The Secret Cookie Club (3 page)

We didn't know anything else.

“I'll carry your mom's water,” Lucy told me, “so I have something—” She stopped in her tracks. “Oh, no.”

All of us stopped too, and looked where she was looking. A woman had appeared by the door. She had a lot of blond hair and a big smile, but the most remarkable thing was what she was wearing—a sleeveless green blouse, the shortest shorts I ever saw on a grown-up, and green cowboy boots.

Olivia started to say something, and from her face I knew it would be snarky. But Emma kicked her and then said, “That's not your mom, Lucy. Say it's not.”

Lucy sighed, looked into each of our faces like she was going to her own execution, then turned and started walking toward the blond woman, waving. “I'm over here, Mother!”

Am I mean if I felt better after Lucy's mom turned out to be even more embarrassing than my parents?

Her name was Karen Kathleen, but she went by KK,
and even though she was wearing those terrible shorts, she was nice—friendly—and she made everybody laugh, even my own mom.

Lunch was the regular camp food—hamburgers and salad. There were veggie burgers for vegetarians like Lucy and her mom. While we ate, Hannah told stories about the summer—like how Flowerpot Cabin should've won first prize on Talent Night, only there was that Ryan kid in Lasso Cabin who had an international trophy in violin, so even though the other boys only tapped on spoons from the dining hall, their band still won.

Vivek was in Lasso Cabin. Of the three spoon players, he was the best. Now he was sitting two tables away with his parents, and I was carefully looking in the opposite direction.

“And didn't you girls make cookies?” Emma's mom asked.

“From my grandfather's recipe,” Hannah said. “They were delicious. These daughters of yours can really bake.”

“Vivek was there too, and we sent some to his mom for her birthday,” Olivia said, looking at me. “Where is Vivek anyway? I want to talk to his mom. I want to know if she liked the cookies.”

But before Olivia had a chance to look around, Buck, the head of camp, rang the cowbell to get everybody's attention.

“I just wanted to say a few words about what wonderful kids y'all have and what a pleasure it's been . . .”

You get the idea.

We were pushing our chairs back when Hannah said, “Would you parents mind if I borrowed your daughters one last time? You'll want to go out and open up your cars and get the AC going. Otherwise you'll roast.”

Since no cars are allowed in camp, parking is out beyond the fence. Now we Flowerpot girls gathered for the last time under the cottonwood by the front gate.

Hannah's eyes looked damp, but she spoke briskly. “Good-byes should be short and sweet. But I did want to give you each something.”

From her day pack she pulled four small presents, each
wrapped in newspaper and rainbow ribbons, each marked with our own name.

Olivia shook her head sadly. “Such a
shame
you couldn't get real wrapping paper.”

“Newspaper's good because it's recycled,” said Lucy.

“Let's open them, everybody!” said Emma.

Inside were recipe boxes—a green one for Lucy, pink for Olivia, red for me, and blue for Emma. There were recipes inside, too—cookie recipes.

“Your grandfather's?” Emma asked.

Hannah nodded, and by now a couple of tears had escaped her eyes. “There's a baker's dozen there, his thirteen all-time favorites.”

“A dozen is twelve, Hannah,” said Lucy.

“A baker's dozen is thirteen,” Hannah explained, “and I am gonna miss you guys. Now, get out of here! Short and sweet, remember? But don't forget me . . . and don't forget each other!”

To help me find it, my parents had told me their rental car was a red Ford. But it turned out so was everyone else's—except Olivia's family's. The Barons
had a gold Porsche SUV that stood out by a mile as it drove past. The windows were tinted so I couldn't see O, but I waved anyway. I was still looking for my parents when someone behind me called, “Grace! Hang on!”

It was Vivek, and I felt myself turn bright red from embarrassment . . . and maybe happiness, a little. I turned around, and he was two feet away from me holding out a small brown paper sack stamped M
OONLIGHT
R
ANCH
T
RADING
P
OST
.

“I bought these for you. I mean, not for you exactly. But they made a, uh . . . mistake and gave me these. And everyone likes them, so you must like them too. Here.”

I took the sack, too surprised to look inside right away, and then my parents came up.

“Who is this, Grace?” asked my father.

I introduced Vivek, who smiled and held out his hand. “My parents—” He looked around, but the sound of a car horn drowned out his voice. It was Lucy's mom honking as she drove by. Lucy didn't wave. She was too busy gesturing to her mom:
Please quiet down!

Vivek and I locked eyes for about half a second. Then I said, “We have to go. Have a really great year.” And I pulled my parents away.

*  *  *

In the car, I stowed the sack in my day pack without looking inside. What if it was a big disappointment? What if anticipation was the best part?

Better to save the secret for later.

Since our flight to Boston was at six the next morning, we were staying in a very nice, very clean hotel by the airport. Usually I don't notice if hotels are nice or not, but after six weeks of sharing a room with four other people and sleeping in an upper bunk that squeaked, I definitely noticed. Likewise the air conditioning and the amazing menu at the hotel restaurant.

Now that we were alone, my parents weren't embarrassing anymore. Moonlight Ranch might've been the best thing that ever happened to me, but still . . . I had missed them.

