The Teashop Girls

by Laura Schaefer

  Excerpt from …

  THE HISTORY OF TEA

  by Annie Green

  Emperor Shen-Nung discovered tea in China by accident in 2737 B.C. It was the national drink of China for thousands of years before being introduced to Japan in A.D. 800 by Buddhist monks. People used it as a medicine for the next five hundred years. The Japanese tea ceremony was developed and was considered an art form. They used only the green variety and had special tearooms where people entered on their knees. Japanese people used tea to help with meditation and reflection, parts of their religion. They believed that each meeting of friends for tea was very special because the particular circumstances of the day would never be repeated.

  In the sixteenth century, tea traders spread tea throughout Asia, Russia, and Europe. Sailors who drank tea during their journeys were healthier than those who didn’t. Queen Elizabeth I drank tea in the morning. Catherine of Portugal married Charles II in 1662 and spread the tea craze. Her dowry included the island of Bombay. Charles leased it to the East India Company. It had a monopoly on tea trade for many years. Royalty and upper classes developed a high tea tradition of serving at four p.m. Tea became the national drink of England.

  I decided to add some stuff about tea history in the United States, too. Did you know that tea was first brought to the American colonies by the Dutch? Back in the 1600s, when New York was called New Amsterdam, the tiny colony there drank more tea than all of England. Early Americans really loved tea. The Boston Tea Party happened because they were super mad over a tea tax. I found it very inspiring. If the patriots could fight for American independence to keep tea affordable (okay, a tiny stretch of the truth), we could certainly save the Steeping Leaf. It would be un-American not to!

  I stopped doing homework for the millionth time and thought about my weird experience with Jonathan. A teeny part of me—the annoying part that always spoke the truth—was willing to admit that had not been a date. At all.

  “Okay, so what I’m saying is that we need to scale back on the tea stuff and focus more on espresso beverages. People are caffeine junkies; tea isn’t wired enough. You know? Write that down, okay?”

  Jonathan led me through the two-story store that had opened mere months before. It smelled so new. Everything was shiny. Too shiny. We were standing at the counter, sipping really, really strong coffee. I tried not to make a face as I took tiny tastes. I kept wondering when we’d sit down and start talking like normal people. The Leaf was so much better. We had feng shui! I didn’t see any flow here at all. The line was too long. I seriously doubted that the stressed out store manager placed potted plants around with as much care as my grandmother and I had done. Come to think of it, there were no potted plants.

  “Also, I think Louisa should consider getting more uniform tables and chairs.”

  “But our furniture is so comfortable,” I sputtered. I remembered how the regular customers had their favorite spots, gravitating not only to the same couch again and again but to the same spot on the couch. Some of the cushion stains even had really funny stories to tell, like the time Zach Anderson showed up and challenged me to a chess match. I beat the pants off of him in, like, four minutes and he was so indignant, he spilled his drink all over the place. I still smile every time I see that particular blob. So does Louisa.

  “Yeah, I know. People sit in it for hours after ordering only one thing. Less comfortable would be good.”

  “Oh.”

  “Listen, Annie. Your grandmother is going to need some convincing, but this is our only chance at saving the Leaf. I think she’ll really listen to you if you echo my advice on this stuff. I’d hate to see her go out of business forever.” Jonathan was very solemn, even with his long hair flopping in his face.

  “I would too. That place is like home to me.” In a quieter voice I said, “And my friends.” I tried not to think about the fact that neither Genna nor Zoe had come in since I started work. It seemed like that day we were chalking, things might return to the good old days of the Teashop Girls. Then the stupid rain had to ruin it, and Gen had to get all busy running out to Spring Green for theater stuff, and Zoe had to practice her serve ten hours per day.

  As if things could get any worse on my “date,” I spotted my favorite person sitting in the corner. Zach. Ugh. It was completely unsurprising that Zach would hang out here. So unoriginal. He was with one of his friends, turning straw wrappers into spitballs. Lovely. I tried to avoid making eye contact, but he spotted me. Why couldn’t he find one of the zillion franchises that wasn’t in my neighborhood? Of course he had to get right up and come over and bother me. I couldn’t believe I would have to admit knowing someone so childish in front of Jonathan.

