Chef Smiley talks while I turn the faucet on and pick up the bar of soap. “Lily mentioned using the wrong ingredients, and that’s our first lesson tonight. It’s so important to follow the recipe closely and make sure you use the correct ingredients. For example, this recipe calls for all-purpose flour, so you want to make sure that’s what you’re using.”
I dry my hands and go back to standing next to him. He points to each ingredient, which seem to be all measured out in various-sized bowls along the counter, while he talks about each one.
“Lily,” he says as he puts the beaters into the mixer, “I’m going to ask you to go through the fresh strawberries in that bowl and pick out the best ones for our recipe. While she does that, I’m going to cream the butter, sugar, and eggs until fluffy. That’s another mistake people make—when mixing ingredients, don’t undermix or overmix. If the recipe says this mixture should be fluffy, then I’m going to keep beating until it’s fluffy. Okay?”
He passes me the bowl of strawberries before he starts mixing the ingredients. A wave of panic washes over me. What does he mean by best? Biggest? Reddest? Juiciest?
I wait until he’s done. When the mixer stops, I ask, “Um, what are you going to use the strawberries for?”
He’s scraping the bowl with a spatula. “Lily, that’s an excellent question. Do you know why, audience? I wasn’t specific enough in my directions. If we’re going to chop them up and use them in the recipe, she might choose different strawberries than if we were going to use them as a topping on the cupcake.”
Chef Smiley reaches under the counter and pulls out a small plate with a pretty, frosted cupcake on it. The cupcake is cut in half, and when he spreads the halves apart, it makes me smile, because right there, in the middle of the cupcake, is a fresh strawberry, cut in half as well. When he shows the cupcake to the audience, everyone says, “Ooooh.” It’s pretty funny.
“After we bake the cupcakes,” he explains, “we’re going to cut a cone-shaped hole in each one and insert a small strawberry into that hole. We’ll put our special lime buttercream frosting on the top, and you won’t even know there’s a strawberry inside until you bite into it.” He looks at me, his green eyes sparkling. “Isn’t that a fun surprise?”
“Yes, but it sounds kind of hard. How do you keep the cupcake from crumbling apart when you put the strawberry down the middle of the cupcake?”
Now he starts mixing the dry ingredients together. “It is a bit tricky. You’ll want to choose strawberries that aren’t too large. And you don’t want to cut the hole for the berry too big. This is definitely a recipe that’s easier with a friend, and one that requires you to really take your time and not rush through it.”
Now that I know what kind of berries to look for, I go through the bowl and pick out the ones that are on the small side but look red and juicy.
When I’m finished, he’s almost done getting the batter all mixed up. “Excellent work, Lily. Would you like to drop the batter into our cupcake pan that I’ve already filled with liners?”
I shake my head. “Not really. I’ll just make a mess and get more batter on the countertop than in the liners.”
He frowns. “Oh no. Have a bit more confidence in yourself, my dear. We’ll use a gravy ladle to scoop up the batter and then carefully pour the batter into the liners. See?” He demonstrates for us. “Easy as pie.”
“Easy as pie?” I say without thinking. “Pie is totally complicated, isn’t it?”
Everyone laughs.
Chef Smiley winks at me. “You’re right. Baking a pie isn’t exactly easy. I think the saying is referring to eating them. Now, that’s easy!” He hands me the gravy ladle. “But you keep practicing in the kitchen, and I bet you’ll be baking a pie in no time.” He looks into my eyes and with more confidence than I’ve ever heard in anyone’s voice, he says, “I believe in you, Lily.”
Chapter 15
fruit smoothie
EASY TO MAKE, EASY TO DRINK
At the end of the class, after Chef Smiley tastes one of the cupcakes and yells, “Sweet Uncle Pete, that’s good,” everyone gets a cupcake to try. Mom and I agree that the strawberry-lime cupcakes are amazing. The fresh strawberry inside each one is like nothing I’ve ever seen, or tasted, before.
