In life, I’m not exactly known for having a laid-back nature. The second something goes awry, I’ve already convinced myself the apocalypse has begun. It’s annoying to a lot of people (including myself), but it’s so ingrained into my personality that it’s incurable. When these issues become all-consuming, I often find myself turning to creative outlets to distract myself. My head begins to clear as I only focus on the task at hand, not any other problems I may believe I have, just what’s in front of me. But out of all the things I make, people are most happy when I make cupcakes, because after all, then they are getting something out of my stress.

There was a time when I was just baking for myself, but after one event, I started to bake for others. When I was fourteen, I was finally invited to my first party, and I had never dreaded something as much as I had then. I felt so awkward that my stomach sickly twisted at the thought of arriving empty-handed. So I made what i usually do: a vanilla cupcake with strawberry frosting and bitter chocolate chips; each one lovingly hand-crafted with the care of a girl trying to make a good first impression. From there, I painstakingly straightened my unruly hair (a daunting task I never try to attempt any other day), the burnt smell wafting throughout the bathroom. Slipping on my best Aeropostale V-neck, I had my mother drive me to my fate.

I stood outside of the door for close to ten minutes, waiting to be let in, anxiety making my palms sweat. Suddenly, the door creaked open and I stood face to face with the host, a gatekeeper to my upgrade in social status. My heart was in my throat as they greeted me from the doorway, not quite inviting me in yet. Their eyes assessed me, and they paused as their sight glanced downward.

“You brought cupcakes?

On the outside, I attempted to remain nonchalant, while on the inside, I was panicking. My thoughts raced, what if nobody likes sweets, what if they hate strawberries, what if they hate me. Two seconds more, and I would have ran back home, screaming all the way.

“Yup,” I replied instead.

The person made a noncommittal noise, shoulders shrugging with the sound. They stepped aside, and we went in.

As I followed them, descending down to the basement with my peace offering in tow, the stairs groaned with each step. I expected something out of a teen movie, a large party, where everyone was separated into their respective cliques. Instead, I was met with eight other people I was already friends with, in a basement lit only by the dim fairy lights strewn around the room.

Shocking me out of my stupor, the host shouted, “Stephanie brought cupcakes!”

A chorus of, “Yeahs,” and “Thanks Stephs,” rung out, making me feel more at ease. Their smiles were manic, a grin only manage by handing freshmen a bunch of sugar. I opened up the tray, and thus my legacy began.

After this, I’m always asked to make cupcakes for people. This has resulted in me baking for increasingly peculiar situations, from an AP exam to a pool party. It’s a great ice-breaker when I’m in a new situation, where people are excited that I’ve brought something for everyone to share. For a while I worried that I was only being invited for my cupcakes; but now I’ve realized that it’s because people actually enjoy my company, which is why I take my label of “Cupcake Girl” with grace.