2. Went to a movie with Kenny White because the school colors are green and white and everyone thought we should go out. His mom took us. We hardly talked the whole time and avoided eye contact at school for, like, a month after.
3. Sort of kissed Daniel Hansen at Genna’s pool party last summer. Someone dared him to. He mostly missed my mouth, thereby kissing only a very small section of my chin. After that, I jumped in the pool and contemplated not surfacing for several hours. My lungs betrayed me and I had to come up. Stupid lungs.
I wasn’t like Genna. Her latest drama was with a freshman named Josh from her theater group, who refused to accept that Genna wanted to break up with him. He called and texted her tiny pink cell about ten times a day. Just in case you were curious, I don’t have a cell phone, tiny, pink or otherwise, because my mom says I am too young. Sigh.
Zoe hangs out with this nice guy named Peter who plays soccer and lives two blocks over. I wasn’t even sure if Zo liked Peter that way, but it was a good system for both of them because they always had someone to play basketball with and no harassment from the gossips at our middle school. Whenever Genna bugged Zoe for make-out tips, Zoe just looked at her like she’s crazy and changed the subject. Zoe doesn’t have time for romantic problems. She’s a genius, as far as I can tell. Her mother and stepfather give her enough to worry about. They expect Zo to, like, win the French Open or a Nobel Prize, preferably both. I guess it’s the high-pressure approach. Thank God my mom and dad are at least somewhat normal. Genna and I sometimes feel bad for Zoe and worry about her. Since she’s on her parents’ regimented academic-and-athletic-full-ride-to-Harvard track, Gen and I end up hanging out without her a lot of the time.
“So you wanna get Beth to take us to Shorewood so we can go spy on Zach? I think his bedroom’s on the first floor.”
“Gen!”
“What?” All innocence, of course.
“Focus, Genna. Focus. What we really need to do is figure out how to get more people into my grandmother’s shop.” I hated to interrupt Gen when she was in boy mode, but some things were just more important.
“You’re right. You’re totally right. I promise I’ll think about it and come up with something great. I love the Leaf.” She looked serious, even grabbing the Handbook and hugging it to her chest. I decided we needed some tea to inspire us, so we wandered down to the kitchen. I filled up the stovetop kettle and pulled two mugs out of the cupboard.
Genna paged through the Handbook and her face lit up with happy nostalgia. It made me glad to see her remember all of her own contributions to the book. I knew that she understood how important it was to help the Leaf now. We clinked our teacups together and it felt just like old times. I smiled; we would do whatever it took.
Mom’s Gingerbread Cupcake with Lemon Cream Cheese Frosting
* * *
INGREDIENTS
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
cup white sugar
cup molasses
1 egg
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1 teaspoon crystallized ginger, finely chopped
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ teaspoon ground allspice
½ teaspoon ground nutmeg
¼ teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
cup milk
8 ounces cream cheese
¼ cup half-and-half
1½ teaspoons lemon zest, finely grated
2 cups powdered sugar
* * *
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Line a muffin tin with paper liners.
In a large bowl combine the butter with white sugar. Add the molasses and the egg to the creamed mixture.
In another bowl stir the flour, two kinds of ginger, cinnamon, allspice, nutmeg, and salt together. Dissolve the baking soda in the milk. Add the flour mixture to the creamed mixture and stir until combined. Add in the milk mixture. Pour the batter evenly into the lined tin.
Bake at 350 degrees F for 20–25 minutes. Allow to cool.
To make frosting: combine cream cheese, half-and-half, lemon zest, and powdered sugar. Frost cupcakes once they are cool.
Makes 10-12 cupcakes.
Chapter Five
You can’t get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me.
—C. S. LEWIS
Do we have any more oranges?”
