Midsummer's Mayhem

by Rajani LaRocca

  She brushed my hair out of my eyes and put her hands on either side of my face. “Dad’s illness reminded me that nothing is more important than our family, Mimi. Compared to you, work doesn’t matter. I’m incredibly proud of you. I love you so much, honey.”

  “Thanks, Mom. I love you, too,” I said as she kissed me on the forehead and gave me a hug. It was so good to have things back to normal.

  Once Mom left, the song wafted through the window again, and I could feel the woods calling me. I hoped Vik would still be there when I got to the tree.

  I grabbed The Book, put it in my backpack, and flung it over my shoulder. The song echoed through the forest as I ran to the banyan and called Vik’s name.

  “I’ve got so much to tell you!” I said as he jumped down.

  “All good, I hope?” Vik said with a quirk of his mouth.

  “Well, kind of. Dad had Lyme disease—that’s why he was acting so strange. But he went to the hospital, and they put him on antibiotics, and he’s much better now.”

  “Oh,” said Vik. “That’s great!” He furrowed his brow. “I mean, about him being better, of course. Come, let’s walk while we talk. I’ve got something to show you. And something to ask you.” He started on a path leading away from the pond.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I’ll tell you when we get there,” said Vik.

  I couldn’t wait any longer; I was bursting to tell him. “I know why your song seems so familiar,” I said.

  “Yes?” Vik made his way around a scrubby young pine.

  “‘Come with Me’ is my family’s song, too! At least, my mom’s family. Mom used to sing it to us as a lullaby when we were little. She learned it from my grandmother.”

  Vik stopped and stared at me like I’d told him I was flying to the moon. “You can’t be serious.”

  I nodded. “It’s true. And my brother and sisters knew like three more verses. Anyway, I thought . . . maybe we’re related.” I nearly jumped up and down with excitement.

  Vik stared at me for a moment longer, but I could see his thoughts were far away. He abruptly shook his head as if to clear it. “Let’s keep going.” He walked so fast I had to jog to keep up with him.

  Well, that was strange. “But isn’t that cool?” I asked.

  “Yes, sure, I suppose,” said Vik.

  That wasn’t the reaction I expected. “But—”

  “What else has been happening?” Vik asked. “You said you had lots to tell me.”

  “Oh!” I reached into my pocket and found the flyer from the While Away. “As if I needed more to be excited about—I mean, Puffy Fay is the judge, and the winner gets to bake with him! But the winner also gets an internship at the While Away! It’s just what I was hoping for this summer. If I win, I’m sure I can convince my parents to let me skip summer camp next month. I don’t know why they had to make it mandatory, though. Who wouldn’t want an internship?”

  Vik stopped midstride. “Mandatory? Can I see that?”

  I handed Vik the flyer. He read it with narrowed eyes and mumbled something under his breath.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Vik handed the flyer back to me. He crossed his arms and looked me in the eyes. “Has it ever occurred to you that they’re taking advantage of you?”

  “Who?”

  “The While Away. The owner, and those who work there. They’re the ones who benefit the most from this contest.”

  I blinked. “They’re giving me this huge opportunity! I mean, Puffy Fay!”

  “Yes, and they’ve been doing a brisk business, haven’t they, ever since word got out about the contest? Didn’t you tell me that their original baked goods were awful? I hear they’ve been a lot more successful selling their contestants’ entries to customers.”

  “They gave away my chocolate-chunk thyme cookies for free. People loved them,” I said. “I didn’t have a problem with it. Anyway, Mrs. T could give away or sell everything I’ve ever baked, if it means I get to meet Puffy Fay.”

  “And what about this internship? Another demand.”

  “Demand? It’s a chance to learn—”

  “Change of plan,” said Vik, turning back on the path and accelerating again. “Let’s go a different way.”

  “Where are we going?” I struggled to catch up with him.

  But Vik didn’t say another word and sprinted like the boar was chasing him. I didn’t know how much longer I’d be able to keep up, and I struggled to catch my breath, when Vik finally stopped.

  He had brought us to my hangout. That was odd.

