Blaire

by Jennifer Castle

  “Thanks!” said Thea in her regular voice. “Happy summer. Two months of swimming and slumber parties and movies and—”

  “—the county fair,” we said together.

  “We are going to have so much fun,” I said, waving good-bye to Dad.

  Thea grabbed my hand and dragged me toward the pebbly beach. Hudson Point Park is on an inlet of the Hudson River, where you can swim and go kayaking. Our other friends were already in the water: Rosie and Sabrina were practicing handstands, and Piper, Amadi, and Victoria seemed to be having a splash war, though I wasn’t sure who was winning.

  “Speaking of fun,” I said to Thea as I kicked off my sandals and peeled off my clothes, “you’ll never guess what I did this morning.” We joined our friends in the river, and I told everyone about Honeybun’s escape. Thea did a hilarious impersonation of a chinchilla on the run. By the time Mrs. Dimitriou called us up to the pavilion to eat, everyone’s stomach hurt from laughing.

  “I’m starving,” Piper said as we walked across the sand.

  My own stomach growled, but when we reached the food table, I stopped short. My good mood disappeared faster than a chinchilla racing through a B and B.

  Pizza: Can’t have that.

  Cheese and crackers: Only if I skip the cheese.

  Sour cream dip: Nope, no way.

  There was other food to choose from, but all I could see was the dairy stuff I couldn’t have.

  It had only been two weeks since I’d sat in an office with Mom and Dad, listening to a doctor talk about my test results. “Blaire has lactose intolerance,” she’d told us.

  “Lactose intolerance” explained why I’ve had a lot of bloating, bellyaches, and other tummy trouble this year. It had all gotten so bad that Mom took me to see a pediatric gastroenterologist, a doctor who treats kids with digestive problems. He told us there was good news. I didn’t need medicine, surgery, or anything like that. “Treatment is easy-peasy,” he’d said.

  Easy-peasy for him to say. He wasn’t the one who had to stop eating all dairy foods overnight. Hopefully, I’ll be able to eat dairy again. Someday. Until we knew how serious my intolerance was, we had to be super strict about it. Absolutely no dairy for the next three months.

  “It’ll be an adjustment,” he’d said as he handed my mom a packet of information on how to eat dairy-free. “Try to think of this as your ‘new normal.’”

  Well, so far, my new normal was the worst. As Sabrina grabbed a piece of gooey cheese pizza, my eyes stung with tears.

  I took some veggies, fruit, crackers, and chips and squeezed into a spot at the table between Amadi and Rosie. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice that I skipped half the food.

  But a little while later, when Thea’s dad brought out the birthday cake, Mrs. Dimitriou placed a single cupcake in front of me.

  “It’s dairy-free,” Thea announced. “The man at the bakery said you can’t even tell the difference.”

  I gave Thea a surprised look. She was the only friend I’d told about my new normal, and I’d asked her to keep it a secret.

  “Wait a sec,” Piper said. “Blaire can’t eat dairy? Since when?”

  Now everyone was staring at me. They were all my friends, but I didn’t want to talk about this. Not at Thea’s party. I shrugged. “A couple of weeks ago.”

  “Can you eat any dairy?” Victoria asked. “Cheese? Butter? Milk?”

  I shook my head.

  “What about soy milk?” asked Sabrina.

  “What about ice cream?” Piper added, sounding really worried.

  I didn’t say anything. Out on the river, one of the boats sounded its horn. I considered swimming out there, getting on the boat, and sailing away from this conversation.

  Mr. Dimitriou lit the candles on the cake. “Let’s sing!” he said.

  I did my best to belt out “Happy Birthday” along with everyone else, but I couldn’t help feeling a little irritated at Thea for spilling the beans about my food issue.

  While Mr. Dimitriou passed out pieces of cake, Sabrina pointed to my cupcake, which had white frosting and silver sprinkles.

  “It’s so pretty!” she said. “How does it taste?”

  I took a tiny bite. It wasn’t the cream cheese frosting I loved. And it felt super weird to be eating something different from everyone else. “Yummy,” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. I didn’t want Thea to feel bad.

  Thea put her arm around me and gave me a squeeze.