  “Annie Green, teashop traitor! I see you’ve come in for superior products and service.” I gave him my very best withering stare. Fortunately, Jonathan had wandered away for a minute and was intently looking at the unremarkable CDs by the sugar and cream bar.

  “Hi, Zach. Shouldn’t you be doing homework? I hear you’re getting a D in math.”

  “Ha. I thought I’d come check out my future neighborhood.” He looked around, pleased with himself. What?

  “Excuse me?” Zach Anderson in my neighborhood? OMG. Wasn’t the universe cruel enough, making me see him every day at school?

  “Yeah. My parents are developing a new building here.” He was very smug. Zach liked to hint a lot about how rich he was. His parents were real-estate tycoons, which I guess made him the Condo Prince. Gag. “We might move in, which, of course, would be a huge downgrade from Shorewood but would completely up the value of the development.”

  I decided to ignore his snide “downgrade” comment and just remind myself that some people had no social skills whatsoever. “Might? Does that mean might not?” I asked, hopefully.

  “So welcoming. Tsk-tsk. Who is that?” Zach noticed Jonathan; it was clearly time to end this conversation and get out of there.

  “No one. See you later.” I walked away from my horrid classmate and returned to Jonathan, hoping to steer us toward the door.

  “I think you’re right about … stuff. Perhaps we should give the Leaf an update.” I bit my lip a little as I said it.

  “Good. I think we can really streamline things, and it’ll all be fine. Take a peek in the bathroom.” He gestured toward the door. I looked at him doubtfully, still inching out. I had seen plenty of gross public restrooms in my life. Was this really necessary? He opened the door to the women’s room himself and pointed.

  “See? No French soaps. No thick towels that have to be hand-washed. No flowers, and certainly no free hard candy. This is what I’m talking about. From now on, Dial and paper.”

  “I like the French soap. It smells like lilacs.”

  “And costs seven bucks a pound. I checked. I’m glad we came here, Annie. It’s good for everyone who is part of the Steeping Leaf to see the direction the business needs to take to survive. The only constant is change, you know. Someone wise said that. Probably Bill Gates.”

  “Um, wow.” My voice was flat. Jonathan was looking much less cute.

  This clipping is from 1898. The story of tea in Ceylon, which is now the nation of Sri Lanka, is really interesting. The island used to grow only coffee, but then a fungus destroyed the crop and the landowners panicked. Fortunately, a man from Scotland named James Taylor realized the climate was right for growing tea. So he did, and it was a huge success. Pretty soon the island of Ceylon was producing tens of thousands of tons of tea. That’s a lot of tea! I wonder if I should put a copy of this clipping in my History of Tea essay …

  Chapter Nine

  Bread and water can so easily be toast and tea.

  —AUTHOR UNKNOWN

  The next day, after we both arrived at the shop after school, Jonathan presented all his opinions and ideas to Louisa. She sat quietly and nodded her head in that meditative way of hers while I brewed a pot of rosehip tea for a couple of college students with dreadlocks. I could overhear Jonathan mak
ing his case for improvements. I expected my grandmother to wave him off, but instead I heard Louisa call my name.

  “Annie? Darling, can you come over here a minute?” I wiped my hands, smiled at my customers, and went over to Louisa and Jonathan. “The young man here wants to save my store.”

  “I know, Louisa. We both do.” I remembered my promise about the Teashop Girls and felt ashamed it had been over two weeks since we did the sidewalk chalkings and we hadn’t come up with anything good since. At least Jonathan was doing something to save the shop. We had basically let a little weather and full schedules stop us. Not exactly on the level of the American Revolutionaries.

  “What do you think about all this?” Louisa gestured to Jonathan’s laptop. A PowerPoint presentation was on the monitor. Jonathan made eye contact with me and smiled. I wondered if he had any idea how my stomach acted when he did that.

  “It looks very professional.”

  “Professional, yes. I suppose you’re right about that. In any case, what do you think about changing this place a bit? Giving the Leaf a bit of a facelift?” She looked carefully at my face, ready to read my true feelings regardless of what I said.

