PROMPT BY: Onemyoui

In preparation for Jihyo's upcoming birthday, Mina must bake a cake; however, everything takes a turn when Chaeyoung decides she wants to help out. 

Note: Brief mature language 

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Food Fight

 

“What the hell happened?!”

 

I blink slowly, my vision coming into focus as I see Jeongyeon tower over me, her hands are glued to her horrified face and agape as if she is trying to do her best impression of Edvard Munch’s painting: The Scream. She remains petrified like a frozen computer image.

 

I groan as I sit up. My body aches all over, and my head is in an excruciating amount of pain like I was clocked with a hammer. It takes me a moment to even register where I am: I am on the floor of the kitchen and Chaeyoung is right next to me. She, too, seems to be hurting, wincing as she regains consciousness. Around us is a mess. I understand why Jeongyeon is so upset; it looks like a war happened within our own kitchen. There are scraps of food everywhere: broken egg shells and smashed strawberries litter the floor like fallen soldiers while globs of uncooked batter practically touch every open surface of the kitchen; there are battered tomato guts sliding down the backsplash, and an entire sack of flour is knocked over on the counter, the powdery white dust spilling freely from its opening.

 

Both Chaeyoung and I are covered in a thick creamy frosting, our hair and cheeks smeared with it, and I find bits of strawberries as well. I cringe because I know this will be hell to get out - I predict that it will take at least four showers until everything (even the smell) is completely gone.

 

Casually, Chaeyoung lifts a hand up to her lips and her fingers one by one. “I still think vanilla is too bland,” she tells no one once she finishes, her brow creasing into a little frown.

 

Neither Jeongyeon or I say anything.

 

Drip. Drip. Drip.

 

The sound of the dripping faucet behind us fills in the pause, a ticking time bomb counting down until Jeongyeon recovers from her initial shock and has another outburst. It does not take long.

 

“What did you two DO?” Jeongyeon shouts again, her buffering complete. She gestures violently at the kitchen, wailing on and on about how her sparkling clean kitchen is now ruined; her dramatics seem more theatrical than usual, and I wonder if she has recently taken lessons from Nayeon.

 

“It was Chaeyoung’s fault,” I say automatically. To be honest, I don’t quite remember what exactly happened, but my gut tells me that I wasn’t the one who started it. Clearly, I am a victim here!

 

“Hey!” Chaeyoung whines. Her face scrunches up into a pout, her bottom lip is protruding and her cheeks puff out. “You can’t just blame me! You went absolutely rabid!”

 

“Doesn’t matter who started it, both of you will have to tidy up!” snaps Jeongyeon. “I’m going out with Nayeon and Momo to buy more decorations while Dahyun, Tzuyu, and Sana are picking up the remainder of the gifts. Jihyo will be back tomorrow at noon, so this place better be spick and span by then - I want to see my reflection on every single surface!”

 

“What about the cake?” Chaeyoung inquires. Her eyes drift to the left, staring at a crumbly lump on the floor. It is very sad and pathetic looking.

 

Oh, that’s right . . . suddenly my memory clears up, and I remember everything that happened.

 

“Kitchen first,” Jeongyeon barks, “you can buy a cake tomorrow.” She storms away, grumbling under breath, leaving Chaeyoung and I clean up our mess.

 

 

 

We had divided into groups to make the tasks easier: Nayeon, Jeongyeon, Momo, and Chaeyoung were in charge of the party decorations; Sana, Dahyun, and Tzuyu were responsible for retrieving Jihyo’s presents (we all had pitched in money and ideas of what to get her); and I was to bake a cake. It should’ve been simple, but somewhere along the way, it turned into a disaster.

 

Chaeyoung is sitting on top of one of the counters, pink rubber gloves covering her hands and an apron wrapped around her small body, as she is scrubbing at the walls with a sponge. I am on the floor in a similar get-up washing the tiled floor. Neither of us are speaking, though Chaeyoung has her phone on at full volume blasting the latest Ariana Grande album.

 

Finally, she breaks the silence. “Doesn’t it feel like Jeongyeon is the evil stepmother and we’re both Cinderella?” she says. When I just send her a nasty glare, she holds her hands up in surrender. “Whoa. Look, Mina, I’m sorry - but you have to admit that you overreacted too.”

