SIXTEEN

I counted down the hours, and now it’s finally time!

We’re all seated at our usual table by the big window at Pinkberry, bubbling over. I’m on pins and needles, so enjoying my pomegranate swirl isn’t exactly at the top of my list right now. Even my taste buds must be ready for the big music video reveal because, after a few scoops, the blueberries started to taste like raisins—and I absolutely hate raisins, almost as much as I hate getting the flu shot every year.

Stella Rose whirls her mango yogurt around the cup. She picks at the toasted almonds and stares at her laptop. “Okay. Is everyone ready?”

“C’mon! Just post it! I don’t think I can wait another second,” Lucy pipes, staring at the Instagram page with our video frozen in place. “We’ve been waiting all day for this life-changing moment.”

Lyric stabs her chocolate chips into the strawberry yogurt and announces, “This is going to be epic!”

“Okay, B, you can press the magic button,” Stella Rose says, pointing to the small keypad on her phone. Then she rubs her hands together feverishly and says, “Be good to us, Insta.”

“Let’s all do it together,” I offer, huddling closer to my squad. “I didn’t make this happen on my own.”

One by one, we hang our index fingers over her cell.

“Ready. Set…” Stella Rose signals, her eyes darting around the table from one pensive smile to the next.

“Go!” I say, biting into my bottom lip, as we send the music video file straight into the stratosphere.

Lyric takes a deep breath, her chest deflating, as all the air escapes from her lungs. “There’s no turning back now.”

One by one, we sit back in our plastic seats—and we wait. Stella Rose twirls her mulberry cashmere scarf around her fingertips while Lyric keeps refreshing my page—over and over. And over.

“That’s not going to generate views, ya know,” Lucy snarks at her, sucking her teeth.

Lyric taps her bedazzled nails on the table. “What do you suggest we do? Stella Rose is going to choke herself with that scarf.”

“Wait! I almost forgot,” Stella Rose says, swiping through her phone—back and forth and then back again. “I have a few hashtags I wanted to add, like ‘hashtag TheCookieMonster.’”

“And don’t forget to link my Virtual Cookie app in my bio,” I say, snapping my fingers.

“I’m putting the Virtual Cookie website link in the bio right now so IG can drive traffic right back to the order form and people can buy, buy, buy!” Stella Rose says, typing a million miles a minute. “And on Facebook and TikTok, too, of course.”

“Looks like we’re all set,” I say, nodding at the cell in the center of the table.

I wait as long as I can, but when nobody likes or views the video, I yell, “C’mon!”

I flop my arms around the air above my coily fauxhawk, waiting for someone—anyone—to check out our masterpiece.

“You gave it, like, five seconds. This stuff takes time,” Lucy chastises, trying to keep me calm.

“She’s right, there’s a whole algorithm in place,” Lyric agrees. “And we have to respect the algorithm.”

“Uh-huh,” I grimace, nibbling on my nail beds. “Sure. Respect the algorithm.”

“That’s right,” Lyric says, tugging at the mesh sleeve of her black crop top. “We’re in too deep not to.”

“But what if no one cares?” I sulk, faster than I can catch myself.

Stella Rose tightens her grip on her scarf. “Or even worse, what if no one watches?”

I gnaw on my cuticles, and then the most brillz idea pops into my head. “Now, I know this sounds like a long shot, maybe even a fit of delirium, but just hear me out.”

“We’re listening,” Lyric says, cupping her earlobe.

“What if we tagged Girl Power. I mean, it is their song.”

“You are delirious!” Lucy spouts. “Why would they ever care about—”

“Done!” Stella Rose says, shrugging.

“You didn’t!” I exclaim.

Stella Rose shrugs again. “It can’t hurt.” She turns to reassure me and then grins at Lucy. “Seriously. It can’t hurt, can it?”

For the next five minutes, we sit at our table, refreshing the Insta page over and over, until I can’t take it anymore.

“We need a distraction,” I say after a few somber minutes with zero views.

“I have the perfect one,” Lucy says, grabbing Stella Rose’s laptop. “Where’s your submission video? You know, the one for the documentary you told B you were filming?”

“Oh. Uh,” Stella Rose stalls. “I, uh…”

“What’s with the extra-long pause?” Lyric asks, narrowing her eyes at Stella Rose.

