• My name is Lidia Tarabell. I love music, chocolate, and my boyfriend Steve. I like ballet, books, and the occasional stroll along the beach near my Miami apartment. But I absolutely hate spiders, pens that run out of ink when you least expect it, and Megan. Megan, the girl who is sitting across from me in our cake decorating class with a smug look on her face even though she is wrapped up in a bright pink apron and squeezing icing out of a tube. Megan, who is as non-artistic as the rest of us young women in this god forsaken class; yet still manages to act like she is better than the entire female population who are sharing the same breathing space. And that’s just because she underneath her apron she is wearing a $70 blue sweater from Abercrombie and Fitch(I know how much because I saw the same sweater yesterday when I was shopping and I nearly fainted at the price tag), along with a pair of ripped blue jeans that cost about $150, ending with $30 white flip flops from Babel. Her wardrobe for today costs more than this class does. I grind my teeth at the thought(a nasty habit I’ve been repeatedly told to stop) and squeeze my tube of pretty purple icing a bit harder than necessary, so a bunch of the icing comes out in a mush, rather then the delicate flower pattern I was aiming for. Megan sees my mistake and lets out a dainty little snicker, covering her mouth with her porcelain colored, perfectly manicured hand. I want to rip her throat out.
    My best friend Sally, who is sitting right next to me, notices the entire exchange, as well as my tightening grip on the tube, and my ever reddening face.
    “Relax,” she tells me in a whisper. “Just concentrate on what you’re doing and forget the blonde bimbo.” I let out a reluctant sigh and nod, then drop my gaze from the still laughing Megan the Pig, and try once again to squeeze icing out into a flower. Of course Sally(although as inartistic as me) has already made several perfect flowers on her little white cake, the green icing making a starling contrast. I concentrate on how she moves the tube around, and how much pressure she puts on the tube to get out the right amount of icing. After a moment, I copy her movements and let out a strangled gasp as I amazingly produce a slight replica of what I’m supposed to be doing in the first place.
    “You’re making progress!” Sally whispers excitingly. I can only laugh with her and shrug.
    “And to think, it’s only taken her the whole lesson to learn how to make that pitiful thing you can’t possibly even call a flower. And hey, its only taken her four tubes to get it half right.”
    I shoot a death glare at Megan, who has that damn smug look still on her face, and ignore Sally’s warning glances. I might not be getting the whole flower thing down pact, but I doubt anyone would care, as long as I get to practice on Megan’s head. I grin at the thought of turning the blonde’s hair purple, and start to move my hand forward with that exact intent. Megan notices, and the smug look disappears, only to be replaced with wide eyes and an opening mouth that’s about to call for the instructor. But before either of us accomplishes anything, a cake flies in front of me and splatters all over Megan’s shocked face. She blinks a moment in stunned silence as bits of cake fall from her lashes, and I halt in my forward assault with the icing tube. Then another cake suddenly flies by me, and all hell breaks loose.