The Dazzle Disaster Dinner Party

by Sharon M. Draper

  I glance at the mysterious girl in pink. Dozens of questions bounce in my head, but I can’t ask any of them. I wish I could help her be happy.

  I search a few ideas for this project, but nothing sounds very interesting to me. I look up makeup and cosmetics, especially the glittery kind. But my mom doesn’t let me wear makeup anyway, so that would be useless.

  I look up sewing and making purses, but that seems hard. Grammy made my sack and one for herself, but I don’t think I want to try it.

  I daydream for a minute, thinking of Grammy. I remember the time she visited and we all went out to dinner at a fancy restaurant. That had been glorious — until all of us got stuck in an elevator!

  But the food had been so good that night.

  I wish I could cook like that. Elegant and glamorous. A fancy feast.

  Then, suddenly, I know what I want to do! I have discovered the perfect idea. I can have fun and maybe put a smile on Lillian’s face at the same time.

  Jasmine asks me then, “So what are you exploring for your project, Sassy? Sparkles? Glitter gloss? Purple purses?”

  I grin at her and shake my head. “None of that. I’m going to learn to cook!”

  “Cook?”

  “Yes. And then I’m going to give a splendid and swanky dinner party!”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  “I have no idea. I still have to figure that part out!” I tell her with a grin.

  We visit the computer lab every day after lunch now. Mr. C asks questions, offers suggestions, and cracks really lame computer jokes.

  “Why did the computer sneeze?” he asks.

  “It had a virus,” Travis answers quickly.

  “What do you call a computer superhero?” Mr C asks next.

  “A screen saver!” Misty replies.

  “You guys are swift!” Mr. C says. “Here’s one you don’t know. What do you get if you cross a computer with an elephant?”

  Nobody calls out an answer.

  “Gotcha!” he says with glee. “You get lots and lots of memory!”

  We all groan, but he makes the class fun, and he really does know lots of tricks and shortcuts to help us find information for our research.

  Mr. C gives each of us a flash drive to keep all the material we collect for our projects. My drive is full of recipes and menus and place settings. There’s so much I don’t know. When my mom cooks a meal, I wait for her to fix it, then I sit down and eat. I just know it tastes good when she puts it on my plate. I don’t pay much attention to what she’s doing. But I’m starting to watch her more.

  Mr. C stops by my computer and scans the material I have on the screen. “I think your project is absolutely the yummiest!” he declares. “When are you going to have this big party?”

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t asked my mom yet,” I admit.

  “Sounds like your next big step,” he replies. “Hard to have a dinner party in the school parking lot!”

  “My mom is cool, and my family will help. My older brother, Sabin, might eat up all the food, though!”

  “That’s what brothers are for,” Mr. C says with a laugh. “Especially if you serve anything sweet.”

  “You’ve met my brother!” I joke.

  Mr. C laughs again. “Take your flash drive home and show your mom all the wonderful research you’ve done. Tomorrow you should think about recipes and a shopping list.”

  “Shopping?”

  “Sure. Do you have all the ingredients for the recipes you want to prepare?”

  “I haven’t really thought about it.”

  He gives me one of those knowing “teacher” smiles. I start typing a list of food I will need. It’s a long list.

  Mr. C moves on to Lillian’s computer.

  Lillian now wears a blue-and-white uniform like everybody else. But I will always remember her as the tiny new girl dressed all in pink. She’s still very quiet, but she is starting to make friends. However, each morning she arrives in the limousine and leaves every afternoon when the driver comes to pick her up. We still know very little about her.

  “How’s your project coming?” Mr. C asks her.

  “I’ve downloaded whale songs and dolphin songs. I’ve got tons of pictures of whales and dolphins — sharks, too.”

  “Do sharks sing?”

  “I don’t think so,” Lillian replies with a soft giggle. “I just like them because they are so fierce. They are the exact opposite of the gentle dolphin.”

  Mr. C nods with approval. “What will you do next?”

  “I think I’m going to make a movie using clips from the photos and videos I’ve found,” Lillian answers.