Chef Smiley shakes hands with everyone on their way out. He asks my mom and me to step aside so he can speak to us after everyone else is gone, so that’s what we do.
When he comes over to us, he says, “Lily, thank you for being a delightful assistant tonight. You did a wonderful job.”
“This is my mom, Connie.” Chef Smiley shakes her hand. “Thank you for everything I learned tonight. It was fun.”
“I hope you’ll keep practicing,” he says. “I know baking can be frustrating sometimes, but it can also be very rewarding, working hard at something and then being able to share the results with people you care about.”
“She tries really hard,” my mom tells him as she strokes my hair. “I’m proud of how hard she tries.”
“I want to give you something,” he says as he steps over to the counter. He comes back carrying a book and a pen. “This is my first cookbook, coming out next month. You get one of the first copies, Lily.”
He opens the cover, writes something, and then hands the book to me.
“Wow,” I say. “Thank you! This will be a huge help.”
He smiles. “I hope it is!”
We say good-bye and as we walk to the car, I read what he wrote. It says:
For Lily ~
It’s true. One cannot live on dessert alone. But a treat now and then makes life extra sweet. Happy baking! Remember one of my favorite sayings—whatever works!
Your friend,
Chef Smiley
The next morning, Dad is up bright and early to help get me off to school, so Mom can sleep in a little bit. I wish I could have slept in too. We didn’t get home until eleven, since Portland is about a two-hour drive from Willow. I feel like a stale, dried-out cupcake.
I slide into a chair at the kitchen table.
“Good morning,” Dad says as he sets a glass of something purple in front of me. “I made you a smoothie. It’s yogurt, a little orange juice, and frozen berries all blended together. It’s kind of like a breakfast shake.”
I take a sip through the straw. “Yum, Dad. And I see you remembered to put the lid on the blender, which is always a good thing.”
He chuckles before he turns back to the stove. “I’m glad you like it. I’ll have your cheesy eggs ready in a minute. Did you have fun last night?”
I set the smoothie down. “Yeah. It was a lot of fun. We made cupcakes, and I got to be Chef Smiley’s personal assistant.”
“Cool. I bet you learned a lot, huh?”
“I guess,” I say. “I’m not sure I could make those cupcakes without the chef to help me. He makes it look so easy, but it’s really not easy at all.”
He brings me my plate of scrambled eggs with shredded cheese melting on top of them. Curls of steam rise up from the plate. It looks delicious. I take a bite while Dad sits down across from me. “It’s a lot like making music,” he says. “Taylor Swift makes it look simple, but your band has probably discovered by now, it’s a combination of hard work, talent, and more hard work.”
“Oh, Dad, that reminds me. The Dots are going to practice tonight. Can we use your studio? We’re really close to finishing a song.”
He smiles. “The Dots. Nice. I like it. And yes, you can use the studio tonight for a couple of hours.”
“And if we decide to play at Sophie’s birthday party Saturday night, could we move the equipment upstairs? I can help you.”
He raises his eyebrows at me. “You want to play at the party? You think you’re ready for that?”
“After tonight, we will be. I hope. We think it’s a good way for us to practice for the audition coming up soon.”
“How many songs do you have ready?”
I slink down into my seat and shovel
more eggs into my mouth, trying to decide how to answer that question. I finally decide I can’t lie to my dad, no matter how embarrassed I am about the answer. “Um, almost one.”
He looks surprised. “Almost one? As in, not even one?”
“We have a song that’s almost finished. It sounds really good. Tonight we’re going to finish it and then maybe we can play it on Saturday.”
He leans in and looks at me with his warm brown eyes. “Lily, don’t rush things, okay? Do you remember what I told you? Play because you love it, not to try and impress other people. I’d hate to see you do too much and then have regrets. I’ve seen far too many musicians turn away from music because they hurried things along and weren’t happy with the results.”
“But, Dad—”
“Honey, I know what it feels like to want to share your music with other people. To want to give and get back something in return. But I’m telling you, if you aren’t ready, wait. Keep practicing. Have fun. There will be more opportunities in the future.”
