by Coco Simon
When I turned over the page to show off my newest creation, I admit my heart must’ve stopped for at least an instant.
Mom’s hand drifted to her mouth.
“Oh my,” she said.
Her eyes were welling up when she looked at my dad, who was getting a little misty-eyed too.
I considered it a slam dunk, getting both my parents in their feelings at the same time.
“This is us,” was all my dad could manage.
“My two and only,” I answered, beaming.
“Casey, I must say, this is incredible work,” Mom said, snapping back into assistant principal mode.
It made me wonder if I had imagined the whole teary-eyed thing.
“I thought you were holed up in that room of yours doing some cartoon drawings, what do you call those… man…?”
“Manga, Mom!” said Gabby.
“Yes, that,” Mom said, waving away the matter. “But this is really realistic stuff, Case, and it’s amazing. Extraordinary. So meticulous! This must have taken forever—”
“Just every spare moment I could squeeze out of this past week,” I said.
“Well done. It’s a real level up for you, Case,” Gabby said, nodding her head sincerely.
That meant a lot coming from the only person who has seen my drawings grow from stick figures.
“I see a bright future ahead for you and your art,” Dad said. “It’s actually inspired an idea that I hope you’ll say yes to, as long as it doesn’t take too much away from your schoolwork, of course. You would also earn some dollars to keep up with your art supply bill.”
Well, that got my attention.
“I’m listening,” I said.
“I’ve wanted to do something to make people more aware of the perils of texting while driving, sort of like a PSA. And after seeing the realism of your drawings, this came to me. With their permission, of course, can I commission you to do portraits of survivors of text-related accidents? I would like to feature their portraits in and around my office to humanize the PSA. What do you say?” Dad asked.
My turn to be in all my feelings. I was speechless.
Without saying anything, I got up to hug my dad.
Then Gabby got up for a three-way hug.
Mom must have been feeling a little left out, so she wrapped her arms around all of us.
“End scene!” Gabby called out, making us explode into giggles as we took our seats.
She picked up “Two of a Kind” and placed it on the counter to protect it from shrimp grease.
“Let’s dig in!” she said.
“So, Case, do you have any more work that you’d like to share with us?” Mom asked, heaping shrimp and grits onto her fork. “I’m hooked!”
If I could raise an eyebrow like a movie star, I would’ve, because I definitely wasn’t expecting that from my mom!
“I do have another thing,” I replied, beaming, and whipped out my phone.
Oops.
Lindsay had sent me a text two hours ago dying to know what went down last night.
I flipped to my photos and showed them the sketch of Matt. They approved of the picture, but would they approve of the boy?
“This is Matt Machado, a boy I met at camp,” I said.
“A boy?” my dad said slowly, as if it was just dawning on him that I hadn’t been attending an all-girls sleepaway camp for the past five summers.
He clearly hadn’t gotten the memo, but Mom wasn’t surprised. I knew she remembered this picture from the cafeteria.
“Handsome young man,” Mom said, nodding. “Looks interesting, too. When will we have the pleasure of meeting him?”
“OMG, he said the same thing in a text message last night, but I thought he was mainly joking,” I said. “Truth is, he lives pretty far away. And he is interesting, since he’s a writer and all.”
“Ooh, a writer and an artist! What an interesting pair you must’ve been at that boring ol’ sleepaway camp!” said Gabby, totally rubbing it in.
“Text… last night?” Dad repeated in a sort of daze.
“Earth to Dad!” said Gabby, waving her hand in front of his face. “No worries. He’s just her camp friend. Right, Casey?”
“He’s not just my camp friend,” I said.
The room went quiet.
“He’s my camp BFF!” I finished.
“Hmm. I wonder what the Bellgrove BFF would have to say about that,” said Gabby.
“Nice try, Lindsay already knows,” I said.
Gabby was always finding ways to make me and Lindsay argue, mostly because she thought our best friend drama was hilariously cute, even cuter than cat memes.
“If you say he’s your BFF, then we’re going to have to meet him eventually,” Mom said and looked at Dad. “Right, hon?”
“Well, I don’t see why that’s even necessary,” Dad huffed. “And doesn’t he live far away?”
Gabby and I looked at each other. Had Dad just disagreed with Mom openly?
“Um, there’s something called video chat,” said sweet and sarcastic Gabby. “We can beam him in right now if we wanted.”
And as if by magic, my phone lit up in my hand and sounded.
“Speak of the devil,” I said.
It was Matt texting.
Hey C, wanna say hi 2 my mom?
Yeah, but only if you say hi to mine too.
Ha! Mom swap! I’m game if u r. Let’s go!
“Is everyone ready to meet Matt and his mom?” I asked.
I took an extra-long look at Dad, and he nodded.
“Beam him in,” he sighed, quickly wiping his grease-lined mouth with a napkin.
I answered Matt’s request to video-chat, and just like that—Matt and his mom were at our table.
“Hey, everyone, hey, Case, meet my twin!” he said.
He put the camera on his mom and we all laughed, waved, and said hello. His mom really was just a darker and more beautiful version of him, with short, dyed locks.