  “Great idea! With music?” Mr. C asks.

  “Oh, yes. I want to do two sound tracks. One with whale songs and one with real music — like maybe the theme song from that movie Free Willy.”

  “Wonderful film.”

  “I’ve seen it forty-seven times,” Lillian admits. “For a long time it was the only one I had on DVD.”

  Mr. C cracks up. “You truly are an expert!”

  “Only on whales,” she says. “Every time we moved, I’d watch it on a little DVD player in the back of the limo. Willy the whale was my friend for a while, sort of.”

  “Well, I hope you get to stay and make real friends here,” Mr. C said. “I’ve heard that whales don’t make very good pets. They poop in the bathtub!”

  Lillian laughs and asks him, “Can you show me how to make two sound tracks work together?”

  Mr. C pulls up a chair and shows Lillian what to do.

  Jasmine, sitting on the other side of me, is still checking out websites on flowers. I keep typing and searching and planning my party.

  I whisper to Jasmine, “Will you come to my dinner party?”

  “You know it!” she replies. “When is it?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t asked Mom yet.”

  “Better get to it!”

  “I will. Tonight. Who else should I invite?” I ask her.

  “All the girls in our class,” Jasmine answers.

  “What about the boys?”

  Jasmine looks around the room. “Sure, why not? They might feel bad if you leave them out.”

  “That’s a lot of people,” I say. “You think my mom will put up with a whole bunch of fourth graders in her house?”

  “Your mom puts up with Sabin and that crazy dog of his. She can handle a few kids,” Jasmine replies.

  “How do I know how many people are coming?” I ask her. I’ve never thought about stuff like this.

  “Give everybody an invitation,” Jasmine says. “And ask them to tell you if they are coming. That’s called an RSVP.”

  “Invitations! Brilliant!”

  “Duh!” she says. She goes back to her flower research.

  I turn back to my computer and look up party invitations. There’s probably a million websites listed. I just want something easy I can design myself and print out for my friends. It takes me about fifteen minutes, but I find something I like. I save it on my flash drive just as the bell rings for the end of class.

  I toss the flash drive into my Sassy Sack, sling it over my shoulder, and leave the room with my friends.

  At the end of the day, Jasmine and I get on the dirty yellow school bus with lots of other kids. Lillian quietly steps into her limousine and is whisked away by her driver. That limo looks freshly waxed every day. Even on rainy days it shines.

  “How was school, Sassy?” Mom asks as I walk into the kitchen.

  I have changed into purple jeans and a yellow T-shirt decorated with silver sparkles. I feel great because this is so not like my uniform!

  “Great. What’s for dinner?” I ask her. “It smells good in here.”

  She looks pleased. “That’s the pineapple upside-down cake you smell, Sassy. But we’re also having baked chicken and lima beans and those yummy pan-fried potatoes you like. And salad, of course.”

  “Can I skip the lima beans?” I ask he
r with a grin.

  “You usually do,” she says, then sighs. “Your sister will eat only veggies. Your brother will eat anything on his plate. You’re just my picky eater.”

  Mom loves to cook, and we love to eat what she fixes. Mostly. We don’t eat a lot of fast food in our house. It’s a special treat when Mom lets us order pizza or get burgers and fries.

  The oven bell dings. “You want to take the cake out of the oven for me?” she asks. “Put on those big mitts and very carefully take it out and place it on the counter.”

  I pull on the giant mitts. They go all the way up my arms. When I open the oven, the hot air feels good on my face. The warm smell of soft, sugary pineapple surrounds me. I carefully take the pan from the rack and place it on the counter. I close the oven door.

  “Great job, Sassy!” Mom says.

  “I can cook, too,” I tell her.

  “I know that,” she says. “I’m not ready for you to use the oven by yourself, but I’ve seen you make hot dogs and sandwiches.”

  “I can make bologna bowls in the microwave!” I remind her proudly.

  “Our own secret family recipe!” Mom says with a smile.

