Midsummer's Mayhem

by Rajani LaRocca

  “Stop laughing!” I shoved Vik’s arm.

  “I thought he was supposed to be a musical genius!” Vik slumped against the wall.

  “He is!” I said. “But you can’t hold it against him if he wrote a bad song while he was in the middle of . . . honeysuckle madness!”

  Vik chuckled. “I don’t, but still, that was the funniest song I’ve ever heard!”

  Now that I knew Henry was going to be okay, I couldn’t help smiling myself. “Can you imagine if he had played it for the girl he likes?”

  But I couldn’t relax yet. I had two down, maybe. I still wasn’t sure about Cole. Two to go.

  I picked up the brownie pan. “Let’s go up to my room,” I said. “We’ve got more planning to do.”

  “Cool,” said Vik, looking around my room and taking in the lavender-colored walls with black butterflies. “We’re doing well so far.”

  “I don’t know about Cole,” I said, chewing on a strand of hair.

  “I wish I’d been at the soccer game. A giant soccer ball—sounds hilarious. And Henry’s obnoxious song! I’d love to hear others.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “It’s less fun than you think living with these people while they act strange.”

  “I guess so. What’s next?”

  “Well,” I said, “there’s Fletcher. He’s Riya’s friend and used to be all googly-eyed around her, but since he ate the cookies he’s been lovesick for Jules.”

  “How do we get to him?”

  “I don’t know. He’s in Henry’s play. Maybe I should ask Henry to give him a brownie at rehearsal?”

  “But Henry might eat the brownie himself,” said Vik. “I would—they’re mouthwatering.”

  I scratched my head. “Maybe I should go to the rehearsal? But would that be weird?”

  “Actually, I don’t think you’ll need to.” Vik pointed out my window. “Fletcher’s here.”

  “What?” I ran to the window and saw Fletcher striding across the back lawn. “Wait, is he wearing a suit?”

  Vik started to snicker again, but I grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “We have to cure him before he does something idiotic, like . . . like asking Jules to marry him!”

  “But it’s so entertaining.” Vik had tears in his eyes again.

  “Riya ruined her own dance yesterday to leap off the stage and slap him! He might have destroyed her chance to go to her dream college! If she ever finds out I’m the one responsible for all this insanity, she’ll kill me!”

  “Okay, okay,” said Vik, wiping his eyes and straightening up. “What’s the plan, boss?”

  “Let’s intercept him before he talks to anyone else.”

  Vik bowed.

  We scrambled down the stairs. When we got to the kitchen, I was dismayed to find Riya at the counter drinking a glass of lemonade.

  “What’re you guys up to?” She tapped idly at her phone.

  “Not much,” I said. “We’re going outside.” We hurried to the back door.

  But Fletcher stepped in before we could head him off. He wore a dark blue suit and a fat red tie and held an enormous box of chocolates.

  “Hey!” Vik said, grabbing a brownie out of the pan I was holding. “Thanks for helping Cole out.” He took the brownie and shoved it into Fletcher’s gaping mouth. Fletcher’s eyes widened, but he chewed.

  I glanced at Vik in confusion, and he raised his eyebrows and tilted his head toward Riya. Oh! “Yeah, thanks,” I said to Fletcher. “Jules appreciates it, too.”

  “What is going on?” asked Riya, standing and crossing her arms. Her eyes looked catlike and dangerous. “Fletcher, why are you here? Don’t you know you’re not welcome? And why would you be helping Cole with anything? Aren’t you still fighting over Jules?”

  Fletcher swallowed the brownie, put the box of chocolates down, and pushed his floppy hair out of his eyes. “I —”

  My mind whirled. “I can explain. Fletcher learned how much Jules liked Cole, and he figured the only way to get Cole to make a move was to pretend to like Jules himself,” I said. I grabbed a napkin and handed it to Fletcher.

  Riya’s expression softened. “Well,” she said, still looking at Fletcher, “if you had asked me about the Jules-Cole situation, you would know that I’ve told him over and over since the day he moved in to just go talk to her.” She snorted. “He acted like she was some sort of movie star or something. I told him that she’d be thrilled if he asked her out, but he said he was too intimidated. Since when has Jules been intimidating?”

