Blaire Cooks Up a Plan (American Girl

  FOR MY GRANDMOTHER SADYE GARONZIK,

  WHO SHOWED ME WHAT IT MEANS TO

  TRULY MAKE A DIFFERENCE

  —J.C

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: Kids in Pajamas

  Chapter 2: Super-Bonita!

  Chapter 3: Monday Madness

  Chapter 4: Helping Hands

  Chapter 5: Inspiration in the Attic

  Chapter 6: It’s Just Pizza

  Chapter 7: A Party for Our Whole Town

  Chapter 8: Like Oil and Water

  Chapter 9: Operation Awesome Sauce

  Chapter 10: Big Just Got Bigger

  Chapter 11: Prep Day

  Chapter 12: Sauce Day

  Chapter 13: A Jarring Experience

  Chapter 14: Officially Friends?

  Chapter 15: Best Room Makeover Ever

  Chapter 16: Making the Case

  Blaire’s Favorite Recipes

  About the Author

  Special Thanks

  Learn more about Blaire

  Request a catalogue

  Copyright

  You learn something new every day.

  That’s what Grandpa always says. Here’s my something-new for today:

  It’s not easy to put pajamas on a baby goat.

  “Dash! Sit still!” I scolded this particular goat. Dash was a four-month-old kid, brown with a thick black stripe down his back. Right now, though, he was acting more like an octopus, wriggling his little hooves as I tried to slip them into the pajamas. His best friend, our lamb Penelope, was already prancing around their pen in her pink-flowered pj’s. At least she recognized a fashion Do when she saw it.

  My own (human) best friend, Thea, knelt down beside me. “Need help? Two human kids should be able to get one goat kid into pajamas.”

  “Yes, please!” I laughed, and she held Dash gently, rubbing his soft ears. It took a few more minutes, but Thea and I finally managed to get tops and bottoms on this goat. “Whew,” I said as Dash squirmed out of our arms. “That was a workout I didn’t expect.”

  “Purple polka dots are so you, Dash,” Thea said as he raced to the other side of the pen.

  “Comfy, right?”

  In the coop next to the pen, the chickens clucked loudly. I wasn’t sure if they approved or if they were laughing at Dash. He didn’t seem to care. He bounced up onto a hay bale and then jumped down to the ground. Up onto the hay, then down again. It was like he had springs in his legs. Dash ran over to Penny and they sniffed each other’s pajamas before he started chasing her around the toddler-sized play set we’d put in their pen. Penny jumped to the top of the plastic slide and skittered. Dash followed.

  “Looks like it’s thumbs-up on the pj’s,” I told Thea. “Or, I guess, hooves up.”

  “Too. Much. Cuteness,” Thea said in her robot voice. “System. Overload. May. Explode.”

  “I didn’t know I’d be sew successful,” I told Thea, spelling out my joke for her. “The pj’s were just a fun project with all my spare time after Cat and Gabe’s wedding.”

  Caterina Minardi was our farm manager. She and her fiancé, Gabe, had just gotten married in the renovated barn here at Pleasant View Farm, my home and my family’s business. Cat felt like a member of our family, and I was thrilled when she’d let me help her plan the wedding. But once the wedding was over, I had a lot of time on my hands. So my hands made pajamas, from an idea I got watching an online video about creating kids’ pj’s from old blankets.

  Baaaaah.

  Penny was standing between me and Thea, giving us the lamb version of the stink-eye.

  “What is it, Penny?” I asked. “Are you mad that we’re not in our pajamas, too?”

  “We’ll take care of that right away,” Thea added, and we both climbed into the two-person tent my dad had set up on the lawn just outside the animal pen.

  This wasn’t just a pajama party … it was a sleepover with a lamb and a goat.

  “I’m so happy we’re finally doing this!” Thea said as she pulled a pajama top over her head. “No more wedding craziness.”

  I nodded. I’d been promising Thea we’d do this sleepover for two months—ever since my family adopted Dash and Penny. But then Cat and Gabe’s big event took over my life.

  “Better September than never,” I said. “But you have to admit, that wedding was fun!”

