Midsummer's Mayhem

by Rajani LaRocca

  And then I saw it: a patch of shiny heart-shaped leaves with tiny white flowers. I matched them to the illustration in The Book: gotu kola. Hope blossomed in my chest. An herb to restore the senses and clear confusion.

  “This better work.” I took off my backpack and gathered bunches of leaves. They smelled a lot like basil, and I knew how I could use them. My family loved my orange-basil brownies, and I didn’t think swapping one herb for another would be that noticeable. Not that they were noticing much these days.

  When I thought I’d gathered more than enough, I zipped my bag closed and threw it over my shoulder. I sprinted back around the pond and past the banyan tree, heading for the path home. There was no time to lose. I was nearly at the hemlocks when I tripped over something lying across the ground but managed to catch myself before I wiped out.

  A growling moan startled me.

  Uh-oh. The boar was back again—at just the wrong time.

  I strained my ears, trying to figure out where it was. But there were no hoofsteps. No snorting or squeals.

  Just another hissing roar, this one even closer.

  In front of me rose a monstrous hooded snake, tan except for two symmetrical black spots on its chest. Taller than me, it swayed back and forth, dancing to music I couldn’t hear.

  I stayed rooted to the spot, mesmerized by its terrible beauty.

  It was a cobra.

  It was impossible! Cobras didn’t live in Massachusetts.

  My eyes darted to look for an escape. Ten feet away was a large tree I thought I could climb.

  The cobra continued to sway and growl. I inched sideways toward the tree.

  When I was a few feet away, I broke into a sprint, got a foot on a low branch, and climbed for my life. I wondered if I’d feel the burn of a bite, how much cobra venom hurt, and how long I’d last before . . .

  I reached a large branch and looked down. I was way up in the tree, at least twenty feet high. And I didn’t see the murderous snake anymore. I let out a shaky sigh. When would it be safe to climb back down?

  Rustling came from the branches below.

  Apparently, unlike boars, cobras could climb trees.

  “Help!” I cried. But there was no one to hear.

  The impossible snake slithered toward me. My breathing grew ragged as I gripped the branch tighter. Just when I thought I could turn things around, it was all going to end. And what made me saddest was not the thought of missing the baking contest in front of my culinary idol. Not even the thought of dying in the middle of the woods that I loved. It was leaving my sisters hating each other, and my brother loving only himself, and Dad eating everything in sight and not appreciating any of it.

  But I wasn’t giving up without a fight.

  The tree had large, hard green fruits almost as big as my head. I plucked one and got ready to throw. I would probably only have one shot.

  “Wheeet-tieu, wheeet-tieu,” came a call. I looked around for the source, and in a flash of yellow, the colorful little bird landed on my shoulder, feather-light but warm and alive. What had Vik called it? A pitta.

  “Can you help me, little pitta?” I whispered.

  The bird turned its head and regarded me with a shiny black eye.

  The cobra reached my branch and glided toward me. Its tongue flicked in and out as it wended its way along the branch. I poised the fruit in my hands, aimed, and threw with all my might.

  The heavy fruit hit the middle of the snake and knocked its tail off the branch. For a split second, it looked like it would just drop to the ground. But the cobra coiled the rest of its body so it didn’t fall. It slithered toward me again, faster now, and reared up with its hood extended. I closed my eyes in anticipation of its bite.

  And then the little pitta on my shoulder began to sing. Not typical birdsong, but something else, something that felt familiar. It sounded like the memory of all the creatures of the forest—birds and beasts, streams and plants, every growing thing. It sounded like an invitation.

  When I opened my eyes, the cobra had gone.

  “Don’t require your assistance at this time, huh? Wait till you come begging for my help when all is lost! Talk about ungrateful! They’ll never win without me, never. And then what will become of—”

  “Vik? Is that you?” I called. “Watch out! There’s a cobra!”

  There was a pause. Then, “Mimi? Where are you?”

  I twisted and stuck my head out of the leaves. I glimpsed Vik’s dark hair. “Be careful! Look around you!”

