Lucy snorted and shaped her dough into a ball again. “Like homemade crust?” she asked as she slammed the ball down on the counter and began to roll it out again. “That’s one of the things that matters most?”
“Obviously,” Dad answered. “A good crust is the cornerstone of the Great Peach Experiment. The foundation we must build on!”
“Obviously,” Lucy echoed. “When life gives you lemons,” she muttered, so quietly only Herb could hear, “make peach pie. That makes perfect sense.”
Herb grinned and thrust his pie tin full of dough balls toward his sister. “Can I interest you in one of Herb’s Cinnaballs?”
9
PEOPLE-WATCHING
Freddy loved sleeping in tents. He liked having nothing more than a thin swatch of fabric separating him and his bed from the outside world. He also liked the way you could open the screened sides of a tent and let a gentle breeze settle over you while you slept surrounded by the natural world (or, in his limited travel experience, surrounded by the backyard).
But as the Peach family tucked into their campground on that first night, Freddy quickly realized that tent camping in an RV- and food truck–friendly campground was not the same thing as tent camping in nature or their backyard. This summer’s adventure was not shaping up to be quite what he’d expected…but he was certain it would be exciting in a different kind of way.
Because they’d driven into the campground in a food truck, the only spot the Peaches were permitted to set up was a big, dirt-crusted space right next to the bustling bathroom building. Which meant people walked past—and through—their campsite all evening long.
Freddy didn’t mind the lack of privacy. He discovered that people-watching in campgrounds was much better than most other places. There were campers with fun accents, quiet couples with yippy little dogs, old people who talked to themselves, chatty folks who talked to anyone who would listen, and one person who had decided it was entirely appropriate to wear nothing but a towel to travel from their own campsite to the showers!
Lucy had read Freddy and Herb a book called Harriet the Spy the previous summer, and in that story, Harriet liked to take notes about people she met and saw out in the world every day. Since then, Freddy had started sketching the people and things he saw in the world—it was more fun than writing stuff in a journal, and he liked to practice drawing people. Campgrounds were going to give him a lot of good material!
The plan was that Freddy and Lucy would share one tent for the summer, while Dad and Herb shared another. Freddy had insisted on this setup, since he was secretly terrified of Herb’s mice (he was certain the wormy little critters would turn into vampire mice at night and eat him alive). Also, their dad snored. Even though she could sometimes be a little bossy, Freddy had decided Lucy was the best possible tent companion.
When they got to the campground, Freddy set up the tents, since he was the only one who’d assembled one before. Once the outer shell was in place, he and Lucy made the inside of their house-for-the-night look comfortable and cozy.
After their first, disastrous pie-making lesson in the food truck, they gobbled down a quick dinner, and then it was already time for bed. Dad told them all to get a good night’s sleep, since they had a lot of work to do in the morning if they wanted to stay on schedule. They had to roll and bake crusts, and make all the pie fillings, first thing in the morning, so they would have something to sell during their first official day in business.
All three kids brushed their teeth in the big building beside their campsite, and then put on pj’s. After, Herb joined his siblings in their tent so Lucy could read him his usual nighttime story. Freddy put on his headlamp and sketched while Lucy read aloud from The Penderwicks. As soon as the chapter was finished, Herb yawned and sleepily shuffled off to his tent.
Freddy switched off his headlamp, listening to the sounds of the world around them—laughter from the group a few campsites over, some sort of bird or beast yip-yipping in a tree, the door of the bathroom swinging open and shut, Dad’s not-so-gentle snoring pouring out of the neighboring tent, and the soft swish of Lucy turning pages in the book she was reading to herself. Freddy wasn’t sure how much time passed before his eyes fluttered closed and his body fell into a deep, relaxed sleep filled with dreams of pie.
* * *
The next morning, Freddy woke early as the campground came alive around them. The tent provided no protection from the sounds of other campers waking and hustling to the bathrooms, shouting greetings to each other. Rain pattered on the fabric of the tent and bounced in noisy pings off the roof of the bathroom building. Dad had told them they’d be staying just outside Minneapolis for several nights, so Freddy didn’t need to take the tents down or do any other chores to pack up. They just needed to bake a few good-looking pies, and then it would be time to head out for the first day of the Great Peach Experiment!
The morning got off to a hurried start. The kids all gobbled down a quick bowl of cereal under a tarp that Lucy had hung over the campsite’s picnic table, then Freddy and Lucy joined Dad in the food truck to roll out more dough for crust and mix together some of the fillings. Dad had decided they should blind bake all of their crusts, which—Freddy had learned—meant that they would bake them before filling them. Dad said this helped keep the crust from getting soggy.
