lily off track.

  When I open the door to the backyard, Lily runs outside and heads straight to James’s turtle-shaped sandbox, where the two kittens are working together to fill buckets with sand. I scoop up Lily to avoid a nasty confrontation.

  “Are they…?” Bev’s sentence trails off.

  We watch in disbelief as the two kittens add turrets to the giant castle they’ve built in the middle of the sandbox. It looks like it was modeled on the Sleeping Beauty Castle at Disneyland.

  “Did those kittens just MAKE that?” I ask. “And where is my sheet of stickers?”

  Bev points at the bottom of the castle. “I think that’s a moat and your stickers are the drawbridge.”

  Sure enough, the sticker sheet is neatly placed over the trough of water.

  “Don’t ruin my magic stickers!” I yell.

  When the kittens carry the buckets over to the hose to fill them up, I yank my sticker sheet out of the sandbox.

  “What kind of kittens are they?” Bev asks. “Michelangelo couldn’t have sculpted a better castle.”

  “I have no idea,” I reply. “I just hope they weren’t trying to drown the rest of the stickers.”

  I’m suddenly knocked off my feet by my little brother running from the other side of the yard. Nothing makes James happier than building things in his sandbox, although his lopsided creations could never compare with the kittens’ masterpiece. Without stopping to appreciate the details of such an exquisite sculpture, he dive-bombs the sandbox, destroying the castle and sending the kittens scurrying across the grass. I guess I grabbed my magic sheet of stickers just in time.

  “Play with cats!” James says. “I want cats!”

  James struggles to reach the two kittens, who are now grooming themselves under the swing set. I bend down to calm him.

  “What should we call the kittens?” I ask him. “Do YOU want to name them?”

  James’s face lights up. “Burger and Fries!�
��

  His random response makes Bev and me smile. I ask James which kitten is which.

  He points to the dark one and proclaims her Burger.

  “I guess that makes the other one Fries,” Bev says, laughing.

  Dad comes outside to tell us dinner’s ready. He knows how much Bev likes his cooking, so he asks if she wants to stay. She calls her dad before he’s finished asking.

  “And where did these two come from?”

  Uh-oh. Dad noticed the cats, though he doesn’t seem affected by their cuteness the way Bev and I were. “You’ve got to be careful with strays,” he says. “They can be feral.”

  “These kittens aren’t feral, Mr. Rivera.” I can always count on Bev to come up with explanations for my stickers. “I’m cat-sitting them for a few days.”

  I guess that makes it official—the kittens are now staying with Bev.

  “Then I guess it’s a good thing we’re having fish.” My father gestures for us to come inside but the mischievous kittens have already beat us to it.

  I head in, hoping these kittens will behave.

  A Cupcake Diva

  Burger and Fries love the scraps of fish Dad puts in bowls for them to eat. Mom and Eric are still at work so it’s easy for Bev and me to steer the conversation away from the kittens and keep it on school and the diner.

  Dad seems a little sad when he tells us that business has slowed down. We moved to the San Fernando Valley so Dad could buy this diner, but with the bad economy and local food competition, he’s not doing as well as he thought he’d be.

  “Making good food isn’t enough anymore.” He sighs. “People care more about how their food looks now than how it tastes. Why does everyone have to take pictures of their meal before they eat it?”

  “Your food looks good AND tastes good,” Bev tells him. “You make the best pancakes and your nachos are insane!”

  Dad smiles. Nothing makes him happier than people enjoying his food. The fish we’re eating now has been sautéed in garlic, onion, tomatoes, capers, and green olives. They’re all simple ingredients but my father has a unique way of cooking them so they taste incredible.

  After dinner, James reaches out with greasy fingers and begs Dad to read to him. He’s obsessed with a new picture book about trucks and Dad’s happy to oblige, which means Bev and I are free to play with the kittens.

  But the kittens are no longer in the kitchen.

  “I’m beginning to get suspicious of those felines,” I whisper to Bev.

  “Cats always get into crazy situations,” she tells me. “It’s what makes them so popular on the internet.”

  We race to my room, where Burger and Fries have Craig pinned to the wall.

  “I told you these cats couldn’t be trusted!” Craig yells. “They’re trying to eat me!”

  Bev scoops up Burger while I take Fries.

  “Cats don’t eat sweets,” I tell Craig. “They’re pretty much carnivores.”

  Bev shakes her head. “You are such a nerd sometimes, Martina. I love that you know such random facts!”

  When you spend your life being the most timid kid in class, there’s lots of extra time to study information about cats or ducks or turtles. (There’s also lots of time to play with stickers.) Of course none of this helps Craig, who is now in the middle of a full-blown panic attack.

  “It’s either me or them!” he says, and points. “I can’t relax with these monsters here!”

  Bev and I can’t help but laugh at our dramatic cupcake friend.

  “Careful, Craig,” Bev says. “I think your buttercream is boiling.”

  I pick up Craig and put him on the dresser. “I know you’re upset, but you have to admit two tiny kittens holding a cupcake hostage is pretty funny.”

  “Get them out of here!” Craig flails his arms and legs.

  “I really can take the kittens home—my mom will love them,” Bev says. “The last thing we need is a stressed-out dessert.”

