ONE
“I’m going to win it all this year!” I announce to the eighth-grade school reporter. Then, as I nervously fidget with my fingertips, I mutter under my breath, “I just have to!”
Before I can blink, lights flash from a fancy camera, and my eyeballs involuntarily dance around in their sockets. I blink a few times as the photographer sets up his next shot of me at the center of the Valentine Middle School gymnasium in front of a big display of scout cookies. The entire student body is stuffed into the bleachers, waiting for our big pep rally to begin—and they’re all staring at me. I do my best to bury my nerves somewhere under my banana-and-peanut-butter-colored World Scouts Alliance uniform. Now I’m hungry. Ugh!
“Hey, Brooklyn!” someone says. I spin around and see the flushed face of a sixth-grade girl in a checkered romper. “Can I place an order of cookies with you?”
“Yeah, me too,” says a tall girl with a bedazzled headband and matching silver bracelet cluster.
I straighten my World Scouts sash and smile as the photographer snaps our picture. “Of course you can.”
The sixth grader steps forward and holds out her hand for me to shake. “We remember your big win at school last year and, well…” She grips my fingers. It doesn’t seem like she’s going to let go anytime soon. “Since you’re the big cookie queen in these Valentine Middle School streets, we only want to buy our cookies from you.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” I say, searching my pocket for my phone to take their orders.
The two girls look at each other and squeal, and I can’t help but smile because, let’s face it, I was pretty epic last year.
“I want one box of Chocolate Marvels,” the girl declares, shoving her hands into her romper’s deep pockets. I wait for her to continue, but she doesn’t.
“That’s it.” She shrugs. “I’m on a super tight budget but really wanted to get my order in now before the big cookie rush starts.”
“Okey dokey. I got you,” I say, grinning as I take her order. Then I turn to the tall girl. “What about you?”
“On second thought,” she says, “maybe I’ll place my order with her.” She points to the commotion happening under the basket closest to the locker rooms.
“Who?” I turn around, and that’s when I see… her, wearing a World Scouts uniform and a slick grin. Piper Parker, the new seventh-grade transfer student, pops her hip and unravels her messy pony until her perfectly layered, shiny hair settles over her shoulder. I watch her gift Hershey’s Kisses to anyone who orders scout cookies from her. She has a whole box of those delish chocolates.
“A Kiss for cookies!” Piper yells into the small crowd that’s formed around her.
Ugh!
She started at Valentine midyear, right after winter break ended. The girl hasn’t even been here two whole weeks, and she’s not wasting any time making a name for herself.
I turn back around to face the girl who was ordering cookies from me. But both she and the other girl are gone! Then I spot them heading over to join the crowd around Piper Parker.
She glances at me and dishes out an epic hair toss. I watch her, and then she watches me, and then I watch her harder. Before I know it, we’re in a real live stare-down. And I haven’t been in one of those since… never!
“I’ll place an order for a few boxes with you,” I hear a soft grown-up voice say. I stop eyeball feuding with Piper to see Ms. Pepper, my homeroom teacher, swooping in to save the day. “I’ll have a box of the Peanut Butter Babies and the Shortbread Shorties. And wait,” she says, tapping her finger on her chin. “I should probably get a box of the Chocolate Marvels for my hubby. He just loves those things.”
“Thanks, Ms. Pepper,” I say, doing my best to stay focused and not check out Piper’s next move.
“We’re all so proud of you, and we’re really looking forward to seeing you break more records this year and take home the big Valentine cookie crown.”
“I really want to win the Santa Monica District title and get my hands on that grand prize.”
“What’s the jackpot this year?”
“I’d get to attend the big annual field trip of the World Scouts Alliance,” I pipe, my smile widening. “It’s a group of scouts from all around the world, and we’d help build schools for kids in need.”
“Wow. That’s some grand prize. We’re all holding out hope for you.”
Yeah. Me too.
Sarah Hines won last year. She beat me by three stinking boxes. Three! She was a senior at Valentine High—but now that she’s graduated, I have my eyes fixed on winning. I used to think the setup was unfair—you know, middle schoolers competing with high school kids. Seriously, some of the older girls have advantages, like CARS! Even with Sarah Hines gone, I still expect the competition to get really fierce. But I’m in it to win it, even with my biggest cheerleader and silent partner not here this year to cheer me on. I’m determined to take home that title and dedicate the grand prize to her—my mom.