  It sounded like Vik was walking around the tree. “Mimi, there’s nothing here. Come down.”

  I stayed put.

  “Mimi? Really, there’s nothing down here. You can come down now.”

  I carefully made my way down the tree. I reached the ground and couldn’t stop trembling. “This is way weirder than the boar, Vik. There aren’t supposed to be any poisonous snakes here! And certainly no cobras!”

  “Are you sure it was a cobra?”

  “It was a gigantic tan snake with a hood. It made this horrible growly roaring noise.” I shuddered.

  “Well, whatever it was, it’s gone now,” said Vik. “What were you doing out here?”

  I clutched at my backpack strap; it was still there. I grabbed Vik’s arm and pulled him on the path home.

  “Come on,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  We arrived at my yard. I dropped my backpack and collapsed onto the grass, exhausted and drenched in sweat. Vik plopped himself next to me.

  “What was a cobra doing in my woods?”

  “How do you know it was a cobra?”

  “How many other snakes look like that?”

  “Okay,” said Vik. “Well, it’s gone now. What do you want to do?”

  I thought for a moment. “When there was a fox in the neighborhood last year, people called animal control. They observed the fox, made sure it wasn’t acting like it had rabies, and taught people how to be careful around it until it eventually moved on. I should call them now. Maybe they can trap it?”

  We ran into the kitchen, and I thumbed through the phone book for the town directory. I found the number and waited impatiently for someone to pick up.

  “Hello? I’d like to report a dangerous wild animal,” I said.

  “Are you in danger now?” asked the woman on the phone.

  “No, I’m safe at home.”

  “What type of animal, and where did you see it?”

  “It was in Comity Woods. A cobra.”

  There was a pause. “Is this a joke?” said the woman.

  “I’m not kidding. It really was a cobra. It chased me up a tree, and climbed the tree and—”

  “Cobras don’t live in Massachusetts. You probably saw a green snake.”

  “It wasn’t a green snake! It was a gigantic hooded—”

  “Young lady, you shouldn’t be making prank calls like this. This line is for emergencies.”

  “But I’m not—”

  “I’m hanging up now. I need to keep this line clear.”

  “But I haven’t even told you about the boar! Please listen—”

  There was a click. I exhaled through pursed lips and hung up the phone.

  “What happened?” Vik asked.

  I pushed my hair out of my eyes. “What do you think? She didn’t believe me.” I shook my head. “I barely believe me.”

  “What should we do now?” asked Vik.

  I grabbed my backpack from the floor.

  “Now we bake brownies.”

  We washed our hands, and I pulled out the gotu kola. We stripped the dark green heart-shaped leaves off the stems, and I rinsed and spun them dry. I tore off a piece and tasted: it was mild, kind of like basil, but with a slightly bitter edge, which would be masked by the chocolate I was going to use.

  “What is this?” asked Vik.

  “Gotu kola. Remember? From The Book? This will fix everyone. I hope.”

  Vik looked puzzled, so I explained what I had deduce
d about the honeysuckle and my hope that the gotu kola would reverse the effects.

  His eyes grew wide. He opened The Book and flipped through pages. “Honeysuckle,” he read. “To be used to promote infatuation and love.”

  I sighed. “I wish we had looked it up before we baked with it. There are other magical ingredients in the woods!”

  “But Mimi,” said Vik. “Do you really think that’s true?”

  “It’s the only explanation that makes sense,” I said. “Why else would the guys suddenly act so strange? Anyway, even if I’m wrong, I have to try to fix things. Do you believe me? Will you help?”

  Vik nodded. “Of course.”

  I took my recipe binder off the kitchen shelf and flipped to the brownies section.

  We preheated the oven and lined a pan with parchment paper, and I put a bowl of chocolate and butter over a pan of simmering water on the stove. I left Vik to stir as they melted while I took the gotu kola leaves and walnuts and chopped them into tiny bits in the food processor.

  Dad strolled into the kitchen. “What’re you making?”

