FIVE
After a big week of ups and downs with cookie sales, it’s finally Friday, which means the tally for the first week of sales is going to be posted for the whole school to see. I’m having mixed feelings about it all, even though the good stuff about the weekend is staring me in the face. Weekends mean I can pretty much count on somebody having a birthday party, and that all but guarantees cake and ice cream. Then there’s sleeping in late and waking up to brunch, which means pancakes or French toast for breakfast—which, c’mon, is basically dessert.
Still, today just doesn’t feel like the Friday of my daydreams.
I’m in bed with my tattered notebook that’s working overtime as a journal, and lying beside me are my seriously overwhelming thoughts. I feel like a station wagon has parked on top of my chest, mainly because cookie season hasn’t started out exactly the way I planned, especially with the whole neighborhood missing Mom. Not only did I find out that Mom used to call everyone ahead of time to lock in their cookie orders, I also found out that Mom baked a ton of casseroles, too.
I don’t know how I thought I was going to get through any of this without her, I think, when I hear a bird singing outside my window.
I look down and realize that the lined notebook paper is wet from my tears. I have no idea how long I’ve been crying. The ink on the page creates a smudge when I dab my bedsheet over the spots where the tears have fallen. I keep writing the letter to Mom anyway.
Dear Mom,
I’m not used to feeling this way. I mean, I always miss you every day, but this feels different. Maybe it has something to do with hearing all your friends talk about how special you were. Or maybe it was listening to family tell me so many cool stories about you always saving the day. Boy, can I relate. Betty Jean says that this is all normal after losing a loved one, but I don’t know any other kid who has gone through this, so I’m not so sure how true that is. She also says that I’m feeling the pain of missing you so much because it’s cookie season, our time to ride around the city, tallying our sales and winning the big Valentine title—together. But now that Piper Parker is here, things are getting complicated. Can I tell you a secret? Here goes… I don’t understand why God took you away from me. Is this all my fault? Did I do something wrong? Do you think God would give me another chance to make it all right and bring you back somehow? Do you think
“Brookie,” I hear Betty Jean say from the other side of the door. I unleash one long sniffle. “Are you awake? Can I come in?”
I pull the sheet up to my face and answer, “Good morning, Betty Jean. Of course you can come in.”
She eases the door open and pokes her head around the stained wood before flipping the light switch. I rub my eyes and try to focus on a very blurry Betty Jean.
“I thought I heard a little mouse in here crying. That mouse shouldn’t be crying at all; if anything, that mouse needs to be getting out of bed and brushing her little mouse teeth.”
“I didn’t see or hear a mouse,” I offer, looking around the dirty stack of clothes on the floor next to my bed. “Nope, no mouse in sight.”
“Well, in that case, it must’ve been my Brookie shedding a few morning tears,” she whispers as she tiptoes past my desk to the side of my bed. “What’s happening this morning that’s got you stuck in a rug like a bug with your feelings?”
I shrug, fighting the urge to hide under my comforter. I hate it when I feel like I’m being a baby. Plus I don’t want Betty Jean worrying about me, especially since she hasn’t even been here a full year yet. I don’t want to give her a reason to leave; there’s no way I could bear losing her, too.
“I wasn’t crying. Really,” I say, fixing my face to smile through my little white lie. I shove my notebook under the pillow and hop out of bed.
“Today’s a big day for you, Brookie. That wouldn’t have anything to do with you feeling all the feels, now, would it?”
I shuffle through the clothes in my closet and pull out my red tracksuit with the singular white stripe down the sides of the jacket and the pants. “Every day is a big day in the seventh grade, Betty Jean.”
She leans back on my bed and crosses her legs. Her painted toes dangle in the air. “Brooklyn Aerial Ace, you know what I mean.”
I pretend not to have any idea.
“I just want to know how my Brookie is handling all the pressure.”
I lean against the wall and profess, “I’m doing just fine, Betty Jean. Dad always tells me to treat the big days like the little days and don’t make any of it mean anything.”
“But this does mean something to you, sweetheart—and that’s okay. It’s all about how you choose to deal with it. If I were you, I’d be having some anxiety and probably some doubts about my success this week after Piper Parker put a monkey wrench in my sales goals.”
“You mean she stole my Old Faithfuls!”
I can feel Betty Jean watching me bury my head deeper into the hood of my jacket. I peek out and watch her ease herself from the bed and head toward the door. Before she ducks out, I sneak one big snuggle into her. She sighs, sliding her arm around me and kissing my cheek. “I’m always here if you want to talk about your feelings. They’re yours and they matter.”
Before she leaves the room, she nods at the picture of Mom and me on my dresser and says, “She sure was something special.”
Later that day, I stare at a different photo of Mom that’s taped to the inside of my locker. It was taken two years ago at Easter. She dressed up like a bunny and hopped around the neighborhood, giving out organic fruit. Come to think of it, she gave Mr. Tart a casserole that day, too.
“Listen, B, you have to look at the big picture; we’re just getting started with this thing,” Lyric says, applying her glittery gloss to perfection, never looking in the mirror.
I blow an air-kiss to Mom before turning to face the girls. We agreed that we’d all walk over to Principal Pootie’s office after lunch to check out the rankings for the cookie tally. In order to do that, I have to actually make it down the hall and around the corner without vomiting all over my Vans. My stomach is in knots, and it doesn’t help that Lucy, Lyric, and Stella Rose are looking at me with what I can only call pity.
Stella Rose unzips my jacket and pulls out my braids. “She’s right. It’s only the first week.”
I fidget with the ends of my hair as Lyric inspects my colorful cornrows, which are sectioned off horizontally. “This symmetry is stunning.”
“Thanks,” I say, only half smiling.