The reporter snaps a few pictures of me before asking, “So, Brooklyn, how many boxes do you intend to sell this year?”
I nod at the sea of students in the bleachers. Watching the mega crowd causes my nerves to play double Dutch with my anxiety. “Enough to… to make Valentine Middle proud again!”
“Do you have a number in mind?”
“This year,” I say, struggling to catch my breath, “I’m… I’m thinking five thousand boxes!”
I bend over and take a deep, long breath, and that’s when I feel my troop mate, Stella Rose, grab my hand and squeeze it. “She’s going to be this year’s district champ,” Stella Rose announces, adjusting her oyster-shell tortoise glasses and tossing her matching cashmere scarf over her scout polo.
When I look up, the rest of my troop are standing around me, blocking the reporter from snapping any more pics while I recover from this mini meltdown. I can always count on my scout squad—Stella Rose Sampson, Lyric Darby, and Luciana Lopez—to have my back.
I take a few more deep breaths and remember how amazing my friends were when I needed them most after Mom’s funeral last year. We’d only known each other for a semester, but it was kismet when we met at the beginning of sixth grade. We all signed up for World Scouts and were placed in the same Sunflower troop, and, well, we just clicked.
When my breathing returns to normal and I can feel my fingertips again, I stand up straight while Lucy untangles the top row of rainbow-colored goddess braids hanging down my back. She grins at me before leaning in to explain to the reporter, “Last time, she was just two boxes away from selling a whopping one thousand of those sweet treats. This year, she’s turning the volume all the way up.”
I do my best to block out the crowd. I think about Mom’s round, doe-eyed face and big smile, and I finish with the reporter by saying, “I want it all.”
“She wants it all!” Lyric parrots me, looking the reporter square in the eye. “Did you get all that queen energy?” She pushes her big blond spiral coils over her shoulder and crosses her arms over her khaki sash that’s filled with tons of creative-arts badges. I completely heart Lyric; she’s the girl all the boys want to sit next to and all the girls want in their group chat.
“Okay, young people! Can I have your attention?” Principal Pootie sputters into the microphone on the podium at all the sixth, seventh, and eighth graders. “It’s the second Friday of the month, and that means it’s time to start our Valentine Middle Pep Rally.”
I watch the Valentine Middle School HoneyBee cheerleaders get into formation on the court behind him. My squad collectively sighs as we watch Principal Pootie do his best to hype the student body. “… because we’re playing Roosevelt tonight, so get your tickets for the big showdown after the rally. And finally, today begins the official Cookie Kickoff!”
My eyes dart around the gym, searching for my cheer BFF, Magic Olive Poindexter.
“To jump-start the rally, let’s give a warm welcome to our very own HoneyBee cheerleaders!” Principal Pootie yells at the crowd, his spit flying through the air.
“This one’s for you, B,” screams Magic from the big honeybee at the center of the court. She waves at me and kicks her leg into the air with all her might. I fixate on her and my other cheer friends, Winnie and LuLu, and break into a wide smile.
At Valentine, I lead a bit of a double life. In addition to being somewhat of a cookie celebrity, I’m also one of the newest HoneyBee cheerleaders. I made the team over the summer at Planet Pom-Poms Cheer Camp, so I guess you could call me a rookie, except when it comes to the almighty cookie. Yes, I love dancing and I’m still getting better with each practice—but I’m a pro in the cookie biz. Hey, a girl’s gotta have diverse interests.
Principal Pootie waves me over to the podium. I’d normally be out on that court with my squad, leading the school in all things pep, but not today.
I step up to the podium as the cheer team begins the HoneyBee signature routine with epic stunts and ends it with a dance sequence that includes a high kick line and a jump split.
The crowd howls as the cheerleaders shuffle off the court.
“We heart you, Brooklyn,” LuLu sings, our tiniest flyer twirling under the basket behind Magic as Winnie rolls herself off the court in her Beedazzled wheelchair.
They blow kisses at me and wave their pink-and-gold pom-poms around their matching sparkly uniforms as they chant:
B-E aggressive
B-E A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E
That chant should be my new theme song every time I’m in front of a crowd, I think as I watch Principal Pootie struggle to adjust the microphone to my height.
“And now,” he says, “let’s give a round of applause to Valentine Middle’s top cookie seller from last year.”
Middle schoolers pound their feet against the bleachers. It sounds as if a drum section set up shop. My heartbeat twerks inside my chest to the high-speed tempo.
