The Great Peach Experiment 1

by Erin Soderberg Downing

  Text copyright © 2021 by Erin Soderberg Downing

  All rights reserved. Pixel+Ink is a division of TGM Development Corp.

  Book design and interior illustrations by Michelle Cunningham

  Freddy’s artwork by Henry Downing

  www.pixelandinkbooks.com

  First Edition

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2020940463

  Hardcover ISBN 978-1-64595-034-9

  eBook ISBN 978-1-64595-060-8

  Ebook ISBN 9781645950608

  Erin Soderberg Downing is a fiscal year 2020 recipient of an Artist Initiative grant from the Minnesota State Arts Board. This activity is made possible by the voters of Minnesota through a grant from the Minnesota State Arts Board, thanks to a legislative appropriation by the Minnesota State Legislature; and by a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts.

  a_prh_5.6.1_c0_r0

  For my incredible kids,

  who are always up for adventure

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  1: The Problem with Peaches

  2: The Plan

  3: Pie for Breakfast

  4: Hidden Treasure

  5: The Final Details

  6: Betty’s Pies

  7: Truck Trouble

  8: Herb’s Collection

  9: People-Watching

  10: Peach Power

  11: Peach Shortage

  12: Moving On

  13: World’s Smallest Pool

  14: Music Festival Finds & Friends

  15: Eating Profits

  16: Restless Herb

  17: Chicago Characters

  18: Late-Night Revelations

  19: Happy Campground

  20: Dad’s Plan

  21: Herb’s Decision

  22: Keep on Truckin’

  23: Peach on the Beach

  24: Change in Plans

  25: Operation Herbie Peach!

  26: The Final Slice

  27: Changing Luck

  Author’s Note

  1

  THE PROBLEM WITH PEACHES

  Lucy Peach needed a new last name. Peach just wasn’t working for her anymore. The problem with peaches, she’d come to realize, is they were too soft. Often, the sweet, fuzzy fruit appeared perfect on the outside—but when you bit into one, it surprised you with a mouthful of mushed-up mess. Lucy Watermelon would be a better fit, perhaps. Watermelons were tougher.

  Twelve-year-old Lucy was busy pondering this and other important matters—such as which book she would dive into first on Saturday, the first day of summer break—when she heard a clank and a screech, followed by a whole lot of noisy clatter. The sound had come from somewhere outside.

  Most of the time, noises like this could be attributed to one of Lucy’s two younger brothers. Ten-year-old Freddy loved creating enormous art projects, which often resulted in very messy—and sometimes loud—disasters. But with a sound like this, Lucy would put her money on the youngest Peach: Herb. Over the past few years, eight-year-old Herb had built up a huge pile of stuff in the garage. Lucy had warned him time and again that it was just a matter of time before it toppled over. She had a sinking suspicion today was that day.

  Lucy crawled out of the pillow-stuffed reading fort she’d set up inside her bedroom closet and raced outside to fix whatever disaster needed fixing. Ever since their mom had died nearly two years before, this was Lucy’s responsibility: she was the fixer. That’s why Peach simply didn’t cut it anymore…. It was Lucy’s job to be tough, with a thick skin.

  Outside, she was surprised to find both Freddy and Herb standing at the edge of the family’s postage stamp–sized front lawn. She joined her brothers, and all three kids stared in wonder as a massive, bright orange truck backed up their slim driveway. The truck had knocked over the family’s recycling bin, and cans and bottles were scattered everywhere. That, Lucy realized, explained the clatter.

  Their dad, Walter, stood waiting at the foot of the driveway, rubbing his hands together like the slightly mad scientist he was. “Isn’t she a beauty?” Dad asked, waving his arm toward the giant beast of a truck.

  “A beauty!” Herb echoed.

  “What is it?” Lucy asked, reaching down to start gathering up the spilled recycling. She neatly piled the cans and bottles on the lawn, to get them out of the way until she could return them to the bin.

  “It’s a food truck,” Dad said, as if that explained everything.

  “Are we throwing a party?” Freddy asked, his eyes wide with excitement. Then, as always, Lucy’s middle brother couldn’t resist sharing a few random fun facts. “You can hire a food truck to cater pretty much any kind of event. I saw a show about food trucks, and there’s one that makes cotton candy on the spot. There’s also a truck that serves food made out of meat that would otherwise go to waste—like pigeons and animal feet and other nasty stuff like that. Oh! And there’s another one that sells fugu!”

  “What’s fugu?” little Herb asked, as though that were the most pressing question at the moment.

  “Puffer fish. If it’s not prepared correctly, you can die from eating it,” Freddy informed him.

  Dad chuckled. “Very interesting, Freddy. But no, we’re not having a party. And we’re definitely not eating fugu.”

  “Dad,” Lucy said seriously, “why is there a food truck in our driveway?”

  Walter Peach put on a wobbly smile and gestured to the giant vehicle. “She’s all ours.”

  “This food truck…,” Lucy began, feeling a nervous lump form in her stomach, “is ours?”

  “That’s right,” Dad said. “This summer, the Peaches are going to set out to explore the country!”