“It’s just not ready yet,” she answers, her focus darting around the room.

We all eye Stella Rose, wondering what’s up with her hesitation to show us what she’s been working on.

“Uh-huh,” Lucy finally says, flipping through all the open tabs on Stella Rose’s computer.

“It’s not there,” Stella Rose finally admits. “Actually, I kind of stopped working on it.”

“You what?” Lucy balks, moving through all her files in her documents folder. “And why would you do that? You’ve been completely consumed with it.”

“It’s no big deal.”

“Uh, yeah it is!” Lyric says. “You’ve been shoving that cam in B’s face every chance you get, catching all the delish cookie moments.”

“She caught a case of the butterflies,” I say, trying to explain gently.

“What’s that even mean?” Lucy barks at Stella Rose. Fast fact: She can be pretty impatient. And today is no different. “This was very important to you, and so now it’s important to us, too.”

And it’s at this exact moment that my heart aches for my friend. I know she didn’t upload a video because of her own anxiety. It’s a real thing, and it comes in many shapes and sizes.

“I’ve been struggling to record the intro part of the video—and it’s mandatory. So I just thought that maybe this wasn’t the right competition for me.”

Lyric and Lucy back down when Stella Rose’s hands get shaky and her cheeks blush red as she wipes the sweat beads from her upper lip. When she struggles to regain her composure, I lean over and clasp my hands together under the table. I nudge her, nodding at my hands, urging her to do the same. When she does, I whisper in her ear, “Now squeeze while you slowly count to five. And do that three times. Don’t skip.”

When she imitates me, I explain, “It’s a little anxiety hack, courtesy of Dr. Simone. Maybe it’ll help.”

I massage her back gently as she moves her lips, silently counting to five.

Lucy’s neck stretches over my shoulder, studying my phone as I keep refreshing. “But farealz, what if no one sees it?”

Lyric crosses her arms over her chest. “Are you kidding me?” she scoffs. “That video is fab! We did an amazy job, and soon enough, everyone will be hyping us to do a whole album.”

“I sure hope so,” I utter, feeling doubtful that the video will supercharge my cookie career.

Lyric pulls her phone from its crocheted holder dangling from her neck. She punches in a few words. Then she punches in a few more. “There.” She sits back in her chair and exhales. “It’s done.”

“What did you do?” My eyes flicker with hope, mostly because she has that look on her face that she gets when she’s about to challenge Mr. Chang about her grade on one of his infamous pop quizzes. Determination!

“I did what I should’ve done in the beginning.”

“And…?” we all ask, waiting for the big reveal.

“I asked my mom to repost the video.”

We all gasp, staring at her like she just stepped up to be the next seventh-grade presidential candidate. As her words land softly on my heart, I reach for her shoulder and rest my hand on it.

“But she never got back to you last time when she was in Boston. Or Baltimore. Or—”

“Yeah, but this involves music. It’s right up her alley.” Lyric grins at the synergy. “Before, selling scout cookies wasn’t exactly a good fit for her socials, but now, this might be more on brand for her.”

“Music is her world,” Stella Rose says, nodding in total agreement.

“And tell her that I’m donating ten percent of my sales to the Our House Grief Support Center in Los Angeles.”

“You’re what?”

“Yep. I mean, some of those kids don’t have a Dr. Simone. And losing someone you love isn’t easy to get through without help.”

“I’m adding that to the caption,” Stella Rose says as she types into her phone.

Lucy checks me out while Lyric just shakes her head. “You never stop amazing me, my friend,” she says before sending off a text update to her mom.

And then we wait. And we wait some more—until Lyric’s phone dings.

We all freeze.

Could this be the one big break I need to send my music video soaring through the World Wide Web?

“Is that her?” Lucy checks to see.

“What’d she say?” I inch to the edge of my seat. “Is she going to repost it?”

“Well…” Lyric starts reading and then… she just sighs. “She said she’ll check it out later. She’s in band rehearsal right now. In Atlanta.” Lyric turns to face me. “But she sends her congrats to you for doing something so cool.”

“I guess that’s something,” I say. “Right?”

