Homework. Yuck. It was Tuesday afternoon, and I had a huge stack of books on my desk. One from each class. I had to write a book report for English (which meant that I also had to finish reading a book). I was supposed to complete a worksheet for math class, and read two chapters for science. My art project waited, untouched, in the corner. It was almost too much. I put my head on my desk, preparing for the long hours ahead of me.

“Knock, knock.” Peaches stuck her head in my room. “Oops, sorry. I didn’t realize you were napping.”

I raised my head. “No. Come on in. I’m not napping. I’m thinking.”

“That makes two of us.” Peaches came into the room and perched on the edge of my bed. “And I’m tired of it. I want to do something.”

“I know what I have to do,” I said with a groan. “Homework.”

Peaches wrinkled her nose. “That’s no fun. Why don’t you do it later and come with me?”

“Where are you going?”

“To the store. I was downstairs looking at cookbooks, trying to plan out a nutritious diet for the baby and me, and suddenly I was famished.”

“I can understand that,” I said, hungrily eyeing the bag of Mallomars I had stashed between two books on the shelf above my desk.

“Looking at all of those wonderful cookbooks gave me an idea,” Peaches continued. “I thought, why not make a gourmet dinner, complete with fancy hors d’oeuvres and a scrumptious, ultra-rich, triple chocolate dessert.”

She’d said the magic word — chocolate. I spun in my chair. “When were you going to do all of this?”

“Tonight. Now.” Peaches leapt to her feet and grabbed one of my hands. “But I can’t do it alone and there’s no one else here.”

“What about Janine?” I asked. “She likes to cook.”

Peaches shook her head. “Janine’s long gone. She went off with her boyfriend. They said something about hamburgers and the library. Not my idea of an exciting date, but …”

I looked back at my stack of books. The last thing on earth I wanted to do was homework, but I needed to do it. I really did.

Peaches tugged on my arm. “Come on, Claud,” she pleaded. “It’ll be fun.”

“But my homework,” I protested weakly.

“You can do that later. I’ll help you.”

I remembered that the last time she’d promised to help, a good movie had come on television that she and Russ wanted to watch. I hadn’t had the heart to butt in and ask them to help me. But maybe this time would be different.

“Okay,” I said. “Just this once. I really can’t make a habit of it. You know what my grades are like.”

“Hooray!” Peaches jumped with one fist in the air, like a cheerleader. “Come on. This will be a hoot.”

I soon forgot about my homework as we prepared for the feast of the century, as Peaches called it. First she spread out her cookbooks and we made up a hasty shopping list from the recipes she’d chosen. Then we hopped in her car and took off. It was the craziest shopping trip I’d ever been on.

“First stop,” Peaches announced as we pulled up in front of a tiny shop with a newly shingled roof. “In Good Taste.”

“I’ve never been here,” I said, glancing at the display of cans of imported olive oil and brightly colored bins of pasta in the window. “What is it — some kind of gourmet shop?”

“Exactamundo!” Peaches held open the door for me. “Come in and feast your eyes and tastebuds.”

“If it isn’t my favorite signorina!” a large man in a white apron called from behind one of the shelves. He stuck his head around the corner and I swear he looked exactly like Chef Boyardee on the spaghetti cans. “Peaches! You are looking more beautiful than ever. How’s the bambino?”

Peaches patted her stomach. “She’s starved. That’s why we’re here. We want to make the feast of the century.”

Then Peaches introduced me to her friend, whose name was Giuseppe DeSalvio. “I am most pleased to meet you,” he said, flashing a big warm smile at me.

Peaches patted Mr. DeSalvio’s arm. “We need the biggest shopping cart you have. Claud and I plan to buy out the store.”

And we almost did. It was a tiny shop with tight little aisles. One whole wall was lined with gourmet mustards. Another wall held shelf after shelf of weird exotic foods like (ick!) snails and chocolate-covered grasshoppers and ants.

Peaches didn’t miss a single shelf. “I think we’ll need a couple of jars of those calamata olives and definitely a big can of that olive oil. And, Claudia, grab a couple of boxes of angel hair pasta. Have you ever had this anchovy paste on warm Italian bread? It’s heaven.”

I didn’t tell her that anchovies in any form make me want to gag. She was having too much fun. I just nodded and said, “Sounds delicious.”

“We’ll start the evening with stuffed mushrooms, some country paté, and triple cream Danish blue on little rounds of toast.” Peaches didn’t stop after she’d covered the shopping list, and she never seemed to look at the prices, either. She just tossed item after item in her cart. We filled the entire grocery cart with all sorts of strange vegetables that she planned to put in the salad, like radicchio and arugula, and lots of items for appetizers. Peaches had decided the main course would be angel hair pasta with a fresh cilantro pesto, loaded with pine nuts and crushed garlic, topped with freshly grated Romano cheese. “It’s simple, elegant, and yummy.”

