THE HOME BELONGING to the Cupcake family was small and tidy and, at least from the outside, cheerful. Bright yellow curtains hung in the downstairs windows, and bright blue curtains hung in the upstairs windows. In the spring tulips and daffodils poked out of the lawn, in the summer roses spilled from the gardens, in the autumn pumpkins lined the steps to the porch, and in the winter golden lights twinkled from the trees. Anyone passing by the house would say, “What a sweet home.”
But if you paused there long enough, eventually you might hear something like this from behind the sweet walls:
“I WANT TO WEAR MY PURPLE DRESS! YOU SAID I COULD!”
“I said that before I knew it was in the washing machine.”
“BUT YOU SAID I COULD WEAR IT!”
“I made a mistake.”
“BUT I WANT IT! I WANT IT, I WANT IT, I WANT IT!”
Or you might hear something like this:
“I’M NOT READY TO GO TO BED YET!”
“I’m sorry, but it’s bedtime.”
“BUT I’M NOT READY! I JUST SAID SO!”
“Veronica, it’s eight o’clock.”
“I DON’T CARE! I WANT TO STAY UP!”
Veronica Cupcake, who could be a perfectly nice little girl when she felt like it, lived in this house with her parents and her sister, Isobel, who was a senior in high school and practically another mother to Veronica. Isobel was ten when Veronica was born. When the Cupcake parents had brought Veronica home from the hospital, they held hands with Isobel and stared down at the baby lying peacefully in her crib.
“She’s so sweet,” said Mrs. Cupcake.
“She’s an angel,” said Mr. Cupcake.
“She’s perfect,” said Isobel.
Every minute of every day, the Cupcakes hovered around Veronica. At her slightest cry, they rushed to her side.
“Here’s another toy,” Isobel would say.
“I’ll rock you,” her mother would say.
“Let’s change your shirt,” her father would say, and hurry to the bureau overflowing with new clothes.
You would think that Veronica’s first word might have been “yes” since people were always offering her wonderful things. “Do you want the hat with the flowers?” “Do you want to ride in your swing?” “Do you want your new stuffed teddy?”
Instead Veronica’s first word was “no.” And not just “no,” but “NO!”
“Don’t cry, Veronica. Do you want me to play house with you?”
“NO!”
“Oh dear. You aren’t eating your supper. Do you want me to make you spaghetti?”
“NO!”
The next two words Veronica learned to say were “I want.” They were followed by all sorts of other words, such as:
ice cream
your shoes
to go outside right now
a dog. No, not a stuffed dog, a real dog. A REAL DOG!
“She certainly does know her mind,” said Mr. Cupcake one afternoon.
“Only three years old and already she has a sense of style,” added Mrs. Cupcake.
The Cupcakes were having this conversation in the car on the way home from a department store in the city, where they had gone to buy Veronica some new pants. The trip had started off well because just as they were getting into the car that morning, Veronica had said, “I WANT CHEERIOS!” so Mr. Cupcake had hurried back inside and found the Cheerios and also a juice box, since you never knew what else Veronica might need, and need very loudly. Consequently, Veronica had been quiet all the way to the mall. But then the trip had fallen completely apart. As soon as they entered the Clothes Line and found the girls’ department, Veronica had run to a rack of velvet dresses and proclaimed, “I WANT THE BLUE ONE!”
“But you don’t need a dress. You need pants,” Mrs. Cupcake had reminded her.
“NO! A DRESS!”
“The dresses are awfully expensive,” said Mr. Cupcake.
“I WANT THE BLUE ONE!”
“You need pants.”
“THE BLUE DRESS!”
Veronica’s parents had looked at each other. In the end, Mr. Cupcake had said tiredly, “We’ll get both,” and the salesperson had packaged up the pants. Veronica had worn the new dress home over her old dress.
* * *
One day when Veronica was four, her mother had said tiredly to her father at the end of a very long day, “You don’t suppose Veronica’s behavior could be our fault, do you?”