Lyric hangs her head and taps her foot on the tiled floor. “I just wish she was more available.” Then she stops and sits up straight, fixing her face to show that she’s perfectly okay with her mom being too busy for her. Then she says it, those words we’ve all come to expect when she’s down in the dumps but she wants to convince us otherwise. “I’m good. It’s all good. Everything’s good.” She looks up from her phone, and we all reluctantly nod back at her.

“Have you ever thought about telling her exactly how you feel?” Stella Rose whisper-asks.

“I do tell her.” The corners of Lyric’s mouth drop into a scowl. “I just did—in that text.”

“Well, not exactly,” Lucy disagrees. “You asked her for something. Maybe follow that up by letting her know just how important stuff is to you, like you just told us.”

“What she’s doing is far more important than anything I could ever want. You have to understand the music biz; it’s pretty demanding.” Lyric turns her head to the big window and stares out of it. “I want to be just like her when I grow up, only maybe I’ll make more time for my daughter.”

“You matter, too,” I say, trying not to upset her. “You’re twelve. And you need stuff. So, like, maybe if you tried expressing what you need from her, she’d be more available.”

“So… what are you suggesting?”

“Well, Dr. Simone tells me to write everything down. Maybe you could write down how you’re feeling and then give it to her.”

Stella Rose points to her phone. “Or send it to her, like in an email.”

Lucy’s brows dance around her head while she ponders our latest conundrum. Then she adds, “Or even a text. That could work, too.”

Lyric slumps deeper into her chair and starts stabbing at the chocolate chips in her cup. “I don’t know. I probably shouldn’t bug her.”

“Dr. Simone says we have to be able to share how we’re feeling, and writing it down is the least scary way of all.”

“I’m not scared,” Lyric bites back at us. “That’s dumb. She’s my mom.”

“Good,” Lucy says, grabbing her iPad and opening a fresh email. “Then try typing a few lines and see how you feel.”

But when Lyric doesn’t budge, Lucy begins typing for her.

Dear Mom,

“I wouldn’t start it that way,” Lyric says, sucking her teeth.

“Then type whatever you—”

Lucy stops talking when an email notification flashes onto the screen—from her mom.

“OMG!” Lucy shrieks as she reads the short note. “Crud!”

“What happened, Luce?” I ask, looking over her shoulder to read her mom’s very stern words.

Get home right now! Who bought all this stuff? And how did you pay for this? You have some explaining to do. And so does your sister!

“No!” Lucy covers her mouth with her hand. “She found the Amazon shipment of stuff for my accessories.”

Stella Rose leans over, too, taking a closer look at the words. “I thought your sister was going to sign for it.”

Lucy shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe she wasn’t there to intercept the delivery.”

“What did your mom say?” I point to the screen.

“I have to get home.” Lucy moves faster than I’ve ever seen. “Double crud!”

“Lucy,” Lyric begins as Lucy tosses her iPad into her backpack. “What would happen if you told your mom exactly how you feel? You know, told her how important your shop is to you?”

“I see what you’re doing.” Lucy wriggles her finger around in the air. “Don’t try to turn this around on me.”

“She does have a point, Luce,” I say. “It might actually help.”

“You don’t understand. My parents aren’t like yours. They’re super serious about my career in… in… in…”

“Medicine!” Lyric snaps. “See, you can’t even say the word. That’s how much you detest the very idea.”

“Facts,” I say, snapping my fingers. “Looks like Lyric’s not the only one who needs to have a heart-to-heart with the parentals.”

“Just think about it. Both my parents came to this country with nothing but the clothes on their backs. They tell me this story every time I start a new school year. They didn’t have anything. And they made a life for themselves and worked overtime to put themselves through college. They only want what’s best for me, and the way they see it, becoming a doctor will make their struggles all worth it.”

“But that’s not what you want,” I say, tugging on her elbow. When she pulls away, I don’t fight her. I know when to back off. And now is that exact time!

“They’ve sacrificed everything for me. Even though it’s not what I want, it’s what I need—to make them happy.” Lucy zips her backpack and heads for the door. “I gotta go. Pray that I don’t get put on punishment for the rest of my life.”

Stella Rose and I make the sign of the cross.

Lyric reaches for her phone and pulls up an empty email.

“‘Dear Mom,’” she starts.

Stella Rose nods at me with a sparkle in her eyes that says it’s all going to work out, and I’m filled with hope that someone at this table will get what they deserve today. And it’s perfectly okay that it’s not me.