Prologue
DearestDustin,
Can you believe graduation is only a few short weeks away? Omg! We're finally gonna be free from this PRISON of a high school!! No more inane pep rallies, no more curfew, no more being treated likechildrenwhen we're practically full-grown adults. I especially can't wait to get away from Marie and her crew. Ugh. Why won't they just leave us ALONE? It's so immature! We're going to be in college in the fall—do they really think they can get away with that behavior incollege?
Speaking of college… I'm really going to miss you. But I know that it'll be okay. You know it, too, right? Just because I'm going to NYU and you're going to U of M doesn't mean we have to break up. I don't want to break up. I believe in us. And I know you do, too. We'll video chat and, of course, see each other on breaks. We will totally make long-distance work. We always make it work, right?
Did you know there are a bunch of non-stop flights from NYC to Detroit daily? Like, a lot of them? We'll totally see each other all the time! It willalmostbe like you go to NYU, too. Or like I'll go to U of M, too.
Ugh, Dustin, it's going to be SO cool. We're gonna have an amazing time. And then, in just four short years (ish), we'll be college graduates, and we'll get awesome jobs and buy a house together! The American dream, right?
It's going to be so wonderful. I'm so excited for my future with you. I love you like crazy. Call me after you read this, okay?
XOXO,
Yours Forever
Brooke
Thescentofmeltedchocolate and vanilla extract fills the apartment as sweat rolls down my back. The crappy oven I share with my five roommates always heats up the kitchen—and living room—every time I use it, but I have to get this done. The pop-up is tomorrow, and who knows when I'll get this chance again? I had to take two days off to get everything ready and another day to actually sell the goods.
"Did you forget to set a timer?" Janine, my best friend, idly asks as she scrolls on her phone.
"No, I don't think so—shit, I did. Do you remember when I put this batch in?" I wipe the sweat from my brow and instantly feel the gritty texture of flour clumping up on my skin. Five dozen cupcakes cool on wire racks across every available surface, waiting to be frosted. I only have two more trays to go before I'm finally done.
"Nope. But it's starting to smell a little burn-y rather than delicious bakery-style," she says, sniffing. With aninhale, I realize she's right. And it's not the usual burning smell that comes from this decades-old oven.
"No, no, no!" I shriek as I yank open the creaking door. A billow of smoke pours out, and immediately, the smoke detector beeps shrilly. "Turn that off while I get these!"
Janine hops up from the bar stool and pokes at the device with a broom handle. I quickly remove the (slightly blackened) cupcakes from the oven and try to wedge open the window, fanning the haze towards the outside. Unfortunately, the window only opens a few inches—the landlord special, as I like to call it—layers and layers of paint fighting against me every step of the way.
I know one of my roommates has a screwdriver in the junk drawer somewhere. With the baking tin balanced precariously on top of a soup pot, I rummage around until I find the tool and start attacking the painted-shut edges of the window. This isdefinitelynot allowed by the lease, but I sublet, so I figure that's someone else's problem.
Just as I'm able to force the window open another handful of inches, Ricky—one of my roommates—stumbles in with a grimace.
"Yo, Brooke, what's with the noise? You know I need my sleep if I'm gonna attack the market when it opens in Hong Kong." He climbs on one of the bar stools and dislodges the smoke detector from the ceiling, quickly popping out the battery compartment. "There we go."
"Sorry, I know," I say hurriedly. "Janine was supposed to—"
"Too short," Janine interrupts with a shrug. "And the broom handle is too wide to hit the button. We really should have taken the battery out a while ago."
"I always take it out," Ricky offers. "Too sensitive. I think the landlord just wants to catch anyone smoking weed."
"Isn't it pretty much legal now?" Janine asks.
"Janine!" I snap. "Does it matter? Can youpleasehelp me with the—"
Clang.
And just like that, my third-to-last tray of cupcakes topples to the floor. I throw my hands in the air. "Ugh!"
"Yo, party foul," Ricky laughs and opens the fridge, grabbing a yogurt cup—myyogurt cup. "Should be more careful, B."
I'm going to kill him. I really think I might. But he saunters away with my yogurt cup as I fume and try to salvage the cupcakes.
"No offense, babe, but you're really not gonna sell those at my shop, are you?" Janine grimaces as I pick up another steaming hunk of cake from the floor.
"I mean—no, not these. They're a loss," I grumble. She's right. But I don't have the ingredients or the time to make another round. "I guess I'll just have to make do with seven dozen instead of eight."