“Yes!” Isobel had shouted from the top of the stairs, where she’d been eavesdropping. She joined her parents in the living room. “My fault, too. We’ve spoiled her; all of us have.”
“Oh no. She isn’t spoiled,” said Mr. Cupcake. “Is she?”
“How could such a beautiful little creature be spoiled?” added Mrs. Cupcake.
“Although we do give her everything she wants. Sometimes even before she asks for it,” her father said, bunching up his eyebrows.
“I’ve been reading about child psychology,” said Isobel, who had just entered high school, “and I believe that we have to start saying no to her.”
“Oh, goodness,” said both of the Cupcake parents.
“That won’t go over well,” added Mr. Cupcake.
“We have to say it at least once in a while,” said Isobel.
“I suppose it couldn’t hurt.” Mrs. Cupcake spoke nervously, thinking of the scenes that were certain to follow.
The very next morning, when Isobel was getting ready for high school and Veronica was getting ready for preschool, Veronica opened her sister’s door without knocking and said, “I want to take Mrs. Kitten to school with me today.”
Mrs. Kitten was a stuffed orange cat that Isobel had been given on her first birthday. She was soft and worn, and both her tail and one button eye were hanging from her body by a single thread. Stuffing was leaking out around the base of her tail. “Oh no,” said Isobel. “Mrs. Kitten is too delicate. She’s very old. She might not survive the trip.”
“BUT I WANT HER!”
“Nope. Sorry. She can’t go to school with you.” Isobel moved Mrs. Kitten from the bed to a bookshelf, out of Veronica’s reach.
“I SAID I WANT HER!”
“I heard you, but the answer is no.”
By this time Mr. and Mrs. Cupcake were standing in the doorway of Isobel’s room, watching and listening. Privately, Mr. Cupcake was proud of the way his older daughter was standing her ground.
“I WANT TO SHOW MRS. KITTEN TO MY FRIENDS!” Veronica began jumping up and down, trying to reach the cat. She stepped onto one of the lower shelves. “GIVE HER TO ME!”
“Here. Take this instead.” Isobel handed her sister a photo of Mrs. Kitten and moved Mrs. Kitten to the very top of the bookshelf.
Veronica looked from the photo to the actual Mrs. Kitten, now high above her head. She plopped down on the bed and twirled a strand of her hair. She crossed her ankles and smiled prettily. “Isobel,” she said, “you are the nicest sister in the world. The very nicest. Nobody else at my school has a sister as nice as you.”
“Well, thank you,” said Isobel in surprise. Then she glanced at her parents, pointed to her psychology book, and mouthed, “It works!”
“And since you are the nicest sister in the world,” Veronica went on, “I really don’t understand why you won’t let me borrow Mrs. Kitten. Just for one morning. One little morning. I always tell my friends how nice and good you are. And how, um … What’s that word that means you give people lots of things?”
“Generous?” suggested Isobel in a small voice.
“Yes! How generous you are. I always say that. I mean, when I can remember the word, I say it.”
Isobel glanced at the aging and falling-apart Mrs. Kitten on top of the bookshelf. Then she looked again at her parents, who shrugged their shoulders.
“So please, generous sister, won’t you let me borrow Mrs. Kitten just this one time? Please?”
Isobel reached for Mrs. Kitten. “Well, since you asked so nicely … I suppose.…”
Veronica snatched the cat from her sister so fast that the tail came close to falling off, and she ran downstairs.
“How do you think that went?” Isobel asked her parents.
“She did ask nicely,” replied Mrs. Cupcake.
“She stopped shouting,” Mr. Cupcake agreed.
* * *
Sure enough, people soon began commenting on what a lovely, polite, and extraordinarily complimentary child Veronica had become.
“She told me I make the best cookies in Little Spring Valley,” said their neighbor Mr. Thorn one day, and he sent Veronica home with a dozen cookies in a polka-dot party bag.