My dad peered into the stuffed refrigerator and tossed three to my mom, who actually caught them. “Thanks.” She abandoned a mushy kiwi and pressed the citrus into the ancient juicer, humming a lively cantata. My mom is a professor of music theory at the university. She can play just about any instrument and has perfect pitch, but my brothers’ obsession with Guitar Hero aside, her musical talents rubbed off on exactly zero percent of her kids. We are all practically tone deaf. Or at least we claim to be to avoid piano lessons. In any case, she’s apparently a pretty big deal. And she seems to know it, too. As far as I can tell, our household is a dictatorship and she’s the beloved despot. It pretty much works, though.
“Annie Banannie!” Dad called out in a voice that was way too sunshiny for a Saturday morning. I cringed; I really wished he wouldn’t call me Annie Banannie anymore.
“I made you an extra pancake, Annie Banannie. Can’t send you to your first day of work hungry,” he said as he passed me a heaping plate.
“Dad, really. I’m not a lumberjack.” I grimaced at him and passed two of the cakes to Billy, who promptly started repeating “Annie Banannie” at me over and over because he knew just how much I loved it. I scrunched my nose at him.
“Don’t break Grandma’s teashop, Annie Banannie!” Luke chimed in obnoxiously. “Like the time you busted my PlayStation,” he added, pouting. For the record I did not break anything. He didn’t even know what he was talking about. For one, she prefers to be called Louisa, and for two, a person cannot “break” a shop.
“Eat up,” Dad encouraged as I scowled at the boys. He grinned at me and replaced the pancakes I had passed off. I gave up and started eating. There was no way I was going to admit to my rowdy family that my stomach was flipping around at the thought of being at the Steeping Leaf all day long with the cutest boy barista in the known universe. I’d never, ever hear the end of it. Genna was bad enough. Last night on the phone after we discussed potential strategies for a Teashop Action Plan—more on that later—she had insisted on reading Rescuing the Sinking Ship of Your Relationship out loud for five straight minutes. Never mind that I didn’t have a relationship to rescue.
“Annie, what’s with your upper lip?” Beth looked up from her volume of Rilke long enough to stare at me inquisitively. I instantly dropped my fork to cover my mouth.
“Um, I put on an exfoliating mask and left it on too long.” This was not true at all. I had noticed a slight fuzz on my upper lip and tried my mom’s decade-old depilatory cream on it. It got rid of the fuzz all right, but it also made all the property between my nose and lips look like a candied apple. I had almost forgotten about it until my ever-charming older sister was nice enough to remind me. What a nightmare. I had to start work with a red-skin mustache. Why? Why? Why?
“Billy! Slow down. Share with your brother.” My mom simultaneously wiped Billy’s face with a napkin and poured Luke some juice. The two boys were getting syrup everywhere, which was typical. Beth glanced at them fearfully. She sat on a high stool, trying to look sophisticated above the cacophony (love that word, I think it was probably invented just for us Greens). Mom’s food went untouched as she shooed Molly, our retriever, away from the table and made sure Beth got the gluten-free pancakes from the separate pan. Everyone talked all at once about the weekend.
“Okay, I’ve put your chore lists on the whiteboard,” my mom announced to everyone, including my dad. He groaned as loud as the rest of us, just like he did every weekend. I couldn’t blame him, his chores were way harder than ours. She laughed as she finally took a bite of her pancakes. “O
ne more peep from you all and I’m going to make you clean the spit valves for the orchestra’s entire brass section this afternoon.” It was her favorite threat. Ewww.
“I want to go to the skateboard park,” announced Luke. His legs were constantly beaten up by new scrapes. He was usually scratching at some scab and completely grossing me out.
“Fine, after you finish straightening the garage. Take your brother with you.”
“Mom! I have soccer practice,” Billy announced with his mouth full.
“Oh that’s right. Hmm.”
“Well, I’m going to the art museum with Malcolm,” Beth said. Since she was the oldest, she liked to remind everyone how cultured she and her morose on-again-off-again boyfriend were. “There’s a Chihuly glass exhibit.”
“Well that sounds fun, I’ll go with you,” Dad piped up. I smiled. The thought of my dad and his knee socks following my sister and Malcolm around was pretty funny.