By the time they had finished their first crust-making lesson the night before, it was too late to turn on the food truck’s generator and bake anything. Besides, all their first crusts had looked terrible. So Dad had gotten up early and mixed up another big batch of dough before breakfast. By eight o’clock, there was a ton of dough waiting to be rolled out and baked—and then, finally, it would be time to fill their first day’s pies.
While his siblings helped to prepare pie, Herb had chosen to stay in his and Dad’s tent and set up obstacle courses for his mice. He’d argued that they needed lots of company and exploration time now, because they would be alone for most of the rest of the day. As long as Freddy wasn’t expected to look at or touch the mice (he wanted nothing to do with any kind of creature whose teeth never stopped growing!), he was fine with Herb bailing. Besides, Dad said Herb was too little to do much baking anyway, so it didn’t make a whole lot of sense for him to stand around doing nothing all morning. Sometimes, Freddy had noticed, Dad underestimated Herb. Though he was the youngest member of the family, Herb was bright and motivated and almost always willing to do just about anything. Hopefully their dad would notice that as the summer went on.
As soon as all the crust dough was rolled out and ready, Dad slid the pans into the food truck’s ovens and then they began getting dressed and ready for their big day. Freddy could already tell this summer was going to be a vast improvement from the one he’d been dreading. They were on the road, exploring the country, spending time together as a family. His dad seemed relaxed and happy. Freddy knew this was exactly the kind of adventure the Peaches needed.
His only regret was that Mom couldn’t be there to lead them. Opening a food truck and traveling had been her dream, and Freddy hated that she had never gotten a chance to do anything like this herself. Because of that, he desperately wanted this summer to go well, for Mom. Their brilliant and creative mother had experimented with and invented so many things during her life, but she hadn’t ever gotten to celebrate any of them becoming truly successful. But now, Freddy had a chance to turn some of the money from her first successful invention into yet another success—and he had every intention of making that happen. He would make his mother proud. If they could make enough money and win the Food Truck Festival, it would be even better than a report card filled with straight As. It would change everything.
Freddy was whistling happily as he hustled back to the campsite from the bathroom, but his mouth froze in a pucker when he saw a thin wisp of smoke slithering out of the food truck’s half-open back door. The crusts had only been in the oven for ten minutes
. He ran toward the food truck, calling for his dad. Lucy responded first; she jumped out of the tent and grabbed a fire extinguisher from the cab of the food truck. She and Freddy covered their mouths and noses to keep from inhaling smoke as they crawled inside the truck.
There were no flames, but obviously something was very wrong. The ovens were belching out smoke, and the whole truck was filled with the smell of burned butter. Lucy held up the fire extinguisher, just in case, while Freddy turned off the ovens.
A few minutes later, once the smoke had cleared, the Peach family gathered around as Dad opened the ovens to assess the damage. “Looks like I got the time and temperature wrong,” Dad said, scratching his head.
Every single one of their crusts was burned to a crisp.
“That’s three hundred dollars worth of pie,” Freddy groaned. “Up in smoke.”
HERB’S CINNABALLS RECIPE
1. Wash your hands.
2. Get a clump of leftover crust dough.
3. Roll it into a ball.
4. Plop it in cinnamon-and-sugar mix.
5. Get an adult or Lucy to bake it (don’t let it burn!).
6. Let it cool and enjoy. Yum yum!
From the Sketchbook of Freddy Peach:
HOW TO SPEND A MILLION DOLLARS
When I’m a rich guy, I know how I’ll travel. There will be no plain old food trucks for me. I’ll get a private jet and take the whole fifth-grade class on an epic field trip where we stay in a fancy hotel with room service and a pool in every room!
10
PEACH POWER
Lucy looked up from her book as her brothers raced toward the family’s campsite later that evening. Herb was clutching two leashes in his hand. There was a small, yappy dog attached to the end of each.
“Where’d you get those dogs?” Lucy asked, bending down to scratch the fluffier of the two pups behind the ear. The dog skittered away from her and hid behind Herb. Herb scooped the little pup up into his arms and kissed it on the top of its head.
“The lady three campsites down let me borrow them,” Herb explained.
Lucy gave him a warning look. “Borrow,” she told her littlest brother. “That doesn’t mean keep.”
“I know,” Herb said, rolling his eyes. “I don’t want to keep them.” Lucy noticed that he wouldn’t look at her when he said that—because she knew as well as anyone that Herb never wanted to give up anything once he’d fallen in love with it. “Don’t worry, Lucy. I just started a little dog-walking business.”
“You started a business?” Lucy said, laughing.
“There’s no biz in business unless you’re making money,” Freddy helpfully pointed out.