“She told me my Bingo is the smartest dog she’s ever met,” said Mrs. Tremper, who lived next door to the Cupcakes and who let Veronica take Bingo home for a sleepover.
Mr. and Mrs. Cupcake had not forgotten what Isobel had said about the word no, however.
“We must remember to use it with Veronica,” said her mother one rainy Saturday morning.
“And mean it,” added her father.
Veronica wandered into the kitchen at that moment and said, “I want to go outside and play.”
Mrs. Cupcake squared her shoulders. “No, darling. It’s raining. Look out the window.”
“But please, lovely mother, I want to go outdoors. I want to take a puddle walk.”
Veronica turned smilingly to her father, but he said, “You heard your mother. What did she just say?”
“She said, ‘Darling, it’s raining.’”
“First she said no.”
Veronica suddenly sat down on the floor. She stuck out her lower lip.
Her parents looked at each other in alarm. They put their hands over their ears and got ready for shouting.
Instead their daughter opened her eyes wide and said, “You don’t want your Veronica to be sad, do you? Please let her go outside. Please? She’s just a little girl.”
Two minutes later, Veronica was taking her puddle walk.
* * *
Compliments and smiling prettily and delighting people with her lovely manners worked very well for Veronica when she was four, and pretty well when she was five, and sort of okay when she was six. By the time she was seven and growing tall and had learned to ride a two-wheeler and to read, she discovered that something had changed.
“Isobel, will you take me to the mall? I want to go to the toy store,” she said one day.
Isobel was seventeen by then and could drive. She looked up from her computer and said, “Sorry, I can’t. Mom and Dad have the cars.”
“Then walk with me to Juniper Street. We’ll go to the other toy store instead.”
“What for?”
“A bubble machine.”
“How are you going to pay for it?”
Veronica cocked her head to one side and smiled. “You’ll buy it for me, won’t you? Please? Pretty, pretty please?”
“Nope. I’m saving for a new phone.”
“Then Mom will pay for it.”
“She isn’t here.”
“You pay for it, and she can pay you back.”
“I have a better idea,” said Isobel. “I’ll lend you the money, and you can pay me back.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“Earn it.”
“How am I supposed to earn money?”
“I don’t know. Do jobs for Mom and Dad. Walk Bingo for Mrs. Tremper. You’re a big girl. You’ll think of something.”
Veronica stood very still. “I want you to buy me a bubble machine.”
“I know you do, but it isn’t happening. I’ll take a walk to Juniper Street with you, though.”
Veronica glared at her sister. “You really won’t buy me anything?”
“No!” Isobel laughed. “I told you. I’m saving my money.”
* * *
It was exactly one week later that Veronica Cupcake had her first full-blown tantrum. It took place in A to Z Books.
“I just love walking into the bookstore,” Veronica had announced gaily as she opened the door. She waited for the sneeze, and then she exclaimed, “Gesundheit!” She smiled up at her mother. “Isn’t that funny? I said ‘Gesundheit’ to the sneezing door!”
“Yes, very funny,” said her mother, even though Veronica said “Gesundheit” to the sneezing door every single time she opened it.
“Hi, Harold!” called Veronica. “I’m here for a visit. And to buy books. How are you today? I love your red hat. What are you doing?”
“Hello, Veronica. Hi, Mrs. Cupcake. I’m putting together a package of books for Missy. A few things to take her mind off the flu.”
“Would you like us to drop them off at her house?” asked Veronica’s mother. “We’d be happy to.”
Harold sighed dramatically. “That would be wonderful. The store is so busy today. Lots of Christmas shoppers.”
Veronica smiled up at her mother again. “May I get five books?” she asked.
“You may get three. You’ll be getting lots of Christmas presents very soon.”
Veronica said nothing, and her mother suddenly felt anxious. She watched as her daughter walked slowly between the shelves of children’s books. Veronica selected a copy of How the Grinch Stole Christmas! and tucked it under her arm.
“That’s one book,” said her mother.
Veronica stuck A Tree Grows in Brooklyn under her arm.