  Wait a minute. Cole liked Jules from the day he moved in? Vik raised his eyebrows in an I-told-you-so kind of expression.

  “I—” said Fletcher, shredding the napkin in his hands.

  “And Fletcher was sick of Cole hanging around you all the time,” I said. “Right, Fletcher?”

  “Uh—”

  “So you really should be thanking him, Riya. Here, have a brownie.” Feeling reckless, I handed her one.

  To my surprise, Riya started eating it. “Mimi, why don’t you stop interrupting and let him speak for himself?” Her laserlike gaze was still on Fletcher.

  “I brought these for you,” Fletcher said, moving past me with a grateful glance to stand next to Riya.

  Riya finished the brownie and put down her phone. “For me?” She looked skeptical.

  “To say how sorry I am about yesterday. I didn’t mean to cause such a commotion and mess up your recital.”

  “Commotion? You wrecked my solo dance,” Riya said.

  “I know, I know, and I don’t know what I was thinking. I just felt compelled to . . . um . . . I don’t have an explanation,” he said.

  Riya looked at him coldly while he shredded the napkin and stared at the floor.

  “It was good for me,” said Riya quietly.

  Vik and I shared a confused look.

  “I’m tired of having guys fall all over me,” said Riya, smoothing her hair away from her face. “It was . . . illuminating to feel what it’s like to have the guy you like pay attention to someone else.” She smiled ruefully.

  “You mean you like me? Still?” asked Fletcher.

  Riya laughed. “Fletcher, you’re the only guy who’s ever treated me like a person, who’s been my friend before trying anything romantic. I wasn’t even sure if you liked me.”

  “Can we try again? To be friends, I mean—at least to start. I’m so sorry I ruined everything. Can you forgive me?” He handed her the box of chocolates.

  I could tell Riya was trying not to smile. “I should kick you out of here. But it turns out you did me a favor,” she said, taking the box.

  “A favor?” I asked.

  “The mustache guy sitting next to Mimi was the art school professor,” said Riya, holding up her phone. “He thought Fletcher was part of my dance—the tripping, my leap off the stage, and the slap.” She shrugged her shoulders. “He thought it was the best performance art he’d ever seen. So believable.” Riya giggled. “They want me to attend an exclusive dance program with them next month!

  “So if you promise me you won’t act erratically like that again . . .” Riya tore open the box and pulled out a chocolate. “Then yes, we can start over, as friends.”

  “I promise,” Fletcher said.

  I grabbed Vik’s arm. “Come on,” I whispered. “Our work here is done.”

  We walked out onto the porch in time to see Jules returning from her game.

  Something rolled up to her, and she bent to look at it.

  “Oh, what’s this?” she said.

  Cole’s little robot stood on the grass in front of her.

  “You’re so cute! And what do you have for me? A note?” She took an envelope from the robot’s hands, ripped it open, and read it quickly. She looked around, picked up the little robot, and ran to the porch.

  “It’s Cole,” she said breathlessly. “He apologized for everything! He wants to start over. He said that if and when I want to, I can call him.” She tilted her head and smiled. “I might
give him another chance after all. And what an awesome game we just had! It started off rough, and I had no idea how we’d recover. But we pulled it out in the end.” She gave me an exuberant hug and barreled into the house.

  I high-fived Vik. “Looks like we pulled it out in the end, too.”

  CHAPTER 17

  ON THE SWING SET

  “Now I need to wait for Dad,” I said.

  “I’ll hang out with you,” said Vik. “Want to wait over there?” He pointed at Emma’s old swing set. “We’ll have a good view of your whole yard.”

  We walked to Cole’s yard. I put the half-finished brownie pan at the top of the slide, sat in a swing, and rocked back and forth with my feet on the ground, keeping an eye out for Dad. Vik did the same, and then, with a grin, he started to swing in earnest. I grinned back and pushed off myself. I remembered swinging with Emma, pretending that we were on a rocket ship to Mars, or gymnasts making dismounts off the uneven bars.