“You don’t know that, Dad,” I say as I stand up and take my dishes to the sink. “What if our band doesn’t stay together? What if this is the only chance I’ll ever have to be in a band?”
Dad comes over and gives me a hug. “You are so talented, Lily. You have a lifetime of singing ahead of you.”
I know he’s trying to be helpful, but that is so not helpful! We want to play on Saturday and I have to figure out how to make it happen. I just have to.
Chapter 16
caramel apple
ONE STICKY SITUATION
It’s so hard to be a good student when you’re exhausted. How do kids who are allowed to stay up late all the time do it? They must have some superpower that helps them get by on a tiny bit of sleep. I know for a fact I was not born with that superpower. I have to keep pinching myself the next day at school to stay awake. I’m happy to get to choir, because I’m pretty sure it’s impossible to sing and fall asleep at the same time.
Belinda is waiting for me again before class. “So, I hear our band will be playing at your house on Saturday night.”
It catches me by surprise. But then I realize Isabel had to tell Bryan where they’d be playing, and she probably asked him if he knew me.
“Maybe,” I tell her. “I’m not sure yet. I still need to talk to my parents about it and see what they think.”
“But they’ll say yes, right? Isabel made it sound like it’s practically a done deal. You must have a huge house.”
“Not really. Just average, I guess. Why?”
“Isabel said she wanted us to play for at least an hour. Because once people start dancing, they’ll want to keep it going for a while.”
I wait for her to smile and say, “Just kidding.” Except she looks totally serious. Oh my gosh. She is totally serious. Dancing? In my house? Is there enough room for that? Even if there is, that’s not the kind of party I had in mind.
I feel a little sick to my stomach. “She said that?”
Belinda crosses her arms over her chest. “Why do you look so surprised? Of course people are going to want to dance when they hear us play. That’s what people do at a party with a band, Lily. You didn’t know that?”
I scramble to save myself from looking stupid. “No, I did. I guess I’m surprised you could perform for a full hour, that’s all. Are you sure you guys can pull it off?”
The bell rings. “Don’t worry about us,” she says. “We know what we’re doing.” Before she walks away, she whispers, “Do you?”
As we take our places on the risers, I try to imagine a group of kids dancing in my living room. If we can fit everyone, how will people dance, exactly? Like at a concert, where everyone kind of bounces to the music? Or will boys and girls pair up and dance as, like, couples? And if that happens, what if they get . . . carried away? I put my hand on my stomach, because I really don’t feel well.
This is the pep talk I give myself. Except it turns into more of an argument inside my head:
Calm down, Lily. Nothing is decided. You’ll talk to Isabel, and you’ll work everything out. Maybe you can suggest some really fun games.
Right. Because games sound so much fun compared to dancing to a live band. Lily, get real. Face the truth!
What’s the truth?
If you want to give Sophie the best birthday party ever, you have to let the New Pirates play. It’s what Isabel wants, and you know it’ll be a party Sophie will never forget. Abigail and Zola will understand. You can get the song ready for the audition. That’s the important thing anyway.
I’m relieved when Mr. Weisenheimer asks us to start singing, because it makes the noise in my brain stop. Temporarily, anyway.
* * *
After school, when I’ve finished eating a sliced apple with caramel dip along with some crackers, I give Isabel a call.
“Lily,” she says, “please tell me your parents said the band is okay. Please? I really want to hear them play. I think Sophie will love them.”
I take a deep breath. “Hi, Isabel. So, I talked to Belinda today, one of the band members of the New Pirates. And she said you want everyone to dance. I’m not sure we have enough room for that.”
She laughs nervously. “Oh, I didn’t mean dance, like at the prom or something. More like at a concert. You get what I mean, right?”
“Yeah. That makes sense, I guess.” I swallow hard. “Still, it seems like this party is turning into something really different from what I thought it would be. And a lot more complicated. I’m just not sure—”
She doesn’t let me finish. “You know, maybe we should have the party somewhere else. I can check with some other people today and see if I can find a different place.”