  “The wedding, yes,” Thea agreed. “The planning? Not so much.”

  “Well, things are back to normal now,” I said as we finished changing and climbed out of the tent. “It’s just you and me and a couple of baby animals in pj’s.”

  Penny and Dash were still hopping around the pen.

  “Hey!” Thea shouted at them. “You guys started the dance party without us? How dare you!” She turned and pointed at me. “Cue the sleepover soundtrack.”

  I grabbed my tablet, found the music playlist I’d made for this special occasion, and turned the volume all the way up.

  Thea and I shimmied and shook. Penny and Dash boomeranged back and forth across the pen, which was obviously the goat and lamb version of dancing. I stood Penny up on her hind legs, holding her front ones so it looked like we were doing a waltz. We took about a zillion selfies with the animals and sent them to our friends.

  After a couple of songs, Dash and Penny made a beeline for their water trough. Thea and I collapsed into a pile of hay.

  “Best … dance party … ever,” Thea gasped as she tried to catch her breath.

  Baaaah, Penny agreed.

  “Um, why are the animals wearing pajamas?” a voice above us asked.

  I looked up to see my little brother, Beckett, standing outside the pen in a sequined silver vest and a black top hat.

  “Um, what are you wearing?” I asked, sitting up.

  “This is my costume,” Beckett said. “Dad said Dash could be the main attraction at our booth for the Bluefield Harvest Festival. I’ve got two weeks to work on our act.” Beckett straightened his hat. “Can I show you the tricks we’ve got so far?”

  “Go for it,” I said, then whispered to Thea, “This should be good.”

  As Beckett opened the gate, he pulled a container of licorice-flavored goat treats out of his pocket and shook them. Dash rushed over to Beckett as if someone had just flipped Dash’s On switch.

  “Okay, Dash,” Beckett said. “First, give me a high five.”

  Beckett held out his hand, and Dash put one of his hooves in Beckett’s palm.

  “Good boy!” Beckett gave Dash a treat as Thea and I raised our eyebrows at each other. “Now,” continued Beckett, “show me your best goat disco moves.”

  This time Beckett held his hand way above his head and started walking backward. Dash stood up on his hind legs and “danced” as he followed Beckett.

  “That’s a pretty great move,” Thea whispered to me. “What should we call it?”

  “Maybe instead of the ‘Nae Nae,’ this could be the ‘Maaaah Maaaah,’” I murmured back.

  While Thea and I were giggling, Beckett was still backing up. And since he’d left the gate to the pen open, he was headed right for our tent.

  “Watch out—” I called, just as my brother tripped on one of the tent cords and stumbled through the opening. A half second later, Dash jumped over him and into the tent.

  “Help!” Beckett whimpered, struggling to untangle himself from the tent cord. His hat fell off, and Dash took a bite of the rim. “My magic hat!” Beckett cried.

  I helped Beckett with the cord and pulled him to his feet. But when I crawled into the tent to get Dash, I couldn’t find him.

  “Well, Beckett, it looks like that ha
t still has magic,” I called. “You made Dash disappear.”

  “Huh?” Beckett asked, poking his head into the tent.

  There was no goat.

  But suddenly, there was a lamb. Penny had nosed her way inside, past Beckett, and was sniffing around. Beckett climbed in after her. We were definitely pushing the limits of the “two-person” part of this tent.

  Then I saw Thea’s sleeping bag move.

  “Dash!”

  I grabbed at the bag, but Dash had squirmed his way to the bottom, twisting it up as he went along.

  “Thea! We need backup!” I called.

  Thea rushed into the tent. Beckett held the Dash-lump still while Thea and I tried to untwist and unzip the sleeping bag. But as soon as we made enough room for Dash to crawl out of the bag, Penny started to crawl in.

  “Thea, grab Penny!” I shouted.

  When I managed to completely unzip the bag, there was Dash, with Thea’s pillow in his mouth. Well, part of a pillow.

  “Bad goat,” I scolded, pulling the pillow away from him.

  Dash hopped out of the tent, and Penny trotted after him.

  Thea and I looked at Beckett.

  “That,” said Beckett, “is not part of the act.”

