Read Online The Cupcake Queen by Heather Hepler - Free Book Online

just boarded up the house and moved into town.”
    “That was the last time Mr. Fish has ever set foot on the beach,” Blake says. He picks up half of a mussel shell and throws it into the water. It floats for a moment, like a tiny boat, until a wave hits it and it disappears.
    “So, he’s better now?” I ask.
    “Define better ,” Tally says, looking at me out of the corner of her eyes.
    That’s a tough one. I’m not sure I can. Luckily Tally lets me off the hook. “Now he spends most of his time out in the woods.” She waves her hand toward the hills above town.
    “Doing what?” I ask.
    “Some kind of project,” she says. “There are all kinds of theories—”
    “Like I was saying about small towns . . .” interjects Blake.
    “—but no one knows for sure.” Tally talks over him.
    “What happened to Mr. Fish’s son?” I ask.
    “He’s around.” Tally pauses, looking up at a gull circling above us. “Sort of. For a while it seemed like he was out of school more than he was in it. He was always ditching and taking off. He started volunteering at the ARK around the time I did, some sort of community service thing to keep him from getting suspended.” Tally shades her eyes against the sun that’s just peeking through the clouds. “That’s where he got his dog,” she says. “Since then, he seems better. Happier.”
    “The dog?” I ask, feeling the flip-flop. I tell it to hush. There are a bazillion dogs in the world.
    “He is awesome,” Tally says. Blake looks at her, making her smile. “I meant the dog!”
    “Uh-huh,” Blake says. “I see how all you girls are around that guy.” Blake makes his voice go all high. “Ohhh, he’s sooo cute.”
    Tally punches him lightly in the arm. “He’s got nothing on you, Pineapple Head.” Blake starts blushing like crazy. Tally turns to me. “However, Marcus is cute. Messed up, but cute. You’ve probably seen him. Just before dark, running on the beach. Just him and his dog, Sam.”

chapter eight
    Just in case you don’t know, you should never, ever say the following: “Well, I guess it can’t get any worse.” Because here’s the lesson that I learned today: it can.
    I’m sitting in art, spreading gesso over my canvas. Miss Beans is going around the room, watching. She’s different from the art teachers I had in the City. There it was all art theory and “finding your inner muse.” Miss Beans is all about technique. “Art, like anything else, requires practice,” she says. I’m trying to paint in long, smooth strokes, so you can’t see my brush marks, but it’s hard. I keep overlapping the last pass and leaving these little ridges.
    The door opens and there he is again, but this time I know his name: Marcus. He has to pass right by where I’m sitting to get to the teacher. Ignore him. My brain is trying to stay on task, but my hand seems to have a mind of its own. My next pass is so wiggly that it looks like a wave is breaking right in the middle of my canvas. I peek at the front of the room, where Marcus is handing an envelope to Miss Beans. I will him to look my way, but he doesn’t. He waits while Miss Beans writes something on a piece of paper then folds it and gives it back to him. He turns, making me duck. Calm down. My next pass of the brush is even worse. The pileup of gesso is starting to look more mountain range-ish and less wave-ish. I keep my head down as Marcus walks toward me. He slows as he gets close. His hand hovers over the corner of my desk and then he’s past and out the door before I can register what’s happened. The grape Jolly Rancher sitting on my desk is the only evidence that he was here. I fold my hand over the candy and pull it into my lap before anyone can see.
    “Miss Beans.” I glance up to see one of the girls at the back table, one of the Lindseys (yes, there are three of them), waving her hand. She asks something about her canvas. Charity gets up and starts making her way across the room. I