  “Sure, Louisa. It sounds good.” I knew that Jonathan wanted more than a facelift. But I kept my mouth shut and put a bright smile on my face. Something had to be done, after all. Probably something even more dramatic than sweeping up the dust bunnies, which I did earlier. “I’m happy to help however I can.”

  “That’s my sweet, sweet girl. Isn’t she a sweet girl, Jonathan?” I felt my face blush a deep shade of crimson. Though I very desperately wanted Jonathan to agree with my grandmother, I felt strange. The last thing I wanted was for the Steeping Leaf to look like the competition. And now that’s just what I said I would help do. For a moment, I looked down at my feet. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Jonathan’s. A warm feeling flooded through me.

  “Yeah. She’s terrific.”

  I understood, at that moment, why Genna loved boys so much. I gulped.

  all about Japanese Tea Ceremonies

  The Tea Ceremony isn’t just a break in the day for a beverage or a meal. It’s actually more of an art. There’s this museum in Seattle that has a whole tearoom right inside, so people can see for themselves how beautiful a tea ceremony can be. I heard you can’t actually go inside it, though. I guess you might have to visit Japan for that.

  The ceremony itself evolved from a Zen Buddhist custom. It’s a series of rituals performed in a certain, perfect order. The idea is to honor your friends and the harmony of the universe using the four principles of harmony, respect, purity, and tranquility.

  Masters of the tea ceremony must train for many, many years. People taking part in the ceremony must wash their hands and feet and stoop low when entering the room, to show their humility. Those at the ceremony don’t talk very much like Zoe, Genna, and I do, because they are too busy enjoying the smells of the matcha green tea preparation and the graceful movements of the master. I hope someday I’ll get to go to a real tea ceremony …

  Chapter Ten

  If man has no tea in him, he is incapable of understanding truth and beauty.

  —JAPANESE PROVERB

  That weekend, I am pretty sure I worked harder than I ever had in my entire life, except for maybe that time my mom insisted we have a garage sale. Along with Jonathan and Louisa and my sister, Beth, I cleared every surface in the Steeping Leaf. We took all the posters down and scraped years of paint off the walls. We removed all the mismatched jars and books from the shelves and replaced them with two-dozen standard, sealed clear bins. The oldest furniture got moved to storage and we painted the walls a sort of bland shade of taupe.

  You’re probably wondering how Beth got involved in all this. She’s never been a big tea person like me, but she caught me carting a boatload of cleaning products out of our pantry at home and offered to drive me to the shop with them. I’ve been so worried that she decided to act like an actual big sister for once and stay to help us. My mom probably made her.

  Jonathan talked and talked about “economies of scale” and “appealing to a younger demographic.” He seemed to have pages and pages of things to say about profit margins and returns on investment, which I supposed was a good thing. After getting some additional advice from a couple of trusted (grown-up) friends, Louisa decided to get a small business loan through the bank on our street, part of which she also used to pay the back bills from wholesalers.

  Anyway, I rewrote the chalkboard menu, taking off over half of the teas and raising all prices by fifteen cents (Jonathan had wanted to jump thirty; Louisa bargained him down). The French soap in the bathroom was replaced—not even with Dial but with a generic brand. Jonathan picked out some copycat chairs online, and when they arrived, sure enough, they were not very comfortable. By Sunday night, the Steeping Leaf looked very different than it had on Friday afternoon. It was modern, clean, and … awful. But Jonathan had never been in a better mood since I met him. He walked around with a pleased expression on his face, like he owned the place. And he was more chatty than I’d ever seen him before. Every few minutes he was talking to Beth about this or that.

  Louisa seemed to age a bit that weekend. Each item we took out of the shop was like an old friend to her, whether it was a lush houseplant or a variety of tea that hadn’t sold in months. She kept touching the things that remained, as if for reassurance. It felt terrible watching her shop disappear, but what choice did we have? Losing the Leaf altogether would be unbearable. The changes had to be worth it. They just had to. And after all, she is the one who always counseled that change was the way of the universe.

