The Dazzle Disaster Dinner Party

by Sharon M. Draper

  “Then we eat.”

  She sits down at the table and runs her hands through her hair. “This isn’t going to be easy, Sassy.”

  “Please, Mom.” I give her my very best sweet smile.

  She shakes her head. I know she’s giving in. “So what will you serve at this extravaganza?”

  “Oh, I like that word!” I tell her. I reach into my sack, which is hanging on the back of my chair. I pull out a pink notebook and open it. “Here are my recipes,” I tell her proudly.

  Mom looks at what I have written. My printing is very neat. I write in purple ink whenever I can.

  “I’m impressed,” Mom says. “You have some great ideas here.”

  “I used pieces of recipes I found online, but most of them I made up myself!” I tell her with excitement.

  “Like the Purple Passion Milk Shake?” Mom chuckles.

  “Ice cream and grape juice, mostly,” I explain. “That one needs a blender. Or a very strong person to shake the jar.”

  “I see you have lots of dishes made with fruit,” Mom says with approval.

  “Most everything I’m preparing is full of healthy stuff,” I tell her proudly.

  “Sprinkled with sugar whenever possible,” Mom adds.

  “Well, yeah!” I turn a page in my notebook and show her the shopping list on the page I printed out on the computer, which I taped inside. “My teacher suggested I figure out what I would need to buy to make this happen.”

  “Whoa!” Mom says. “This is huge! That’s a whole shopping cart!”

  I smile the sweet “Please, Mom” smile once more.

  She shakes her head, but I know she’s going to say yes. “When do you want to have this dazzling dinner party?” Mom asks.

  “A week from Saturday?” I say with a question mark in my voice. “That gives us ten days to get ready.”

  “What about your invitations?”

  “Ooh, let me show you!” I pull the flash drive from my sack, and we head for the computer in the family room.

  Just as I plug the drive into the machine, Sabin complains, “I was just getting ready to play Space Blasters, Little Sister.”

  “You’re watching television,” I reply.

  “I can do both,” he tells me.

  “Not this time!”

  I click on the icon, find the file, and my invitation pops up on the screen.

  “Awesome, Sassy,” my sister says as she looks over my shoulder. “Who designed that?”

  “I did!” I tell her with pride.

  The invitation is done in a purple font. It’s just a piece of typing paper folded in half, but I’ve got pictures of fireworks and sparklers decorating the front. I also have photos of lit dinner candles and a fancy table setting with real china and silverware.

  The front of it reads, in fancy lettering, You Are Invited to a Dazzling Dinner Party!

  Inside it says,

  I’m giving a special Sassy feast.

  Yummy food. Everything a different color!

  You get to cook some of it!

  You get to eat all of it!

  Come hungry!

  Then I give the date and the time and my address and phone number.

  “Can I print it out, Mom?”

  Mom is starting to look as excited as I am. She opens a desk drawer and pulls out a ream of lavender computer paper. “I’ve been saving this for a special Sassy occasion,” she says.

  “Awesome! Thanks, Mom.” I load the printer and print out one page as a test.

  “I think you messed up, Little Sister,” Sadora says.

  “Huh?”

  She takes the paper from me and folds it in half. The front is upside down, and what is supposed to be on the inside is on the outside.

  “What do I do?” It looked okay on the screen. I don’t know how to fix it.

  Sadora scoots into the chair, pushing me out. She clicks a couple of keys, hits SAVE, then pushes PRINT once more.

  This time the invitation comes out just right. “I’m the queen of the machine!” she says, standing and taking a bow.

  I print out thirty invitations — a few extra just in case.

  “What next?” Sadora asks.

  “I’m going to use purple and pink glitter glue to make the invitations sparkle, then I’ll give them out at school tomorrow.” I’m already digging for the glitter in my sack.

  “I think you forgot something, Sassy,” Mom says.

  I look at the invitation carefully. “What?” I ask.

  “Your RSVP. How will you know how many kids are coming?”

  “Oops!”

  I sit back down at the computer. I find the fancy font I used, click to purple ink once more, and type in Please tell me if you are coming.