“But the invitations are already out,” I say. “Wouldn’t that be weird, to make a change now?”
“I’d have to give everyone a corrected invitation. It would mean some extra work, but I’ll do it if I have to. The important thing is to give Sophie a great birthday party.”
I can see it now: everyone talking about me, about how I almost ruined the surprise party for Sophie. When it’s all over, what would Isabel say about me to Sophie? Instead of growing closer to Sophie and the other girls in the book club, I’d be pushing myself farther away.
The words come rushing out, because as difficult as everything is, I think changing things now would be a lot worse. “No, it’s fine,” I tell her, trying not to be mad that Isabel keeps getting her way while I have to push what I want aside. “My dad said a band at the party is okay.” Which is true. He just thought it would be my band.
She squeals with excitement. “Thank you so much! This party is going to be amazing. Like, the best birthday party in the history of the universe. Oh, and Sophie’s mom is going to tell Sophie she’s taking her out for a nice dinner, just the two of them, for some special mother-daughter time. Then she’ll pretend they have to stop at your house because you have a gift you want to give the birthday girl. They’ll walk into the house, we’ll yell surprise, and the party begins!”
“That sounds good,” I tell her. “What time should I have the New Pirates arrive?”
“I’d say seven, like everyone else. Sophie’s mom is going to get her there around seven thirty.”
“Okay,” I say. “So, is there anything else? If not, I’ll just see you Saturday, I guess.”
“Yeah, I think we’re good,” she says. “I’ll be there around five, with the decorations.”
We say good-bye, and after we hang up, I start to think about how I’m going to break the news to Zola and Abigail. I don’t want to be upset with Isabel, but I can’t deny that I am. She basically demanded the New Pirates play at the party. If I had said no, then I would have looked like the bad guy—or girl in this case.
I really wish she hadn’t put me in this position. But here I am, and now I have to figure out what to do about it.
Do I wait for the perfect moment during practice tonight and try to break it to Abigail and Zola g
ently, or is it better to get it over quickly, right when they get here, kind of like ripping off a Band-Aid?
My mom is a rip-off-the-Band-Aid kind of person. I’ve never liked that method. I think it hurts a lot more that way.
So I decide I’ll wait for the right time tonight and explain, as nicely as I can, what happened. Hopefully they’ll understand. Because something tells me if they don’t, the Dots may be finished before we ever had a chance to really begin.
Chapter 17
hot-fudge sundaes
NO BAKING REQUIRED
After dinner, Mom brings four bowls, a half gallon of vanilla ice cream, hot fudge, and whipped cream to the table.
“Sundaes?” I ask.
“Yep,” Mom says. “We have something to celebrate tonight.”
I look at Dad, but he doesn’t say a word. He just smiles and stands up to help scoop ice cream.
I turn to Madison. “Do you know why we’re celebrating?”
She beams. “I made the varsity softball team.”
“You did?” I ask. “But . . . how?”
She shrugs. “The coach said I’ve got what it takes.”
“Madison has what you and I don’t have, Lily Dilly,” Dad says, drizzling hot fudge over the scoops of ice cream. “Innate athletic ability.”
Mom takes a bowl from Dad and puts a dollop of whipped cream on top before she passes it to Madison. I feel anger boiling up inside of me. She wanted to play softball, she tried out for the team, and without having to practice at all, she made the team. Easy as pie.
Why is everything so easy for her, and why does it have to be so hard for me?
Mom passes me my sundae, and now I feel too upset to eat. It’s not fair. Everything goes Madison’s way.
Everything.
“Aren’t you going to congratulate me?” Madison asks me before she takes a big bite of her sundae.
Pep talk time.
Your sister can’t help it if she’s naturally good at almost everything. It’s not her fault. It’s not going to do any good to be mad at her. Remember how she was really nice to you when the chocolate cake didn’t turn out? You owe it to her. Be nice. You know what Mom always says—life isn’t always fair. So you have to work harder at things. Maybe that’s a good thing somehow. Okay, maybe not, but still . . . do the right thing.