“That’s all I can think of.” Bug wipes his eyes with the back of his free hand.
“Okay, let’s recap.” I reread his notes out loud, keeping one eye on the ground in case of a Mr. Napkins flyby. While Mom edges her way around the perimeter, Dani covers the back, searching under the dishwasher with a flashlight.
“Any ideas?” Bug asks.
“Yes.” I steer him over to the grill. “He likes food and he likes heat, right? I know where I’d go. Right under there.”
Bug and I crouch down and peer under the grill and ovens. From the dusty dark beneath the warmest place in the kitchen, a tiny pink nose wriggles innocently.
“We have visual contact,” I say. With any luck, it’s the hamster in question and not some other rodent mascot we’ve yet to discover. “Bug, keep your eye on him while I find something to get his attention.”
“Dani,” Trick says, “run this to table eight and tell Nat and Marianne the incident has been … located.”
“Got it,” she says, taking the plates from his hands.
I slip out of my jacket and scarf, drop them on a stool, and scrounge up a tub of peanut butter, an apple, and some sliced cheese. With an elaborately concocted snack and a whole lotta cooing, Bug coaxes his twitchy little friend into the light.
“Mr. Napkins!” He scoops up the hamster and presses him to his chest in a tiny hug. “Don’t you ever do that again. I was so worried about you!”
Honestly, I’d be more worried about getting all huggy-snuggy-kissy-face with a rodent that spent half the night trolling around under an oven that’s been here since the 1950s, but that’s just my personal—
“Hudson? What the …” Mom’s eyes bulge as she looks me over. In all the excitement of the missing hamster, I forgot about the outfit—my multicolored sequined skating dress just one deep breath away from a wardrobe malfunction, fuzzy pink leg warmers hastily tucked into boots over beige spandex tights. “Where on earth have you—”
“Nat’s gone.” Marianne stands in the doorway, straddling the dining room and kitchen with her hand against the door. “Guess the ham—” She stops herself when she sees Bug, lowering her voice. “The incident really upset her. Between that and the reviewer, she cracked. I don’t think she’s coming back.”
“For someone trying to become a nurse,” I say, “she’s got a pretty weak stomach.”
“Perfect.” Mom throws a pot into the sink, metal clanging like an old church bell. “One less person I’ll have to ax when that review shuts us down.” She looks back to me, head shaking as if she doesn’t really want to know. It’s all just too much, the lying, our earlier argument, the less-than-enthusiastic food critic, the missing hamster, me in my old skating dress like we just fell back in time.
A month ago—even a day ago—I would’ve done anything for a chance to burn the Hurley Girl dress, a chance to leave this place free and clear. But now, Mom talking like the diner could actually close, the last of her fragile hope evaporating, my heart sinks. Good or bad, this place was always her dream. Her identity. My mother is Hurley’s Homestyle Diner.
“Hurley’s isn’t going to tank, Ma. It’s been here forever. One bad review isn’t the—”
“A bad review on top of a bad economy, a bad winter, a bad year … Hudson, that really was our last shot—we needed a stellar mention in the paper. We can’t do it anymore. Unless you’ve got another cupcake miracle up your sleeve that can pack this place every night for the next two months, I can’t even afford to keep the grill lit.”
“But I thought—”
“Just take your brother home, okay? I need to clean up in here and go over the books. I can’t …” She rakes her eyes over my dress again, lingering on the silver rabbit still pinned to my shoulder. “I can’t deal with you right now.” She retreats to her office and gently closes the door, leaving nothing in her wake but the hissing sounds of the grill and the muffled, front-of-the-house scrape of silverware on dishes.
“Doesn’t look like anyone heard about the incident,” Dani says, sticking an order ticket into the slot over the grill. “I think we’re in the clear. Sub mashed for fries on both of those, Trick.”
“Dani?” I whisper.
Her eyes flash over me for a minute, then she turns, reaching up into the pantry for condiments. “Well, don’t just stand there withholding info again. How’d it go?”
“It didn’t.”
“You didn’t place?” She turns to face me, a ketchup bottle in each hand, her forehead crinkled with concern and confusion.
I shake my head. “I didn’t skate. I forfeited.”
“So you bailed on us tonight, and you didn’t even—”
“Look, I know you probably hate me, and whatever you want to say, say it.” I grab the ketchups from her hands and set them on the counter. “But first I need you to do me the biggest favor in history.”
Her cheeks go from brown to plum as she takes a step closer. “You’ve got some kinda nerve coming at me with this. I can’t believe—”
“For Hurley’s. For my family. I don’t have time to explain. Just say you’ll help.”
“Convince me. Ten seconds.”
“Mom says we need a miracle, right?”
“Five seconds.”
“I’m changing the specials to half-price apps. Then I’m packing up all of the cupcakes and desserts from the pastry case.” I grab my coat from the stool and dig out the keys, dangling them in front of her. “Warm up the Tetanus Taxi and wait for me in the passenger seat. I’ll meet you outside in five minutes.”
“Hud, what are you—”
“I’ll explain on the way. Five minutes!”
“You gonna tell me what’s going on?” Dani wipes the fog from the window with her sleeve as we roll out of the parking lot, the entire backseat covered in white bakery boxes and paper plates.
“Mom was really counting on that review tonight,” I say.
“Yeah, thanks for caring, like, three hours ago when we could’ve used the help.”
“Just because I’m mad at Mom doesn’t mean I don’t care. I don’t want her to lose the restaurant.”
“You should’ve been there, Hudson.”
I smack the steering wheel with my fist. “The guy didn’t like the food! He—”
“You still should’ve been there. It’s your family.”
“I know. And this is the only way I could think of to get Hurley’s back on the map.”
“What way? Where are we going?”
I downshift, slowing on an unplowed stretch of road. The wheels slip, but I keep us going in a straight line. “Baylor’s.”
“The Wolves game?”
“Finals. It’s a big-deal game.”
She shakes her head and lets out a half laugh. “Are you really that selfish, or—”
“The whole school’s there tonight, Dani.” Snow falls in big, sideways flakes against the windshield. I turn the wipers to a higher speed and downshift again, the engine whining in response. “Half the town, too.”
“Yeah, and I’d be there with them if I could, but some things are more important—”
“And they’re all probably hungry.” I flip on my turn signal and ease into the right lane. “Mom asked for a cupcake miracle? Well, here comes the freaking holy angel of icing, at your service.”
Dani looks at the white boxes stacked across the backseat. From the corner of my eye, I catch her smiling.
“Angel of icing?” she says. “That’s the craziest, corniest, most whack-ass stuff I ever heard in my life.” She turns away, looking out the window as the Fillmore smokestacks rush by. “Freaking brilliant,” she whispers.
I wasn’t supposed to hear that last part, but I did, and I smile, too.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Hudson Avery’s Last-Chance Triple/Triple Combo Cupcakes