  “Double-chocolate brownies,” I said. “I’ll give you one when they’re ready.” Please let it work, I thought.

  “Better make it two, or four, or eight,” said Dad, chuckling and ruffling my hair so it was in my face even more. “I’m going to grab a snack and go for a run. Nice to see you, Vik.”

  Dad proceeded to make himself the largest sandwich I’d ever seen: a triple-decker with salami, pickles, two types of cheese, mustard, coleslaw, and peanut butter. Vik watched him with his mouth hanging open. I was sure he was wondering the same thing as me: Who could possibly run after eating that? I had no idea whether the gotu kola brownies would work on Dad, but I had to try something before he exploded.

  Dad took an enormous bite of the sandwich. “Save me some,” he said with his mouth full.

  “Promise,” I said as he left the kitchen.

  Once the chocolate and butter had melted, we stirred in sugar, salt, eggs, and the gotu kola mixture. We sifted in flour and added chocolate chips. Please let this clear everyone’s minds and return them to their normal feelings, I thought as I stirred. I tasted the batter—it was super chocolatey with a subtle herbaceous undertone.

  I poured the batter into the pan and slid it into the oven. We cleaned up, and I wrote my recipe notes while they were still fresh in my mind.

  The oven timer finally went off. The brownies looked great, with a classic papery, cracked top. I pushed a toothpick into the center of the pan to test if they were done, and it came out with bits of crumbs clinging to it. Perfect—rich and fudgy.

  “I hope everyone likes these,” I said as I put the pan on a rack to cool. I needed them to be so delicious that no one could resist them. “And I hope they work.”

  “The Book says the gotu kola should work,” said Vik.

  I nodded my head but couldn’t shake the sour churning in my stomach.

  Once the brownies had cooled enough to eat, I cut them and inhaled the heady scent of fresh herbs and chocolate. I placed one on a napkin and handed it to Vik, then took another and bit into it. I’d learned my lesson: I was never giving anyone anything without tasting it first myself.

  The brownie was luscious and moist. The herbs brightened the deep chocolate in a way that reminded me of mint.

  “What do you think?” I asked Vik.

  “Delicious,” he said. “Like I knew it would be.”

  “But do you think it will cure everyone of their . . . honeysuckle madness?”

  Vik rubbed his hands together. “Only one way to find out. Who did you say is on the list? Your sisters?”

  “No, just the boys. Henry, Cole, and Fletcher. Oh, and Dad, of course. He’s been the weirdest of all.”

  A car pulled into the driveway next door and a shaggy-headed guy got out. Luck was finally with us.

  “Let’s try these on Cole first.” I covered the brownie pain in foil so Dad couldn’t gobble them all before everyone else had gotten one.

  “Sounds good,” said Vik. “But is he your highest priority?”

  “Are you kidding? He showed up dressed as a giant soccer ball and made Jules miss her penalty kick at her game yesterday!”

  Vik snickered. “Oh, that is excellent. Why do I miss all the fun stuff?”

  “Trust me, it isn’t fun when you’re actually living it. I have to stop him before he does anything worse! Come on, let’s go.”

  We rushed next door. Cole sat at the kitchen counter, bent over something small.

  “I’ve got another treat for you,” I announced. I put a brownie on the counter.

  Cole finished adjusting something with a screwdriver, then sat back and assessed what he’d done.

  I saw that Cole had been working on a small robot with wheels instead of legs. It blinked with cheerful blue lights.

  “What a cute little guy,” I said.

  Cole picked up the brownie and sniffed. “It does smell delicious.” He took a nibble, then another, and then finished it off in seconds. “Wow,” he murmured as he reached for another, which he inhaled just as quickly.

  “How do you feel?” I asked anxiously.

  “Fine, I—” He rubbed his head. “Man, what the heck have I been doing?” He looked at the robot in dismay. “I programmed it to wait for Jules in the yard and follow her around your house singing love songs. What was I thinking?”

  I giggled. “Yeah, I don’t think she’d appreciate that.”