  “I’m sorry you had to buy special food for me,” I muttered. “It’s so embarrassing.”

  “Don’t feel embarrassed,” she said.

  “Tons of people have food allergies,” added Rosie. “My cousin can’t eat anything with peanuts in it.”

  “Can’t you take medicine?” Sabrina asked. “My brother’s lactose intolerant, and he just takes a pill before he eats dairy stuff.”

  “Tried that,” I said softly. “Didn’t work for me. Sometimes that happens, I guess.”

  Amadi said, “Hey, wait. Are you going to be able to cook?” She put down her fork.

  That was one big question I’d been asking myself. If I couldn’t eat some of the ingredients in my favorite recipes anymore, could I still make those foods? How could I cook something like crème brûlée—one of my specialties!—and then not eat it?

  Mrs. Dimitriou touched my hand. “Blaire will find a way to do what she loves. She’s a born chef. That’s who she is.”

  No, I thought. That’s who I WAS.

  “Time for gifts!” Thea’s dad said a few minutes later. Everyone gathered around Thea, who was smiling about as big as I’d ever seen her smile. We’d been BFFs since we were five, and we’d always been together on our birthdays. But the truth was, right now I just didn’t want to be here. I turned to Thea’s mom.

  “Mrs. Dimitriou?” I said quietly. “I’m not feeling so well. Can you call someone at the farm to come pick me up?”

  She searched my face for a moment before she said, “Of course, sweetie. I’m sorry to hear that.” She made the call, then told me Grandpa was on his way.

  I was super relieved to see his van show up a few minutes later. Thea stopped her gift-opening to walk me to the parking lot.

  “We’re going out on the kayaks after gifts. Are you sure you won’t stay?”

  “Yeah …” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  “No—I’m sorry about the cupcake. I just wanted you to have something special while we had cake.”

  “I know you meant well,” I said. “I’m just not ready to talk about it with everyone yet.”

  I gave my BFF a quick, awkward hug, then climbed into the van, trying not to cry.

  I stared at the app on Grandpa’s phone. THIS OR THAT? BEING ABLE TO FLY or TELEKINESIS.

  This game was one of my favorites, and right now it was way more fun than thinking about what a disaster that party had been.

  Telekinesis, hands down. I touched that choice on the screen.

  “Your mom said you weren’t feeling well, sweetheart,” Grandpa said. “Did you eat something that made you sick?”

  “Nope,” I said, swiping to the next question.

  THIS OR THAT? DOG FOOD FOR DINNER or FISH FOOD IN YOUR WATER BOTTLE. Um, neither? But I picked fish food since that was probably dairy-free.

  Grandpa kept talking. “Then why did you leave the party early? You’re always the last to leave that group of giggly girls.”

  I shrugged without looking up from his phone.

  “And it’s not like you to have your nose buried in a screen,” Grandpa said.

  I didn’t answer. Suddenly, he made a sharp right turn. That made me look up. “Hey,” I said. “This isn’t how we go home.”

  “I was on my way somewhere when your mom called me to come get you. We’re headed there now.” He glanced at me and the phone in my hand. “I might even tell you where, if you put that thing down so we can have a real conversation.”

  I sighed and placed his phone on the seat next to me.r />
  “Do you remember my friend Freddy and his farm, Moonlight Meadow?” asked Grandpa.

  “Oh yeah,” I said. “He breeds animals, right?”

  Grandpa nodded. “Goats and sheep.” Then his voice got quieter. “He’s shutting down and selling off the land. He’s getting rid of some furniture, and I’m going to take a look at it, for the B and B.”

  “That’s so sad,” I said. “Why’s he closing the farm?”

  “Too much competition in the livestock business,” replied Grandpa. “It’s a common story these days. Small farms—no matter what they raise or grow—have to work harder and harder to stay afloat.”

  “But Pleasant View Farm is okay, right?” I asked. As far as I could tell, our farm wasn’t in danger.

  “Actually, business is good,” Grandpa said. “The crops, the restaurant, the inn are all going well, but they’re a lot to keep track of. So why take on more—like fixing up that barn?”

