EIGHT

That night, I barely sleep. Too much stuff on my mind after my time with Dr. Simone, leaving my brain both cluttered and laser-focused at the same time. I’m up thinking about Mom one minute and Piper Parker the next. I don’t even know Piper Parker, but I’m taking her attack on my cookie kingdom personally.

I keep asking myself, What would Mom do? I’ve already missed a few key things, like checking in with my old customers ahead of time. But I try to get my head back in the game. Today is a big sales day with the girls, and if we pull it off, it could really position me for a cookie comeback.

My desk is still atrocious, I think as I stare at it with no idea how to start sorting the clutter. So I just shuffle math worksheets from one side of my study space to the other.

There. That’s better.

Dad pokes his freshly shaved head into my chaos. “You know you missed chore day. This bedroom should’ve been at the top of that list.” He eyes the oversized beanbag in the corner, next to my bed, which I’m sure is still there under all my clothes—somewhere.

I smirk, shoving those same school papers into an already-crammed drawer. “I’m on it, Dad. Just have a ton of stuff going on; can’t stop thinking about the cookie drive-through at Ralphs this week.”

I pull my cropped JUILLIARD hoodie out of the hamper as Dad steps over a different pile of dirty clothes. He looks around for a place to sit, but everything is covered in layers of my stuff: scout stuff, cheerleading stuff, school stuff. I yank the hoodie over my head and button my white jeans with the tuxedo stripes down the sides. Dad is watching me closely as I walk over to my bed and heave a big ball of clean clothes onto the floor to make room for him. I step back and point. This only makes him rub his goatee and chuckle—but just a little.

“Hey, I’m trying.” I shrug as Dad fake-grimaces.

“I’ll help my Brookie with the room,” Betty Jean says, waltzing into my mess with her usual charm. She tucks her slouchy tee into her ripped jeans and winks at me.

“Thanks, Betty Jean,” I say, fist-bumping her. “But is it okay if we do it later? The girls are on their way over so we can get all the last-minute stuff together for the cookie drive-through at Ralphs market.”

“Ah, there’s just nothing like cookie season,” Dad says to Betty Jean. When he spies the angst in my eyes, he quickly adds, “It’ll keep getting better, kiddo. And it sounds like a cookie drive-through is the exact thing needed to get your mojo back.”

I stare into Mom’s million-dollar smile in the picture on my dresser. “Did you guys know she used to say she was my silent partner?”

Dad’s eyes linger on the photo, too. “She might’ve mentioned it to me a few times over the years.”

“I had no idea how much she was silently doing behind the scenes.” I get up from the bed and trudge over to my desk, but Betty Jean stops me for a snuggle.

“You might not know this,” she whisper-shares into my hair, moving her single strand of pearls away from my forehead, “but I’m a bit of a business tycoon myself. Where do you think that pink Cadillac convertible in the driveway came from?”

“I’m sure there’s a whole juicy story there, Betty Jean,” I say as she kisses my forehead. “You’re always good for one of those.”

Before she can get into it, the doorbell rings.

It’s the girls, I think, feeling lighter already.

I squeeze Betty Jean’s hands to reassure her that I’m okay. Then I flash Dad a smile. “I’ll get it!” I announce, dashing out of the room.

“Well, if you need me, I’ll be right here. Like I always am!” Betty Jean says.

I peek out the window and spy Stella Rose, Lyric, and Lucy on the doorstep. I swing the door open, and they all yell in unison, “Cookie monster!”

Lyric takes a big gulp from her Starbucks cup and throws her other arm around me. “Today is a new day,” she declares. “Ready to gobble up some cookie sales?”

I giggle when Lucy squeezes my cheek with her glittery blue-and-red nail tips, which match her tie-dyed blue-and-red romper. She made it herself. It’s so adorable that a few girls at school have already preordered one from her shop. “It’s your time, Sunshine,” she says, blowing air-kisses around my face before beelining toward my room.

Stella Rose points her video camera at me, framing her shot just right. She adjusts her eyeglasses and motions for me to take a step closer. “You look divine in this natural light.”

I stick out my tongue and bug my eyes, giggling into the lens. “Why are you filming me again?”

“Because the cookie race is on and popping.” Stella Rose balks at me, as if I should understand her moviemaking motives. “And I have to record every magical second of it for my doc.” She follows me back to the room in her camo combat boots, narrating every step.

“Did I miss some big announcement about you shooting a documentary?”

Stella Rose puts her finger to her lips and shushes me. “It’s a competition for kids about setting and reaching a big goal. I’m focusing on your magnificent cookie journey.”

“That’s dope, Stella Rose!” I say, high-fiving her.

“It’s due in four weeks, but I’m struggling with the intro—you know, the part about me,” she says, scrunching her face into a frown. “Ick! I hate being in front of the camera. I get all tongue-tied and nervous, and I can’t get my words out.”