  “Don’t tell her,” Cole said. “And . . . did I mess up her game yesterday?”

  I let out the breath I’d been holding. What a relief—he was back to normal! “She missed the penalty kick, and her team lost.”

  Cole jumped up. “I can’t believe how stupid I was! She’s the most wonderful person I’ve ever met—I need to make it up to her!” He grabbed the robot and ran out of the room.

  Well, not quite normal. I turned to Vik. “At first I thought it worked, but he still likes her!”

  “Maybe—”

  “Maybe he needs more gotu kola. Maybe we need to rethink this whole operation!”

  “Mimi—”

  “What?” I snapped.

  Vik sighed. “Why don’t we try the brownies on someone else and see what happens? Is Henry home?”

  “I think so,” I said. “It’s certainly going to be harder to get him to eat them, but I guess it wouldn’t hurt.”

  What choice did I have?

  CHAPTER 16

  THE WORST SONG EVER

  Vik and I paused outside the door to the mudroom and listened to Henry strumming his guitar and singing:

  “Some say my eyes are dreamiest, so brown and warm and bright,

  Some say my skin is creamiest, like cinnamon in the light,

  I know my acting is the best, but if I had to choose,

  I’d say my voice is loveliest, what I’d never want to lose . . .”

  Vik laughed so hard he started choking and coughing. I looked at him through narrowed eyes, then steeled myself and opened the door.

  “Henry! Just who we were looking for.”

  “I’m heading to rehearsal early so I can give everyone my individualized notes before we start,” Henry said. “And so I can sing my song for Lily.”

  Vik collapsed onto the bench next to Henry.

  “Henry, you have to try these.” I held out the pan. “They’re the best brownies I’ve ever made.”

  “Now, Mimi, I know you love to bake, but I’ve got to be in top shape for the play,” Henry said, trying to peek at himself in the mudroom mirror. And I needed to be in top shape for the contest, which was the same day. But I couldn’t do that until everyone was back to normal.

  “But these are healthy brownies.”

  “How so?” said Henry. He stopped trying to be sneaky and stood in front of the mirror, guitar still strapped to him, and raised his eyebrows as he looked at his face from different angles. “What do you think is my better side, my right or m
y left? I want to make sure I use the best angle when I sing for Lily.”

  Vik fell over in silent laughter, and I gave him a death stare.

  “Uh . . . both your sides are great. I don’t think you need to worry about that. But seriously, try a brownie. They’re full of healthy green things, with, you know, anti—anti—”

  “Antioxidants? Really?” Henry’s reflection looked intrigued.

  “Yeah, you can’t taste them, but they’re in there. Right, Vik?” I asked pointedly.

  Vik nodded, tears leaking from his eyes.

  “I’ll give you a small piece. Please, Henry. I value your opinion so much, and you know the baking contest is only six days away.”

  Henry smiled at me affectionately. “Oh, all right, I’ll try one. I should use my prodigious skills to help my littlest sister. Come hither: I am here. Right, Mimi Mouse?” He winked at me.

  I plastered a smile on my face. This had to work, for Henry’s own health, because he was making me want to kill him.

  “Here you go,” I said, offering him a brownie. Vik lay on the bench and shook with hilarity.

  Henry took a bite. “Mimi, this is delicious.” He kept chewing and finished the brownie, licking the crumbs from his fingers.

  Then all of a sudden, he shivered. His guitar made a jangly noise as he hastily set it down.

  “Good grief,” Henry said. “What have I been doing?” He clasped his hands on top of his head.

  “You look pale,” I said. “Maybe you should sit.” I poked Vik so he would move over.

  Henry dropped onto the bench and rubbed his eyes. “I wrote a song for Lily . . . but it was about myself . . . and it was terrible . . .”

  “Yeah, it was,” Vik agreed.

  “Stop it!” I whispered to Vik. “Henry, do you feel all right?”

  “And I was . . . telling everyone what to do last night . . . and . . . oh my goodness! Lily! I’ve got to call her!” Henry pulled his phone from his pocket and ran from the room.