Blaire Cooks Up a Plan (American Girl Page 4

  When Grandpa started chatting with the crew, Thea looked at me and stroked an imaginary beard. It was something she did as part of her “evil villain” character.

  “So …” Thea said, sounding super devious. “Where should we start our snooping? Upstairs?”

  “Oh yeah,” I said. “Race you.”

  I took off up the staircase, Thea behind me. We stopped short on the second-floor landing. There was a long hall lined with doors. All the doors were open, and dust motes floated in the dim light. Creepy.

  “Let’s go all the way up,” Thea said. “Ghosts love attics.”

  We climbed another flight of stairs and found another long hallway. It was darker, and creepier, up here. All the doors were closed.

  “This is my kind of spooky,” Thea said, then put her hand on the first door’s knob. “Okay, what do you think is in here?”

  “Hmmmm,” I said. “Probably a bedroom.”

  It was an empty closet. We made our way down the hall, making crazy guesses about what was behind each door. A bathroom big enough for an elephant to take a shower. A kid’s bedroom filled with stuffed animals. Of course we were wrong every time. The rooms were all empty and dark.

  “Now this one,” Thea said, reaching for the handle of a narrow door at the end of the hallway, “is a portal to a secret universe where pigs fly and … everyone’s purple.”

  “Okay, then,” I said, laughing. “Let’s go!”

  I flung open the door, expecting to see another closet.

  WHOA.

  “Stairs!” Thea exclaimed. “Steps to a secret universe! Told you!”

  “Or to the ghost’s bedroom,” I said. The stairs were narrow, even narrower than the back stairway at my house, and they didn’t look all that sturdy.

  “Come on,” Thea said as she started climbing the stairs.

  “Maybe we should go up with an adult …” I said, but Thea was already halfway up.

  When we reached the top of the stairs, Thea flicked a light switch in the wall.

  WHOA again.

  It was a giant attic space, stretching as far as we could see—it must have gone the length of the whole house. The wooden beams of the arching roof reminded me of a cathedral we visited in the city once. Thea and I took a few steps. The floors creaked under our feet.

  “Gah!” Thea exclaimed as she walked right into a spiderweb.

  “Ew,” I said, wiping the web from her face and flicking it off my fingers.

  “I’m okay,” Thea said, distracted. She walked into the middle of the space and turned slowly in a circle. “If this were my house, I’d turn this into the Theodora Theater. I’d build a stage down at that end, with seats over here.” Thea motioned with her arms to show me where her audience would be. “Then we’d have a place to perform our own plays and stuff! What about you?”

  “I’d turn this into a playroom …” I looked up at the wooden beams. BAM. Idea-spark! “Wait, not just a playroom. A playground. With swings and everything!”

  “Super-bonita!” a voice boomed behind us.

  Thea and I screamed.

  It was just Marco, but my heart was pounding. “I had no idea you were there,” I stammered.

  “Sorry,” Marco said with a laugh as the rest of the crew followed him up into the attic. “But what else would be in this attic playground of yours, Blaire?” he asked.

  “What else?” I asked, starting to walk around, getting a feel for the space and my idea-spark. “Well, it’s tall enough for a fort with different levels. And a climbing wall. And slides—that land in a huge ball pit.” I looked up at the beams. “You could hang swings from the rafters, and some rope ladders, too. And there’s plenty of space for a seesaw.”

  Marco retraced my loop around the attic, followed by his crew. He was smiling. “I’m seeing what you’re seeing,” he said. “What would you put on the walls?”

  “That side could be painted blue with white clouds, like a sky,” I said, then pointed to the other wall. “And that one could be painted dark blue with stars, like night.”

  “Yes! I see that, too! Ah, this will be a fantastic surprise for the Masons.”

  “Wait—you’re really going to turn this attic into an indoor playground?” I asked in disbelief.

  “Of course!” Marco said. “It’s too good of an idea. The family has four kids. They would love it, and it would be a true room revolution, no? Suzanne! Come, come, let’s capture this inspiration into notes.”

  Suzanne rushed over to Marco and they started talking, the camera crew circling them.