“Two,” said her mother, “and I think that one’s a bit old for you.”
“I don’t care. I like trees.” Veronica pulled Ramona the Pest from a shelf.
“Three,” said Mrs. Cupcake.
Veronica marched down another aisle and in the blink of an eye added The Witches and The BFG to her stack.
“Put two back,” said her mother. “You have five books now. You choose which three to keep.”
Veronica set all five books on the counter and looked at Harold. Harold looked at Mrs. Cupcake. His hands strayed toward his ears.
“I said three,” Veronica’s mother repeated.
“But I want these! I WANT THEM! I WANT THEM!” And in the blink of an eye, Veronica fell to the floor, rolled onto her back, and kicked her heels into the carpet. After that it was hard to understand what Veronica said. She shrieked so loudly that her voice grew hoarse. She flailed. When her mother tried to pick her up, Veronica kicked her in the ankle.
“Daddy, what’s wrong with that girl?” a small boy asked.
Mrs. Cupcake looked helplessly at her daughter. Finally she said, “Darling, let’s see if you get any of these books for Christmas. If you don’t, we can come back and get them another time.”
“That sounds reasonable,” said Harold nervously.
“NO!” (That was Veronica, of course.)
“Then how about a compromise?” suggested her mother. “We’ll get four instead of three or five.”
“NO!”
Veronica’s shrieks grew even louder, and the small boy pulled his hat down over his ears. Veronica kicked at a shelf and two books fell off.
“Okay,” said Mrs. Cupcake in a hurry. She straightened up and said to Harold, “We’ll take all of them.”
Harold packaged up the books and handed them and the bag for Missy to Veronica’s mother. Mrs. Cupcake grabbed Veronica by the wrist and hustled her outside.
Veronica sniffled all the way down Juniper Street. “Do you see how upset I am?” she asked. “I couldn’t even say ‘Gesundheit’ to the door when we left.”
Mrs. Cupcake didn’t reply. When they reached Missy’s house, she rang the bell and waited.
“We can’t go in,” Veronica reminded her. “It’s quarmantined because of the effervescence.”
But Mrs. Cupcake waited until Missy appeared in the window. Then she shouted, “We brought you some books from Harold!”
A smile came to Missy’s face. “Lovely! Please leave them on the porch. I’m sorry I can’t invite you in.”
“I understand,” said Mrs. Cupcake.
Missy thought Veronica’s mother looked as though she wanted to say something more, but after a moment she turned slowly away and walked down the steps, Veronica skipping ahead of her.
Now, I wonder what that was about, Missy thought, and noticed a faint tingling at the tips of her fingers and toes. She watched as the Cupcakes made their way down the street. As soon as they were out of sight, Missy opened the door and reached for her present from Harold. She was smiling again.
* * *
Mrs. Cupcake told her husband about the tantrum as soon as Veronica had gone to sleep that night.
“Perhaps it was an anomaly,” replied Mr. Cupcake. “Perhaps she’ll never have another one.”
“Ha!” said Isobel from her room.
The next night the Cupcakes decided to go out for dinner. “We’d better go to Cocobelle’s,” said Isobel, “so Veronica can order from the children’s menu.”
At Cocobelle’s, Veronica slid into a booth and announced, “I’m starving! I want mac and cheese.”
Her father looked at the children’s menu. He frowned. Then he looked at the rest of the menu. “Cocobelle’s doesn’t have mac and cheese. How about chicken fingers?”
“I said mac and cheese, not chicken fingers. I WANT MAC AND CHEESE!”
“Uh-oh,” said Isobel.
“Please, oh please, dear mother and father, may I have mac and cheese?”
“It isn’t on the menu,” her father repeated in a careful low voice.
And with that, Veronica slid underneath the table and beat her feet on the floor.
“Veronica, get up! It’s filthy down there!”
Veronica pounded her fists against the underside of the table. “I want mac and cheese! I WANT MAC AND CHEESE! I WANT MAC AND CHEESE!”
