“Congratulations,” I say as I look her right in the eyes. “I hope you make it to the championships.”
“Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” Mom says, sitting back down to eat her hot-fudge sundae.
I don’t answer that question. But I do take a bite of my sundae, and it tastes fantastic. I think ice cream may be my new favorite dessert. After all, you don’t even have to turn on the oven.
When Abigail and Zola arrive, I stay focused on finishing the song. All three of us know that’s the number one priority.
It takes us a good hour to figure out the right notes and the perfect words to go with those notes, but we keep at it.
Until finally “Wishing” by the Dots is complete!
We play it three times, from start to finish, and each time, it sounds better and better.
After the third time through, Zola gives me and Abigail high fives. “Dudes, we are on our way. I can’t wait for Saturday night.”
Abigail grins. “Me either. Did you check with your dad? Is he cool with moving the equipment upstairs?”
“Yeah,” I tell them. “But—”
I don’t get a chance to finish. Zola interrupts me. “Hey, we should practice ‘Happy Birthday.’ We need to spice the original version up a bit. Put our own spin on it, you know?”
Abigail plays a chord on her guitar and Zola starts beating out a rhythm. It sounds so fun, I can’t help but start to sing when it’s time for the vocals to come in. We mess around with it for a while, and we’re laughing and having such a good time, I look at my friends and think, This is how it’s supposed to be. This is what I dreamed of when I thought about being in a band, and it’s come true. It’s really come true!
The moment is gone quickly, though, when Abigail looks at the clock and starts scurrying around, gathering her things. “Oh shoot. Zola, come on, we have to go. My dad is probably waiting out front for us.”
The voice in my head starts screaming, Tell them, tell them! I need to tell them we’re not playing at the party, but I can’t do it. Everything has been so perfect, I don’t want to ruin it.
“Bye, Lily,” Abigail says as they head out the door of the studio. “Thanks for a great practice.”
“See you tomorrow,” Zola says.
And just like that, they’re gone, and I’m left holding a song about wishing, while I’m doing a little of my own wishing.
I wish Isabel hadn’t run into Bryan and his dad.
I wish the New Pirates weren’t our musical enemies.
I wish we had thirty songs ready, so I could cancel the New Pirates’ appearance at Sophie’s party and we could easily take their place.
The more I wish, the more I realize wishing is kind of silly, because no matter how hard I wish, none of it’s going to come true.
Suddenly, I’m not so sure I like the song we wrote. When you wish, you hope something good is going to happen. And when it doesn’t, which is a lot of the time, then you feel bad. Like, so bad, you just want to crawl in bed and stay there.
The party is on Saturday. No matter how hard I might wish that it all goes perfectly and everyone gets along and no one is upset with me, that’s probably not going to happen.
Maybe our next song should be titled “Life Isn’t Fair, Deal with It.”
Chapter 18
candy orange slice
TASTES LIKE A SLICE OF SUNSHINE
On Tuesday, I promised myself I’d tell Abigail and Zola on Wednesday about the New Pirates playing at the party.
On Wednesday, I promised myself I’d tell Abigail and Zola on Thursday about the New Pirates playing at the party.
On Thursday, as I’m trying really, really hard to think of an excuse not to tell Abigail and Zola about the New Pirates playing at the party, I get a brilliant idea.
Both of us can play at the party! I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. It makes so much sense. Isabel gets what she wants and I don’t have to make any band members angry.
It’s perfect!
I’m so happy and relieved, when Mom asks me if I’ll go see my great-grandpa with her after school on Thursday, I don’t whine or complain like I sometimes do. I just say, “Sure.”
My great-grandpa Frank lives in a retirement home called New Beginnings. That means he has his own little apartment in a big building where a whole bunch of other old people also have their own apartments. The people who live there go to a big dining room three times a day for their meals. There’s an activity coordinator who comes up with things for them to do. Some of the activities I’ve heard about are yoga, aerobics, bingo, sing-alongs, and poker night. Grandpa Frank says poker night is his favorite. He plays cards and bets with chips. The chips are like pretend money, so if he loses all of his chips, it doesn’t matter. Although, he hates to lose, so I guess it does matter a little bit.
When we get to Grandpa Frank’s room, Mom knocks, but the television is turned up so loud, he doesn’t hear it. My great-grandma passed away a few years ago. He’s lived here ever since, and I think the television may be his best friend since she died. It’s kind of sad, but I guess it’s good that he has something to keep him company during the day, when he’s not doing some kind of activity. I told him once that he should try yoga. This is what he said: “Yoga is for young chickens. In case you haven’t noticed, I am not a young chicken.” I didn’t argue with him, even though no one doing yoga at New Beginnings is a young chicken.
Finally Grandpa Frank opens the door and invites us in. His room smells like pine trees, like always. He buys little green trees at the store that are actually car fresheners and hangs one from the latch on one of the windows. He says the smell reminds him of the days he was a park ranger, walking around the forests of Oregon.