I didn’t even know what cilantro was. Peaches showed me. It kind of looks like parsley but has bigger leaves. I even tasted a leaf in the store (Mr. DeSalvio offered us tastes of everything). It’s really unusual, but I liked it.

After our cart was filled, Peaches clapped her hands together. “Now for dessert.”

“Now you’re talking,” I said, eyeing the refrigerated display of chocolate tortes, blueberry cheesecakes, and triple layer cakes. “They all look delicious.”

“They do.” Peaches draped her arm around my shoulder. “Should we cheat and pretend we made the dessert?”

By this time my mouth was practically watering. I nodded vigorously. “I have an idea. Let’s eat something here and not even mention dessert.”

This made Mr. DeSalvio laugh so hard his stomach bounced up and down, just like Santa’s.

“I’m with Claud,” Peaches said. “Maybe we should just sample one of those cheesecakes, and we’ll take the chocolate torte home with us. How does that sound?”

The cheesecake, smothered in blueberries, was heaven. It practically melted in my mouth. I could hardly wait for dinner.

After we said our farewells to Mr. DeSalvio, we headed for ZuZu’s Petals, the flower stand just off Main Street. Peaches bought a huge bouquet of fresh irises for the table. “You can’t have an elegant dinner without flowers,” she explained to me as we climbed back in the car. Next stop was The Connecticut Yankee Gift Shop. Peaches whipped up to the curb and hopped out of the car, calling over her shoulder, “And candles. We need candlelight.”

She was back in just a few minutes. “This dinner is going to be so much fun,” Peaches said as she snapped her seat belt in place. “We’ve got the food, the candles, and flowers. Now all that’s left are placecards.”

“Placecards?” I repeated. “You mean those little nameplates they put next to your glass at fancy dinners?”

“Exactly.” Peaches grinned. “And I know just the person to make them.”

“That would be fun,” I said, “but how can I do that and help cook dinner?”

“Oh, you don’t have to cook,” Peaches laughed. “I’ll do all of that. I just want you to paint something lovely on each person’s card. Do we need to get supplies for that?”

I thought back to the art supplies tucked away in my closet. I’d used up a lot of them working on my sculpture for art class (which still wasn’t quite done). “I think probably just some poster board would work,” I said. “I have paints. But I do need ink, so that I can use my calligraphy pen for the lettering. They have all that stuff at Art’s.”

After we circled the block, I hurried into Art’s, bought the ink and poster board, and jumped back in the car. I leaned my head back against the seat. “I feel like we’ve just done the whirlwind tour of Stoneybrook.”

Peaches smiled sideways at me. “We have.”

Before we’d left the house, Peaches had written a note for Mom. “Don’t lift a finger. We’re cooking dinner. P and C.” So when we walked in the house, we found Mom, Dad, and Russ, all in the living room, reading the evening paper.

I carried the shopping bags past them into the kitchen while Peaches made a formal announcement. “This evening’s meal will be at seven P.M. It will be prepared for you by yours truly, assisted by Miss Claudia Kishi. If you will all sit tight, hors d’oeuvres will be served momentarily.”

Dad put the paper on the couch beside him and grinned at Mom. “Now that’s my idea of the perfect house guest!”

Peaches and I raced into the kitchen and, with a loud clanging of pans and slamming of cupboards, we hastily put together the appetizers. Peaches really does make everything fun. She and I sang at least three choruses of “When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amore!”

I’ve always loved the way Peaches treats everything she does like a great adventure. While we worked on dinner, I couldn’t help thinking that Mom would never have suggested such a spur-of-the-moment project. If Mom was going to make a fancy dinner, she’d spend two weeks carefully planning every detail, several days shopping for supplies, and an entire day just cooking. And she definitely would never suggest we dress up like waiters and draw moustaches on our faces with black eyebrow pencils.

“This will be the final touch,” Peaches whispered as we carefully drew little lines under our noses. “I have some bow ties in my bag, and if we each wear one of those with a vest, they’ll think they’re at Elaine’s or some really posh place like that in New York.”

At last it was dinnertime. The flowers rested in one of Mom’s crystal vases at the center of the table. The placecards, each with a different flower drawn on it, were propped beside blue ceramic plates. Hors d’oeuvres had been served and the candles were now lit. I found a little silver bell in the cupboard and rang it. Then Peaches and I made our appearance. We each had a dish towel draped over one arm.

“Dinner is served!” we announced together.

Mom, Russ, and Dad were tickled, and when they saw the table setting, they couldn’t stop saying nice things.

Dinner was delicious and Peaches was the perfect hostess. It’s really true what they say about pregnant women. They do have a special glow, and in the soft candlelight Peaches looked absolutely radiant. I couldn’t help thinking what a truly special person she was. And I knew for certain that she’d give birth to a truly special baby.