  Under that I type Your Name and Your Phone Number.

  I include two lines long enough for them to write on. Then I put two large squares with the words Yes and No printed under each one.

  I add one more sentence: Please return this to me by Friday. (Because my mom is taking me shopping on Saturday.)

  “Great job, Sassy,” Mom says. She hands it back to me.

  “Stick that inside each invitation,” Sadora suggests.

  I carefully print out thirty of the RSVP sheets, then head to the kitchen table to decorate everything.

  “What do you think?” I ask Sadora. She sits down and decorates an invitation without me even asking.

  “You have glitter on your nose,” she says with a laugh. “And I think you’re going to have a glorious, glamorous dinner.”

  When Mom drops me off at school the next morning, I am shivering with excitement.

  “Wait till you see what I have in my Sassy Sack,” I whisper to Holly and Carmelita. We are waiting on the front steps for the bell to ring.

  “Another musical instrument?” Holly asks.

  I play the piccolo, which is just small enough to fit into my sack. “No,” I tell her with a smile. “Not this time.”

  “A video game?” Carmelita guesses.

  “Not even close.”

  I see Jasmine hopping out of her mom’s car. She runs to join us. “Did you bring them?” she asks. She and I had talked on the phone just before I went to bed.

  “Yep!” I say, clutching my bag close to my chest.

  “What is it you’ve got hidden in your sack today, Sassy?” Travis asks.

  “A surprise for everybody,” I tell him.

  “Food?” he asks hopefully.

  “Candy?” Rusty adds.

  “Not exactly,” I say. “And not yet.”

  “You’re not making any sense,” Travis replies.

  “I know!” I agree.

  All of the girls laugh.

  Just then the shiny black limousine snakes into the driveway. “Here comes Lillian!” announces Rusty.

  The driver walks to her door like he does every day. Lillian steps out and looks around. She always looks a little scared when she first gets out of the car. Like maybe we won’t be there waiting. Then she spots us.

  We wave.

  Travis shouts, “Hey, Lillian!”

  She gives us all a huge smile, waves, and hurries to where we stand. She looks really happy to see us.

  The driver whooshes away.

  We no longer ask about where she lives or if she’s rich. We don’t care. She’s just Lillian, and we’re glad she’s here.

  “Hi, Lillian,” Jasmine says. “Where’d you get that awesome blue-and-white outfit?”

  “Oh, yes, I wish I had one just like it!” I add.

  Lillian giggles.

  “Wait! I do have one just like it!” Holly says, joining in.

  “Oh, no! We all do!” I grab my neck like I’m choking. “Somebody has dressed us all in uniforms! Ack!”

  We are still laughing as the bell rings and we march into the school.

  When I get to Miss Armstrong’s class, I walk up to her desk.

  “Good morning, Sassy Simone,” she says in her musical-sounding voice.
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br />   “Hi, Miss Armstrong. Um, I have something I need to pass out to the class. It’s about my project.”

  “Let me see what you have, dear,” she says kindly.

  “Well, I decided to give a dinner party for my project, and I need to invite my guests.”

  “You didn’t leave anyone out, did you?”

  “No, I have an invitation for every kid in the class,” I tell her. “There’s even one for you and Mr. C.” I pause. “But you don’t really have to come.”

  She smiles at that.

  I reach down into my sack and pull out the invitations. Mom said to place them in a plastic bag so I wouldn’t get glitter all over my sack. But glitter is never a bad thing.

  The purple sheets are a little heavy and a couple are stuck together. “I guess I got carried away with shiny glue!” I tell the teacher.

  Miss Armstrong looks at them and nods her head with approval. “Lovely, Sassy,” she says. Then she says to the class, “Sassy has something to give everyone before we begin.”

  “My project is a party,” I explain. “And I want you all to come.”

  “So that’s where the food will be,” Travis says as I give him his invitation.

  “More food than you can eat, Travis,” I tell him. “And lots and lots of sweet stuff.”

  “I’m there!” he says.