And before we could say anything else, our moms hit it off, just like that. Somehow, they started talking about everything under the sun all at the same time! They talked so much that my hand was starting to ache from holding up the phone for so long.
The last time I saw Mom speak so candidly with someone outside of our family was, well, with Lindsay’s mom. Clearly, they needed to exchange digits and talk on their own time.
Before we all hung up the phone, Matt’s mom said to me, “Matt told me he met an artist at camp, and boy, he was right. He showed me your drawing of him, and I must admit, I got a little teary-eyed.”
“Well, yes, we’re now just learning Casey’s art does have that effect,” Mom said. “We’ve been unaware.”
“Speak for yourself and your husband,” Gabby laughed. “I’ve always known my little sister had crazy talent!”
Matt’s mom laughed and rumpled his hair. “Talking about talent, my twin here shared the story he wrote about you two, Case, and it brought tears to my eyes.”
“Mom!” Matt groaned.
And I thought my cafeteria scene on Monday was the height of embarrassment!
“Story about moi?” I said.
Then I remembered the night at the bonfire when we talked about mental images, and the deal we made to re-create a campfire moment using our photographic memories, no cameras.
Matt’s mom said that when I sent Matt my campfire drawing, he got to work on re-creating our scene for the book of his life.
Matt promised to read it to me later on.
“So does that mean I’m officially a character in your book?” I asked.
I couldn’t hide my blushing any more than Dad could hide his dismay.
“That’s entirely up to you, Casey, because in my son, you’ve got a fan,” Matt’s mom said.
I glanced at Gabby, who just about melted.
After we said our goodbyes, I couldn’t wait to put down the phone and dig into the rest of the delicious meal my parents had made. Even though I was
packing on hundreds of calories, I felt a thousand pounds lighter.
And I couldn’t wait to call Lindsay. It seemed like everything had finally fallen into place.
As I ate and laughed with my family, I couldn’t help but smile at everything that had happened these past few weeks. Who knew so many changes could be like, so totally rewarding!
Now I was an official artist, I had learned to appreciate my awesome family, and I had not one, but TWO BFFs!
More from this Series
Ready, Set, Bake!
Book 5
Hole in the Middle
Book 1
So Jelly!
Book 2
Family Recipe
Book 3
More from the Author
Ice Cream and Sweet…
Ice Cream Queen
Keep reading for a preview of
Ready, Set, Bake!
by
Coco Simon
Chapter One The New Normal
I woke up this morning feeling totally at peace, even though it was a Monday.
Crazy, right?
But after a few weeks of middle school, I finally felt like I had the hang of things: I knew exactly how long I had to get to each class, where I could hide and take a phone break, and the best locker to grab when I had to change for PE.
One thing I didn’t like, though, was that our seats weren’t fixed in all of our classes. In elementary school, my BFF Casey and I would pick our seats right next to each other on the first day of school, and those would be our seats for the year. We could relax.
Now, I’m scrambling to try to get a seat next to Casey at least half the time. And if we don’t time it right, we’re way far apart. I wish I had the hang of that.
Still, I’ve kind of been loving the routine of middle school. It’s funny, because all of my life I’ve dreamed about getting out of Bellgrove, my tiny hometown where everyone knows everyone else’s business and routines.
But lately, I’ve been kind of liking it. I’ve felt happy knowing exactly where I had to be, what I had to do, and who would be with me every day. For the first time, it actually felt good knowing everyone in town and having all of them know me. It felt like things were under control.
Speaking of control, my grandmother’s kind (but bossy) voice floated up the stairs and curled under my door. “Lindsay? Sweetheart? Are you up yet? Rise and shine!”
Nans comes over every weekday morning to get me and my brother, Skylar, to school. Ever since our mom died a few years ago, our whole extended family has pitched in to help fill the giant Mom-sized hole in our lives.
My mom’s mom, my grandmother Mimi, is our only relative on her side of the family. Mimi lives in Chicago, which is two hours away by car, but she visits a lot and we go see her there often. It’s really hard on her that my mom is gone, so we comfort each other in both directions.
My dad’s family is from Bellgrove and they all settled here. Our family owns a restaurant called the Park View Table that’s like the hub of our town. It’s centrally located and overlooks our beautiful town park, and inside it is a small donut shop called Donut Dreams.
Almost everyone in my family has a job at the restaurant: there’s my dad, Mike (he runs Donut Dreams); me (donut counter); my grandpa (manager); Nans (chef); my dad’s sister, my aunt Melissa (finances); her girls Kelsey (donut counter with me), Molly (a “runner” or bus girl), and Jenna (waitress); my dad’s brother, my uncle Charlie (ordering and inventory); and Charlie’s son Rich (waiter) and daughter Lily (hostess).
My aunt Sabrina is a nurse and my uncle Chris is a carpenter who also teaches shop at our town high school, but even they help out at the Park from time to time. We all pitch in together and take care of each other, though lately it’s mostly been all of them taking care of me and my family.
All of this has been great for me and Sky and my dad, and I know that. It’s just that I really wish my mom were still here. I wish I could have her back, even for a minute, even just to talk about some boring thing in school, or what was going on in her garden.
