The Cupcake Queen by Heather Hepler Page A

to squint because my eyes are filled with either sand or salt water or tears—or more likely all three. “Here.” I can see well enough to know that a hand is reaching out to help me up. I let myself get pulled back to standing. Now I’m wet all the way through. But it doesn’t matter, because I now realize whose hand I was just holding. “I am so sorry,” he says again, and I feel something soft being pushed into my hands. I use it to wipe at my eyes. I keep the soft thing pressed against my face for a moment, listening to the sound of a dog’s soft chuffing and then his panting and the dull thudding of his tail against the sand. “I am so sorry.”
    I look up and smile. “You already said that.” Marcus has one hand on Sam’s collar and the other is nervously combing through his hair.
    “I am sorry. I mean, we’re —” Sam chuffs again as if in agreement.
    “It’s okay,” I say, first to Marcus and then to Sam. I put my hand out to Sam, who is straining to get to me. I let him lick my hand and I rub him behind the ears. Marcus is only wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, and I realize that I’ve been wiping myself with his sweatshirt. “It’s just a little water,” I say.
    “And sand,” Marcus says.
    “And sand.” I’m not as nervous as I was when I saw him in the hallway. Maybe because it’s dark, or maybe because I’m soaking wet, or maybe it’s because we don’t have an audience, or maybe it’s just because of Sam. “Thanks for the candy.”
    Marcus shrugs, and for an instant I wonder if girls all over the school are getting Jolly Ranchers from him. Maybe he just started giving them to me because he needed a new grape girl. Then he smiles at me.
    “I’m sorry we interrupted you,” Marcus says.
    “I was just thinking.” Saying it makes the thoughts start up again.
    “The beach is a good place for it,” he says.
    I picture him and his father walking up and down the shore after his mother died. Thinking about his parents makes me think about my own. How they seem only half there, like ghosts. And I imagine what it would be like to lose one of them. Here one day, then gone completely. I can’t even get my mind around it. I mean, my dad is busy and my mom is sort of confused, but I still know where they are.
    Sam stops straining and sits, as if he’s thinking thoughts of his own. He’s quiet, except for his tail, which keeps beating the sand. Marcus lets go of his collar, and Sam comes and sits by me, leaning against my leg. He feels warm and solid, which I don’t have much of right now. All three of us watch the waves as they push toward shore, breaking into low whitecaps and then drifting across the pebbled beach. As the water pulls back away from us, it rolls across the rocks, dragging them along with it, making a low rumbling sound.
    “When I was little I thought that was a monster growling,” I say. It’s out before I can stop it.
    But almost before I finish Marcus says, “Me, too.” He looks over at me. “But now it seems more like it’s whispering than growling.”
    I listen for a moment, the waves breaking and the water sliding over the sand. “It does,” I say. I like how he changed it for me with just one word. “I wish I could understand what it’s saying.”
    “You mean you don’t speak Ocean?” Marcus asks.
    “Nope,” I say. “Just Spanish, sort of. And un peu de français. How about you?”
    “Un peu français aussi,” he says.
    I smile at his affected French accent. “Actually, I meant do you speak Ocean?”
    “Oh,” Marcus says. “Well, they don’t offer Ocean at HHHS. I mean, not officially.”
    “But unofficially?” I ask, playing along.
    “To a select few.” He pretends to look serious. “Actually it’s a pretty small club. Just two members.” I’m starting to think there are a lot of small clubs in Hog’s Hollow. “But, we are looking to expand our membership. Are you interested?”
    “Definitely,” I say. “What do I have to