 

It started with me in the kitchen diligently following a vanilla cake recipe I found online; Jihyo had mentioned months ago that she loved vanilla cakes and for some reason that fact stuck with me. Because of this, I had asked the other girls if I could create Jihyo’s birthday cake, and they were delighted to not be burdened with such a heavy responsibility. “A homemade cake is much better than one from the store,” they said.

 

And so, everything was set up: from my trusty baking equipment to the necessary ingredients laid out on the countertop; step by step, I measured everything to the exact amount, stirred, mixed, and beat them all into a batter. It was a slow, grueling process, but baking is a science (I know after binge-watching all seasons of The Great British Baking Show) and you could only achieve perfection by doing everything perfectly.

 

By the time I put the cake in the oven, I thought that the worst was over; I conquered the difficult parts of the recipe, and the only task that remained was making the frosting.

 

Enter Chaeyoung who decided that she wanted to help out.

 

I don’t know why she decided to join me in the kitchen. I assumed she and the older girls were having a great time setting up our living room with colorful decorations; bouts of laughter carried over from the other room, and it sounded like everyone was getting along. However, judging by the scowl on her face, I was wrong.

 

“Do you think Jihyo would’ve liked the cake?” Chaeyoung asks as she finishes one of the walls. She sets down her sponge and wipes her forehead with the sleeve of her shirt. Her feet are dangling over the counter, swinging back and forth like a child.

 

“Of course,” I reply, undoubtedly. But then I waver. “I think . . .”

 

“Well, I think if she didn’t, she’d be polite enough to eat one slice at least,” Chaeyoung states with a shrug.

 

I smile sadly. “I guess we’ll never know.”

 

As I our small hand-held electric mixer, Chaeyoung peered over my shoulder with curious eyes; her breath was hot against my neck, sending a cold shiver down my spine. My heart pounded so loudly in my ears that it drowned out the whirring of the mixer. I couldn’t concentrate at all. The younger girl was making me a nervous wreck that eventually I had to shut off the device.

 

“It’s really stressful with you standing right behind me,” I said curtly. I made the mistake of turning my head, meeting Chaeyoung face-to-face: our noses were practically touching.

 

Chaeyoung didn’t respond, instead she dipped a finger into the bowl, swiping a chunk of frosting, and quickly shoved it into before I could scold her. “Mmm . . . isn’t vanilla kind of bland?” she asked. “Why don’t you add some flavor to it? Oh, strawberries would be nice!”

 

“This cake isn’t for you, Chaeyoung. It’s for Jihyo. Maybe she doesn’t like strawberry-flavored frosting.”

 

Chaeyoung snorted. “That’s ridiculous. Everyone likes strawberry-flavored frosting!” I scowled at her overgeneralization; strawberries were good, but Chaeyoung acted like they were god-tier. “Hold on -” She made a dash towards the fridge and returned with a container of freshly cut strawberries (did she always have a stash prepared?), and without warning, dumped it all into the cream.

 

“CHAEYOUNG!” I shrieked. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” I immediately began to pick out the strawberries and toss them onto the counter.

 

“I am making it better, Mina!” she shouted back. Then, like a child, she picked up the discarded strawberries and put them back in the bowl.

 

“No, you’re not! That’s not even how you make strawberry frosting!” I cried out, grabbing her wrist to stop her from adding any more.

 

“Just mix the strawberries in with that beater thingy. I’m sure it will work out!”

 

“I can assure you, it won’t!”

 

“How do you know? You won’t even try!”

 

“Ugh - I can’t believe you! You ruined it. Now I have to start over!”

 

Ding!

 

“Have you ever tried playing softball? Because you have a wicked arm,” Chaeyoung jokes. She is now on the next wall, inspecting the damage done. There is a mix of admiration and fear laced in her voice even though I know she is only teasing. “See this one right here? You almost took out my right eye with this.”

 

I glance to where Chaeyoung is pointing: the remains of a tomato is stamped on the wall, juice still streaking down like raindrops against a window pane, and its corpse limp alongside the back counter. “Sorry,” I mumble as I recall that moment, sheepishly. Chaeyoung had ducked just in time, narrowly missing the flying tomato. I wasn’t aiming to hurt her, but I guess I was so frustrated that I didn’t consider how viciously I retaliated.