“Dad!”
“What, too cool to hang out with old Dad? Wait, I’ll put on something special before we go.”
“Uh-oh.” I looked at Beth and giggled as she freaked out. My dad had a famous collection of hideous T-shirts. He thought the height of chic was a bright orange one that said “Some Days You’re the Pigeon, Some Days You’re the Statue.” I usually thought they were pretty funny, unless, of course, my friends happened to be around.
Beth stared at our father in horror as one of the boys spilled juice all over the floor. Molly eagerly slurped it up, and Mom ran for the mop. The two cats were smart enough to run and hide—you’d think they’d be used to the commotion by now but apparently not. Luke righted his empty glass and then knocked over the syrup. I jumped in, hurriedly wiping up the new mess before Billy stuck his tongue in the spill. No joke, it’s happened before.
“I’m going to be late. Thanks for the ’cakes.” I escaped, stopping in my room on the way out the door to pick up my latest to-do list and put some of Beth’s concealer on my upper lip. It looked sorta weird, but not too bad.
To Do, april 27
• get to work on time with nothing stuck between teeth.
• pretend Jonathan does not exist, even if he is studying three feet away, unless he tries to strike up conversation due to alluring sight of self making cappuccino.
• Buy present for Dad’s b-day.
• Start homework or think of really, really good reason to ask Mrs. Peabody for an extension. (Surgery? Computer crash? Temporary amnesia? Depression over global warming?)
• Try new anti-frizz hair product. For science.
Outside, it was a perfect spring day. Wisconsin was usually freezing, but today was nice and warm. People were gardening in their small front yards and a few kids were building a skateboard ramp in someone’s driveway. I glanced down at my clothes, sure I’d see a maple syrup stain somewhere. My black pants looked pretty good, but my shoes were bor-ing. Oh well, I like to be comfortable and none of the stuff Genna suggests that I wear ever is.
Fortunately it’s a short walk to the Steeping Leaf, and within a few minutes I was there. The café is in an old stone building at the end of a bustling street filled with lots of other shops and restaurants. It has a creaky wood floor and a patio surrounded by a little stone wall topped with plants. Well-tended roses, geraniums in hanging baskets, and even a small lilac bush surrounded the cheery red door in the summer. I stopped short at the shop’s front door and looked at my reflection. My hair was out of control, so I carefully put it into a low braid before crossing the threhold.
Louisa was chatting with her customers. It was a quiet morning; only three tables were full. I grinned at two young women who were visiting with my grandmother. I recognized them from the university; they were graduate students of my mom’s. Denise and Meg. Fortunately, the lights were back on.
“Morning, Annie, love. You picked a good day to start.”
“Good morning, Louisa.” I grabbed an apron off the hook behind the counter. “Hi, Meg; hello, Denise. How are you?”
“Did your mother tell you the good news? Meg here just got a teaching position in California!” Louisa beamed at the young woman, her crystal earrings dancing happily.
“That’s awesome! Congratulations, Meg!”
“Thanks, Annie. I couldn’t have done it without your mom’s help and recommendation. And your grandmother’s tea, of course.” She raised her cup to Louisa, who smiled modestly. “I think I wrote most of my dissertation here.”
“Wow.” The only thing I knew about dissertations was that they were very long. “When do you start the new job?”
“Not until the fall. I’ve gotta get some traveling in first,” she answered.
“And I’m going with her,” Denise added happily. In fact, their table was strewn with travel guides. “We’re trying to map out our itinerary, and Louisa is giving us some tips from her globe-trotting days.”
At this, my grandmother laughed. “It’s been ages since I’ve gotten out of Madison for any real length of time. I doubt any of my favorite restaurants are still open halfway around the world.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Meg said, pointing to an open page in her Lonely Planet Thailand guide. “Didn’t you just mention this one?” Louisa looked where she was pointing.
