“How did your interview go today?” Piper asked her dad on Wednesday afternoon, trying to sound casual. Deep down, she couldn’t help hoping it had gone terribly. She had peeked at the calendar on his desk that morning and noticed that he’d had a video call scheduled with the company in Chicago.
“It went really well,” her dad said, settling onto a stool at the kitchen counter. “I’m excited about possibly doing more work with them.”
“Oh,” Piper said. She waited to see if he would say more. Was he ever going to tell her, Finley, and Dan that he was interviewing for a job in Chicago? She glared at her dad, but he didn’t notice. He was too busy looking down at his phone, probably shopping for new houses in a new city or Googling “ways to ruin your kids’ lives.” Or something like that.
Once again, Piper reassured herself that it was totally fair that she was hiding her horrible math quiz from her parents. After all, they were keeping a massive secret from her! Somehow she had managed to squeak by with only four wrong on that week’s spelling test, so at least she didn’t have to hide a second test from them.
“Whaddya working on?” her dad asked, finally glancing up from his phone.
“I’m making cookies,” Piper said grumpily. “I’ve been trying to figure out how different fats affect the shape, texture, and crunch level in baked goods.”
“I’d be happy to evaluate the results,” her dad said, rubbing his belly. “That is a job I can truly say I’m qualified for.” He waggled his eyebrows and gave her a goofy grin.
Piper refused to smile back. She just stirred and stewed. “We’ll see how far I get. I need to start dinner soon.”
“You want any help?” her dad offered. “I finished up my work for the day.”
“Nope,” Piper said stiffly. “I’m on it.” For the past week, Piper had cooked dinner for her family every single night—partly because the kitchen was always a disaster from her experiments-in-progress, but also partly because her dad had been working a lot more than usual. Between preparing for his interviews and another big project deadline, he had been working late into the evening most nights.
Piper didn’t mind spending extra time in the kitchen. It was great practice. But the past week had given her a pretty good idea of how things would be if both her parents were working full-time—busy and chaotic. Between her brother’s sports practices, her sister’s dance classes, their volunteer shifts at Helping Hands, and both of her parents being at work from eight in the morning until six at night, their life was going to be really nutty. Piper felt ready to step up and take on more responsibility around the house, but it was still hard to think about things changing.
“Do you have homework?” her dad asked. “I don’t want you spending more time in the kitchen if it’s keeping you from your schoolwork.”
“A little,” Piper muttered.
“When Dan was in fifth grade, he had at least a half an hour of math homework each night. Seems like they’re going easier on you this year,” he noted.
“I’m not Dan,” Piper snapped.
“Whoa,” her dad said, his eyes widening. “That’s not what I meant.”
“If you expect me to be just like him,” Piper grumbled, “you’re going to be disappointed.” Piper’s dad rapped on the counter with his knuckles.
“Piper…” He waited for her to look at him. “I do not expect you to be just like Dan. You know that, right?”
“I’m never going to be as smart as him. No matter how hard I work and how much time I spend on my homework, Dan will always be the smart and sporty one.” She crossed her arms defiantly. “Finley will always be the funny, adorable one. I’ll always be the messy middle one.”
Her dad laughed, but Piper didn’t find what she’d said all that funny. She was being serious! Piper glared down at her bowl as she mixed the cookie dough. She glanced up at her dad briefly, her mouth set in a scowl. Her dad finally realized she wasn’t laughing along and said gently, “You’re different kids. You came packaged with different skills.”
“And obviously my skills aren’t math related,” Piper snapped. She and Milla had spent some time working on math problems during recess that day. But no matter how many times or different ways Milla explained things to her, Piper just couldn’t seem to get it. Milla kept reminding her to take it slow—telling her that it wasn’t a race—but Piper hated taking things slow. She was a slow reader, a slow writer, and now she was supposed to go slow in math, too? It wasn’t fair; slow was boring! “I’m never going to get straight As, no matter how hard I work.”
Her dad shook his head. “We don’t expect you to get straight As. Your mom and I just want you to put in your best effort. You know that, don’t you, Piper?”
“I guess,” Piper grumbled.
As if on cue, smarty-pants Dan sauntered into the kitchen, slapping his sweaty soccer shin guards on the counter. Then he peeled off his stinky jersey and tossed that on the counter as well. He grabbed an apple out of the fridge and took a big spoonful of cookie dough out of one of Piper’s bowls.
“Ahem,” Piper said, flicking Dan’s shin guards onto the floor. “Keep your stench out of my lab.”
Dan grinned at her, lifted his arm, and waved his armpit in front of her face.
“You’re totally disgusting,” Piper said, swatting at him. At least Dan wasn’t perfect in every way, she told herself.
Later that night, after the dinner dishes had been washed and Piper had shared the results of her cookie experiment with her family (everyone agreed that the batch made with coconut oil was the tastiest and most interesting), she settled in at the dining room table to work on her math. Again.
Finley slid into the seat beside her and began drawing a picture of a scientist in a lab. Piper was happy to see that the scientist looked an awful lot like her! Piper’s parents were both reading in the living room, but Dan was lurking around the dining room table, watching her.
“What?” Piper asked after it was clear Dan wasn’t going anywhere.
“Can I help?” Dan asked quietly. “I’m pretty good at math.”
“I know you are,” Piper said. “We all know you are.”
Dan sighed and rolled his eyes. “Let me help you,” he whispered, glancing over his shoulder. Piper could tell he was speaking softly so their parents wouldn’t hear him. Speaking even more quietly, he said, “If Mom and Dad find out about the failed quiz you’re hiding from them, there’s no way they’re going to let you go on The Future of Food.”
Piper gaped at him. “How—” she began. “How do you know about that?”
“I saw it the other night.” He tapped his temple. “I see things. And I’m your brother, and I don’t want you to screw this up for yourself.”
“Ribbit,” Finley bellowed.
Piper considered his offer. Dan was a math genius. He was annoyingly brilliant at every subject. It seemed she was…well, not.
Dan plopped into the seat across from her. He looked her straight in the eye and said, “I’ll make you a deal. I help you come up with strategies for your word problem unit, and in exchange, you bake me and the soccer team cookies every day for a week. And when you win The Future of Food, you buy me a new soccer bag with part of the money you win. Deal?”
Piper laughed. “When I win?” she asked. “I think you mean if I win.”
“Nope,” Dan said. “I mean when.”
Piper appreciated the offer—and her brother’s compliment. She didn’t want to take help, but it seemed like she didn’t have much of a choice. Sometimes, getting a little help was the only way to succeed. “Deal.”
“Here’s the thing you have to remember,” Dan said softly. “You’ve never been bad at math. You’re obviously good with numbers and calculations if you can follow and make up your own recipes. There’s precision in science and cooking, right?” He propped his elbows on the table and fixed Piper with a serious look. Then he went on, “Math is a lot like science—it’s going to take you some time and practice to figure out the formula that works for you. We’ll look at your homework a few different ways. We can break it down, step by step, and see where you’re running into problems. Like an experiment.”
When he put it that way, Piper suddenly felt hopeful. “An experiment? You can do experiments with math?”
“There’s no one way to look at equations,” Dan assured her. “We’ll find the way that works for you. I promise.”