My parents and I read in the room after dinner. Right before it was time to turn out the light, I took the paper
sack into the bathroom. I counted to ten. I looked inside. I laughed.

“Are you okay, Grace?” my mother called.

“Yeah, fine.” I flushed the toilet for show, came out, and zipped the sack into an inside pocket of my suitcase. My parents did not notice.

“We have been saving some news for you,” my mother said.

My bed was beside theirs. The air conditioning was so chilly, I had to pull up the covers. “What?”

“You have been promoted to sixth grade—you are skipping fifth!” said my dad. “It is all arranged with your school and your teachers. Congratulations!”

Grace

Sixth grade at Nashoba Elementary was terrible but not unbearable, and after a while I began to rate the days. They were either excellent (when I did well on an assignment, there were Oreos in my lunch, and no one bothered me), good (when I did well on an assignment and no one bothered me), or bad (when someone teased me).

Then I had to add a new rating: disastrous.

This happened on a Thursday in October that had
started out fine. I got 100 percent on the spelling test, raised my hand and correctly answered a question about world geography (River Nile), and filled in a worksheet on how plants make energy from sunlight. After lunch, Mrs. Keeran, our teacher, announced it was time to talk about the field trip to Walden Pond, which “will offer a unique opportunity to study history, literature, philosophy, and biology.”

My classmates looked bored, but they might have just been busy digesting their lunches. I was looking forward to the field trip. It would be a whole day spent outside room 111, a whole day of sun and sky and water and trees.

“As you know, class,” Mrs. Keeran continued, “you will work in pairs both at the pond and afterward on your Walden projects.”

Even though I had no friends in room 111, I wasn't worried about working in pairs. The class had done two other pair projects, and both times I had been with Kelly, who is even quieter than me. Kelly and I had developed a good system. My job was to do everything, and hers
was to look anxious about how I was doing it but never complain.

But this time, Mrs. Keeran said, we weren't going to get to pick our own partners. This time she would assign them, and before I even knew what was happening, she had read all our names off the attendance book, and I was partnered with Shoshi Rubinstein!

My stomach lurched. Shoshi, two seats behind me, groaned loudly. And after that, a couple of her minions began to giggle.

Grace

On Thursdays, I have ballet after school, and after that Lily's dad drops me off at my house. Lily lives in my neighborhood and she's in my ballet class, and we used to be friends. But now that I skipped a grade, it feels awkward, and besides, we only see each other at ballet.

“Thanks, Mr. Stone. Bye, Lily.” I closed the car door and then went to the mailbox at the foot of our driveway, took out the mail, and jogged up our front walk.

Since Mrs. Keeran had paired me with Shoshi Rubinstein, my stomach hadn't stopped hurting. I had gotten through ballet, though, and provided I didn't eat dinner, I'd probably be okay. The next day I would work up the nerve to beg Mrs. Keeran to give me Kelly as a partner as usual. It's not as if Shoshi wanted to work with me. She would prefer one of her minions so together they could giggle and plot mean-girl plots.

Usually the mail is two or three catalogs no one looks at and an equal number of envelopes no one opens. About once a month there's a blue air mail envelope with Singaporean stamps on it. This is from “home,” as my father calls it, sent by my grandmother or an old auntie who doesn't use Skype. The letters say who is in the hospital or getting divorced or getting married or having a baby or dead. They are always long, and my father makes me sit down and listen to them read out loud.

I tossed the mail on the kitchen island the way I always do. There was no letter from Singapore, but there was one that was strange—square and addressed in purple ink. I glanced at that one again and saw
something really strange: It was addressed to me!

Instead of opening it right away, I examined it for clues. The writing was round and neat. There was no return address, but the postmark was Los Angeles, 90035.

I didn't know anyone in Los Angeles.

When I flipped the envelope over, I saw it was sealed with three glitter stickers: a dolphin, a unicorn, and a rainbow.

And all at once I remembered—and I tore the envelope open, pulled out the pages (which were purple with pink lines and smelled like lavender soap), and read, without even taking off my heavy school backpack or sitting down.

Saturday, October 10

Hi Grace!

I am not going to write “How are you? I am fine” because that is what everybody always writes. Right?

So . . . what have you been up to since camp? I mean besides school. I like art class with Mrs. Coatrak, but otherwise school is always boring and always the same, right?

At camp, I didn't think I'd be that busy this year, but I am because guess what? I am babysitting for triplets who live on our street!

The triplets are almost four and here are their names: Arlo, Mia, and Levi. Arlo likes animals, Mia likes games, and Levi likes to play pretend.

Kendall, the mom, is also there when I babysit. I am supposed to keep the triplets safe and play with them so that she, Kendall, does not go totally bonkers being a mom.

The first day I babysat them, Arlo stomped an anthill to destroy it. I yelled at him because ants are living
creatures. Then the ants started biting Arlo, and he started crying, and soon all three of them were freaking out. I think I almost got fired the very first day, but now it's getting better.

My nana says I am now the breadwinner in our family. She is kidding but also not, because it's true at the moment I am the only one in my family with a job. (My mom is looking for one, though. I think she was hoping we would soon be moving in with her boyfriend, but that didn't happen, and I think now she is looking for a new boyfriend, too.)