“Well, my goodness.” Louisa fished around her apron pocket for her reading glasses. “There it is indeed.” She paged through the book for a few moments, her face looking young and happy. It was like all the stress from the other day was completely gone.
“And how are your darling brothers, dear?” Louisa asked with a knowing twinkle in her eye.
Louisa is probably the only person in the world, my mother included, who would call Billy and Luke “darling.” “Mmm, messy as usual,” I replied, describing how apocalyptic our family breakfast had been.
“Really?” Meg piped in disbelievingly. “Dr. Green always keeps things so perfect, that’s hard to picture.” I giggled, remembering the spilled juice and syrup.
“Well, even she is no match for Billy and Luke when there are sticky liquids involved,” I explained. “I’m pretty sure we’ve never gotten through breakfast without a minor flood or trip to the emergency room.” Everyone laughed.
“And how is sweet Beth?” Louisa asked.
“She’s okay, I guess. She pretty much should’ve just gone to college last year, since it’s all she talks about anyway,” I answered. Louisa nodded in agreement.
“Well, I’m sure she’ll love it when she gets there. And how about our favorite maestro? Did your mother use the whiteboard again this morning?” I nodded. It always amused Louisa to hear about her daughter running a family with a dry erase marker. In fact, the big whiteboard in the storage room was from my mom. I guess I get my list-making compulsion from her. Louisa, on the other hand, won’t tell you what to do or spell it out in bullet points on a board.
Last year, when I was trying to decide if I should get braces on my teeth, Louisa was so helpful. My parents said it was up to me, (a) because they have good insurance, so it wouldn’t cost them much, and (b) because my teeth weren’t really that crooked. I just have this one lower tooth that’s slightly wonky.
Louisa was all, “Does your wonky tooth bother you?”
“Not really. I kind of like it. But everyone is getting braces.”
“Everyone?”
“Well, not Genna. But her teeth are perfect.”
“Is it a good idea to get braces because everyone else is?”
“Noo…”
“Does getting braces hurt?”
“Yesss…”
“Hmm.”
“Did you ever have braces, Louisa?” I asked. At this, she had laughed for a long time.
“When I was your age, Annie, the only people getting braces on their teeth were the ones with molars growing out of their foreheads. Look. I have the same wonky tooth as you.” I looked. She did.
I didn’t get braces.
“Let me get you some forms. I know they�
��re around here somewhere.” Louisa disappeared into her makeshift office in the corner of the storage room and came out with various wrinkled documents. She said I could fill them out later and started going over the procedures for taking orders and processing credit card payments.
“As everyone knows,” Louisa said with a sigh, “it is easier to make tea out of teabags, but I like to do things the old-fashioned loose-leaf way. Keep an eye on Jonathan when you can, dear. I want to make sure he’s using enough tea in each pot.” My heart leapt a bit at the sound of his name. I hope Louisa didn’t notice me blushing. I didn’t want her to regret hiring me because I flipped out every time her other employee turned up.
Jonathan aside, I was always happy that Louisa made tea in pots, even for individual orders. Made that way, the tea leaves “bloomed” and you got a better flavor. And there’s something about having your own pot of tea that just felt more special.
“Did you know that tea bags started out as samples for shop owners like your grandfather and me?” I noticed that Louisa still considered Grandpa Charles to be her partner even though he passed away four years ago. It gave me a pang because I still missed him too, very much. He always knew just the right thing to say or do, no matter what the situation. When he died, the shop lost a bit of its luster. “About a hundred years ago a merchant in New York packaged his tea in small silk bags and saw that some of his customers were brewing it still in the bag, to avoid a mess. The rest is history; it really caught on. But true tea connoisseurs—like you and me—know that the old method is best. Now our way of doing things is the new trend… isn’t it funny how things happen?”
Once I learned about the more technical parts of the Steeping Leaf—including how to run the incredibly scary espresso machine—the fun part began: sipping the products. I had already tried most of them, but it seemed new varieties of tea were coming out practically every day.
The Teashop Girls Page 3