 

“It’s okay,” she says. “I just hope that next time there’s a food fight, we’re on the same side.”

 

I let out a sigh of relief as I pulled the cake out of the oven, and carefully set it on the countertop to cool. It was perfect: a golden-brown, moist, mouth-watering lump of perfection.

 

“Not too bad,” I said to myself, proudly. Unfortunately, my moment of delight was cut short as I caught Chaeyoung trying to sneak strawberries into the bowl of frosting again. “SON CHAEYOUNG!”

 

At that point, my patience was worn thin. I ripped off my oven mitts and grabbed the closest thing near me: tomatoes that Chaeyoung’s grandmother had brought over from her garden. Using all of my might, I started flinging them at the younger girl like bullets. I just wanted her to stop ruining my frosting!

 

“What the - WOMAN, ARE YOU MAD?” Chaeyoung shouted as she covered her head with her arms.

 

“YES, I AM MAD. YOU KEEP INTERFERING WITH MY BAKING,” I yelled back.

 

Chaeyoung wasn’t going to back down so easily. She reached the carton of eggs on the counter and hurled them at me one-by-one. Luckily, Chaeyoung had terrible aim. The eggs missed me by miles - though somehow they repeatedly hit the flour bag behind me, which, after some much consistent impact, eventually fell over. When she ran out of eggs, Chaeyoung turned to leftover cake batter - literally grabbing scoopfuls with her bare hands and throwing it at me. This time, she actually nailed me square in the chest with a great gooey glob. I wiped the gunk from my eyes and spat out some from my mouth; unlike cookie dough, raw cake batter does not taste good.

 

I snatched the last tomato in fury, readying myself to give the final blow. “Give it up, Chaeyoung! Go back to the older girls and help them with the decorations like you were supposed to!”

 

“Finally! We’re DONE!” Chaeyoung collapses onto the ground in exhaustion, but her face is jubilant and her arms are stretched out in triumph. “Jeongyeon better be satisfied because we worked our butts off! I can’t remember the last time the floor tiles were actually a pale blue - they always were black - say, when exactly was the last time the kitchen was this clean?”

 

I take a seat next to her, tired as well. It took us five hours to clean up our mess: all of the washing and scrubbing and scraping and polishing wore us out. My body, already sore from the food fight, is definitely screaming with fatigue. I can barely sit up straight. My bed and sleeping for twelve hours sounds like paradise right now.

 

We sit in silence for a long time.

 

“Why did you come to help me instead of the others?” I ask at last.

 

Chaeyoung averts her gaze away from mine, idly tracing the embroidery on her apron. She does not reply right away.

 

“I was lonely,” she confesses. “Sometimes I feel left out when I’m with the older girls . . . maybe it’s an age thing . . . I don’t know . . . we were decorating, and they kept laughing and talking amongst themselves. To their credit, they tried to include me as much as possible . . . though you could feel a gap.” She sighs. “I couldn’t take it anymore. I thought maybe you were lonely too and needed some company - but I guess I was wrong. I just ended up ruining your cake.”

 

Before I could throw my last tomato, Chaeyoung tackled me and damn, did it hurt. We both crashed into the floor: my head bumping into a lower cabinet and my left elbow hitting the floor. I clenched my teeth. The pain stung, surging through my body like an electric shock. Chaeyoung shifted her weight on top me, stradling my stomach and pinning down my shoulders with her filthy hands. It was a scandalous position, and if any of the other girls happened to walk in on us, I was sure my soul would ascend from my body in a heartbeat.

 

“Stop. Chucking. Tomatoes. At. Me!” Chaeyoung growled. She leaned her face in so close, I swear she got spit on my cheek. Ew. Gross.

 

“I had to do something to prevent you from adding more of your strawberries to the frosting!” I argued. I used my good elbow to hoist myself up causing her to lose her balance, and then - with some effort - I shoved her entirely off of my lap.

 

“Ow!” she grunted as she landed on her . “Geez, Mina. You play really dirty.”

 

“That’s what you get for being so obnoxious.”

