“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 hat 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 twins,” 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.
“A fantastico morning to you!” Marco said.
“Hi!” I said, suddenly nervous. “Welcome to Pleasant View Farm!”
“I’m humbled to be here. My name is Marco.”
“I know … we’re, uh … big fans,” I said. “I’m Blaire, and this is my friend …”
“Theodora Dimitriou,” Thea said, in the most grown-up voice I’d ever heard her do. Since she couldn’t shake his hand, she raised her egg-filled pajama top as if it were a ball gown and curtsied. “Charmed.”
Marco bowed deeply from the waist. “Miss Dimitriou,” he replied. Turning to me, he said, “Miss Wilson. Young event designer. It’s an honor to meet you.”
Wait. Marco Gonzalez knows my name? And he called me an event designer!
Marco looked at our big Victorian house, nodding his approval. “This is a stunning home, like a work of art. Built in the 1880s, yes?” Then he turned to the freshly painted barn down the hill. “And the renovated barn looks just perfecto!”
“You’ve heard about that, too?” I asked.
“Oh yes, I’ve read all about it!” he said, then smiled, a twinkle in his eye. “Thanks to Empire State Weddings.”
“Whoa!” I exclaimed. “The new issue is finally out?” A writer from the magazine had come to Cat’s wedding to take pictures and write about our event space. We’d been anxiously waiting to see it. “What does the review say?”
“I have an advance copy right here,” Marco said, tapping his saddlebag. “And the review is … wonderful!”
“Wonderful? Really? Wow … that’s so … exciting!” I stammered.
“I’m just starting a renovation at a historic house in Bluefield,” Marco said. “When I read this article and saw the photos, I had to come see Pleasant View Farm for myself. Perhaps someone could show me around?”
“Absolutely!” a voice said from the porch. It was Dad. Grandpa stepped out of the house behind him. “I’m Daniel Wilson. This is my father-in-law, Ben O’Connell.”
“This is Magazine—er, Marco!” I said. “He has an advance copy of the motorcycle. I mean, magazine! With the Pleasant View Farm review in it!”
Grandpa came down the steps carrying a wire basket. “I saw you from inside, Blaire. It looks like you need a bit of help,” he said, unloading the eggs from my shirt. He winked at me before gathering the eggs that Thea was holding.
Grandpa left the eggs on the porch, and Dad led the way to the barn as he explained all the renovations we’d done.
“Blaire helped me plan the space,” he said, “and she put in a lot of elbow grease to have it ready in time for Cat’s big day.”
Marco smiled at me. “Way to go, elbows.”
I blushed. “Thea helped, too. She even made up a rap while we were working.”
“You wanna have a wedding where it’s warm and cozy?” Thea began to rap, throwing herself into the performance. “Come party right here, and everything will be rosy!”
Marco laughed and started dancing to her song. “I love it,” he said as we got to the barn.
“We’re working on decorations for a one-hundredth-birthday party next weekend,” I said, sliding the door open and ushering Marco inside.
“SUPER-BONITA!” he exclaimed, and Thea and I couldn’t help giggling. That’s a catchphrase he uses when he thinks something really works.
And it did look super-bonita. I pointed to the ceiling and told Marco we’d tied exactly one hundred white ribbons above us to make a canopy over the space. There were ten tables, and each represented a different decade. I’d finished a few of the centerpieces. The one for the 1920s was gold and black, with feather boas and toy jazz instruments. The 1950s table had a mini-jukebox and old records, and the 1970s was all tie-dye and peace signs.
“Grandpa and I researched the decades,” I told Marco.
“Oh excellent, that’s fun, fun, fun. I like this a thousand percent,” Marco said, circling the tables and taking it all in. “You’ve put so much creative thought into this event.”
Thea nudged me and grinned. I grinned back. Here was a professional designer I really admired, saying nice things about my ideas!
Marco wanted to see the rest of the farm, so we led him past the herb and kitchen gardens. We showed him the growing fields and greenhouse in the distance, then walked under the white wooden arch to the orchard, to the gazebo by the creek where Cat and Gabe’s wedding ceremony was held.
When we got to the animals, Marco fell in love with the chickens. “These Silkies have style!” he exclaimed. “Pleasant View Farms is even better in person. It feels mágico.”
“Thank you,” Dad said. “Do you have time to come in and have some breakfast?”
“I always have time for breakfast. And I can show you the magazine review!”
“Finally!” Thea cried, saying what I was thinking.
In the restaurant dining room, we introduced Marco to Mom. I saw my mother blush for the first time in, like, ever. She loves watching Room Revolutions with me.
Thea and I whipped up some eggs while Mom made apple pancakes. We all sat at a big wooden table on the restaurant patio. While we ate, Marco spread open the Empire State Weddings issue. There it all was: photos of th
e ceremony at the gazebo by the creek, Cat and Gabe riding a tandem bicycle down the pathway lined with luminarias, the barn at sunset, a table setting with Mom’s beautifully plated meal, Gabe’s mother’s bubble machine, and Cat and Gabe holding a pair of chickens dressed like a bride and groom.
When we told Marco the story of the chickens invading the barn, he was delighted. “You know what I always say,” Marco exclaimed. “If there’s no drama—”
“There’s no fun!” Thea and I finished one of his favorite sayings for him.
“This is such a great review,” Mom said as she read through the article. I could hear both excitement and relief in her voice.
“I couldn’t have wished for better,” Dad agreed, putting his arm around her.
“You know, Marco,” Grandpa said. “It was my idea to restore the barn and start hosting big events.”
Marco looked confused when Mom, Dad, Thea, and I burst out laughing. “Grandpa was dead set against the barn all summer,” I explained to Marco. “He didn’t come around to the idea until he saw how wonderful Cat and Gabe’s wedding turned out.”
Marco clapped Grandpa gently on the back. “Well, whoever had the idea, it was a good one. Marco’s prediction: Your farm will be busy with big events for a long time.”
“More decorating!” I announced.
“Slow down, junior designer,” Dad said. “It was one thing to help with Cat’s wedding during the summer. You’re in school now. That’s your priority.”
“And you still have plenty of chores,” Mom reminded me.
“Don’t be sad,” Marco said. “You get to live here! I wish I could stay here instead of at some boring hotel.”
Grandpa pulled a chicken feather from my hair. “It’s almost never boring around here.”
“We just had a cancellation for one of our rooms,” Dad said, “so you could stay here.”
At exactly the same time, Marco, Thea, and I said, “Super-bonita!”
“Jinx!” Marco said to me and Thea. Then he turned to Dad. “That’s an offer I won’t turn down. Muchas gracias.” Marco jumped up from his chair. “Excuse me while I go call my producer. She’ll take care of the arrangements.” Marco headed inside, but he paused at the door and turned back to Thea and me. “Would you girls like to come visit the house I’m renovating?”
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