  I perked up at the mention of the barn. I knew Grandpa wasn’t crazy about the project, but I couldn’t wait for it to be finished. “I think the barn’s going to be awesome,” I said, smiling for the first time since leaving the lake. “The parties and weddings are going to make people happy, and we get to be part of it all.”

  Grandpa shook his head. “I’m too old to be part of it all anymore.”

  “Grandpa!” I scolded. “You’re not that old. Just wait. I’ll show you how much fun it will be.”

  “Hmph,” Grandpa answered, pulling into Freddy’s long dirt driveway.

  When we got to the house, Grandpa and Freddy went into the living room and I used the bathroom to change out of my damp bathing suit. When I came back out a few minutes later, I overheard Grandpa and Freddy laughing.

  “Weddings?” Freddy asked. “That’s craziness. You folks have your hands full as it is. More than full.”

  “Exactly,” said Grandpa. “Why risk ruining everything we’ve spent so many years building? But I can’t talk them out of it.”

  I crept a little closer so I could hear better.

  “I think it might be time for me to retire,” Grandpa continued. “I can’t take the headache. You and I could pack up and move to Florida.

  WHAT??? Freddy was saying something, but I didn’t want to hear any more. I hurried out of the house and down a dirt path to Freddy’s livestock barn. My head was spinning.

  Grandpa would retire? He was the heart and history of Pleasant View Farm. What would we do without him?

  I reached the barn and stepped inside. The space had an empty quiet, and it made me sad to know that all the animals were gone.

  Baaaaah.

  Or maybe not.

  The sound had come from the other end of the building. I walked down the aisle, past one empty pen after another.

  Baaaaah.

  Now I saw two little ears, low to the ground.

  I peered over the gate of one pen … and OH. MY. GOSH.

  A lamb. Snuggled up on some hay. And …

  OH MY DOUBLE GOSH.

  There was a tiny brown goat, too, curled up next to the lamb. It had a black stripe down its back and black legs that made it look like it was wearing boots.

  “Hi, babies!!!” I squealed, leaning over the gate and stretching out my hand. The lamb sniffed my fingers, its wide, dark eyes staring up at me, like it had been waiting for me to get here.

  Baaaaah.

  Now the goat opened its eyes. Maaaaah.

  “Awwwww,” I replied.

  There was laughter behind me, and I turned to see Freddy and Grandpa.

  “They’re cute little stinkers, aren’t they?” said Freddy. He sighed. “The lamb wouldn’t nurse, and the goat was sick, so I ended up bottle-feeding them both and keeping them in the same pen. Now they can’t be separated and I’ll have to find a place that will take them together.”

  “They need a home?” I asked.

  Freddy nodded.

  I looked at Grandpa with my best puppy-dog eyes. No—my best little lamb eyes.

  “Blaire …” Grandpa said, shaking his head. “We were just talking about how there’s no reason for our farm to take on anything new right now.”

  “But this isn’t anything new!” I burst out. “There’s that old shed and a pen right next to the chicken coop. You said you used to have animals there. So really, it’s an old thing.”

  Grandpa’s face softened. “That’s true. I helped my dad build that shed when I was no older than you are now.” He came closer to look into the stall. “We had goats and lambs, too—sold the milk and the wool. Folks loved visiting with the animals when they stopped by our farm stand.”

  “I read that goats eat poison ivy and stuff,” I said. “So it would help the farm. And guests at the inn and the bistro would love a petting zoo. Especially families.”

  “A farm with farm animals,” said Freddy. “There’s no craziness in that, Ben. I’ll throw in the feed and milk replacer I have left, too. They’ll need formula once a day for a few more weeks.”

  “You both drive a hard bargain,” Grandpa said. He looked at me. “Blaire, this is the happiest you’ve looked since I picked you up. We’ll take ’em! I have no idea what your mom and dad will say, but leave that part to me.”

  I threw my arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “Thank you!”

  Before I knew it, I was riding in the back of the van next to a giant animal crate. Inside, Penelope the lamb (named after my favorite DIY craft video blogger) and Dash the goat (because he had that super cool black racing stripe) were snuggled up together. I thought about how the day had started with a chinchilla on the loose in the house and ended up with two new baby animals for the farm. (I was just going to ignore the cupcake catastrophe in the middle.)