 

“Excuse me? I’m not the one who decided to attack first.” She stood up and folded her arms across her chest, looking like a sulking child. “Why won’t you just try it? Just a taste?”

 

“No!” I huffed.

 

Chaeyoung let out a strained noise that was a cross between an enraged roar and an exasperated groan. In one quick motion, she took a big handful of frosting and ed it right at me. Her grubby hand wiped the frosting on my lips, my cheeks, my nose, my forehead, and my hair; since the strawberries hadn’t been properly mixed into the frosting, the mushy fruit just slipped from my face onto the floor. I sat in complete shock, unable to stop her.

 

Finally, I came back to my senses.

 

“Y-you - you just - I can’t believe - WHAT THE HELL?” I screeched.

 

“STOP BEING STUBBORN. JUST TASTE THE FROSTING, MINA!”

 

“IF IT’S SO GOOD, YOU TASTE IT!” I removed some of the frosting from my cheek, lunged at Chaeyoung - this time I was the one tackling - and gave her the same treatment she gave me.

 

Chaeyoung lied on her back, glaring up at me, her round eyes blazing fiercely. She held my gaze as she slowly the frosting from her lips to prove her point. “Mmmmm. Delicious. Happy now?”

 

My eye twitched. “No.”

 

I got up and digested the chaos around us. We really went wild. But I decided our mess was a later problem and instead moved to remake the frosting - without Chaeyoung’s stupid strawberries.

 

“Mina, watch out -!”

 

Before I could register Chaeyoung’s words, I slipped on the pile of strawberries at my feet. My arms flailed out and I desperately tried to grab onto something nearby to catch my fall; however, much to my misfortune, my hand smacked right into my cooling cake. I watched in horror as the cake toppled down from the counter - almost in slow motion - and hit the floor with a thunk! (It was a dense cake, okay.)

 

My heart broke in two. Tears brimmed at the corner of my eyes. My lip quivered. After all of my hard work, within a blink of the eye, Jihyo’s birthday cake was g-o-n-e, GONE.

 

“Wait, there’s the three second rule!” said Chaeyoung, hastily crawling to pick up the cake.

 

“We are not giving Jihyo a cake that fell on the ground,” I snapped. I buried my head in my hands, mourning the tragic loss. It dawned on me that now I didn’t have frosting or a cake. I had asked for this job - this one job - and I had failed. Poor Jihyo. I felt awful; if there was a worst friend award, I felt like I deserved it.

 

“Mina, I -” Chaeyoung approached me gingerly, and placed a comfort - yet still very dirty - hand on my shoulder even though this entire situation was her fault.

 

“Get away from me!” I shouted angrily. I attempted to shake off her hand, but life was cruel and I ended up slipping on the strawberries again, taking both myself and Chaeyoung down to the floor.

 

And then everything went black.

 

 

“You know, I don’t want to give Jihyo a store bought cake,” says Chaeyoung quietly, “she deserves something much better.”

 

I nod in agreement. “She’s Park Jihyo, she deserves the best.”

 

“Hey, Mina?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“What do you say if we make another cake for Jihyo?” Chaeyoung offers me a smile, her eyes regarding me intently and the dimple on the right side of her face is visible. I don’t know if she’s using this cute expression to persuade me or if she is being genuine, but either way, it’s irresistible.

 

I return the grin. “Let’s get working then.”

 

Chaeyoung and I find a different recipe online, this time it’s a sponge cake. We both agree to not have vanilla or strawberry frosting, but instead cover the cake with powdered sugar and an assortment of berries (yes, I know that does include strawberries, but Chaeyoung refused to compromise to anything else unless she got her fruit). It’s nothing fancy, but I figure that since both Chayeoung and I are making it after such an intense food fight, the context of it is more meaningful (not that Jihyo would know though); it is our olive branch.

 

We finish the cake by two in the morning, patting ourselves on the back and admiring our work.

 

“It looks perfect,” I murmur.

 

“It really does,” Chaeyoung says, impressed. “We did a good job.”

 

I turn to the younger girl, gently pressing my thumb against the corner of her lips in order to wipe away some powdered sugar that mysteriously got there. She stares at me fiercely once again, but it’s not out of anger, now it’s something different. Something more affectionate. I smile, unable to help myself.

