You can’t just not invite someone to a party at their own store. That’s a Ground Rule.
Okay not an official ground rule, like No Disruptive Behavior. But it should be one.
Penny had a play date after school—a makeup play date with Zoey because of what happened on Monday—but I didn’t. My dad was the carpool driver. He said Mom was resting at home. After he dropped off Penny and Zoey, we headed to the store because he still had a bit of work to do.
“Can you do me a favor?” I asked.
“Certainly, darling,” Dad said.
As soon as Dad said those words, “Certainly, darling,” I felt better. Everything was going to be just fine—Dad would make sure of it.
“I need you to cancel Joshua’s party at the store,” I told him.
“But didn’t you and Evie have plans to go to that together?”
“We did,” I said. “But I didn’t get to be invited. He invited everyone in my whole entire class except me!”
“I’m sure he didn’t invite everyone else,” Dad said.
“No, really,” I insisted. “EVERYONE. That’s what he said.”
“Oh, darling, I’m so sorry,” Dad said.
“That’s why you have to cancel,” I continued. “Leaving me out isn’t allowed.”
“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, Stel,” Dad said.
“Why not? It’s OUR store.”
“That’s true, but I promised Joshua’s mom we’d host the party.”
“You made a promise to me too,” I reminded him. “You said ‘certainly’ when I asked for a favor.”
“Let me get this straight,” Dad said. “This is Joshua, the boy in your class that you don’t really like?”
“Yes,” I said. “And I’m not the only one who doesn’t like him. He’s the biggest meanie I’ve ever known.”
“If that’s the case, then why do you want to go to the party?”
I didn’t answer. The truth was, I didn’t really want to go. I just wanted to be invited. I didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes. We stopped at a red light and Dad clicked the rearview mirror down so he could see me in the back seat. “What did you think about the fudge pop?” he asked.
That’s one of his Dad tricks—trying to change the subject whenever Penny and I are upset about something, so we stop thinking about it. It works on Penny, but I’m older so he can’t distract me that easily.
“It was okay,” I said glumly, still thinking about Joshua.
“Just okay?”
I shrugged, but Dad didn’t get to see my shrug because the light turned green and his eyes were back on the road.
“Maybe today you can help Stuart make it great,” he said.
When we got to the store, Dad and I took the elevator down to level C, which means cellar—another word for basement. He had a few things to do in his office. I sat at the desk, watching him sort through papers.
“Where are last week’s receipts? Oh here they are,” Dad said. I knew he wasn’t talking to me. He talks to himself when he’s thinking about work stuff. “I think the new samples are upstairs. I’m going to head up.”
I spun around on his desk chair.
“I think the new samples are upstairs. I’m going to head up,” Dad repeated.
Oh, he was talking to me this time. I stopped spinning.
“How long will you be gone?”
“Not long,” he said. “Do you have homework to do?”
I shook my head, no. The only homework for the night was working on our short stories, and mine was nearly done—sitting on my desk at home.
“I’ll just be a few minutes,” Dad said. “Then we can go home.” He started to walk out the door, but then turned and came back toward me. He reached over my head for a stack of papers. “I know what you can do,” he said, handing me the pile. “You can put these order forms in alphabetical order by last name—here, see the last names on the tops of the page?”
I nodded. “What are they orders for?”
“Gift baskets, party supplies, that sort of thing. Can you do it? It would actually help me out a lot.”
“Sure,” I said.
I got started as soon as he left. It wasn’t a hard job. Even Penny could do it. After all, kindergarteners know the letters in the alphabet. Kids even younger than kindergarten know that.
I tucked “WASSERMAN, Robert” behind “MILLER, Dawn” because “W” comes after “M” in the alphabet, and flipped to the next form.
And there it was: “LEWIS, Joshua.” The order form for Joshua’s party.
He’d ordered marzipan cookie sculpture-making kits—enough for twenty-one kids.
My stomach felt strange suddenly, like it was turning somersaults inside my body.
What would Joshua do if he was the one—the ONLY one—not invited to a party?
First thing, I bet he’d slam his hand down on the desk. Whack! Loud! Disruptive Behavior!
Then he’d probably tear up the order form.
He’d tear it in half, and in half again.
He’d keep on tearing until it was just eensy weensy pieces of paper and you wouldn’t even be able to tell it was ever an order form. He’d throw the pieces up in the air like confetti, and not even care that he’d ruined everything.
Wow, that’s a really mean thing to do, I thought. I’d never do anything like that. Even though, well, I sort of really wanted to.
I didn’t even want to think about Joshua right then, so I put his form down on Dad’s desk for now and moved on. NICHOLS, Faye. KEANE, Mary. The last form was ZELNICK, Jordan.
The door opened. I swiveled around in my chair.
“Stella Batts!” Stuart said. “I heard you were in here. I’m wondering if I can enlist your help—that is, if you’re not too busy.”
I shook my head. “I just finished putting the order forms in alphabetical order,” I told him.
“Great,” he said. “Then come with me.”
I stood up and put the pile of forms on top of Dad’s file cabinet. Stuart and I went into the kitchen, which is the room right next to the office. Most of the candy we sell at the store comes ready-made, so we don’t need a big kitchen. But we do make cookies and fudge ourselves. Stuart had batches of fresh fudge on the counter.
I can’t tell you our fudge recipe, because that’s a family secret. Okay, not exactly a family secret, since Stuart knows it and he’s not in our family. But it’s still something I’m not supposed to tell.
“I’m working on some new fudge flavors,” Stuart told me. “I thought you’d want to taste.”
The recipes might be a secret, but I can tell you the new flavors—s’mores, red velvet, white chocolate, cookies and cream, and banana split. Stuart gave me eensy weensy slivers of each—except for the banana-split one, because I don’t really like fruit to be in my dessert.
“So?” he asked.
“Good,” I said. “Really, really good.”
“The Stella Batts stamp of approval for Stella’s Fudge,” Stuart said. “Now I’m ready to go.”
“Are you going to turn these into your new brainchild?” I asked.
“You mean fudge pops? I don’t see why not,” he said.
I helped him cut the pans of fudge up into smaller squares. Then we stuck sticks in them. Stuart heated up the chocolate sauce for dipping. “I think they need a little something more, don’t you?” Stuart asked. “They taste delicious, but I don’t know if they look special enough.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said.
We kept on dipping the pops. I didn’t even notice that Dad had come in until he started speaking. “How’s it going in here?”
“Good,” Stuart and I both said. Stuart’s practically a grownup, so I didn’t say jinx—even though that’s what you’re supposed to say if someone says the exact same thing at the exact same time.
“How’s Elaine feeling?” Stuart asked Dad. Elaine is my mom.
“She’s happy this baby is coming soon,” Dad said. “If all goes according to schedule, Stella and Penny will have a little brother next week.”
“If you need anything, just let me know,” Stuart said.
“Thanks,” Dad said. “My mother-in-law is coming this weekend, so we’ll have a lot of help at home. But could you take care of the order forms Stella just alphabetized? They’re on my desk.”
“On the file cabinet,” I corrected.
We said goodbye to Stuart and headed home.