  I give every student a shiny, sticky, glittery invitation. I feel very proud. Everyone is admiring how cool they look.

  “Inside each one is a sheet that tells me if you can come or not. That way I know how much stuff to buy. I need that back as soon as you ask your parents.”

  “You sound like a teacher,” Rusty says.

  “I hope not!” I tell him with a grin.

  “What should we wear?” Jasmine asks.

  “Who cares?” Travis yells out.

  “We do!” Holly and Jasmine and Misty answer at the same time.

  I think it’s a great question. “No uniforms!” I announce loudly.

  Everybody cheers.

  “It’s sorta fancy, but you’ll be cooking part of the time, so just wear something comfortable,” I explain. “I’m wearing something with sparkles!”

  “I think we already knew that,” Jasmine says.

  “We’ll be cooking? What do you mean?” Carmelita asks.

  “That is going to be the fun part!” I reply with excitement. “We won’t be cooking on the stove, but you’ll get to make your own fancy sandwiches. The bread and the meat are cut into designs with cookie cutters! Or you’ll get to dip bananas into melted chocolate.”

  “Now that sounds like my kind of assignment,” Travis says.

  Miss Armstrong stands up then and says, “Okay, enough of this for now. Speaking of assignments, let’s get started with class. I know everybody is looking forward to Sassy’s dazzling dinner party, but it’s time for math.”

  We all groan and dig for our math books and papers. Every time we go next door for math class, I think time stops. It is the longest hour in the day.

  As we are walking to math, I ask Lillian, “Do you think you will be able to come to my dinner party?”

  “I’m not sure. I hope I can,” she replies quietly.

  “Uh, would it help if my mom called your mom?”

  She shakes her head. “No, that’s not a good idea. I’ll talk to her when she returns.”

  “She’s out of town?”

  “Most of the time,” Lillian says. I can hear sadness in her voice.

  “What about your dad?”

  Lillian rarely talks about her family, so we take our time as we head down the hall.

  “I hardly ever see my folks since they travel so much for business,” she says softly.

  I put my arm around her. Her shoulders are tinier than mine! I give her a quick squeeze as we walk into the room.

  “Don’t you think Mr. Olsen’s head looks like a lightbulb?” I whisper. I’m trying to make her smile.

  Lillian’s giggle always sounds like wind chimes tinkling.

  Our math teacher, Mr. Olsen, is completely bald. His head shines under the classroom lights.

  “Not those new curly energy-saver bulbs,” she whispers back.

  We both laugh really hard then.

  Mr. Olsen is a good teacher, but I have trouble paying attention. Even though he has no hair on his head, he has fuzzy brown hair growing out of his nose and ears. I try to concentrate on numbers, but I keep watching his nose hair wiggle as he talks.

  Jasmine gobbles numbers like slippery noodles. Numbers come to me more like lumpy mashed potatoes. It’s so not fair.

  Mr. Olsen begins, “Today I will try to show you that math is necessary to our everyday lives. Even the lives of kids.”

  Travis raises his hand. “Can’t I just use my calculator?”

  “Suppose it breaks or you lose it?”

  “I’ll use my fingers!”

  “And take off your shoes and socks if the number is bigger than ten?”

  “Stinky!” Rusty says. “Please don’t!”

  “So, Sassy,” Mr. Olsen says. “If Lucy buys twenty strawberries for five dollars, how much does each berry cost?”

  Why does he start with me? “Huh?” I say. “Who’s Lucy?”

  Some of the kids giggle.

  “We’re talking about shopping today,” he explains patiently.

  “Oh. I’m sorry. What was the question?”

  Jasmine raises her hand. “Each strawberry costs twenty-five cents.”

  Jasmine always knows the right answer. That’s okay with me.

  Mr. Olsen turns to the class again. “Now here’s another question. There is a video game I want to buy. The original price was forty dollars. It’s been marked down fifteen percent. How much does it cost now?”

  Several kids raise their hands with the answer.