  The sun was starting to set behind the Shawangunk Ridge in the distance, and the air felt cooler, crisper. I loved fall in Bluefield, our corner of New York’s Hudson Valley. I couldn’t wait for the leaves to start changing colors, and for many of the fruits and vegetables we grew to be ready for harvesting, cooking, and sharing.

  After we sent Beckett and his magic hat back to the house and got Thea a new sleeping bag and pillow, we took the pj’s off Penny and Dash and tucked them into their shed for the night.

  “One tent, two people,” Thea said as we crawled into our tent.

  “What a concept,” I replied, turning on the battery-powered lantern. The window flaps were up, and we could hear crickets and cicadas singing their familiar chorus. We flopped onto our sleeping bags, and Thea rolled toward me, propping her head on one elbow.

  “Um, you have hay in your hair,” I said.

  “You too,” she replied. “It’s barnyard bedhead. Wanna play Best and Worst?”

  “Sure,” I replied. “You go first.”

  Thea thought for a moment. “Best and Worst things about fifth grade so far.” She rolled onto her back and stared at the top of the tent before continuing. “Best: Rosie, Amadi, and Sabrina are all in our class this year. We’re going to have a blast. Worst: We’re going to get more homework. And it sounds like our projects will be harder.”

  “But they sound like fun, too,” I said. “I can’t wait to start the Fifth-Grade Community Service Challenge.”

  Thea rolled back to face me, her eyes lighting up. “Remember my cousin George and his Challenge project—Cans for a Cause? Not only did he collect a thousand cans of dog food for the animal shelter, but he stacked them in the shape of a doghouse.”

  “How could I forget? We’ve been walking by that framed newspaper article about him every day since second grade!”

  Right inside the entrance to Bluefield Elementary, there was a COMMUNITY SERVICE ALL-STARS display case, showing the volunteer projects over the years that were unique or made an extra-big difference. When we got to school last week, there was a sign above the case that read, HEY, FIFTH-GRADE LEADERS! READY TO RISE TO THE CHALLENGE THIS YEAR?

  “It would be awesome to see our projects on display,” I said.

  “Definitely,” Thea agreed. “But we have to come up with projects first. Hey—maybe we could make a thousand pairs of animal pajamas!”

  I laughed. “That would be one way to leave a mark on the community.”

  “Okay,” Thea said. “Your turn. Best and Worst.”

  “Best is easy. Ms. Lewis is a really cool teacher.”

  We’d been back at school for only a few days, but I already knew she was great. She’d made a gift bag for every kid in the class with clues to what we’d be learning this year, like polar bear pencils and fraction dominoes.

  “My Worst is …” I paused, because I hadn’t told Thea my news yet. “My Worst is having to get used to eating dairy-free at school.”

  “What do you mean?” Thea asked, giving me a confused look. “I thought you were just on a trial for the summer.”

  “I was,” I said, flopping onto my back. “I went back to the doctor last week, and she gave me the go-ahead to eat dairy again.”

  “Seriously?” Thea sat up. “That’s great,” she cried.

  “It would have been great if I didn’t get sick right away. I had some of Mom’s homemade macaroni and cheese, and after I ate it, I got cramps and ended up in the bathroom for an hour. I tried some ice cream a few days later, and the same thing happened.”

  “Oh”—Thea’s shoulders slumped forward—“so no dairy ever?”

  I sat up and hugged my knees to my chest. “Not for the foreseeable future. That’s what the doctor said. My lactose intolerance is bad enough that even a little bit will make me feel rotten. So no dairy for now.”

  “Oh, Blaire, that stinks,” Thea said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I was hoping I could just go back to eating anything I wanted.”

  “But it has gotten easier to avoid dairy, right?” Thea asked.

  I shrugged. At the beginning of summer, when I was first diagnosed, it was really hard to be dairy-free. “Yeah, it’s definitely easier here at home. But school … well, it’s …”

  “It’s school,” Thea said. “I get it.”

  I nodded. “I know you do. But other kids don’t. I know they’re going to ask questions, and I just don’t like to talk about it …” I let my voice trail off. I didn’t even like to talk about it with Thea.