  “Beat you to the moon,” said Vik, swinging higher and higher.

  “You wish,” I said, pumping my legs harder and letting my head fall back as my feet reached for the sky. It felt so good to be here with a friend again, knowing that Henry, Cole, and Fletcher were back to normal and my sisters were happy.

  Then, upside down, I saw Dad jog into our yard.

  I straightened up and let go, flying out of the swing and landing in a heap. “Dad!” I called as I scrambled to stand. “I’ve got something for you!”

  Dad stopped and looked at me in surprise. I ran up the slide and grabbed the brownie pan as Vik jumped off his swing and joined us.

  “Here. I saved a bunch for you, like I promised.” Still panting, I held them out to Dad.

  “These look fantastic, Mimi. Thanks!” said Dad, leaning over the pan and taking a couple.

  “Everyone says these are the best brownies they’ve ever had,” said Vik. “Mimi is so talented.”

  “We’re all very lucky to have her,” Dad said through a mouthful of brownie.

  “So what do you think of the flavors, Dad?” I asked. I held my breath.

  Dad finished chewing and smacked his lips. “Well, they’re . . . full of . . . you know . . .”

  “Yes?” Come on, Dad—chocolate and herbs.

  “Chocolate, for sure,” said Dad, with a momentary purple glint in his eyes. “Scrumptious! Can I have more?”

  My heart sank. “Uh—”

  “I’ll take the rest of these. They’re the perfect snack after a long run.” Dad tucked the pan under his arm and jogged into the house.

  I turned to Vik. “I guess the brownies didn’t fix Dad.”

  Vik looked at me with concern. “Yes, but why not? Did he have a honeysuckle cookie, too? What’s he in love with—food?”

  I shook my head and plunked myself down on a swing again. “He’s been weird since he came home from his trip a couple of weeks ago. It’s not just that he’s eating everything in sight; he doesn’t seem to care whether anything’s delicious or disgusting, and he can’t comment on flavors. And he’s a food critic! It’s literally his job to do that. When he’s not eating, he’s in the woods running for hours. And . . . his eyes are different. Like, a different color sometimes.”

  “Oh,” said Vik, sitting on the swing next to me.

  “Oh, what?”

  “I’m not saying I know anything about what’s happening with your dad, but my friend’s dad—it was last summer, when I was in Portugal—started acting weird, too.”

  “Yeah?” I leaned forward. Could Vik know something that would help me figure out what was wrong with Dad?

  “It was little things at first. You know, like he had meetings late, or forgot when my friend was in a game or a concert. But then he got a new haircut. And started working out a lot more.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “And he got colored contacts lenses, too.”

  “So his eyes looked different! And then what happened?”

  Vik looked at me sadly. “Then he left them.”

  A chill went down my back and my heart skipped a few beats. “What do you mean he left?”

  Vik looked at the ground and nodded. “He told his family he had some things to work through, but it turns out he had a new girlfriend, and that’s who he wanted to be with.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  That was terrible. But it wasn’t what was happening to my family. It couldn’t be.

  Or was it?

  I blew a strand of hair out of my eyes. I couldn’t believe Dad wanted to leave us. I just couldn’t. I had to think. I had to come up with a plan. “I need to go. Catch up with you tomorrow?” I said.

  “Okay.” Vik looked at me anxiously. “You know, I’m sure the whole thing with your dad has nothing to do with him leaving you. I’ve seen your family—you all love each other. Forget I said anything.”

  “It’s all right,” I said. I walked back to my house in a daze.

  But it wasn’t.

  Was it possible? Was Dad leaving us? Did that explain his weird behavior? I walked into the kitchen like a zombie and stared blankly at the empty brownie pan on the counter. But becoming a glutton didn’t mean Dad wanted to abandon us, right? Unless that was part of a plan to make us all disgusted with him? But then I thought about Dad losing his sense of taste and not wanting to bake with me anymore—was it all an act, so that he could break away from me, from all of us?

  I threw the pan into the sink with a clatter. It was time for desperate measures.