  Thea stepped up beside me and took my hand, squeezing it. “A-mazing,” she said.

  BAM. Idea-spark number three.

  “Hey, Marco?” I said. “Thea had a great idea. There should be a stage and seats at one end. The kids can act out skits and put on plays.”

  “Fantastico!” Marco exclaimed.

  Thea’s eyes grew wide. She squeezed my hand even tighter. Our ideas were going to be on Room Revolutions!

  “This is SO much better than finding a ghost,” she whispered.

  When I got home, Beckett was in the pen with Dash and Penny. He was wearing his magic hat and holding my old Hula-Hoop.

  “How’s the goat act coming along?” I asked.

  “Great,” Beckett answered. “Now I’m teaching Dash how to jump through a hoop.”

  Behind Beckett, Dash was chewing on the hoop.

  “Good luck,” I called, heading inside.

  I found Mom and Dad in the Pleasant View Farm office.

  “We don’t even have a calendar for 2021 yet!” Dad was saying as I peeked my head in. He and Mom were sitting at a round table, with papers spread out in front of them.

  “Well, we’d better get one,” Mom replied. “People plan weddings really far in advance. Hi, honey.”

  “How was the house Marco’s working on?” Dad asked.

  “It was amazing.” I sat down and told them everything, from the spooky driveway to the attic adventure and my idea for the playground. “And Marco says he’s going to do it!”

  Mom was impressed. “That all sounds pretty exciting.”

  “Here’s the best part,” I said. “He filmed me telling him my ideas, and he wants to put it in the show. But he needs your permission first.”

  Mom and Dad exchanged a glance, and Dad said, “Okay. We’ll talk to Marco when he comes back.”

  “Fantastico!” I said. Then I jumped up. “I’ll be upstairs. I have to watch some Room Revolutions episodes for more inspiration. See you later.”

  “Hold up there, TV star.”

  I turned back.

  “You seem to be forgetting something,” Mom said, tapping her watch. “It’s called Chore Revolution. Visiting Marco’s set doesn’t get you out of that.”

  “Ah, right,” I said. I looked at the papers on the table and saw that they were calendar pages. “What’s going on here?”

  “Empire State Weddings hit the stands yesterday,” Dad explained. “We’ve gotten over thirty emails from people interested in booking the Barn at Pleasant View Farm. Not to mention about fifty phone calls.”

  The phone out on the front desk began to ring.

  “Make that fifty-one,” Mom said. “Marco was right. We’re about to get busier than we’ve ever been before. We’ve already booked every weekend through the end of the year.”

  That was great news. “I can fill in at the front desk whenever you need,” I chimed in. “And I’m always ready to help with more event designs …”

  “Nice try,” Mom said. “But remember—school comes first.”

  “I know. But I’ll have time on the weekends.”

  “Blaire, I know you’re not happy unless you’re creating or organizing or designing something,” Dad said, getting up and putting his arm around me. “But don’t take on more than you can manage.”

  “I won’t,” I said.

  “Well, you won’t mean to,” Mom added.

  “Okaaaay.” I sighed. “I
get it.”

  “Good,” Dad said, kissing the top of my head. “End of lecture. Off to your chores.”

  I held the box in my lap, flipping through my newly created recipe cards as Dad drove me and Beckett to school. “Tell me what you ended up with,” Dad said.

  I pulled the first card out and read it. “Forest Giant Fingers.”

  “Oven-fried green beans,” Dad said. “Right?”

  “Right,” I answered. “It’s the best way to eat a green bean.”

  Dad nodded. “Next?”

  “Maple-Bacon Roasted Carrots.”

  Dad smacked his lips. “Mmmmm … maple-bacon anything sounds delicious.”

  “Definitely! Next is Spinach and Potato Stars,” I said.

  “Those are even better when they’re shaped like bugs,” Beckett offered from the back seat.

  “I’ll make a note of that,” I said. Then I looked at Dad and shook my head.

  I flipped to the next card. “Veggie Rainbow Kabobs with Cloud Sauce.”

  “Cloud sauce?” Dad asked.

