And he stomped out of the house.

Mr. Pettinger passed the box to Marlin, who opened it. Inside was a diamond ring.

“It must be the ring he asked Aunt Martha to marry him with,” said Marlin, examining it in awe.

“It’s a highly inappropriate gift for a thirteen-year-old. Don’t wear it to school, Marlin,” said Miss Webster.

“I wouldn’t wear it anywhere. I don’t even like jewelry,” said Marlin.

“But, as he says, you can sell it…” said Miss Webster. “It was a generous gift…”

“We may as well open the rest of the presents if you want, Marl,” said Fiona.

“Sure,” said Marlin. “I mean it’s still my birthday. He didn’t ruin it even if he tried.” Then she ruffled all over again. “He doesn’t know I won’t get published! He thinks he’s such a know-it-all just because he wrote for the New York Times. But he doesn’t know how good my book is. He doesn’t know anything about it.”

“Of course he doesn’t,” said Fiona. “There are always naysayers about any project.”

“That was a rotten thing to say on my birthday,” said Marlin.

“Well, you didn’t have to be mean to him,” said Charlie. “He gave you a ring! Mom always said to be polite to guests.”

“He wasn’t polite to me,” said Marlin. “You’re supposed to be polite as a guest too. And I’m the birthday girl. I’m not keeping the ring. The next time I bring him dinner I’m returning the ring to him.”

“Let’s clear the table and put out cake plates,” said Miss Webster swiftly. “I’m dying to try this cake you keep talking about!”

It was obvious to Fiona that Marlin was less upset now about Miss Webster and Mr. Pettinger moving away than she was about having her book-publishing bubble popped. And she had the feeling that Charlie still wasn’t sure what was going on. That despite Miss Webster’s explanation, in Charlie’s head they were all going to the Yukon together.

It had been a table of woeful faces but everyone perked up when the cake was brought out.

“Hold on,” said Marlin, getting the cell phone. She took a photo. “I’ve been taking pictures of all my food. I’m probably going to do a cake book next. Thirty Cakes a Twelve-Year-Old Could Bake and Did!”

“You’re thirteen,” pointed out Natasha.

“Yes, but I was twelve when I baked it. Besides, twelve sounds better in the title. Thirteen sounds like you’re no longer a kid. You have to think about these things when you start writing books,” said Marlin importantly.

“I think your book ideas are wonderful,” said Miss Webster. “And your titles are very catchy.”

“And the cake is amazing,” said Mr. Pettinger. “It looks professional. Doesn’t it look professional, Diana?”

“It does!” agreed Miss Webster.

“Thanks,” said Marlin, looking mollified.

Fiona put the thirteen candles on the cake and lit them. Marlin blew them out and then said, “I bet we can all guess what I wished for!”