  I stood at the bottom of the stairs and listened. I could hear the shower running in the upstairs bathroom, and the door to Mom and Dad’s room was closed. Henry had probably already left for rehearsal. There was no sign of Riya or Fletcher.

  I tiptoed into Dad’s office, next to the kitchen. It was a small room, but cozy, and always a little messy. Piled on top of his scratched-up desk were receipts from the past month or two, business cards, a mug smelling of old coffee, gum wrappers (cinnamon currently), photos of us kids, pens, broken pencils, sticky notes with lists, and lots of crumbs.

  The nicest part of the room was the window that faced out back—it captured the evening sun and magnified it so that everything glowed golden at the end of the day, when Dad said he did his best writing. Dad always said that “poets need time to stare out of windows,” and although neither of us was a poet, I understood what he meant.

  His laptop case was on the desk. I silently slid the zipper open and took the laptop out. When the password screen appeared, I typed in: mimimouse527.

  An error screen appeared. Wrong password. Wrong password? Maybe I just made a mistake. I tried again, carefully typing: mimimouse527.

  Error.

  Why had Dad changed his password? I finally admitted defeat and put the laptop back.

  I felt terrible about snooping through Dad’s stuff, but I had to know if there were any clues to his strange behavior. I unzipped an outside compartment of the laptop case, but it was empty. No brochures, and no handwritten notes.

  I eased open the other outside zipper, felt inside, and fished out a book. A library book, judging from the plastic stretched over the cover. As I turned it over to get a closer look, a piece of paper fell out and fluttered to the floor. Just a boarding pass. I glanced at the cover—Ghostwriting for Dummies—and put it on the desk. I reached down to pick up the boarding pass when Mom called me from upstairs.

  “Mimi?”

  I snatched up the boarding pass and dashed back to the kitchen. “Yeah, Mom?” I called.

  “Want to go to the movies with me? That chef film you wanted to see is playing in Bridgeton in an hour.”

  “Sounds great. Thanks!”

  “Want to invite Vik?”

  I glanced at the paper in my hand and froze.

  “Mimi?”

  “Uh, sure, I can try and ask him,” I said in what I hoped was a normal voice.

  I sat down hard and looked again.

  The boarding pass said that Dad had flow
n home from Chicago two weeks earlier.

  But he was supposed to have come from Houston.

  CHAPTER 18

  A REVIEW TO REMEMBER

  I spent the next several days in a stupor but noticed several things that made me even more worried. While Henry, Jules, and Riya ran around happily, busy with their jobs and practice and rehearsals and going out with their friends, I couldn’t say the same for Mom and Dad.

  Mom worked all day and late into each night. Like Henry had promised, we tried to help her with cooking, laundry, and stuff—but Dad didn’t pull his weight at all, except in the eating department. I caught Mom muttering to herself in an annoyed way when a whole shelf of leftovers disappeared in an hour.

  Dad didn’t appear to be bothered by Mom’s increasing irritation. But his persistent cheerfulness made me suspicious that he was living in an imaginary place in his head, a place that didn’t include the rest of us. I tried to talk to him, but he never had any time to spare for me. I carried the boarding pass around with me like an unlucky talisman but couldn’t find the right time to ask him about it. Part of me was terrified to find out the truth.

  Vik and I met every day, and I confided my worries in him while he tried to convince me that everything would be all right. I did my best to concentrate on baking something with roots for the While Away’s contest, which was growing closer every day, but my heart wasn’t in it. Not even for Puffy Fay. I was too worried about what Vik had said. He left them.

  Late Thursday afternoon, two days before the contest, two things arrived at our house: The Comity Journal and a flyer for the While Away’s contest.

  I grabbed them from the mailbox and ran into the kitchen. First, the While Away’s flyer:

  Congrats, Golden Leaf Winner!

  Only two days until the

  While Away Café

  Midsummer Baking Contest!

  Bring your delectable baked goods by 9:00 a.m.

  on Midsummer’s Eve, when

  the holders of the Golden Leaves

  will be narrowed down to THREE,

  who will immediately compete in