Lucy loops her arm through mine, and the ruffles on the sleeve of her flirty blouse get mussed somewhere underneath my armpit. Without giving it a second thought, she steps back and smooths out the pleats on her purple mini. “Listen, B, you’ve gotta remember that we have three more weeks to go. And in the world of cookie sales, that’s an eternity.”
“Look,” Lyric starts, staring me right between my eyeballs. “You had a topsy-turvy week. But we have to agree that the phone-a-thon is going to cause ripples in the overall tally.”
“Have some faith in the power of your loved ones,” Stella Rose says, swiping through her phone until she lands on her fave page. “Today’s affirmation is ‘Everything that is happening is only for the highest good of me.’” She grabs one of my hands, and Lyric tosses her arm over my other shoulder. When I don’t budge, Stella Rose lifts my head from the locker. After a few seconds, I give in.
“Okay, okay, it’s all for the highest good,” I say, placing my fingers over Mom’s picture. I close my locker and turn to face the music. “Now. Let’s go see the dumb list.”
We make the long trek down the hall and round the corner in the opposite direction of Mr. Reynolds’s English class. And then… at the end of the hallway, there it is.
It’s hanging on the bulletin board beside Principal Pootie’s office door in black cutout letters.
“I don’t know if I can look,” I say, tugging on Lyric’s satin jacket, which is covered in pink-and-black animal print.
She tucks her blond curls behind her stacked cuff earrings. “Of course you can do this,” she says, stomping her suede bootie into the floor.
Stella Rose pulls her hands out of the pockets of her cutoff shorts. “You were born for it.” She digs into her backpack and pulls out her camera. “Cookie sales are in your blood.”
“But it might not even be as bad as you think. Let’s look and see,” Lyric says, poking me in my arm with her blingy press-on nail.
I tread slowly up to the sheet of paper that’s taped to the center of the board. As I get closer, the singular page appears to get smaller and smaller and…
The names are mushed together.
My heart pounds and my palms are sweaty. I wring them out before swiping them down the sides of my joggers. And then—a thought pops into my head. What if I didn’t even make the list at all? Principal Pootie posts only the top five. What if I was number fifteen or even number fifty and not good enough for a singular mention? I’m not familiar with this overwhelming feeling, that same one I felt at the podium.
Uh-oh.
I try to move, but I’m completely frozen.
“Don’t worry, B, I’ll look at the list for you and report back,” Stella Rose offers, putting her camera away while Lyric fans me with one of her neon notebooks.
Lucy holds up my shoulders. “You’re okay, just snap out of it.”
“I don’t think she can just snap out of it,” Stella Rose tries to explain to Lucy. “It’s not always that easy.”
“I just meant… well,” Lucy says, turning to me to finish. “You got this. Sooo, let’s go get this!”
Maybe my scout squad is right. I try doing everything in my power to pull myself together: a few deep breaths and a fake smile should do it.
I center myself before walking right up to the list—that’s what Mom would want.
Stella Rose and Lyric are on either side of me, and Lucy positions herself behind me.
“I’m fine. Really,” I say, focusing my eyes and shaking my shoulders like a heavyweight boxer before a big fight.
I run my fingers down the names on the list in search of mine. I stop beside the number… FIVE. “I CAME IN FIFTH!” I screech.
“You came in fifth,” Lyric parrots me. “She came in fifth.” She turns the notebook on herself and fans her face feverishly. “Fifth is good,” she says, her voice starting to quiver. “Really, it is… good.”
“Guys, it is,” Stella Rose declares. “Two minutes ago, she was afraid to even look at the list. And now her name is right there—on the list!”
“Mr. Tart, Ms. Lancaster, and the rest of the block really set us back,” Lucy says, studying the contact spreadsheet on her iPad. But it was the friends and family phone-a-thon that saved us.”
“And of course, Piper Parker is number one,” I mutter, still staring at the list as if my laser glare will somehow change the rankings. Even though I want to have a positive attitude, it’s a total struggle right now. I sulk deeper into my funk. “She took the top spot.”
“Facts!” Piper’s voice perks into my right ear. When I turn around, I see her arms folded over her houndstooth blazer. She unfolds them to trace her hand in the air around my face. Then she shoves it into the pocket of her leather joggers before sucking her teeth. “You didn’t think you were going to beat me, did you?” She laughs at her own words. “Just because I’m new here doesn’t mean I’m working from a disadvantage. You’re just not what’s hot anymore.” Piper Parker sucks her teeth again and rolls her eyeballs around in her head before spinning to walk away. Her fingers explode into the air as she snakes down the hall. “In your face, Brooklyn Ace!”
“Ew!” Lucy rages at the back of Piper’s springy highlighted ponytail. “She makes my stomach churn!”
Lyric pops a piece of grape bubble gum into her mouth and chews hard. “That’s because,” she starts, but stops to blow a bubble, “Piper Parker doesn’t have any manners. She needs some good home training.”
But Piper doesn’t bother to turn around and defend herself. Instead, she disappears around the corner and into a world where she’s the highest achiever.
“It’s only the first week,” Lyric consoles me, shaking her leg, which is smooshed into a pair of shiny black bicycle pants. “We just gotta step up our game and get you to the top of that list. Where else can we go sell our cute little hearts out?”
I take a long, deep breath, and then it hits me. “Montana Avenue!”
Montana Ave is on the side of town with all the fancy shops and the cute upscale eateries. You know, the side of town where the people are spending their coin.
“Yes!” Lucy says, already digging around for data on the neighborhood.
“Love,” Lyric cosigns. “Expanding our sales territory is a brillz idea. I’m all for racking up more sales on the ritzy side of town. Show me the money!”
Stella Rose knits her brows. “I sure hope we have better luck with the big houses.”
I grab her hand and squeeze for emphasis. “There’s only one way to find out.”