  While we worked, some neighbors stopped by to see what we were up to, including Mr. Silverman. He watched for a few minutes, and I brought him an iced tea because it was pretty hot outside.

  “Thank you for Mansfield Park, Mr. Silverman. I’ve read two chapters already and it is wonderful.”

  “You’re very welcome, Annie. Don’t you just love the smell of old books?”

  “I do! It is so completely unique.”

  “Like this furniture,” he said, gesturing about. “I remember when your grandfather and Louisa first collected it. They told everyone on the street what they needed and got first dibs before garage sales began. This couch, in fact, was mine.” He chuckled at the well-loved, outdated pattern and patted it affectionately. “Your grandfather planted these bushes over here,” he said, gesturing at the lilacs, “and cajoled several of his graduate students into laying these stones,” he remembered, resting his elbow on the patio’s low surrounding wall. “Charles was the kind of person people just wanted to help out. Gosh, some of those graduate students are probably grandparents themselves now.”

  I could see that Mr. Silverman loved to remember. Louisa joined us, and they laughed together as Mr. Silverman related a story about my grandfather and his schemes.

  “Do you remember when Charles decided to try to host the entire Madison Jazz Orchestra?” Mr. Silverman asked. “It was standing room only, Annie, and just barely. I’d never seen a trombonist smack someone in the head before. Rather entertaining, actually.”

  “It sure was,” Louisa agreed. “Though not in quite the way Charles intended. After that, we made a rule. No more than five musicians inside at one time. Quite the challenge when your mother started bringing her starving band friends in for free biscotti,” she said to me. I smiled. Sometimes I forgot that the Leaf was practically my mom’s living room when she was in high school.

  Now that I knew my grandmother was back in a good mood, all I had to do was figure out how to have a real date with Jonathan. Working alongside him all weekend was really nice. I finally stopped feeling so awkward, even. Pretending to be braver than I actually was, I followed him out back to help decide what things should be saved and stored and what things should be placed on the curb. I smoothed my shirt, patted down my out-of-control hair, and smiled at him.

  “The place looks great
. I can’t believe we did all that in one weekend.”

  “I know. I didn’t think we could get it done. But we did.” He smiled at me with a wink. We both sat down on the curb, taking a much-needed break. Jonathan’s knee touched mine and I leaned into his shoulder, grinning. I kept asking myself, How would Genna handle this?

  “Your shoe’s untied,” he said. I looked down at it and then at him. It was.

  “Why don’t you, um. Maybe … tie it. For me?” I squeaked. I couldn’t believe I could be so flirtatious. It was like another person had momentarily taken over my body.

  With a loud sigh and a smirk, Jonathan carefully put my foot in his lap (gasp!) and slowly, slowly took all my laces out and then put them back. He tied my shoe. It was, and I am not kidding here, the most romantic thing that ever happened to me. I stopped breathing. He gently placed my foot back on the pavement, then looked at me uncertainly and shook his head a tiny bit. I would have sold my two brothers to know what he was thinking. Suddenly my sister appeared, with the worst timing of anyone in the entire universe.

  “What’s up, guys?” she asked, sipping on a bottle of water. She was so the bottled water type. Ugh.

  “Your lil sis can’t keep her shoes tied,” Jonathan answered, in a tone that clearly said, Isn’t she silly and so much younger than us? He stood up quickly and resumed looking at Beth like she was an angel.

  “Yeah, Annie’s shoes are never tied. Anyway, I think we’re done.”

  The spell—if you could call it that—was broken. I thought I might spontaneously break out in hives right then and there. My favorite place looked so foreign, and the boy I liked appeared to be crushy on my sister, of all people. Ew. I mean, he was a sophomore and she was a senior. I conveniently forgot that I was an eighth grader. For her part, Beth barely noticed her new fan; she was just happy to be done with the physical labor of the renovation. She wandered back inside and chatted with Louisa about the college she had selected, and how she couldn’t wait to be out on her own. I followed her in. Louisa winked at me, a silent acknowledgment that despite everything, the tea wouldn’t change. It was a small comfort. I felt like my aura had dulled.