ASHLEY STARED, BLINKED, AND THEN stared again. Was this really her cake? This giant squashed ball that looked like it had been picked up by a tornado, dumped somewhere in Kansas, scooped up by a digger, and then bounced cross-country back to her dining-room table?
Was that really supposed to be her, in miniature, cut in half and waving forlornly from the top of the ball, looking as though she was being swallowed alive by a giant half-sucked piece of candy? And what were those gold strings hanging everywhere—ropes or boogers?
“Sweetie, I don’t know what happened,” her mother was saying, one arm around Ashley’s trembling shoulders. “I’m so sorry. We’ll get you another cake next week, twice as big! We’ll have it sent to Miss Gamble’s, so all the girls can have a slice. We’ll get a cake so big it’ll be included in the next Guinness World Records!”
“It’s okay, Mom,” Ashley said. “I think I know what to do.”
Lili had prepared her for the cake catastrophe, but Ashley had no idea it was this bad. She made up her mind quickly and walked over to the other side of the house, where the gaggle of ghouls were still laughing over their heinous breach of etiquette. Lili was right—they were a bunch of rebels without a clue. At least they had the decency to stop when they saw Ashley headed their way.
“Lili told me about the accident,” Ashley said, a tense smile on her face. “But don’t worry about it. I just want to make sure you guys have a good time.”
They looked surprised at her reaction, and then one of the girls—the one with the unfortunate nose-pierce—piped up, “Yeah, this sucks. Is there anything else to eat around here?”
“Yeah, I’m hungry,” one of the guys agreed.
“Of course,” Ashley replied smoothly. “William,” she said, calling on her butler. “Can you make sure these guests get more cake? You know, the one that was specially made?”
William raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t protest. “Right this way.”
Ashley watched them follow the butler and then dig into plates of the “special” cake with a smile. Revenge is sweet.
What the horrid hangers-on didn’t know was that the cake was special, all right. It was made especially for Princess Dahlia von Fluffsterhaus. They were eating dog food.
* * *
But Ashley didn’t wallow in her victory for long. Something much more tragic was happening—the fact that she was about to turn thirteen at midnight and she was still NBK!
If only Cooper had come. Nobody else here counted. Well, that wasn’t totally true—the other Ashleys counted. Of course they did. And her parents counted. They’d done everything they could to make her party a dream come true.
“And I’m really sorry I’ve been so distracted lately,” said her mother, when Ashley had returned from her revenge errand. Matilda kissed the top of Ashley’s head. “This new baby has been quite a shock for me and your father. For you, too, I know. And you’ve been such a little trooper!”
“I know,” Ashley sniffed again. She really had been a trooper. Because her mother had been so out of it, all the responsibility for the party had fallen on Ashley’s shoulders.
If it weren’t for her dedication, everyone here tonight would be sitting at home feeling miserable and deprived, as though their lives were without meaning. Ashley had brought them so much happiness. And all she got in return was a no-show sort-of boyfriend and a trashed cake! Life was tragic, she supposed. Better get used to it now, before she was old and gray, i.e., twenty.
“Here are my girls!” Her dad rushed into the room, looking handsome in his sharp, well-cut suit, even if the only tie he could find read: ELVIS COSTELLO US TOUR ’84.
He gathered up Ashley in his arms and squeezed her tight, crushing her. “Tildy, I think we should give Ashley her gift now, and not wait until later. To make up for this terrible cake fiasco.”
“Yes!” Matilda’s blue eyes widened, and she clasped Ashley’s hands. “What a lovely idea! Are you ready, darling?”
“I guess.” Ashley sighed, allowing herself to be led out of the dining room, through the lobby, and out the mansion’s grand double doors. A crowd had already gathered on either side of the driveway, all cheering and clapping. But no Cooper. Why hadn’t he come?
The gates swung open, and William—still in his lion suit—waved at her with a giant, furry paw. Then, to the oohs and aahs of the crowd, in roared a tiger-striped Vespa, driven by a guy in a black helmet.
Just what Ashley had wanted! She clapped her hands together and jumped up and down on the spot. Even though it wasn’t the biggest surprise in the world, and even though she wasn’t wearing her tight calfskin leather Vespa outfit as planned, she was happy. She hugged her father and gave her mother a big kiss.
“Here you are, darling.” Matilda handed her the golden Vespa helmet that the Ashleys had given her as a prebirthday gift.
“Yay, Ashley!” cried Lili and Lauren in unison. They were both standing on the steps farther down, smiling proudly. Ashley waved to them and blew kisses, wondering why A. A. wasn’t with them.
“But before you put it on,” suggested her father, “maybe you want to get your other gift from the driver?”
Ashley scampered down the stairs, the Vespa helmet swinging from one arm. What was this other gift? A ticket to Rome, maybe? A bracelet with thirteen diamonds? A platinum Neiman Marcus card?
“Hello,” she sang, beaming her widest smile at the Vespa driver. “I’ve come to ask for my other gift. What is it?”
The driver, dressed all in black, slowly pulled off his helmet. Ashley gasped.
It was Cooper!
But how? She looked over at her mom. “Did you have something to do with this?”
“Maybe.” Matilda smiled. “Let’s just say maybe some young gentleman came over the other day to RSVP personally for your party. He said it was important that you know he was going to be there.”
Her mom was sooo cool. Ashley almost forgave her for having another child.
She turned to Cooper, who suddenly looked shy.
“Happy birthday, Ashley,” he said, and leaned toward her. He was so handsome, she almost forgot to close her eyes. Her first kiss! It was even better than she’d hoped. It didn’t even matter that there were a hundred people watching, or that the pesky Guinevere Parker was taking a digital picture, probably from an unflattering angle, to stick in the Miss Gamble’s newspaper.
Cooper was here, helping her onto the Vespa, telling her to buckle on her helmet and hold on tight. She wrapped her arms around his waist and smiled to herself as he turned the scooter around and drove down the driveway, off into the night.