  I flung myself to the ground and dumped my backpack next to me. “Why did we run all that way to just come here?” I asked.

  Vik stared into the middle distance with knit brows.

  “Um, Vik? Will you come to the While Away tomorrow? It would mean a lot to me.”

  Vik shook his head. “I don’t think so. And I don’t think you should go, either.”

  I couldn’t have heard him right. “What? But you’ve been helping me. Don’t you want to see how I do? And . . . cheer me on?”

  Vik laughed. “I’ve just been kidding around; I didn’t think you’d take me so seriously.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m leaving,” said Vik.

  “But—”

  “I don’t belong in this little place,” said Vik. I understood that he didn’t mean my hangout; he meant Comity, and the beautiful woods around us. My woods.

  “I’m not the one who—”

  “I told you I was only here for the summer,” he said, eyeing me coldly. “I hope you didn’t think we were going to be best friends.”

  “I . . .” I didn’t know what to say, and angry tears sprang to my eyes. I refused to blink.

  “All that time we spent talking about food—it was just a way to pass the time while I was stuck here. I don’t actually think you’re that talented. I’ve met loads of kids who are much better bakers than you.”

  A few traitor tears trickled down my face before I hastily wiped them away. “But you said—”

  “I said what I thought you wanted to hear,” Vik said in a flat voice. “That’s all.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t come back to the woods,” said Vik. “And if I were you, I wouldn’t compete in that baking contest.” His eyes glittered like golden ice. “You won’t win. Don’t make a fool of yourself in front of everyone. Like you did before.”

  I watched helplessly as he spun around and disappeared into the trees.

  CHAPTER 21

  PUFFY FAY

  The birds woke me. The sky lightened and a rose-colored streak appeared on the horizon as I looked out my open window. The dewy-fresh air did nothing to soothe the molten lava cake of dread in my stomach. If only I could disappear into the woods and never have to face anyone again.

  But I couldn’t.

  I might run into Vik.

  I dragged myself into the kitchen and set out my ingredients. But for the first time in my life, the prospect of baking didn’t make me happy.

  You won’t win. Don’t make a fool of yourself.

  I pounded the counter with my fist, tipping over a mixing bowl and engulfing myself in a cloud of flour.

  After all the hours we’d spent together, all the stories we’d shared. All the food we’d shared. What had happened? Why would Vik suddenly be so cruel?

  And he’d also done something else, something I’d discovered when I’d picked up my strangely light backpack to trudge back home.

  He had taken The Book. Just when I needed it most! I wanted to have it as a reference if I managed to make it to the Bake-Off.

  Now I was completely on my own.

  It didn’t matter. I was going to compete. I dusted myself off and got to work. While I was baking my cream puffs, I had second thoughts about my filling. Too many people were going to use carrots. They were clearly the easiest root to cook with. I wouldn’t win by playing it safe—I’d learned that
the hard way, with the vanilla cookies.

  I looked through the pantry and the fridge, hoping to come up with some last-minute inspiration. No luck.

  And then I opened the freezer and saw what was sitting there.

  I was going to take a risk.

  There should be a word for being grateful and terrified at the same time . . . terriful? Grateified? Because that’s how I felt having the whole family come to support me. They were taking my baking seriously now, so it would be even worse when I messed up. If I messed up.

  By the time everyone was ready to leave, I was filling the last cream puff with pale green pastry cream. I licked a bit off my finger. It was good—an intriguing mix of warm pistachio, floral cardamom, and invigorating ginger. And ginger, of course, was a root. I only wished I knew what The Book would say about it. And was it good enough? Spotting the last of Mom’s batch of kulfi—Indian ice cream made of thick sweetened cream and flavored with pistachio, ginger, and cardamom—had inspired me to make a pastry cream with the same flavors.

  I gently put the tops on the puffs and pressed ground pistachios onto the sides of the filling. I piped small dots of white icing on the top and pressed a piece of candied ginger onto each one.

  “These look great. What are they, petit fours?” asked Henry, peering over my shoulder.