  “Ranch dressing,” I answered.

  “With a clever name!” Dad said.

  I pulled out the last card. “And finally, Broccoli Cheddar Hug-in-a-Bowl.”

  “Why don’t you just call it soup?” Beckett asked.

  “Because this is the ultimate comfort food, and it’s too comforting to just call it soup,” I explained.

  “But you can’t even eat that anymore,” Beckett said. “Or the ranch dressing.”

  I turned to look at Beckett in the back seat. “No, but these are my all-time favorites,” I said. “I’m pretty sure Abby and the other kids will like them.” I turned around and looked at Dad. “Maybe Mom would help me experiment with a nondairy version of the cheddar soup.”

  Dad reached over and squeezed my shoulder. “I’m sure she would. I’m proud of you, honey. You’ve done a great job learning to cook—and eat—without dairy.”

  “Thanks.” I sighed. I wanted to tell Dad that it was still kinda hard. Especially at school. But Beckett was leaning forward, peering into the shoebox in my lap.

  “How many of those cards are in there?” he asked.

  “I made five copies of each recipe. Hopefully, twenty-five kids like Abby will try them.”

  “We’ll know soon enough,” Dad said, pulling into the Helping Hands parking lot.

  I’d wanted to drop the cards off today, before the food pantry distribution hours tomorrow. That way, kids could take the cards home when they came to get groceries for the week. Dad pulled up in front of the entrance, and I hopped out. Eileen met me outside the front door.

  “Wowza, Blaire,” she said as I handed her the box. I’d covered it with green paper and drawn vines and vegetables all over it so it looked like a garden. On the top of the box, I’d written, HEY, KIDS! COOK UP SOME FUN WITH FRESH VEGGIES! “Thank you so much!” Eileen added. “Abby and the other kids are going to love this!”

  “I hope so,” I said, climbing back into the car.

  As we headed for school, I asked Dad if he thought the recipe cards should be my official project for the Community Service Challenge. “I’m supposed to find something that’s important and interesting to me,” I explained.

  “Well, this does seem to fit the bill,” Dad said.

  “True, but I’m not sure it’s big enough.”

  Dad smiled. “Well, I guess it depends on what you mean by ‘big,’” he said. “You went to the center to donate clothes, and ended up creating these recipe cards. Cat went to the center with you and she ended up arranging for Pleasant View Farm to donate produce to the pantry every week. So you started a chain reaction of helping. That seems big to me.”

  I thought about what Marco had said at the Mason house. “Something small can become something big.”

  Would this little box of cards become something big enough for my Community Service Challenge project?

  “Okay, my friends!” Ms. Lewis called. “Line up for lunch!”

  It was the first Pizza Friday of the year, and I’d been dreading it ever since the first Monday Madness snack episode. I had to eat something different, and this time I’d be in the cafeteria, in front of the whole school.

  “Maybe Ms. Lewis would let me eat in the classroom,” I said to Thea. “Or I could go to the nurse’s office.”

  “Nope,” Thea said matter-of-factly. “There’s just going to be another Pizza Friday next month, and then another and another. Better to get this over with.”

  I went to my cubby and grabbed my lunch box. I knew I’d be the only one who had brought lunch from home. Everybody got pizza on Friday. It was the best day of the month. Or used to be.

  It’s still Pizza Friday, I told myself as I walked down the hall with my friends. Just a new version for me.

  Since I didn’t have to go through the cafeteria food line, I was the first one of my friends to sit down at our usual table, third on the right next to the window. I started unpacking my lunch box.

  Sabrina plopped her tray onto the table and slid into the seat across from me. The pizza on her plate smelled so, so good. I tried not to look at it as I opened the container I’d brought.

  “What’s in there?” Sabrina asked.

  “My own personal dairy-free pizza,” I replied. “Mom and I made the crust last night and baked it this morning. She packed it so it would stay warm.”

  We’d done some experimenting and found a kind of soy cheese that tasted melty-gooey good. The sauce was made with tomatoes we’d grown on the farm. The pepperoni was from one of the meat suppliers we used for the restaurant.