My mom was an artist, but she was crazy about flowers. She had a beautiful garden out behind our house (it’s gotten a little wild, I hate to admit) and she loved planning it and tending it and cutting and arranging its flowers.
My mom often said she could have been a florist almost as happily as an artist and art teacher. “It’s the same skill set—shapes and colors!” she used to say.
At the very end of my mom’s illness, she told me to remember that after she died, whenever I saw a flower, it would be her saying, “Hi.”
And whenever I saw a blue flower (her favorite color was cornflower blue, or “true blue,” as she called it), it would be her sending me a huge hug. It’s made me notice flowers a lot more, which I guess was her point.
“Flowers bring joy,” she would always say. “Seek out joy!”
But now that fall was settling in, there weren’t too many flowers around, and certainly not any blue ones. All I’d been seeing were those tubs with ginormous balls of Halloween-colored mums in them, orange and yellow and rusty red.
Yuck.
I missed my mom.
“Lindsay!” Nans called again.
“Coming, Nans!” I whipped off my comforter and scrambled to get ready.
* * *
Downstairs, Skylar was already at the table, eating his bottomless bowl of Coco Snacks, or whatever the flavor of the week was. The kid is always starving, and Nans lets him have junky cereal for breakfast because it makes it easier to get him out of bed that way.
“Some call it bribery,” Nans would sigh when asked. “I call it time management.”
My morning job was to get our lunches ready while Nans fixed breakfast. Since our family owns and runs the Park, we’re all pretty comfortable in the kitchen.
Nans was making me a quick omelet, just the way I like it with cheddar and chives, while I made ham and cheese sandwiches on whole grain pita pockets with mustard and baby spinach for me and Sky.
I wrapped them in our new reusable Bee’s Wrap waxed cloth (my dad’s gone environmental lately as part of some research he’s doing for the Park) and filled two small Tupperware tubs with corn chips. Then an apple each and our Yeti bottles filled from the water cooler; it all went into our soft, reusable lunch coolers.
I set the coolers by the back door and sat down just as Nans was putting the piping hot omelet at my place.
“Perfect timing!” she said, kissing me on the head. “Toast?”
“No, thanks,” I said as I dug in. The omelet was delicious—the perfect start to a Monday morning. “Mmmm. tastes just like fancy restaurant cooking!” I said.
That’s a family joke of ours, since we all pitch in at the Park and Nans actually does do a lot of the cooking there. We all say it anytime a family member cooks anything.
Nans swatted at me playfully with a dishtowel and turned back to the counter to clean up.
“Nans,” said Skylar though a mouthful of Cocoa Snacks. He was already on his third bowl.
“Yes, my love?” said Nans, scrubbing the frying pan.
“When’s it my turn to bring donuts to school for my class? All the kids are asking.”
Nans turned off the water and looked at Sky with a smile. “Have you checked the chart?”
Sky shook his head.
Since so many people in the family and in town ask for free donuts all the time, Nans and Grandpa finally had to make a giveaway chart to hang at the Park to keep track of donations.
My aunt Melissa is the accountant at the restaurant and Donut Dreams, and she said we’d fall into financial ruin if we didn’t keep better track of our donuts.
“You can’t keep giving away all of your product for free to every bingo night in town! Here’s the rule: Twice a month. Four dozen at a time. That’s all we can afford. Tell people to sign up early,” she said.
So that was the rule. Each of the seven grandkids got a turn to bring
donuts to school once a year, and we tried to time it to our birthdays. Some families bring cupcakes to school but we bring donuts. People love it.
The best part is that when it’s your turn, you get to go into the restaurant really early in the morning and fill the four boxes with the four dozen donuts in the flavors of your choice.
My BFF, Casey, is totally down with this tradition and starts reminding me the week leading up to my birthday how much she loooooves our cinnamon donuts.
As if I didn’t know that by now. As if I wasn’t already slotting a dozen cinnamon donuts into my birthday assortment way in advance!
Nans continued, “Okay, I’ll check the donation calendar for you when I get to work and I’ll let you know this afternoon. Your birthday is next month, Sky-baby, so it’s coming up!”
Sky grinned and some gluey chocolate mush oozed through his teeth.
“Ugh!” I groaned and went to clean up my dishes and get my things for school.
Minutes later, we were in the car and on our way.
* * *
As soon as I walked into school, I saw Casey.
“Hey!” I said, coming up behind her and pulling on one of her long, dark curls.
“Hey, girl!” Casey said, twirling me around and grabbing me in a hug.
“Long time no talk,” I joked, since we try to always text right before we go to sleep and right when we wake up.
We’re on a Snapstreak right now—haven’t missed a day in two weeks—and we’re trying to keep it that way. We like setting silly goals like that for ourselves.
“I have a big scoop!” said Casey, her dark eyes wide and her eyebrows scrunched way high in excitement.
But before she could fill me in, we were interrupted.
“What’s up, chicas?” asked my cousin Kelsey, popping open her locker.
She’s in my grade, as is her sister, my cousin Molly. They aren’t twins, which is confusing since they’re almost the exact same age.