 

“Yeah. We did.”

 

 

“Happy Birthday, Jihyo!”

 

We all gather in the living room with party hats on and confetti poppers in our hands. Jeongyeon removes her hands from Jihyo’s eyes as the latter takes in everything around her. I admit that the decorations group did a fantastic job with setting the room up; within one day they transformed our bland space into a festive place filled with gold streamers, vibrant colored balloons, and a large banner hanging from above that reads CONGRATS ON AGING! To top it off, Jeongyeon, Nayeon, and Momo had collected dozens and dozens of photos of Jihyo and assembled them into a large collage pinned to the wall. I took a brief glance at it before Jihyo came back, gushing with the others over the cute baby pictures (courtesy of her family) to laughing at the ones from our younger days to roasting the really unflattering group photos. It was a trip down memory lane, and I realize just how much the nine of us have been through together.

 

There are tears streaking down Jihyo’s face as she looks around the room, clutching her hands to her chest as if it is the only thing keeping her upright.

 

“I-I don’t think I could thank you all enough,” she chokes. The words come out almost in a sob, and I bite my lip to keep myself from joining her tear fest.

 

“No need to thank us, Jihyo,” Sana chirps cheerily, “it’s your birthday after all! You deserve the world - today and every day!”

 

This just makes Jihyo cry harder.

 

“Wait, before you pass out from crying, let’s eat cake first,” Jeongyeon pipes up. “I’m starving!”

 

Chaeyoung and Jeongyeon go to the fridge to retrieve the cake we made as Dahyun lowers the lights.

 

We begin to sing “Happy Birthday” as Jeongyeon brings in the cake with Chaeyoung trailing behind; the cake is stacked with candles (I have no doubt that the two decided to include the accurate number of candles to represent Jihyo’s age) and it looks like Jeongyeon is holding a plate of fire instead of a dessert. We pick up the pace of the song in fear that either the cake will actually catch on fire or the smoke alarm will go off. Or both.

 

Jihyo clasps her hands together and closes her eyes as she takes her sweet time to make her wish. We all stand next to her awkwardly, watching the candles drip hot wax onto the cake and berries, wondering if there will be any cake left by the time Jihyo is done.

 

Nayeon clears . “Hello? We would like to eat the cake today, not when we’re grandmas.”

 

Jihyo opens one eye and shoots daggers at Nayeon. At last, she blows out the candles in a single breath, and we all let out a sigh of relief.

 

“Geez, were you making wishes for the next five birthdays?” teases Jeongyeon. “You’re only turning one year older.”

 

“I’m sorry for wishing that you and Nayeon will be able to maintain your youthful looks as you age,” Jihyo says, her voice drips with sarcasm.

 

“Jihyo! You can’t say your wish out loud or else it won’t come true!” Momo gasps.

 

Jihyo throws Nayeon and Jeongyeon a pointed look, and smirks.

 

“,” Jeongyeon grumbles.

 

“After all we’ve ever done for you,” Nayeon huffs.

 

“Love you too!”

 

We cut the cake and dig in; a series of satisfied noises are passed around and the other girls compliment Chaeyoung and me on our cake.

 

“You two made this?” Jeongyeon asks as she goes in for her second slice. “I thought you would’ve bought one from the store after what happened.”

 

Chaeyoung shakes her head. “Nope! Mina and I made up, and we baked a new cake together.”

 

“The strawberries were your idea, weren’t they, Chaeng?” Jihyo states as she shoves a forkful of cake into .

 

Chaeyoung brightens up and bounces on the balls of her feet. “Yes! Do you like it? It’s delicious, right? I mean, having strawberries included.”

 

“Yes, it is very delicious.” Jihyo swallows her bite and smiles. Chaeyoung looks over the moon at the birthday girl’s remark, gloating and sending me a not-so-subtle smirk. “But if I’m going to be honest, I really prefer just vanilla flavored things.”

 

I ING KNEW IT.

 

I pump a fist in the air and whoop loudly, startling everyone in the room. “HA. TAKE THAT, SON!” I yell in victory. Chaeyoung gawks as the rest of the girls appear very, very confused.

 

THE END.