  “Anything you and your mom make is amazing,” Sabrina said.

  “Your mini-pizza is adorable!” Amadi said as she sank down next to me.

  “I wish our pizza had pepperoni on it,” Rosie added as she settled into her seat.

  I took a bite of my little pizza just as two girls from another class walked past our table.

  “Since when do you bring your own pizza on Fridays, Blaire?” one of them asked.

  I blushed a deep red. Just like on Mondays, it felt like the room was suddenly quiet and everyone was staring at me.

  Thea slammed her tray down next to me and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Blaire brings her own pizza. Is that a problem?” She took a step toward the girls, and they hurried away, looking sorry they asked.

  I started laughing. “Thanks, cafeteria guard dog,” I told Thea as she sat down.

  “Woof, woof. Anytime,” Thea said with a grin. “I mean, seriously, it’s just pizza. And it’s not like you’re the only one with food stuff to deal with.” She pointed over at the Nut-Free Table, where kids who had nut allergies sat to make sure they weren’t exposed to anything that could make them sick.

  “You’re right,” I said. “Being around other people eating dairy isn’t dangerous for me.” I was glad I didn’t have to sit at a separate table, without my friends. There were plenty of people who had it worse than me in the Foods You Can’t Eat department. Some kids could get really sick, like rush-to-the-hospital sick, if they accidentally ate something with nuts in it. If I ate dairy, I’d get some pretty bad stomach cramps, but that wasn’t the same thing.

  Eli walked past our table, holding his tray, scanning the room for a place to sit. He found an empty table in the corner and sat down by himself.

  “He’s done that every day this week,” Amadi whispered. “It’s like he doesn’t even want to try to make friends.”

  “We should invite him to sit with us,” I suggested, climbing out of my seat.

  “That’s nice of you, Blaire!” Rose said.

  “Mighty People Person to the rescue!” Thea added.

  I noticed that Eli’s T-shirt said GUESS WHAT? with a picture of a chicken and an arrow pointing to its rear end. It took me a second to figure it out: Guess what, chicken butt? I giggled. Eli had a good sense of humor in there somewhere.

  “Hey,” I said, with a little wave.

&n
bsp; “Mmmmm,” Eli replied, chewing his pizza. Then he swallowed and said, “What’s up?”

  “Do you want to come sit with us?”

  Eli peered over at our table, where my friends were pretending not to look at him, even though it was totally obvious they were looking at him. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

  “Okay. Then can I sit here for a minute?”

  Eli just shrugged. I sat down.

  “So what do you think of Bluefield so far?” I asked.

  “Haven’t seen much yet,” he mumbled, looking up at me for only a second, then back down at his pizza. “My mom and I have been busy unpacking. But … mountains, yeah. Lots of woods and farms, cool.”

  I sat up straighter. “I live on a farm. My family owns Pleasant View Farm. Have you heard of it?”

  Eli shook his head.

  “We’ll have a booth at the Bluefield Harvest Festival tomorrow. You should come visit us there. There’s food, crafts, music, and a farmers’ market. They close off Main Street, and the library runs a used book sale. There’s even a bounce house and pony rides.”

  “Pony rides?” Eli said.

  “Okay, maybe that’s not your style,” I said with a laugh. “But the bicycle shop has a booth right by the Rail Trail, and you can get your bike tuned up for free. The festival’s a great way to check out all the different things to do around here.”

  “Bluefield Harvest Festival,” Eli said. “Got it.”

  He started eating again, and I kept talking.

  “We’ll have some of our produce for sale,” I added. “We grow food on the farm, and my mom’s the chef at our restaurant. My grandpa runs a bed-and-breakfast in our house. And my dad just renovated an old barn for big events like weddings. I helped. We have chickens and a goat and a lamb. I just made them pajamas.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Pajamas?”

  “You kind of have to see it to get how awesome it was. If you go to the blog on our farm website, there’s a video.”

  Now Eli put down his pizza, and his eyes looked bright and excited. “You make videos?”

  “Sometimes. Why?”

  “I make them, too. Like, all the time. I started making them with my—”