Page 10 of Pride High 2: Orange

“The boy who tried taking his own life?” his mother asked, her face softening with sympathy.

“Yeah. I hope he’s doing okay.”

Maybe that was a bit much, because her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I won’t be gone too long,” he promised.

“Very well,” his mother said. “But only if you help clean up when everyone is gone.”

He’d do all the dishes by hand if it meant he could see Silvia. “Thanks, Mom!” he said, giving her a hug.

He told the others that he’d be back later, including his grandma, who was reaching for the Persian love cake she made on special occasions. White icing dripped over the edge of the round cake, the top decorated with green pistachios and pink flower petals.

“I’ve got this.” Omar grabbed the cake stand for her. “Wow, there’s still so much left,” he said as they began heading toward the kitchen, his grandma hobbling along with her cane. “You know who I bet would like some?”

“Your friends?” Mamani asked with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

“Kind of,” Omar replied. He’d been thinking only of Silvia.

“But that might have strange results,” Mamani said. “You know the legend, don’t you?”

He shook his head.

“Long ago,” Mamani continued, “a Persian peasant was in love with her prince. But of course someone so low in status was beneath his notice. She hoped to impress him during a festival when everyone presented their finest creations to the royal family. So she put all of her love into a new kind of cake, and when the prince tasted it, he knew he had found his bride.”

“The cake made him fall in love with her?” Omar asked.

Mamani shrugged. “So the story goes, but who can say?”

“Would I need to bake the cake myself,” Omar asked casually, “or does it work on anyone you give it to?”

“I think we should find out,” Mamani said, reaching for a knife.

God she was good! That’s what he’d intended to ask for from the very beginning. Although now he was even more excited about the idea. Mamani cut a thick slice for him that he put in a plastic container. After thanking her and grabbing his favorite leather jacket, he very carefully carried the cake out the front door.

“What’s that?” Anthony asked, pushing himself off the exterior wall. The others were waiting in the car.

“Dessert,” Omar said with a grin.

“Your grandma’s love cake?” Anthony asked in interest.

Omar wasn’t surprised by his guess. Everyone loved her cake. She had baked three of them for the holiday. The other two had already been eaten. “Yeah.”

“Can I have a bite?”

“No way!” Omar wondered if the cake really was magical. Especially considering Anthony’s recent confession. “It sounds like you’ve already had enough.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

“I’ll trade you some deviled eggs,” Anthony offered as they walked across the yard.

“Ha ha! No. And before you ask, you arenotsleeping over at my house tonight. Last year was bad enough!”

“I didn’t actually eat the eggs this time,” Anthony mumbled.

“Then maybe. There will probably be leftover cake when we get back. But you have to help me clean up, okay?”