  Lucy closed her eyes and drew in a sharp breath. “Oh, Dad,” she said. Their father had done a lot of strange, frustrating, and irresponsible things over the past few years. But this was a new level of crazy. Lucy asked, “In a…food truck? Why?”

  “Traveling the country in a food truck was one of your mother’s big dreams,” Dad explained. “And an adventure like this will be a wonderful way to honor her memory.”

  “How are we supposed to pay for this?” she asked.

  Dad gave Lucy a secretive smile. It was the kind of smile that made her more than a little worried. “I’ve been sitting on some big news,” he said. “Very big news.”

  Next to Lucy, hopeful Herb wiggled in anticipation. Freddy rubbed his hands together. Lucy hated seeing her brothers get excited about things she knew were certain to fall apart.

  “Kids, one of your mother’s inventions has sold,” Dad finally announced.

  Lucy gawped at him. Before she died, their mom, Madeline, had worked as a chemist. She’d invented many things, but none of those things had ever amounted to much. Yet Mom had never seemed to worry about that. She always told her kids that what she loved most about her job was getting to nurture something from the seed of an idea to a finished product, even when the seed didn’t grow quite how she’d expected it to. Their mom always took great joy in the process of creating something new, just like Freddy did with his art.

  Dad cleared his throat. “Before she got sick, do you remember that your mom was developing solar window clings?”

  Of course Lucy remembered. She and Freddy had helped Mom come up with that project! After re
ading an article about solar energy and wind farms, Lucy had asked her mom if there was anything regular people, like the Peaches, could use to catch energy. Then Freddy started going on and on about how ugly solar panels and windmills are and asked why no one ever painted them cool colors.

  Just a few days later, Mom and her team started creating a special kind of solar cling that could be printed with lots of fun colors and designs. Regular people could stick them to any window in their house, where they would capture solar power—helping collect energy from the sun—while also turning the window into a piece of art. Mom had even used some of Freddy’s drawings on one of the designs! Though Herb had been too little to help much, he’d been the one who kept Mom company at the lab—hopping and babbling away in his bouncy chair—when she put in extra time at work on weekends.

  Dad smiled proudly. “The solar clings were your mother’s pièce de résistance, kids. Her lab sold the cling technology to a big company that is going to mass-produce them. Mom’s share of the profits is one point three million dollars.” Dad held his hands out wide. “Kids, in technical terms, we are millionaires.”

  2

  THE PLAN

  “Millionaires! We are millionaires!” Herb wrapped his arms around Lucy’s waist and hugged her tight, screaming with joy.

  “A million dollars?” Lucy gasped. Herb loosened his hug. “Are you sure?”

  Herb glanced at his big brother, whose mouth was hanging open. Suddenly, Freddy shook his head and said, “Is someone going to deliver a giant check? Will a fancy limo pull up with briefcases full of cash? Can we ask for all the money in two-dollar bills or state quarters?”

  “Can we please get a pool in our backyard?” Herb begged. “The kind with a slide, and a diving board, and—ooh! ooh!—maybe some live fish swimming in the shallow end?”

  “Live fish in a pool?” Freddy said with a laugh. “The chlorine would leave you with a pool full of dead fish.” His eyes widened, and he added, “Unless we got one of those saltwater pools, and we could get a pet shark—”

  “Guys,” Lucy said, holding up a hand. “Focus. There’s a food truck parked in our driveway. Remember?”

  “Can we use part of the money to go somewhere amazing?” Freddy asked, ignoring their big sister altogether. “I’ve always wanted to visit the Chihuly glass museum in Seattle. While we’re there, we could also check out Seattle’s gum wall, which is this alley covered in millions of pieces of chewed-up gum!” He grinned and high-fived Herb. “It would also be fun to touch a pyramid, so we could see how they built those things. And wouldn’t it be great if we could see some of the art in the National Gallery and check out the prison museum in London?” He bounced on his toes and added, “Hey, did you know you can walk inside catacombs filled with dead-guy skulls under the streets of Paris?”

  “Now, kids, let’s not get carried away,” Dad said. “Those are all perfectly nice ideas, but I’ve got something even more special planned for this money. I think it’s most appropriate for us to use a portion of your mom’s windfall to live out one of her biggest dreams. That’s why this summer, we’ll be exploring the country and starting up our very own food truck business.” Dad’s voice caught as he swept his arm wide and pointed in the direction of Mrs. Halvorson’s house at the end of their street. “Let’s hit the highway and head out of Duluth. Take some time to live life on the road and reconnect as a family.”

  Before any of the kids could ask questions or respond, Dad barreled on. “We’ll kick things off in just a few days, once summer break is officially underway. We can get our feet wet right here in Minnesota. Our first stop will take us a few hours south, to Minneapolis. Then we’re going to head in a mighty loop, visiting Chicago, Ann Arbor, Columbus, Nashville; and if we’re lucky, we’ll even hit Indianapolis and majestic St. Louis.”