“That’s it,” said Isobel. “As soon as we get in the car, somebody had better phone Missy Piggle-Wiggle.”
The Cupcakes left Cocobelle’s in a big hurry, without even ordering. Isobel, her face flaming and her stomach growling, was aware of many pairs of eyes staring at them, and she heard one man say something about parents who couldn’t control their children. As soon as they were in their car, Isobel sputtered, “Please, please call Missy now!”
Mrs. Cupcake drove the car while Veronica screeched in the back seat and Mr. Cupcake shouted into his phone, “Is this Missy? This is Veronica’s father! We have a little prob—”
“Ask Isobel to stop by my house tomorrow on her way home from school,” said Missy briskly. “I’ll leave a parcel on the porch for you.”
“But I haven’t even told you—”
“I SAID I WANTED MAC AND CHEESE!” shrieked Veronica, and kicked the back of her mother’s seat.
“No need,” said Missy. Then she added kindly, “Don’t worry. I see this sort of thing all the time.”
* * *
The next afternoon Isobel ran all the way from her bus stop to the right-side-up upside-down house, even though it was snowing and very slippery. She grabbed the paper bag with her name on it from the steps; waved to Missy, who was watching from the front window; and slipped and slid down the street to her own house. She waited impatiently for her parents to come home from work. When they did, she thrust the bag at them and said, “Here. Quick! Give this to Veronica.”
“But we don’t even know what the cure is.”
“I don’t care. Whatever it is, just give it to her.”
Mrs. Cupcake reached into the bag and pulled out a small box of candy. “Huh. Chocolates. And here are the directions. ‘Give Veronica one chocolate after each meal.’”
“Now she gets chocolates?” said Isobel. “They’d better work.”
“I wonder what they do,” said Mrs. Cupcake.
“I don’t care!” squawked Isobel.
The Cupcakes didn’t have to wait long before trying Missy’s cure. The next morning, which was Saturday, Mr. Cupcake said, “We need another string of lights for the Christmas tree. I’m going to run to Aunt Martha’s General Store.”
“Can I come with you?” asked Veronica.
“Have you had your candy?” Isobel asked.
Her sister looked surprised, but she said, “Yes, it was delicious. Thank you, dear sister.” Then she put on her hat and coat.
At the store Mr. Cupcake wandered up and down the aisles.
“I’m bored,” Veronica announced after a minute and a half.
“I’m sorry, but I haven’t found what I need.”
“Can I have new snow boots?”
“Nope. Sorry. We’re here for tree lights.”
And that was all it took. Veronica made her hands into fists, stretched her neck out like a goose, and emitted a screech. “I WANT—” she started to say.
Mr. Cupcake braced himself for a tantrum. Then he remembered Missy’s chocolate, relaxed, and stood with his head cocked to one side, waiting to see what would happen.
What happened was that before his eyes, Veronica turned into a baby. Not a tiny baby, but a fifty-pound baby. A baby the exact size of Veronica Cupcake with her seven-year-old face, squalling on the floor, wearing an enormous yellow onesie and a lacy bonnet, and holding a rattle in one chubby fist.
“Wah-wah-wah!” wailed Veronica.
“Oh, my,” a startled customer said to Mr. Cupcake. “What’s wrong with your … baby?”
“Poor thing,” added Aunt Martha, who had rushed to see what the commotion was about. “Maybe her diaper is wet.”
Veronica wanted to say, “I’m too old to wear a diaper! I’m not a baby!” but all that came out of her mouth was, “Wah-wah-wah! Gooby-gobby-da-da-boo-boo.”
Her father knelt next to her. “For heaven’s sake,” he said. “Veronica, the snow boots are expensive. If we wait until after the holidays, we can get them on sale.”
Slowly Veronica’s shrieking stopped. Then her sniffling stopped. The onesie and bonnet were replaced with her winter hat and coat.
“Goodness,” said Aunt Martha, who had been watching in fascination. “Was all that fuss because you wanted boots? A big girl like you. I never.”