  “I bet no one will even notice,” Thea said kindly.

  “They will when I say ‘no, thanks’ to someone’s birthday cookies. It’s going to be so obvious.”

  “It doesn’t have to be,” Thea insisted. “It’s not like you won’t be eating anything. Your mom sent in all those dairy-free snacks. You’ll just eat those. No biggie.”

  I sighed. No biggie for her. “I just wanted this to magically go away.” I flopped down onto my sleeping bag and covered my face with my pillow.

  Thea lifted up a corner of my pillow. “You could try Beckett’s magic hat. If it can make a goat disappear, who knows what else it can do.”

  MAAAAH.

  Dash bleated from inside the shed as though he’d been listening. Thea and I burst out laughing.

  “So much for magic,” I said.

  I woke to the sound of chickens clucking. I was used to hearing them from my third-floor bedroom, but sleeping right next to the coop was a whole new experience. I stretched and listened to the morning music of their squawks and calls.

  Thea sat up, rubbing her eyes. “What is all that racket?”

  “It’s the Pleasant View Farm wake-up call,” I told her. “Isn’t it great?”

  “No. It’s early,” Thea said with a yawn.

  “Well, Penny and Dash are up.” I heard them rattling the door of their shed. “Want to help me feed them?”

  Thea and I pulled on work boots before letting Penny and Dash out into their pen. I gave them hay while Thea filled the trough with fresh water. Then we scattered seed for the chickens.

  “Is it time for us to eat now?” Thea asked.

  “Yes! Let’s grab some eggs and make breakfast.”

  At my house, “grab some eggs” means getting them fresh from the nests. As we made our way to the indoor nesting boxes, I picked up my favorite chicken, a Silkie I’d named Dandelion because of the way the feathers on her head poufed out like dandelion fluff.

  I nuzzled her soft, warm body. “Next time, we’ll have a dance party with you guys, promise,” I whispered to her.

  Dandy clucked as if to say, Don’t you dare try to put me in pajamas.

  “Blaire, your bedhead makes you and Dandelion look like tw
ins,” Thea teased.

  We gathered as many eggs as we could hold in our pajama tops and headed toward the house. I could smell something great coming from the kitchen: Mom making breakfast for the B-and-B guests.

  My mom is an amazing cook—she’s the chef at our farm-to-table restaurant. She taught me everything I know about cooking. This morning I was going to create a feast for Thea and me.

  “What’ll it be?” I asked Thea as we approached the big front porch. “Omelette? Frittata? Oh—I just found a new recipe for almond milk french toast.”

  Before Thea could answer, there was a roar from the road. We turned to see a motorcycle zooming up the driveway. The bike was bright red and the rider was wearing a red leather suit and matching red helmet.

  “Well, that’s something you don’t see every day,” Thea muttered next to me.

  Actually, it wasn’t that unusual. Between the restaurant and the B and B, there were all sorts of vehicles appearing in my driveway. Every day, someone new and interesting showed up at Pleasant View Farm. I loved getting to know our guests.

  The motorcycle came to a stop, and the rider climbed off.

  “Good morning!” a man’s voice called from inside the helmet. It sounded oddly familiar, but I didn’t know anyone who rode a red motorcycle. Who was this?

  Then he pulled off his helmet.

  OH. MY. GOSH.

  No. Way,” Thea whispered next to me. “Is that really …”

  “Marco Gonzalez,” I finished.

  OMG, times a million. Marco Gonzalez’s online video channel, Room Revolutions, is one of our favorites. He’s a designer who always comes up with something that makes you go, Whoa!

  Marco smiled wide, put his helmet down on the seat of the motorcycle, and began walking toward us.

  “Uh, Blaire,” Thea murmured to me. “FYI, you now have hay and chicken feathers in your hair.”

  “I do?” I wanted to brush my hand through my hair, but I was holding the corners of my shirt to cradle the eggs.

  OMG. Not a shirt! A pajama top!

  I felt heat rush straight from my feet up to the back of my neck. My favorite celebrity designer had appeared at my front porch … and here I was in my pj’s and dirty work boots. With hay and feathers in my hair.