I kept shouting it. Macon joined in, too, while holding up his camera.
And that’s when the sheriff drove up. He got out of the car like sheriffs do in the movies. “What’s going on here? ”
Huck looked real nervous.
“You bothering these kids?”
“Yes!” Macon and I shouted together.
“Let me see some ID, sir.”
Huck fumbled in his wallet. “I know the girl and her mama, and I just came to pay them a call.” He handed his license over.
The sheriff looked at the old yellow Cadillac with his Elvis decal and the notes going over the hood. “That your car?”
Huck nodded.
“Well, to begin with your license is expired. Let’s see what else we can find.” The sheriff looked at me and Macon. “You be on your way now. I got this under control.”
We went to Fish Hardware and showed Mama Macon’s movie. It was tilted and it jumped around a lot, but you could still get the idea. Then on her lunch break, Mama went over to the emergency care office where the nurse took the photo of her bruised eye when we first got to town.
“I want to press charges against the man who hit me,” Mama told the nurse. “How do I do that?”
The nurse called the sheriff’s office. “They’ve got him in custody, Mrs. McFee.”
There was something strong in Mama now. What was inside of her was coming out for all the world to see.
“Tonight we’re going to celebrate an organization whose sole purpose is helping people.” Miss Charleena said this, standing on a little stage.
All the people of Culpepper applauded.
Miss Charleena smiled at Mama, who was smoothing down her sparkly top. “And to help us do that, I am delighted to welcome one of our own to this stage. Put on your seat belts, folks, and let’s hear it for Rayka McFee!”
Rocking music started playing as Mama walked to the mic looking gorgeous. I was sitting with Garland, Macon, and Amy, moving to the beat. Mama sang low and strong.
Left a good job down in the city
Working for the man every night and day.
She was wailing; people were nodding.
“Sing it,” Angry Wayne shouted.
Sing it, Mama. Sing it out.
And she did about the big wheels that keep on turning. I looked over at Amy, whose mouth hung open. Garland said to me, “Your mama rocks.”
Oh yeah.
It was like she was made for a stage, the way she stood there and sang. She sang show tunes, she sang blues.
“Summertime,” she sang out low and full, “and the living is easy.”
I closed my eyes. Mama was singing from the part of her that had been held back for so long. I knew where the power in her voice came from—all the times she didn’t give up, all the times she sang backup and let somebody else be the star, all the times she belted out songs in the shower and in the car. It came from that long year when she had nodules on her throat and she couldn’t sing. It came from loving and losing Daddy. It came from loving me.
She sang “Foster’s Song” pure and clear like a bird.
Hush now, it’s gonna be all right.
The night is coming, but we’ve got the light . . .
Amy leaned forward. “I want to learn that.”
Song after song—she brought us up stomping and clapping and down to a place where everyone could feel the hurt. And she was up again . . .
I watched her, and as I did I knew she couldn’t go back to just singing backup after this. Mama closed her eyes and sang a song she’d written not long after Daddy died. She hadn’t sung it for close to forever.
There is nothing like a song.
It flies into your heart and stays all day long . . .
She sang it low, she sang it high. And people started singing it with her. Amy’s voice rang out so pretty. I grinned at her. “You’re good!”
Flowers were swaying in the wind like they had a song inside them. Mama’s voice touches every living thing.
She got a standing ovation at the end. It didn’t seem like people were ever going to stop applauding, but after a while, they did.
My part was coming up. It was time to eat.
I could have brought more cupcakes. There was a long line waiting to buy food.
“Step up, folks,” Garland said. “We’ve got all of Foster’s specialties in one place. Any kind of cupcake you’ve ever dreamed of, butterscotch muffins, cherry brownies. It doesn’t get any better than this!”
“You can come on by any morning and have these at my restaurant,” Angry Wayne shouted.
It was the ultimate bake sale. Jim Bob the tarantula crawled under the food table. Only a few people screamed. People were eating, smiling, getting crumbs on each other, and laughing.
Everyone was saying, “Your mama should make a record, your mama’s the best singer we’ve ever heard.” Mama was surrounded by people. She was talking to a man who gave her a business card. They talked some more and Mama was nodding and smiling and the man was, too.
Then a gray cloud showed up. “Well, my dear, you must be awfully proud of your mother.” It was Mrs. Dupree, the principal, and she had another lady with her.
I looked down. “I’m real proud.”
“I wanted to introduce you to Mrs. Vick. She’s our reading specialist.”
Garland cleared his throat. Macon elbowed me. I said, “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
She was eating one of my red velvet cupcakes. “I have never had a cupcake like this, and that’s saying something. My family is in the restaurant business.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I grew up in the kitchen,” Mrs. Vick said happily.
“You know how to run a restaurant?”
“I do.”