After he says hello and turns the television off, he picks up the candy dish off the coffee table and offers me a candy orange slice. They are little sugary candies in the shape of an orange wedge. They’re soft and chewy, sweet and delicious. And orange-flavored, of course. Every time we come to visit, I wonder if this will be the time when he doesn’t have any candy in the bowl. I’d be so disappointed. But he hasn’t let me down yet.
“How’s the cat?” he asks.
“Good,” I say. “Soft and fluffy, just the way you like him.”
It makes him smile. He asks about Oscar every time we see him. He’s a big fan of cats. Of all animals, really. He keeps asking the administration to make an exception and let him have his own cat, but they keep turning him down.
“You’re here just in time,” he tells us. He puts on a navy blue sweater-vest over his white button-down shirt and slips on his brown loafers. I guess we’re going somewhere.
“In time for what?” I ask.
“They’re having a sing-along downstairs.”
“But you hate to sing,” my mother says.
“Not since I met Betty,” says Grandpa.
“Betty?” both my mom and I say at the same time.
“She sings like an angel,” he says. “Just like you, Lily.” He takes my hand in his and leads me to the door. “She wants to meet you.”
I look at my mother, and she shrugs. What else can we do but follow Grandpa Frank to the sing-along and meet this angel named Betty?
When we get downstairs, we go to the music room. A lady is sitting at the piano flipping through sheet music, and in the center of the room are chairs in a circle. About half of them are filled with people. As soon as we walk in the room, a tall, thin woman with gray hair and a big smile outlined in red lipstick gets out of her chair and walks over to greet us.
“You must be Lily,” she says to me, her hand extended. I shake it as I say, “Yes. Hi.” She looks at my mom and says, “And, Connie. So nice to meet you. I’m Betty.”
My mother shakes her hand and says hello.
“She’s new here,” Grandpa says. “Do you know what she used to do? She used to be a psychologist. She specialized in helping people overcome their fears and achieve their dreams.”
&nb
sp; “How interesting,” my mom says. “What a wonderful way to help people.”
Before she can reply, Mr. Green, a longtime resident of New Beginnings, walks up to us and says, “Why did the chicken cross the road?”
“I don’t know,” I say like I always do when I see Mr. Green and he asks me this question. I guess it’s his favorite joke, though he never gives the same answer twice.
“Well, you see, he was a rubber chicken and he wanted to stretch his legs.”
It makes me smile. Mr. Green turns around and takes a seat in the circle.
“In your opinion,” Mom asks Betty, “what’s the biggest mistake people make when it comes to their lives and their dreams?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Betty says. “They let other things get in the way. They put it off and put it off, doing other things, telling themselves it’s okay because there will be time later. Really, deep down, the truth is, most of them are afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” I ask.
“Oh, any number of things, I suppose. They’re afraid of making mistakes. Of not getting it right the first time. Of having people make fun of them. But see, what you have to remember is that the people who made their dreams come true felt afraid too, but they didn’t let it stop them. That’s the difference.”
The lady at the piano runs her hands across the ivory keys, and it gets everyone’s attention. The four of us take a seat in the circle.
A woman wearing a purple and red dress with matching red shoes and dainty white gloves on her hands gives each of us a songbook.
“Thanks for coming today, everyone,” the piano lady says. “We’re going to start with ‘You Are My Sunshine’ on page six.”
After she plays the introduction, we’re all singing along. Betty is sitting beside me. When I glance over at her, I notice how her pretty green eyes sparkle like emeralds and she sings with a slight grin. Her voice is smooth and nice, but it’s the happiness I notice the most. Anyone could look at her and tell that she loves to sing.
And when I look at Grandpa Frank, he is a picture of happiness too. He doesn’t care if he can’t sing a single note on key. He’s here and there’s music and Betty’s smiling. There’s a lot for him to be happy about.
I close my eyes for a moment, and as I start to sing, I know that for now, I don’t have to try to chase away a bunch of worries about a hundred different things. It’s just me and the cheerful, sweet song. Every cell in my body remembers how much I love this—music and singing.
And I never want to forget how it feels.
Chapter 19
chocolate-chip brownies
CHOCOLATE CURES ALMOST EVERYTHING
An hour of singing with a bunch of people who are not young chickens but are nice to be around anyway seems to be just what I needed. On Friday, I float through the day, hardly a care in the world. I tell Belinda to be at my house at seven o’clock Saturday night, with all of their equipment. She says, “I’m so glad you changed your mind.” Like I had a choice?
Friday evening, right after dinner, Madison takes me grocery shopping because Mom is busy closing a deal. Whatever that means. I think it means she’s sold a house. Or almost sold a house and is trying to get the paperwork signed to make it official.
Madison is a huge help and suggests items I hadn’t even thought of getting, like some cartons of lemonade so we have something to drink besides water. We also buy paper plates, cups, and napkins, and all of the stuff I need to make the cake pops and cookies.
“Are you feeling pretty good?” Madison asks on the drive home. “About the party?”
“I think so.”
“Mom’s going to help you make the cake pops?”
“Yes. We’re going to do that tomorrow. Tonight I’m baking the chocolate-chip cookies.”