“Valentine’s cookie champ, Brooklyn Ace!”
When Principal Pootie says my name, I look out into the huge crowd, and something happens to my mouth: It’s suddenly Sahara Desert dry! And I’m pretty sure I can’t feel my tongue—or my teeth.
I try swallowing.
Nope, still can’t feel anything.
The crowd watches me, waiting for me to say or do something.
Awkward.
Some of those annoying public-speaking butterflies flit around the pit of my stomach. Principal Pootie nudges me closer to the microphone as if that’s going to help me get this party started. Mom always said to think of everyone in their underwear. The image of the student body in their Fruit of the Looms should make me want to laugh. But it doesn’t. Okay, so maybe it makes me crack a smile. That’s when I double-check to see if I can feel my tongue… and yep, there it is, waiting for me to master this talking thing. I’m pretty sure my teeth are all there, too.
Whew.
Stella Rose holds up her camera to film me in front of all our sister scouts on the court while I tug on my sash, which is decorated with tons of recognition pins and leadership badges.
Then I exhale.
“Thanks, everyone!” The microphone screeches into the musty gymnasium air, and I watch as the people in the audience all wince, grabbing their ears. I look past the rafters until the kids’ faces are out of my line of vision. Instead, my eyes focus on the tops of their heads.
“I’m, uh, Brooklyn Ace, and I’m, uh, pleased.” No, that’s not the right word. I try again. “I’m, uh, grateful…” Nope, that’s not it either. “I’m uh… honored to be your cookie champ.”
“Go, Brooklyn!” Stella Rose yells from the bleachers. She’s holding her camera at just the right angle to catch the best light. She’s a wiz with gadgets, and film stuff is her fave. I turn my head sideways and flash her an anxious smile.
And those are the last words I can muster before I go completely blank.
Stella Rose and Lyric begin a slow clap, and before I can say another word, the rest of the crowd has joined. I can still hear Lucy’s voice over the thunderous applause. “Brooklyn! Brooklyn!” And then the whole school echoes her.
“Brook-lyn!”
“Brook-lyn!”
“Valentine Middle is very proud of you,” Principal Pootie says, resting his sweaty palm on my shoulder as he nudges me away from the microphone, saving me from an afternoon of embarrassment. I’m sure it was obvious to him, and probably everyone else, too, that my speech was heading right into the disaster zone. Yep, I tanked.
“Last year’s district competition was a close one,” the principal says. “And this year, we’ll be watching with bated breath again.” Then he turns to the scouts scattered across the court and runs it all down for everyone like I didn’t just bomb.
I force a tight smile, then I ease past Principal Pootie and step away from the podium as fast as I can.
“As always,” he continues, “cookie season lasts for four weeks. And this year there are even greater prizes in store for the big winner.” He pulls a folded paper from his shirt pocket and reads from it. “‘The Valentine scout who sells the most cookies will be awarded a brand-new ten-speed bicycle and four tickets to Disneyland. The Santa Monica District scout who sells the most cookies will win five thousand dollars in scholarship money and a trip to London to be part of the group representing the US in the World Scouts Alliance. Their big mission this year is to…”—he flips the paper over—“‘… build schools around the world for kids in need.’”
“Now, that’s a grand prize, Pootie,” Lyric says before she can catch herself. Dodging his pinched eyes, she stammers, “I—I mean, Principal Pootie.”
“Yes, Lyric,” he agrees, shaking his head. At this point, he’s probably had enough of us. I can usually tell when that happens because he starts loosening his tie and blinking a lot, which is exactly what he’s doing now when he signals the official start of cookie season.
I race through the hecticness of dismissal to catch up with my scout squad, who are all waiting for me at my locker.
“I can’t believe how many new girls have joined the program this year,” Lyric says as we huddle together, retelling every second of Kickoff.
“I was a mess out there. I couldn’t find my rhythm at all,” I say, opening my cluttered locker to shove my scout sash between my social studies and English books.
“But you did. And you were epic, as always,” Lucy says, flipping her yellow-and-green hair over her cluster of design and fashion badges. “But Lyric’s right; there were a ton of new faces.”
Lyric sucks her teeth. “A few of them were giving you the stink eye, Brooklyn.”