  In his mind, Herb pictured the illustrated map of the United States that hung on his second-grade classroom wall. He tried to remember where all those cities were, but couldn’t. Tomorrow he’d spend read-aloud time studying the map. Maybe his teacher would even be willing to take a picture of it and print a copy for him!

  Freddy closed his eyes and whispered, “Please tell me this food truck trip means I get to skip summer school?”

  Herb couldn’t understand why his brother was dreading summer school. Herb loved school. Personally, he didn’t like summer vacation, because it meant saying goodbye—to his beautiful and wise second-grade teacher, his classmates, the class hamster he’d been in charge of feeding each day, his special cubby decorated with puffy stickers, and all the artwork his teacher had collected and carefully hung up throughout the year. Herb had responsibilities in Room 122. And he did not like to say goodbye. At least he had third grade to look forward to.

  Dad nodded. “Yes, Freddy, I’m afraid you will likely miss most of summer school. But to make up for it, I ordered some math workbooks so you can practice over the summer.” He looked from Herb to Freddy to Lucy. “So…? What do you say? Good adventure, or great adventure? I think it’s exactly how your mother would have wanted us to spend the money.”

  Herb clapped and gave Dad a big hug. “That does sound like a great adventure!”

  “What about your wor—” Lucy began.

  But before she could finish her sentence, a man stepped out of the food truck and thrust a clipboard at their dad. “I checked everything over and it all looks good. Sign here to confirm delivery,” the guy said, “then I can be on my way.”

  While the adults took care of business, Herb crept over to the massive vehicle and popped open the big door at the back. It creaked and groaned as it swung wide. He longed to climb up into the back of the truck to see what treasures were hidden inside, but he couldn’t get his knee high enough to slide in. He hopped back down and covered his nose. “Pee-yew,” he announced. The truck smelled a lot like their big plastic trash bin next to the garage on the day before the garbage collectors came.

  “Mom sold a million-dollar invention and Dad bought a used food truck?” Lucy muttered. Herb thought his sister sounded annoyed. But then she gently wrapped her hands under Herb’s armpits and boosted him up into the truck. He giggled and rolled aboard.

  As soon as Herb was in, Freddy and Lucy hopped up. Standing in tallest-to-shortest order (and longest-to-shortest hair order)—Lucy, Freddy, then Herb—the Peach kids looked very much like an age progression of the same person: All had almost matching greenish brown speckled eyes that they’d gotten from their dad, and thick, messy brownish hair that they’d gotten from their mom. Except Herb, who had almost no hair at all (Freddy had helped him shave it all off after head lice took over his second-grade classroom for the fourth time that school year). Though the three kids looked alike, they could not have been more different. But Lucy always said their differences in personality helped make it easier for the three of them to get along.

  Together, the Peach kids began to explore. The inside of the truck was grimy, and the air stale. It smelled awful, and Herb noticed some shriveled-up pieces of old, brown lettuce tucked into a few of the corners. There was also a mound of something orange-green and mysteriously smooshy-looking in the middle of one of the countertops. There were rags tossed about, and a half-full trash can inside a cabinet. How did this “look good,” Herb wondered, remembering what the deliveryman had said.

  The space was smaller than Herb would have expected. There was just a long, narrow passageway to walk through, and the rest of the truck’s insides were filled with equipment. One side of the interior had a long metal counter, and underneath was a row of shiny cabinets that slid and swung open. Up above that counter were more shelves and storage areas. Toward the front of the truck was something that looked like a large, shiny oven with a whole bunch of different chambers. There were also several short refrigerators and freezers, a small stove and griddle thing, and even a sink. Herb quickly scanned the space, searching for the beds. Dad had said they w
ould be traveling around the country in the food truck, and he couldn’t figure out where they were going to sleep.

  “I call this counter for my bed!” Herb cried out, eager to claim dibs on a prime spot before it was too late.

  “We’re not going to be sleeping in here, you neener,” Freddy said, bonking him on the head with his hand.

  “Then where are we sleeping?” Herb asked.

  “Hotels, I assume,” Lucy said. This announcement made Herb excited. Hotels had pools!

  Just as Herb clambered up onto one of the counters to explore the shelves and cubbies higher up, Dad poked his head around the back door of the truck. “Well?” he prompted. Herb thought his dad looked a little nervous. “What do you think?”

  “It needs a good scrubbing,” Freddy said, his head buried deep inside one of the fridges. He pulled out a bag with a chunk of something that looked like moldy cheese.

  “I think it’s beautiful,” Herb chimed in.

  “The oven is almost new,” Dad said proudly, pointing. “Isn’t it great? I knew it must be a sign that I was on the right track when I found the perfect used truck for sale. This one was originally a custom-built truck for a family like ours—it has a special cab with two rows and four seatbelts up front, so we can all ride together, plus room underneath the cab for luggage. And everything is apparently in great working order. It’s a pretty basic kitchen, but we’ll make do.”

  “Wait…,” Lucy said. “You didn’t spend a whole million bucks on this piece of junk, did you?” She was the most sensible of the Peach kids. In a very adult-sounding tone, she continued, “I seriously hope you set aside some of the money for other things, like charity and college and paying off debts and retirement savings.”