  Things had gone from bad to good in a way I never expected. Maybe there was a way I could turn Grandpa’s opinion of the barn from bad to good, too. All I needed was a real event to show him the possibilities.

  Stop! Aagh! That tickles!”

  I’d barely stepped into the pen when Penelope and Dash came at me, tails wagging and heads nudging the bottles in my hands. I didn’t think I could feed them both at once, so I stuck Dash’s bottle behind me, in the waist of my shorts. I squeezed a few drops of lamb milk replacer from Penny’s bottle onto my palm to make sure it wasn’t too hot, like Freddy had shown me the day before. Penelope was not exactly patient. She kept jumping up and putting her front hooves on my stomach.

  “Okay, okay, okay,” I said, giving Penny her bottle. She started suckling at it so hard that she almost pulled it out of my hand. Her ears wiggled as she drank, which was crazy adorable. It seemed pretty easy until I felt something yank at the back of my pants.

  I looked behind me to see Dash grabbing at the bottle in my waistband. I spun around so Dash couldn’t get it, but since Penny refused to let go of her bottle, she spun around with me and crashed into Dash. Then Dash’s bottle fell out of my waistband, onto the ground. I reached for it. So did Dash. I got to it before he did, but Penny’s suckling knocked me off-balance. The next thing I knew, I was lying in the dirt, covered in hay, holding two bottles for the animals hovering above me.

  “Is that the way you’re supposed to do it?” asked Beckett, who was suddenly standing in the pen, holding a fitness ball.

  “Probably not,” I said. “Would you help me?”

  “Can I?” Beckett dropped the fitness ball, plopped down in the hay, and took Dash’s bottle. He giggled as the goat stayed glued to the bottle. Beckett had been thrilled yesterday when Grandpa and I introduced him to the animals. Mom and Dad were a little less enthused, but they came around.

  “What’s the ball for?” I asked Beckett as Dash finished his bottle.

  “Grandpa said I should try this.” Beckett rolled the ball across the pen and Dash chased it down, then tried to jump on top of it. He balanced there for two seconds, then tumbled off. Beckett cracked up. He rolled the ball again, and Dash did the same balancing trick.

  “Th
at’s so cute,” I said. “Maybe you can teach him to do other tricks. You two could perform at the county fair in August.”

  “Great idea!” Beckett said. As I headed over to the chicken coop, Beckett was saying, “Come on, Dash. Let’s try again.” I had to laugh. I wasn’t serious, but if Beckett wanted to try to train a goat, he should go for it.

  “Hello, ladies,” I said as I opened the gate to the chicken coop. “I’m guessing you’ve noticed your new neighbors by now?”

  The chickens answered me in their low-pitched, repeating cluck cluck cluck known as a “contentment call.” It meant they were happy to see me, and the feeling was totally mutual.

  I scattered chicken feed and watched the birds peck at the dirt. Then I picked up my favorite, a super soft white Silkie chicken I’d named Dandelion, because her fluffy head looked like the dandelion puffs that grew along the fence by the vegetable fields. She started clucking.

  “What’s that?” I held her up to my ear and turned my head so I could listen to what she was saying. Over in the pen, Beckett was still playing ball with Dash. “Yeah, Beckett’s pretty happy about the new animals. You know who else is?”

  Dandy cocked her head, giving me her full attention. She’s a great listener.

  “That’s right,” I answered, walking to the other side of the coop. “Grandpa. He’s really glad the animals are here. Maybe they’ll take his mind off the barn. But if they don’t,” I continued, “then whatever that first barn event is, whenever it is, I’m going to make sure it’s the Best Barn Event Ever, so Grandpa won’t possibly want to leave. Think I can do it, Dandy?”

  She moved her head up and down, like she was nodding.

  Chickens: the ultimate confidence boosters.

  As I put Dandy down, a voice from outside the coop said, “Should I call you Old MacDonald now that you have so many farm animals?”

  It was Caterina Minardi, our farm manager. She’s the coolest grown-up I know.

  “Did you met Penelope and Dash?” I asked, coming out of the coop and closing the gate tightly behind me.