  I think Sabin invented bologna bowls when he was about my age. It’s the easiest recipe in the world. You slap a piece of bologna on a microwavable plate and rip a slice of cheese into pieces. The cheese goes into the center of the bologna. You put the whole thing into the microwave for twenty seconds. The bologna curls into a bowl around the melted cheese. Yummy instant meal!

  “Uh, I’d like to do more, Mom,” I begin. “I want to plan a dinner party.”

  “Really? What brought this on?”

  “Well, it’s sort of a school project. We have to research a subject, then do a demonstration of what we’ve learned.”

  “Your teacher is requiring you to prepare a dinner?” Mom looks confused.

  “No, Mom,” I say patiently. “We get to pick any subject we want. Jasmine chose flowers. Holly decided to do her project on dance.”

  “And you chose food? Sounds like a project Sabin would do.”

  “No, my project is not just about eating food. It’s about meals and recipes and table settings and decorations! I want to do something really special. I want it to be dazzling!”

  “Hmm. A dazzling dinner party,” Mom says as she stirs the potatoes in the pan. “That sounds like you, Sassy. Let me hear more about this grand idea of yours.”

  I tell her with excitement, “I want to send special invitations to all my friends. Something sparkly and purple, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “And I have recipes I want to fix. All by myself. I can show you all the cool stuff I found online.”

  “I’m not sure if I want you loose in my kitchen, Sassy. Ovens are hot, and burners — well, they can burn you.”

  “I figured you’d say that. Nothing I’m fixing requires the stove. And only a couple of things need the microwave. I can cook everything myself.”

  Sabin strolls into the kitchen, a long string of red licorice hanging from his mouth. His dog, Zero, trots behind him. “What are you gonna cook, Little Sister?” He sucks in the rest of the candy with a whoosh and a smack.

  “Don’t call me little! And I’m going to cook a whole meal for all my friends!”

  Sabin is twelve, skinny as a pencil, and I think he lives on nothing but sweets. Chocolate, peppermint, caramel. He gobbles candy all day long.

  “You can hardly see over the top of the stove,” he teases.

  “I’m big enough,” I insist. “If you’re nice to me, I’ll let you taste some of my creations.”

  He pulls another piece of licorice from his jeans pocket and hands it to me. It’s covered with lint. “Want some?” he offers.

  “I’m going to let you keep that,” I tell him with a laugh. But I might use some red string licorice for one of my recipes.

  “You’re gonna let her do this, Mom?” Sabin asks. He tosses a doggie treat to Zero.

  “We’ll see,” she replies. That’s the answer that moms always give while they are still deciding on things their kids want to do.

  “Yum, pineapple upside-down cake!” my sixteen-year-old sister, Sadora, says. She smells like peach lotion as she waltzes into the kitchen. She picks up the top from one of the pots on the stove. “And lima beans! I love limas!”

  Sabin and I roll our eyes at each other. Who eats lima beans on purpose?

  Sadora is really pretty. Of course I’d never tell her that. Even though she’s always buying makeup with her friends when they go to the mall, she really doesn’t need it. She could be a model like the girls I see in teen magazines.

  “Sassy wants to give a dinner party!” Sabin tells her.

  “Really? That’s cool, Sassy,” Sadora tells me as she puts forks and spoons and knives on the table. “What’s the occasion? There’s no holiday coming soon.”

  “Well, it started out as a school research project. I got to thinking about that elegant dinner we had with Grammy. . . .”

  “Don’t remind me!” Sabin says with a laugh. “That’s when I had to go to the bathroom so bad, and we were stuck in a stupid elevator!” He puts the plates and napkins on the table.

  All of us crack up. “Anyway, I decided I want to fix a really special meal and then invite my friends to eat it!”

  “What will you cook?” Sadora asks.

  “Mom won’t let me use the oven, so my recipes don’t need it.”

  “How are you going to cook without cooking?” Sabin asks. “You’re gonna serve hard macaroni pieces and raw chicken?” He looks doubtful.

  “You’ll see,” I tell him.