I wasn’t sure this was the right thing to say. “Then how come you’re not doing it?”
“I run one in the summer for my family on Mackinaw Island. I just got back.”
Clay walked by, burping. “Child’s gifted.”
“I can see that.” Mrs. Vick finished the cupcake.
I had a feeling cupcakes were going to play a big role in my education. I might do an entire show on how to impress a new teacher. Kids need to know the survival tools that are at their fingertips.
Macon stood next to me. “I need to ask you a question, and I want you to be honest.”
“What?”
He looked down. “I want to know if you like Garland.”
I tried not to blush. “He’s . . . nice.”
“Lots of people are nice, Foster. You know what I mean.”
I stood there.
Macon looked up at me. “Do I have to spell this out?”
“I’m not that great at spelling.”
He sputtered. “Are you, you know, in like with him?”
“In like?”
“Don’t be difficult.”
I looked over at Garland, who was grinning at me. I looked down, smiling, too.
“I knew it!” Macon said.
“I like him, Macon, but you’re my best friend.”
He thought about that. “You swear?”
“I swear. You don’t have to worry.”
“I was never worried, Foster!”
Betty walked up holding a vanilla cupcake in each hand. “Where in the world did you learn how to bake like this?”
I told her about Sonny’s show and how he was in a hospital now, hurt bad. And as good as this day had been, a place of sadness opened up in me.
“I would imagine a letter from you could be just what the doctor ordered,” Betty said.
I nodded and looked down.
“We could write the letter together,” Macon said. “I could film you cooking. We could send that to Sonny!”
Thirty-Four
WE COULDN’T GET the letter right, because Macon kept wanting to say things that didn’t sound like me. He was getting pretty bossy since he got his camera phone. Miss Charleena said that some directors get a
big head, and I’d better get used to it.
I decided to give Sonny what I do best.
“Today on Cooking with Foster, we’re going to make pineapple upside-down cupcakes with whipped cream. I created this recipe myself, and I’m dedicating it to Sonny Kroll, who taught me how to cook. I think it’s going all the way to become an instant classic.” I held up a pineapple slice and stood there.
Macon yelled, “Cut!”
“I was just going to cut it.”
He sighed like I was stupid, but I didn’t take that personally. I knew I was smart. “ ‘Cut!’ is what directors shout, Foster, when they want the action to stop. Tell us what you’re doing and why you have the pineapple.”
It’s hard to do this in front of a real camera. “I’ll try.”
“Okay, roll it!” Macon shouted.
“I’m not making rolls, I’m making cupcakes.”
“Cut!”
This wasn’t working too well. Cooks on the Food Network have to put up with a lot.
“Take three,” Macon shouted. I knew what that meant. It was the third time we were trying to get it right. I was getting sick of this. But then Macon smiled at me. “Just be yourself, Foster. That’s the best thing in the world.”
I started again, explained what I was doing with the pineapple. By mistake I dropped the pineapple on the floor. Macon’s face got red, but I kept going.
“If no one’s looking you can pretend like that didn’t happen.” I scooped up the pineapple and cut it up. I mentioned how you had to grease the cupcake pans extra well and not use paper liners. “We’ve got to turn the pan over at the end, and the cupcake comes out upside-down with the pineapple at the top.”
I put butter, brown sugar, and pineapple in the bottom of each cupcake tin and filled it with batter. “Now, we’re going to pray this works,” I said. “If you’re just learning to bake, don’t start with this recipe. This is for experts. I’d say the level of difficulty on this is hard. But you can’t just be doing easy things in life. That’s not what makes you smarter.”
I put the pan in the oven. “But it’s okay if you mess up. The most important thing about baking is to relax and be yourself. So don’t go getting all perfect about everything, like if it doesn’t look just like it does in the magazine, I can’t cook it. You know, those magazines have tricks to make the food look good. But you and me—we don’t need tricks. We’re going to cook for people with all our hearts. That’s the secret.”
I started making the whipped cream. I’d put my beaters and bowl in the freezer—that makes the cream whip better. I turned the beaters on high. It’s noisy, so it’s hard to talk, but I screamed over the noise. “This is great because you can make it up early and put it in the refrigerator until you’re ready!” I added a little confectioners’ sugar to the whipped cream and tried it.
“Perfect!” I shouted. “And remember to turn off the beaters before you take them from the bowl. I forgot that once and got whipped cream all over myself. These are just the lessons a baker learns in life.”
The timer went off. I touched the tops of the cupcakes and they sprang back. “Okay, now here’s where it can all go wrong. You put a knife along the sides of each cupcake to make sure it’s loosened. You put a big plate over the pan and turn it over fast.”
I did that and lifted the pan. All but two cupcakes came out with the pineapple sugar glaze on top. “I’d say that’s a success!”