  Mr. Olsen calls on Lillian. “Thirty-four dollars,” she says. Lillian likes math. So do Travis and Princess. Jasmine probably dreams about math problems. Me, I just hope I don’t have to take off my shoes and socks.

  I survive math, and I even answer one question right. Mr. Olsen looks pleased. The bell rings and we rush to lunch.

  Lillian sits with us at lunch now. We squeeze together on the bench at the fourth-grade table. Everybody wants to talk about my dinner party.

  “So, what’s for dinner, Sassy?”

  “Fried chicken?” Travis asks. “That’s my favorite!”

  “Nothing fried at all,” I explain. “My mom would have a heart attack if I tried to stand in front of the stove and stir hot grease in a pan!”

  “Then let your mom fry the chicken,” Ricky says as he takes a big bite of his cookie.

  I try to explain. “You don’t get it. It’s my party, so I’m cooking.”

  “I bet it’s just peanut butter sandwiches,” Ricky says as he gobbles a French fry.

  I grab one of his fries. “No way. I’m serving elegant food!”

  “You know how to cook?” Princess asks.

  “Yep! At least well enough to fix what we are having.”

  “Can you give us a hint?” asks Holly.

  “Okay. Everything I serve will be a different color. Like bubble-gum pink and bubble-gum blue soda.”

  “Sweet!”

  “And green pudding.”

  “Yuck!”

  “And orange cream pie!”

  “Now you’re talking!”

  “Do you know how to make dirt pudding?” Travis asks.

  “Now who’s talking about yucky?” Jasmine says.

  “We learned how to do it in Cub Scouts a couple of years ago,” Travis explains. “Maybe I’ll bring some so you guys can taste it.”

  “Cool! Thanks,” I say.

  “Do you want us to bring anything?” Carmelita asks.

  “Not really,” I tell her. “But it’s nice of you to ask.”

  Lillian is usually quiet at lunch. She just listens to our silly conversations like she’s breathing in warm summer air. But just before lunc
h is over she says, “I think your project is the nicest of all. It’s more than a report — it’s a party! It’s awesome you have included your friends. And me.”

  “Well, I sure hope you can come!” I tell her. “I want ALL my friends to be there.”

  “Me, too.” She sips on a juice box. “Me, too.”

  “Hurry up, Mom!” I cry out impatiently.

  It’s finally Saturday, and we are going shopping for the ingredients for my party. I have already eaten a bowl of cereal for my breakfast.

  “I can’t believe you’re up so early on a Saturday morning,” Mom says. She is cutting out coupons at the kitchen table.

  “This is important!” I tell her.

  She glances around the table. It is full of newspapers and clippings and magazine ads. “Now, where did I put that envelope? I can’t just take a stack of coupons in my hands.”

  I reach down into my sack, dig around for a moment, then pull out a small plastic sandwich bag. “Will this work?” I ask.

  Mom smiles. “You always have just what I need, Sassy.” She puts the coupons into the bag, snaps it closed, and tosses it into her purse. Her bag is ordinary looking. It’s dusty brown fake leather, and she’s had it, like, a million years.

  My bag, however, is unique!

  “Sabin and Sadora are still asleep,” I tell her.

  “It’s Saturday morning! I expect they’ll just be getting up when we get back.”

  “I called Jasmine and she said she’s waiting on her front porch,” I tell Mom as we head to the car.

  “Two giggly girls out to spend all my money!” Mom shakes her head.

  The car backs out of the driveway. I roll down my window and let the cool air hit my face. I love the morning. It’s the best part of the day.

  “Thanks for letting me have this party, Mom,” I tell her softly. “I feel so grown-up.”

  She smiles as she turns the corner. I think she likes mornings, too. “How many kids are coming?” she asks.

  “Well, I passed out twenty-five invitations. Fourteen kids gave me their RSVP pages and said they could come. A couple of kids will be out of town, some have other stuff to do next Saturday, and Miss Armstrong and Mr. C both had other plans.”

  “Hmm. Fourteen. Plus you and your sister and brother. I guess we can handle that.” She turns onto Jasmine’s street.

  “I hope it’s fifteen,” I tell her.