  “Do you want me to help?” Sadora asks.

  “I want to do the cooking all by myself,” I tell her. “I can do this. Really, I can.”

  “This I gotta see,” Sabin says. Before he puts the glasses on the table, he pours milk into a huge one and gulps it down.

  I tell Sadora, “But if you could take pictures of the dinner party, I’ll have something to put into my project presentation at school.”

  “Great idea! I’m taking a photography class at school, you know.”

  Daddy comes into the kitchen carrying an old-fashioned boom box. He is scratching his head.

  “I can’t get this thing to work,” he says, complaining. “I wanted to play some music for us while we eat.”

  “Let me run outside and see if I can find a caveman to fix it!” Sabin teases.

  Daddy sits down at the table, still pushing buttons and shaking the dusty old machine. “Dinner smells great, Susan,” he says. “Love those pan-fried potatoes! But my box seems to be busted.”

  “Why don’t you put your music on an iPod like the rest of the world, Daddy?” Sadora asks him.

  “Yeah, Dad, you’re a science teacher. You should have the very latest in technology for your students, and you should give your son an iPod, too!” Sabin says with a grin.

  “It’s not that I don’t like the new stuff — it’s just I’ve had this box for so long and it plays all my old CDs. It’s old and mellow like I am.”

  “Did you plug it in?” I ask. I don’t see a cord.

  Daddy makes a face at Sabin. “Zero chewed the cord to pieces!” Daddy replies.

  “My bad,” Sabin says, slumping down in his seat. The dog has sense enough to hide under the table.

  “Maybe it’s the batteries,” Daddy says. He pulls out four huge D cells and they clatter onto the table.

  “Can’t we do this after dinner, Sam?” Mom says in a weary voice.

  “This will just take a minute, sweetie,” he replies.

  Mom makes a face, then opens the kitchen drawer. She pulls out four C-size batteries and gives them to him.

  “These are the wrong size!” Daddy complains.

  I’m hungry, and I have an idea. I reach for my sack. My change purse hangs from it by a key chain. The change purse is purple and the name Sassy is written on it in sparkly letters. I count out twel
ve quarters and give them to Daddy.

  “Is this to buy new batteries?” he asks.

  “Try this, Daddy,” I suggest. “Put three quarters in each slot with a C battery.”

  Our whole family looks at me in amazement.

  Daddy fiddles with the batteries and quarters for a moment, clicks the back of the machine shut, and pushes a button on the front.

  Like magic, lovely classical music floats out of the ancient speakers.

  “Thanks, Sassy!” Daddy says. “I wish I’d thought of that!”

  “Yeah, thanks,” Sabin agrees. “One more minute and I was gonna have to put some gravy on a battery and eat it!”

  The music really is a nice touch as we eat.

  Dinner is yummy.

  Except for the lima beans.

  After dinner, I tell Sabin and Sadora that I’ll help Mom with the dishes. They bolt out of the kitchen before I have a chance to change my mind.

  As I stack the plates in the dishwasher, Mom says, “Cleanup after a dinner party is huge, Sassy. You won’t believe the mess!”

  “I promise to clean up,” I tell her.

  “Actually, that’s the end of the list. Let’s start at the beginning. Who are you inviting?”

  I hesitate a little. “Uh, everybody in Miss Armstrong’s class.”

  “Good grief, Sassy! That’s a zillion people!”

  “Well, I can’t invite some and not others. I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.”

  “How many kids are in your class?”

  “Less than a zillion!” I tell her with a grin. “I think we have about twenty-five.”

  “That’s still an awful lot of nine- and ten-year-olds running around my house,” Mom says, shaking her head.

  “Not all of them will come,” I say quickly. I have no idea if that’s true, but it sounds good.

  “And what happens when they get here? What will they do and what will they eat?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” I reply. “I’m going to prepare some food ahead of time. The rest I’m going to let the kids make. When everybody is finished making their recipes —”

  “You mean when everybody is finished making a mess!” Mom interrupts me with a smile.