  “But it’s going to cost you,” I tell Craig. “You have to help me shoot a few more commercials for the bake sale.”

  Craig crosses his arms. “Only if I get final cut.”

  “You’re the most demanding cupcake EVER,” I say, laughing. “You’ll only get final cut if you stop complaining. Otherwise I’m going to keep the kittens here forever.”

  Bev holds Burger and Fries toward Craig to emphasize my point. Craig backs away quietly as Bev’s dad beeps the horn outside.

  “Just because you have a magic sheet of stickers doesn’t mean you have to use every single one,” Craig tells me after Bev leaves. “You might be better off without some of them.”

  “What if I’d left YOU on the sheet?” I tease.

  “I’m not talking about me!” Craig answers. “Who knows about that robot or those ants! Either one of those stickers might try to destroy the world!”

  Craig’s over-the-top personality is starting to get on my nerves so I take out my notebook with ideas for some new videos to advertise the bake sale. My plan had been to collaborate with Craig on some of the sketches but it might be time to put on the director’s hat and tell him what I need him to do instead. Maybe being president of my class IS helping with my leadership skills.

  It takes a while to get Craig calm enough to be camera ready, so I ask Dad if I can borrow his phone. After a few vocal exercises, Craig is set to go. Although when we shot the test commercial it took many tries for Craig to get his lines right, this time he’s on a roll and does most of the commercials in one take. I think being frightened out of his frosting might’ve been just the motivation he needed.

  We film for less than an hour but Craig’s exhausted. He collapses onto my pillow like Cleopatra. I’m glad Lily’s snuggled on the couch with Dad and James because Craig looks pretty edible right now.

  “You’re not going to ask me to sing and dance at the bake sale, are you?” he asks.

  “I wish there was a way you COULD. People would flock to our table if they saw a singing cupcake.” When the Pegasus sticker came to life, I told my classmates it was animatronic; there’s no chance the same story would work again to explain Craig.

  I wipe away some stray crumbs and lie down on the bed next to Craig. Despite all the complaining, he’s been a huge help. “You did a great job with the videos. Our school will be able to buy lots of new books thanks to you.”

  “Speaking of books…” Craig gestures to the backpack on the foot of the bed.

  I was so busy with Bev, the kittens, and the videos that I forgot to do my homework.

  “If you’re thinking about peeling off the robot to do it for you, forget it,” Craig says.

  Of course, that’s EXACTLY what I was thinking. Can ALL cupcakes read minds?

  A robot who does homework would be amazing, but I can’t take that chance.

  I grab my science book and take notes on solids, liquids, and gases as I fight off yawns. Sometimes being Sticker Girl is exhausting.

  All Systems Go

  Mike, Samantha, and Scott LOVE the new clips of Craig. When we show Ms. Graham, she leans back in her swivel chair and puts her hand over her mouth.

  “Martina, these are so cute,” she says. “You might have a real future in animation!”

  “I do animation too,” Mike adds.

  “I had no idea you kids were so talented,” Ms. Graham gushes.

  I quietly thank Ms. Graham for the compliment, but I know I don’t really deserve it. I never doubted that Craig’s confectionery charisma would be a huge hit with the student council—he was practically made to be in front of a camera—though I wish I didn’t have to lie about how he really moved across the screen. I’ve now accidentally convinced my teacher that I’m some kind of cartoon-creating whiz kid when Mike’s the real filmmaker. Suppose Ms. Graham asks me to animate something in front of the class and I have no idea what to do? Will she and my classmates think I’m a fraud? Is it bad to take a shortcut in my work if I’m lucky enough to have magical stickers? I’m hones
tly not sure I would’ve been elected class president without a whole lot of sticker magic.

  I’m so distracted by my thoughts that I miss the discussion the others are having with Ms. Graham about the details of the bake sale.

  “What do you think, Martina?” Samantha asks.

  Does it look like I’m not paying attention? Will Ms. Graham think I don’t care?

  “Do you think thirty kids bringing baked goods will be enough?” Samantha hands me a list of what all the families have committed to bringing. I realize I spent so much time making videos that I forgot to go to the school website and sign up to bring something for the sale.

  I take the clipboard from Samantha and add my name to the list.

  “I suppose you’re bringing cupcakes,” Mike says. “You’re so good at animating them, baking them will be a piece of cake!”

  Everyone laughs at Mike’s joke. I hope he isn’t upset with me for not letting him help with the animation.

  When the bell rings, we take our seats and Ms. Graham hands each row a stack of papers to pass back.

  “Clear your desks. We’ll begin today with your vocab quiz.”

  When the test gets to me, I immediately regret spending so much time last night chasing after Burger and Fries. I barely know half the words on the quiz.

  Most of my classmates are already attacking these definitions but I’m still on the first word.

  “You have ten minutes to finish,” Ms. Graham says. She gives me a small smile as I stare into space so I turn my eyes back to my paper.

  I’m usually a stellar student—not because I love being a teacher’s pet but because I can’t stand being caught off guard. It was easy to stay on top of my assignments and even read a few chapters ahead when I was the shy new girl in school. Having friends and student council responsibilities—not to mention a whole world of magical stickers to keep under control—doesn’t leave me nearly enough time to prepare the way I used to.