“I can help you.”

“Nope. Today it’s all about helping you reclaim first place.” She focuses the lens on my nose. “Now, just act natural for the camera.”

“Okay,” I say, obliging her with a smile before sticking out my tongue. We both giggle, and then I shoo her and the camera lens away.

When I turn to see Dad greeting everyone, I cross my fingers, hoping he doesn’t do anything cringeworthy.

“Good to see you again, girls,” Dad says as he steps over multiple stacks of clothes scattered across the floor. I kick a few of the T-shirts and jeans into a corner and push him out the door. When I try to close it, his big foot gets in the way.

“Please don’t embarrass me,” I mutter at him, pressing my hands together for serious emphasis. “Pretty please.”

“Perfect timing,” Betty Jean sings from the hallway as she hustles toward the kitchen. “The brownies I put in the oven should almost be ready.”

“She’s so my shero!” Lucy proclaims, pulling both her iPad and her laptop from her bag.

“I promise to clean my room as soon as we’re done,” I plead with Dad, shoving my pinky in his face. “Swear.” After a few seconds, he slowly inches his foot from the doorway. Whew, I think as I shut the door and turn to face the girls. Now we can get down to business.

“Well,” Lucy starts, already beaming, “the supermarket confirmed our time this afternoon. We’re all booked to set up our pop-up store in their parking lot.”

I sit up straight and explain my mission. “Last year, I only sold fifty boxes, but I didn’t have a whole pop-up store; it was just a table near the front door. So, this year, with all our bells and whistles, my goal is to sell a hundred! We preordered four hundred boxes. Now we just have to sell, sell, sell!”

Right on cue, Betty Jean opens the door and glides into the room with a tray of goodies in her hands. “I’d love to drive my cookie moguls to the supermarket and help set up your fab pop-up store. Someone will need to grab the inventory, of course, and we can’t forget all the promo stuff.” She hands off the tray, which is empty when it comes back to her.

Lucy closes her laptop. “Boom! Looks like we’ll be all good in the cookie hood. Thanks, Betty Jean.”

Betty Jean pops the imaginary collar on her white tee and blows a highlighted strand of hair from her eyes. “I happen to know a thing or two about sales, b-t-dubs.”

“She means it, too. You know that pink drop-top Caddy in the driveway?”

“It’s sick!” Lyric says, shaking her head. “I’ve always been smitten with that ride, Betty Jean.”

“Funny story about how Bo Peep came into my life.” Betty Jean nods, looking around for a place to sit. “Now, I don’t want to take up time from your strategy sesh.”

Lucy scoots over on the bed and smooths the top of my rumpled comforter. “But we want to hear all about it.”

“It’s a good one, too,” she says, sitting down and crossing her legs. “I mean, it was a mighty tight race between me and Lola Lou, which surprised me because I didn’t even see her coming. But in the end, that car had my name written all over it.”

“What were you selling?” Stella Rose asks, resting her chin on her hand.

Betty Jean blushes and then makes a pretend mirror with the palm of her hand. She puckers her lips and exclaims, “Beauty!”

We all gasp and lean in closer.

“I’m what they call a Grand Achiever. I built a whole sales team and everything.”

“How much lipstick did you have to sell to win that ride?” Lyric asks.

Betty Jean laughs. But then she gets really serious when she says, “Lots!”

“She’s a total beauty girl,” I explain to the room. “She’s opening up her second beauty bar in LA. They’re called Curls and Pearls.” I hold up a handful of braids. “It’s where the magic happens.”

“You’re something else, Betty Jean,” Lyric says, swinging the chair from side to side. “Definitely my kinda girl.”

Mine too, I think as I look up at my grandmother with pride. That’s when the most dazzling idea pops into my head. “Hey, everyone,” I call, trying to get their attention. “We might have stumbled upon our very own secret weapon.” I turn to Betty Jean and press my hands together in prayer. “Betty Jean, you’d make a phenom Sunflower troop leader.”

“O.M.Greatness! She totally would!” Lucy rages.

I press my hands together even harder. “We’re kind of in need of one since Mom’s not here anymore.”

“That’s a splendid idea,” Stella Rose says, clapping her hands and chanting Betty Jean’s name. “My sister would love to turn the reins over to you. She has no idea what she’s doing.” Then she shakes her head and shrugs. “None.”

Betty Jean taps her chin and looks into each of our eager faces. “I’ve never been a troop leader before.”

“You’d be purrr-fect,” Lyric sings, tossing her venti Starbucks cup into the already-overflowing wastebasket. “Kind of like a mentor-mother mash-up.”

“Sounds like an inspired way to spend—” But before she can finish, we all topple her with hugs. “My weekends.”

“I know one thing,” I say, coming up for air. “Piper Parker better watch out.”