Madison turns on her blinker before turning onto our street. “I saw Mom had a cleaning lady come today. That was a smart thing to do. I was worried we’d be up until midnight tonight, dusting and vacuuming.”
“Wow, talk about a fun Friday night,” I tease.
“Are you guys gonna play games at the party or what?” she asks.
“I don’t know. Isabel had that on her to-do list, but we never talked about it. Do you know any good ones?”
She pulls into the driveway. “Let’s see. How about pass the orange? You use either your feet or your neck to pass the orange from person to person. No hands allowed.”
“That sounds hard,” I say, trying to imagine playing that game with Sophie’s friends. “And awkward.”
A sudden wave of panic washes over me. I’m not going to know most of the kids at the party. They’ll all be from Sophie’s school. I’ll know Sophie and Isabel, of course. And the other two girls from the book club, Katie and Dharsanaa, will probably be there. But that’s it. I’m going to have a bunch of strangers in my house. Everyone will know everyone, except me. That seems so . . . weird. At least Abigail and Zola will be there. It makes me more thankful than ever that I kept quiet about the whole band thing.
Madison turns the car off. “You guys could go on a scavenger hunt. You know, come up with lists of random items like dice and rubber bands and a stuffed rabbit or whatever. Then break up into groups and go around the neighborhood to find the stuff. First group back wins.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “We might not have that much time. I mean, the New Pirates are going to be playing for an hour.”
She gives me a funny look. “The New Pirates? Who are they?”
“A band.”
“And Mom and Dad said that’s okay?”
“Well, Dad said my band could play, but then Isabel wanted this other band, so I’m sure it’s fine.”
Now Madison looks really confused. “Why isn’t your band playing?”
I open the car door. “We’re going to play too.” I sigh. “It’s a long story. And it’s not really important now. Come on. Help me carry this stuff inside.”
When we get to the kitchen, something smells really good. Dad is there, pulling a pan out of the oven.
“What is that?” Madison asks.
“Your mother is really stressed out,” he says. “I found a box of chocolate-chip brownie mix in the cupboard, so I decided to whip up a batch.” He smiles. “You know, because chocolate makes everything better. Or so I’ve heard, anyway.”
“Wow, Dad,” I say as I peer in the pan. “They look really good. Maybe you should help me with the cake pops tomorrow instead of Mom.”
“Sorry, kiddo. I won’t be here. Another band had to back out of a wedding reception due to illness, so we’re filling in. It’s a couple of hours away, which means I’m going to have to leave here in the morning, and I won’t be back until tomorrow night.” He rubs my head as he walks by. “I’m sure you and your mom are going to do a fantastic job. Those brownies need to cool for thirty minutes, so don’t have any yet, okay?”
Both Madison and I nod. “Man, they smell amazing,” she says after he’s gone.
“I know,” I say, my stomach begging for one. “I’m so impressed Dad made them.”
“Well, I’m going to go change and then I’m out of here,” Madison says. “I’m meeting up with some friends at the movies.”
“Okay,” I say. “Hey, are you going to be around here tomorrow? In case Mom and I need some help?”
She shakes her head. “No way. I told you, I’m staying far, far away from here. You and Mom are on your own.”
“Madison, come on,” I say, giving her a little shove. “That’s mean.”
She laughs. “Well, even if I wanted to help, I can’t. I have a preseason doubleheader tomorrow afternoon that the coach set up. She wants to move us around to different positions and figure out where we play best.
“It’ll be okay,” she says as she reaches for the silverware drawer and pulls out a knife. “I’m sure everything will be fine.”
She goes to the pan and cuts into the brownies. “Hey, it hasn’t been thirty minutes yet,” I say.
She takes a bite of the ooey, gooey brownie that’s falling apart in her hands. She catches a big chunk that falls off as it drops toward the floor and pops it in her mouth.
“Mmmm. Good,” she mumbles. “See? It’s gonna be a piece of cake. Nothing to worry about, Lily Dilly.”
I nod as she heads out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with the big pan of brownies. I’m going to be good and wait the right amount of time before I have one, like Dad said.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that things turn out best when you follow the instructions. Now, if only I had instructions for how to make a surprise party turn out perfectly from start to finish, I’d be set.
I guess I’ll just have to cross my fingers and hope for the best.
Chapter 20
chocolate-chip cookies
SWEET PERFECTION
When I wake up Saturday morning and see my alarm clock says 10:15, I jump out of bed. I didn’t mean to sleep so late. It must have been because I had trouble falling asleep the night before, thinking about the party.
I make my way downstairs, but no one is around. It seems strange. I go back upstairs and find the door to my parents’ bedroom shut. I knock softly. “Mom? Are you in there?”
I hear a soft moan and then, “Yes. Lily, come in.”
I open the door and see her curled up, under the covers. This is not like my mother. She’s always the first one up on Saturdays, with a to-do list a mile long and lots of energy to get it all done.
“Mom, are you okay?”
She doesn’t move. “Don’t come any closer, sweetie. I have the stomach flu, and I don’t want you to get sick.”
I can feel my heart racing. This is not good. In fact, it’s terrible. “Are you sure? I mean, maybe you just ate too many brownies.”