  “Petit fours are miniature cakes. These are cream puffs,” I said with an attempt at a smile. “Puffy Fay’s favorite. It’s how he made his name in the Food TV world—he won a competition with his cream puffs.”

  “Cool, since his name is Puffy,” said Jules, finishing the last of her orange juice.

  “That’s not his real name, dummy,” said Riya, rolling her eyes. “Right, Mimi?”

  “Yeah, he has a funny name,” I said. “It’s Pyramus, but he abbreviates it as P.” I took a deep breath. “I know I’m taking a risk making cream puffs. If I messed up in any way, he’ll hate them, and I won’t make it to the Bake-Off. But I’ve added my own twist, and I hope he thinks they’re interesting, at least.”

  “Ready, Mimi?” Dad lifted my three-tiered dessert stand and headed to the mudroom. Since he’d come home, he’d had no fever and no purple eyes. He’d even thrown out the rest of the get-well chocolate package. I guessed all he needed was antibiotics after all. Mom grabbed the car keys and my backpack loaded with baking supplies that I’d need if I made it to the Bake-Off.

  I placed the cream puffs in a box and snapped the lid closed.

  I took a deep breath and walked out of the kitchen.

  It was time to meet Puffy Fay.

  We parked down the street and passed the Salt Shaker as we hurried to the While Away.

  “Try our famous sports chips?” A muscular teenage boy was handing out free samples. “And inside, we’re serving a special avocado toast that really helps with computation.”

  Computation?

  “No thanks.” Dad shook his head and kept striding toward the café.

  I caught my breath as we passed a glossy black limousine parked in front of the While Away. Puffy Fay was here already! I thought we were going to be early, but there was a line out the door. Thankfully, it was moving fast.

  Peaseblossom stood at the entrance. She wore a flowing white dress and a circlet of delicate pink flowers in her hair and carried a tray with cups of golden liquid. “We bid you welcome to our sweet café,” she said, her cheeks flushing prettily as she gave a small curtsy. “On this, our first midsummer’s contest day.” We each took a cup as we passed and drank the sweet chilled beverage—it was refreshing and tasted like ginger ale with a swirl of summer peaches. Then Peaseblossom waved us through the open door.

  “Wow,” said Henry.

  We stepped into an enchanted culinary forest. The walls had been painted to look like a thicket of trees, and the ceiling resembled the summer sky in the woods, complete with overhanging branches. There were topiaries and baskets overflowing with wildflowers. The tables were grouped to one side, still draped in their shimmering coverings. Dreamy music floated through the air, and piney, herby scents wafted on gentle currents. Butterflies flitted around and landed on people’s heads and shoulders. And everywhere we looked, there were trays of baked goods—most of them, I realized, straight from the pages of Puffy Fay’s cookbook. The pastry case and the counter near it were hidden behind curtains that looked like a wall of evergreens.

  The cranky goth waitress I’d met before was seated at a registration table that appeared to be chiseled from a mossy stone. Her stand-up headband looked like a stretched spiderweb. I tried not to stare.

  “How many in your party?” she asked, peering behind me.

  “Six,” I said.

  “How sweet. Now where’s your Golden Leaf to compete?” She held out a long-fingered hand.

  I handed her my leaf. She examined it carefully, holding it up to the light as if looking for a counterfeit. She seemed satisfied and passed me a piece of paper.

  “And now you’ll sign this form, for if you win, your mandatory training will begin.”

  “What?” said Dad. “What kind of contract is this?”

  “It’s an internship, Dad. The grand prize winner gets to bake with Puffy Fay and gets an internship at the While Away!”

  “But what about camp?” Mom interjected.

  “Mom, Dad, please. It would be a dream come true to work here for the summer,” I pleaded.

  Mom and Dad looked at each other. Mom gave a tiny nod.

  “Okay,” said Dad.

  “Thanks for understanding, Mom and Dad.” My hand shook as I signed the form and got my entry number.

  At the far end of the room, in front of the windows that looked out onto the woods, was an enormous table with platters of homemade baked goods with a couple of dozen kids milling around it. I searched in vain for Puffy Fay’s starched white chef’s jacket and perky toque. Maybe he was dressed in normal clothes, since he wasn’t actually baking today?