“Means I’m going to have to stay on top of my game. But first, I’m going to have to actually find my game.” I shake my head in disbelief at just how tragic my speech was as I pull the red Sharpie off the magnet on the inside of my locker door. “What was my problem out there?” I scoff, drawing a line through the words COOKIE KICKOFF on my mini dry-erase board.
“You were just nervous; it happens to the best of us,” Stella Rose says, rubbing my back.
“It felt so much bigger than that,” I admit. “The only thing different is…” I tap my white high-top Converse on the concrete floor. “Well…”
Lyric, Stella Rose, and Lucy circle around me and lean into our sisterhood.
“I’m sorry you’re going through this,” Stella Rose says, massaging her fingertips into my arm. “It’s okay to feel all the feels. No matter what happens this year, you’ll always be our cookie queen.”
“Yeah, and you know that slinging cookies isn’t exactly my thing; the stage is where I shine,” Lyric says. “So you can have all my cookie sales this year.”
“Mine too,” Lucy says. “My parentals will get the usual orders from the fam and then you can have the rest of my sales.”
“Same,” Stella Rose agrees. “We got you.”
I turn away, inhaling one singular sniffle. “All I can say is…” I stifle a sniffle. “Wow.”
“We know things are different this year, B,” Lyric acknowledges. “But you always have us.”
A chill rushes over me as I remember Principal Pootie announcing my name last year at the final Cookie Countdown. I remember it being harsh. I remember it being bittersweet. And then I remember why.
My mom died a week after my big victory. I hate cancer. I mean, I really hate cancer. For obvious reasons, I didn’t have any big parties after my win. I didn’t want a fancy dinner either, and I didn’t feel the need to record it all for some mushy memory. Mostly, I cried. And then I cried some more. It wasn’t until last summer at cheer camp that something life-changing happened. I opened up about it with some new friends, and, for the first time since Mom had died, I didn’t feel numb anymore. I even went to see a cool lady therapist who knows about this kind of stuff. We only had one visit, but I remember her explaining that I’m in between two stages of grief: bargaining and depression. I’m not so sure about that. I just know that I miss Mom.
Stella Rose pulls me into a hug and squeezes. “Who’s our cookie queen?”
“Me,” I grumble, lacking all the luster. “I’m your cookie queen.”
“Not for long,” a voice shrills from the small crowd forming in the hallway.
“Who said that?” Lyric challenges, stepping directly in front of me. “Because I know you’re not talking to us.”
I look around, but no one else is standing there—except us. As I shut my locker behind me, I scan the crowd until I hear her annoying voice.
“You know exactly who I was talking to,” she says, slinking up to me. “I wouldn’t be so quick to jump to the conclusion that you’re going to win.”
Piper Parker adjusts her sash, which is filled with tons of cool cookie badges. I try not to admire them. Instead, I focus on her eyeballs. Daggers.
She bends down to whisper into my ear, “London has fabulous shopping. It’s one of my cities in heavy rotation.”
Now, if I’m being honest, the girl dresses like she has a stylist on speed dial. Since she started at Valentine, her whole look has been next-level. Sometimes she’ll even designate theme days on her Insta, telling her loyal entourage what to wear and exactly how to style their outfits. What’s even more concerning is the way her followers fall in line and obey. Yesterday, everyone wore high-waisted distressed jeans and cuddly cropped sweaters. Hers had suede elbow patches with matching heeled booties. Yes, it was definitely ca-yoot, but hold on, it’s not like I’m impressed or anything (okay, so maybe a little). Let’s be clear: Going to London isn’t about fashion shoots and shopping sprees. It’s about joining the World Scouts Alliance and helping kids in need.
Being the good sport that I am, I force a grin and muddle through this conversation. “Welcome to the start of our big cookie season at Valentine Middle, Piper Parker.”
“I hope you know I plan on taking what’s mine,” she declares, crossing her arms over her chest. “You, my dear, are so last year!”
I snort at her designer backpack as she slithers down the hall in pristine leather Polo sneakers that match her scout polo shirt. Her new troop gets lost in her towering shadow. I snarl at the kids walking behind them, a small entourage of seventh-grade girls—and even a few boys. They have already fallen under her spell.
Lyric stomps her chunky heels into the floor and yells into the air, “If it’s a cookie war you want, that’s what you’re gonna get.”
“Who does she think she is?” Lucy asks, only she’s not really asking. It’s already become crystal clear.
“I know exactly who she is,” I say, leaning against my locker. “She’s my competition.”