The fundraiser became increasingly chaotic as it progressed, but the chaos had momentum now. Parents loosened. Children laughed louder. Even some of the previously horrified mothers began taking photographs once they realized the pastries were the hit of the event.
When the sale finally ended, Mr. Rodriguez climbed onto the small stage near the bleachers, holding a microphone. Feedback shrieked briefly. Half the gym winced.
“Thank you all,” he began, “for another successful PTA fundraiser.”
Polite applause followed.
He smiled out toward the tables. “And while we appreciate every contribution tonight, I’d especially like to recognize the runaway success of Miss Carrington and Billie Lawrence’s… ah… cardiovascular-themed desserts.”
CJ applauded immediately.
Billie wriggled out from under the table and bowed.
Mr. Rodriguez continued, “I believe it’s important to remember thatfunis the first part offundraiser.”
More applause this time. Children cheered. Somebody in the back yelled, “Zombie cupcakes next year!”
Mrs. Hutchins looked moments from spiritual collapse. Millie high-fived me so suddenly I almost missed it.
“You won the sugar festival,” Billie informed me proudly.
“I believe we did.”
Millie adjusted her glasses and looked at the trays, which were mostly empty. “Seriously, though, would you be willing to teach me how to make things like that?”
“The pastries?”
She nodded quickly. “My fillings always seize up. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”
“It’s usually the temperature.”
Her eyes widened. “How do you know that?”
“I’ve made many pastries over the years.”
Billie leaned against my side. “She’s old.”
Millie choked on her own laughter.
I sighed. “Thank you, Billie.”
“You’re welcome.”
Millie flashed me a shy but genuine smile. “Maybe we could have a baking night sometime? After work?”
Friendship. It had been a long time since someone had asked for that without an agenda. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time. And while I might not be cut out for family, friendship was permissible.
“I would like that,” I said honestly.
Her face brightened instantly. “Really?”
“Of course.”
We exchanged numbers while Hazel and Billie compared frosting stains.
As the gym slowly emptied around us, CJ and Bianca packed away their things, and Billie picked up the remaining pastry tray as if it was her sacred treasure.
I stood in the middle of fluorescent-lit suburban chaos, surrounded by sticky children, exhausted parents, and raspberry-stained napkins, feeling treacherously close to ordinary.