  I took the dessert stand from Dad and hurried to the table, still looking for Puffy. Once I got there I tried to arrange my cream puffs in the most attractive way possible. They did look lovely—golden pastry and pale green filling, like the café around us. I hoped Puffy Fay would agree.

  Don’t make a fool of yourself, Vik’s voice echoed in my head.

  “Stop it,” I whispered.

  “Hi, Mimi Mouse.” Kiera’s syrupy voice came from behind me.

  I turned slowly and tried unsuccessfully to smile. “Hi, Kiera.” She wore a watermelon-colored skirt and a creamy vanilla top and looked perfect as always. Her shiny hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail. I noted she was wearing sandals, a big no-no in kitchen safety.

  “What a sickly shade of green,” said Kiera, peeking at my cream puffs. “No chocolate, huh?”

  “Thought I’d do something different,” I said.

  “Me too,” said Kiera. She pointed to the tall gilded dessert stand next to mine. It held the most spectacular carrot cake I’d ever seen, three-layered, ridiculously lofty and even, and topped with swirls of creamy frosting. I knew the layers would be moist and spiced and the frosting tangy and sweet. It looked worthy of a professional pastry shop. My stomach dropped to my dusty sneakers, which I shuffled awkwardly.

  “That looks beautiful,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “I guess you’ve learned a lot working here.”

  “Especially about presentation,” said Kiera. She took in my outfit of rumpled T-shirt and shorts, glanced at my cream puffs again, and looked smug.

  I looked anxiously at my puffs. Were some of them uneven? Had I made a mistake by choosing something simple like candied ginger for the tops? Kiera’s entry looked like it had been made by an expert, but mine looked like a kid had made them. Not a particularly talented kid, either.

  “Where’s Puffy Fay?” I asked.

  “He had to take a phone call,” Kiera said importantly. “I’m sure he’ll be back to start judging soon. Is your dad here? He must be excited to be in a place with so many s
crumptious treats.” She snickered.

  I crossed my arms. “Don’t talk about my—”

  “Oh, look, there’s Francesca. See you later, Mimi.” Kiera dismissed me with a wave of her hand and sauntered off toward the other end of the café.

  I took a calming breath, trying to put Kiera and her perfect cake out of my mind, then walked around the table and looked over the other entries. There were beet brownies and carrot bars and some more ambitious items like a pastry topped with potato and persimmon slices, a candied parsnip tart, and a gorgeous icing-topped yellow Bundt cake that I thought was made with turmeric. But nothing could compare with Kiera’s carrot cake. Maybe, just maybe, I’d make it to the Bake-Off. But if Kiera was suddenly a master pastry chef, how could I compete?

  You won’t win, whispered Vik’s voice in my head.

  The air around me was suddenly stuffy, and I couldn’t catch my breath. My siblings chatted with their friends—Cole, Fletcher, and Lily had all showed up—and Mom and Dad talked to our neighbors, but they seemed far away, like I was seeing them through the wrong end of a telescope. I had to get out of the café, even if it was for only a moment.

  I pushed my way through the crowded room and reached the back door, which led to a small patio. I stumbled outside, grabbed the metal railing, and took great gulps of air. I gazed at the river making its lazy way toward some distant ocean and wished I could float away on it.

  “I said I’ll be back as soon as I can,” boomed a deep voice behind me.

  I turned around in surprise. Puffy Fay sat hunched on a metal stool talking into a cell phone. His chef’s jacket was crisp and white and contrasted against his dark jeans and motorcycle boots. He was wearing a dark blue beanie instead of his usual toque, and there were flecks of gray in his black hair and goatee. He had a hoop earring in one ear. He looked like a rock star pirate chef.

  “Yeah, I know I’ve got to be there by eight. Like I said, I’ll make it. This shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours. . . . Yes. Bye.” He brought the phone down from his ear and started tapping on the screen.

  I didn’t want him to think I’d been spying on him, so I tried to sneak back to the door.