“Did I just become a baby?” Veronica asked her father.
“I believe you did.”
* * *
The storm that had begun on Friday continued all weekend, and by Sunday afternoon Little Spring Valley was soft and white and sparkling. Despite the snow and the excitement of the holidays, Veronica Cupcake had two more tantrums after her adventure at Aunt Martha’s General Store. Mr. Cupcake, having witnessed that first tantrum, had thought it would put an end to things and that surely his daughter was cured. So he was disappointed to see Veronica squalling on the living floor that evening, rattle waving, after she had been told she couldn’t eat a second candy cane. And he was even more disappointed to find her crawling around the kitchen the next morning, bawling because no one would agree to help her find her socks.
“Dad,” Isobel whispered urgently to him. “Don’t worry. I timed her tantrums and they’re getting shorter.”
That was a relief, but it was an even bigger relief when Veronica, recovered from her tantrum, announced that she was going to go to Missy’s and build a snowman for her in order to cheer her up.
“What a lovely and thoughtful idea!” crowed Mrs. Cupcake. “Why, Missy will just—”
But Veronica was already out the door. A very strange feeling had settled over her after the first tantrum, and she was restless and slightly crabby. She poked her way down the street to the right-side-up upside-down house, scuffing her boots in the snow and thinking about how unfair her entire life was. When she arrived at Missy’s, she found Heavenly Earwig, Austin Forthright, Wareford Montpelier, and Linden Pettigrew already there. And what were they doing? They were rolling snow into large balls, getting ready to assemble a snowman.
Veronica came to a screeching stop at the end of the path to Missy’s porch. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
Austin looked up in surprise. “Making a snowman for Missy. To cheer her up.”
“But that was my idea!” wailed Veronica.
“I guess we all had the same idea. Why don’t you make another snowman?” Linden suggested. “Or maybe a snowdog.”
Not one single person in the yard was surprised at what happened next. Veronica scrunched up her face and yelled, “YOU STOLE MY IDEA!” However, they were very surprised at what happened after that.
“Hey, look! She’s— She’s a baby!” exclaimed Linden.
Heavenly stared in such fascination that she lost her balance and fell forward onto the ball that was supposed to become the snowman’s head.
“She’s wearing a pink snowsuit!” exclaimed Austin.
“And booties!” cried Wareford.
“Is that a rattle?” asked Heavenly, getting up off the crushed head.
Veronica stopped shrieking. She hid the rattle behind her back. She looked in dismay at her friends, who were staring down at her.
Perhaps it was because Missy was watching the scene through her front window—who knows?—but not one of the children in the yard said anything further to Veronica, even though it was very tempting to call, “What a baby!” or “Wait here while I get you a bottle!” And Veronica had the presence of mind not to open her mouth, because she knew what would come out of it. Instead, she remained very still until she was standing up again and the snowsuit and rattle had disappeared. Then she said, “Sorry,” and meant it.
Inside, Missy nodded slowly and smiled over at Lester on the couch.
Outside, Veronica and her friends peacefully made an entire snow family for Missy.
That night, as the Cupcakes sat around their Christmas tree looking at the lights and the ornaments, Veronica said thoughtfully, “You know, sometimes I act like a baby. But I’m not a baby. I’m seven!”
“You’re a big girl,” agreed her mother.
Veronica nodded.
“Old enough to have grown-up conversations,” said Isobel. “Like I have with Mom and Dad.”
Veronica nodded again. She said nothing more.
The rest of the Cupcakes felt as though they spent the next week holding their breaths, waiting for another tantrum. But Veronica didn’t have a tantrum on Monday, or Tuesday, or even on Christmas, when they felt sure she would have a tantrum about something.
The tantrums were gone for good. The Cupcakes thanked Missy.
One day, years and years later, when Mrs. Cupcake was cleaning out the kitchen, she found a little box of old stale chocolates at the back of a cupboard. She tossed them out, saying, “Now, where on earth did these come from?”