I have never eaten a birthday cake.

Bree ran home and brought back some of their chef’s chocolate cake, her favorite.

Mom and Dad were still in the study working on the loud-soft problem.

“Will the replicator make a cake?” Bree asked.

“I think so.” I put a slice of the chef’s cake into the replicator and pushed ANALYZE.

Whirr. Whirr. Crunch.

The replicator said, “Can not analyze.”

“Don’t worry,” I told Bree, “This happens sometimes. It just means you have to analyze every ingredient by itself. What’s in it?”

“Flour, sugar, baking powder.”

“We already analyzed those—” I stopped. I almost said, “—those Earth baking ingredients.” I had to be careful or Bree would figure out we were aliens.

“Vanilla and chocolate,” she said.

“Do you have some of that at your house? Can you go get it and anything else that goes into the cake recipe?”

She was back soon with a small bag. From the bag, she handed me a small jar.

I poured vanilla flavoring into a bowl, set it in the replicator and pushed ANALYZE.

Whirr, whirr, ding.

“Great, it worked.”

Just then, Mom called from the study. “Be right back,” I said.

Mom had a funny metal thing that she put on my neck and told me to sing. I still sang loud. Shaking her head, she took it off and waved me back to the kitchen.

When I walked back into the kitchen, the replicator was running.

Whirr, whirr, whirr.

It was taking too long. I reached for the replicator door when—Bang!

Bree screamed. I jumped back!

Whirr, whirr, Bang! Smoke spilled from the replicator.

I pulled the electric plug and then banged on the study door and yelled, “Mom! Dad!”

Without waiting for an answer, I pulled Bree out the front door, onto the grass.

“What did you put in the replicator?” I asked Bree.

“Just an egg.”

I stared at her in horror. An egg. In our replicator.

Earthlings are born, but Bixsters (what we all ourselves) are hatched. We come from eggs. My family will not eat an egg.

“Do all cakes have eggs?” I demanded.

“Mostly,” she said.

Suddenly panicked, I demanded, “What else has eggs in it?”

“Oh, you know. Bread, cookies, lots of things.”

I wanted to throw up. I had been eating chocolate cake at school every day. I had never felt so much like an alien.

Just then, Mom and Dad came rushing outside. I told them about the replicator accident, and Dad went inside to look. He came back out in a minute and said, “It’s OK. No fire.”

I frowned. “Did the egg burn up or explode or what?”

Dad said, “Exploded. I threw it away.”

Good. I didn’t want to see that dead egg.

And I didn’t want to do the Alien Party anymore. Everything here on Earth was too hard.

Bree smiled at me, but I couldn’t find even the tiniest ray of sunshine. Heavy thunderclouds hung over me. Bree wanted pink dress-up tutus. She didn’t like grawlies because they were too spicy. And Earthling cakes were made with eggs! Eggs!

An Alien Party on Earth was impossible. The only way to do it was the Earthling way. I gave up. OK. Bree would get an Earthling Alien Party.

Because Earthling girls deserve Earthling birthday parties.