I got the whipped cream out, put a cupcake on a small plate. “Normally you let them cool before you put the whipped cream on, but sometimes you can’t wait.” I spooned the whipped cream on and took a bite. I closed my eyes like Sonny did and made a loud mmmmmmmm sound.
“I want to tell you something I’ve learned. Cooking is about life. It gives us what we need to keep going, and it gives us something to share with other people. People don’t think about that enough—so if you’re a kid watching this, get out some pans and start practicing and see what food can do. And if you’re an adult, don’t stay stuck in the same old stuff you know, get out there with some fresh herbs and just go for it. And I don’t want any letters about how you can’t because your life is such and such a mess. I don’t want to hear about that. I baked cupcakes once for an escaped convict, and they probably saved my life. I’m not making this up. I’ll be telling you about that in the next show, but for now you just go for it and let your full self out. That’s it until next time.”
I waited for a minute as my heart pounded hard. “Feel better, Sonny! We’re on this road together.”
“Wave,” Macon whispered.
I waved with my wooden spoon in my hand. I might use that move next time.
“Was that okay?” I asked him.
He lowered his camera. “More than okay.”
Macon put the movie on the Internet, and we sent a letter to Sonny telling him it was there. Every day I wondered if I’d hear something. Mama was waiting, too. A man who had heard her sing wanted her to give a concert in Charleston.
Macon said you just have to keep going, no matter what, and he marched up to the Culpepper Prison and took his stand. He brought a stand, too. He put his camera phone on it, turned it on, and stood there seriously.
“I’m Macon Dillard and this is my town. It used to be different before this prison got built. There were promises made and broken and I’ve come to the Culpepper Prison to ask people why.” He lowered his voice. “But no one will talk to me.”
“Move it out of the way, kid,” said the guard.
“See what I mean?” Macon said. “I know a prisoner behind these gray walls. His name is Duke.”
“Thirty seconds, kid.”
Macon glared at the guard. “I’m not giving up! I will get the truth and tell the people! I’ll be back!”
The guard sneered. “Hey, whatever.”
But he will be back, mister. You’ll see.
“Don’t give up,” I told him.
“You either.”
We headed home past the Church of God FOR SALE. Perseverance Wilson was taking down the FOR SALE sign, smiling. The church door was open.
I was glad to see she was dealing with the loss.
“They’re not going to sell it,” she said.
“You mean the church?”
Garland walked out. “The deal fell through.”
“What happened?”
“Taco Terrific backed out.” She clapped her hands and raised them high.
“Why?”
She looked up to heaven. “No one’s quite sure, but we’re just going to be thankful.”
Thirty-Five
THE LETTER WAS on the kitchen counter when I got home. It had my name on it, and the other name in the upper left of the envelope said FOOD NETWORK. It looked just like it did on TV.
I held the envelope and then opened it so carefully. A photo of Sonny Kroll fell out; then I looked at the letter. My mind started to close up, and all the things that said I can’t read came rushing back. They were sitting on my shoulder and whispering in my ear, Don’t even try.
But I had a reading diploma with honors.
And, God knows, I had heart.
I sat down at the table, opened the letter, and unfolded it. It was from Sonny. At least I could tell someone had signed an S and then a squiggle.
Dear Foster,
Thanks for your letter
I concentrated hard. My mind was not going to close up!
and thanks for your
I took the next words apart . . .
support during this tough time.
I tried to sound out tough. Too? Tow? It didn’t make sense. I kept going.
The next sentence was long, but it mostly had easy words.
So you’ve been with me now for five years and you’re not sick of me yet?
It took me some time to get that, but when I did, I laughed.
I’d say that’s a fan.
But listen—about your cooking show. I saw it and I loved it. It really made my day.
I was grinning huge now. When I came to another long sentence, I just said each word slowly out loud.
I won’t be doing my show for a while because I need to get better, but listen up—keep cooking. You’re good. You hear me?
“I hear you.”
Go out there and cook your heart out. Write me back, okay?
Sonny
I sat there holding the letter. You don’t know what you’ve given me, Sonny. You taught me to cook, and now you helped me read.
I read it again. I read it out loud.
“Well now,” Mama said. “Look what you’re doing.”
“I have to take it slow, but I can do it! You want to hear the letter, Mama?”
She sat down and nodded.
“How do you say t-o-u-g-h?”
“Tough.”
I know about that!
I’ll tell you something about tough things. They just about kill you, but if you decide to keep working at them, you’ll find the way through. On the Food Network they have these shows where cooks have to put a meal together with all these weird ingredients. That’s a lot like my life—dealing with things you wouldn’t think could ever go together. But a good cook can make the best meal out of the craziest combinations.
When I get my own show, I’m going to talk about that.
But for now, I’m going to make the world a better place, one cupcake at a time.
Joan Bauer, Close to Famous
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