“Whatever.” Herb sighed. “I started a dog-walking volunteer-ness. That’s a kind of business where you don’t make money.”
“Kinda like our food truck,” Lucy muttered.
“Hey, now,” Freddy said, plunking down on the bench next to her. The second dog pawed at Freddy’s leg, ignoring Lucy entirely. Herb bent down and clumsily picked it up in one arm, plunking the little pup—and its leash—onto Freddy’s lap. Then Herb wandered off with the fluffy dog cradled in his arms, cooing into its floppy ear. Freddy quietly asked, “You’re not giving up already, are you, Lu?”
Lucy shrugged. “What’s the point? We’re not cut out for this.” She was pretty sure she wasn’t the only member of the family who was already tempted to quit. Less than a week had passed since the food truck had landed in their driveway; just a few measly days, really, since Dad had surprised them with the million-dollar news, dropped his big summer-trip bomb, and set up this experiment.
They hadn’t yet sold a single slice of pie, but Dad already looked weary and miserable, and he was constantly checking his phone to see if anyone at the university needed anything from him. Herb seemed bored and fidgety. Lucy was frustrated and annoyed. Miraculously, Freddy still seemed optimistic, even though it was abundantly clear this experiment was going to be a miserable failure.
They had worked their butts off and burned or ruined hundreds of dollars’ worth of ingredients without selling a single slice of pie. They’d eaten hot dogs for three out of the last four meals. Herb had let his mice crawl into the peanut butter jar that afternoon, making the rest inedible to humans. Lucy and Freddy’s tent had sprung a leak, so her pillow was damp and her book soaked. To top it all off, the campground bathroom had run out of toilet paper.
That evening, while their dad prepared a fresh batch of dough and her brothers explored the campground, Lucy had been sitting under their rain-soaked tarp, pretending to read while secretly stewing. Her book was open, but whenever she tried to make out the words, they swam and wobbled out of focus.
Lucy was angry with herself for getting so upset. It wasn’t like any of this really mattered; the whole summer was just a bad idea: a short-lived experiment to pretend they were still the kind of family who did fun things together.
“So we burned a few pies,” Freddy said as Lucy folded the top corner of her page to mark her spot. “It’s not the end of the world.”
“I know you’ve done the same research I have,” Lucy said. Freddy wasn’t stupid, even though he sometimes thought he was. He had a mind for business, and he knew more facts about more things than anyone else Lucy had ever met. “It’s not easy to make money running a food truck. We’re doomed to fail.”
“It’s not only about money,” Freddy said. “We can have fun trying to succeed.”
“It’s a waste of mom’s hard-earned cash,” Lucy said. “And our time.” She had tried to convince herself that this time could be different; because they had embarked on this experiment for Mom, it changed everything. But remembering Mom didn’t help. It just made her wonder what this whole experience would be like if Mom were actually there. The bottom line was, nothing had worked right since she died.
“So, maybe this experiment is a waste of money and time,” Freddy agreed. “But part of the fun of creating new stuff is messing up and then figuring out how to improve for the next time. Do you remember how Mom used to say, if you want to build something incredible, you have to keep trying, even when everything seems like it’s falling apart?” He lifted his eyebrows, obviously waiting for Lucy to reply.
Lucy huffed. Mom had said that—a lot. And Lucy herself had encouraged her brothers to heed that advice many times over the past few years. It was easy to give up and quit when things didn’t go according to plan, but Mom had always said that no great thing ever came out of a first try.
Freddy held the dog in front of Lucy’s face and waved its little paw at her. Then, in a funny voice, he said, “We’ve made our first mistake, and now we know we have to keep closer watch on the ovens to make sure we’re baking things at the right temp for the right amount of time. That’s not a mistake we’ll make again.”
Lucy laughed. “I guess that’s true.”
“The four of us are going to have plenty of challenges and problems along the way,” Freddy told her, standing up. “But with three smart Peaches—and my good looks—we can handle anything. Right?”
Herb came racing back over, his little doggie pal leading the way. “Dad needs help in the food truck,” he announced, plunking down next to Lucy on the picnic bench. “He can’t open the new bag of flour.”
Lucy lifted one eyebrow in Freddy’s direction. “We can handle anything, huh?”
Freddy laughed. But then he grew serious, and stood before his siblings to announce, “Here’s the thing, you guys. I’ve been thinking about what Dad said last weekend: that once upon a time, he and Mom had all these dreams they never got to go after. Now, Mom’s invention drops this huge chunk of money on us and look how Dad chose to use part of it: to spend time with us, doing something Mom wanted us all to do together.”
When Freddy said this, Lucy cringed. She’
d chosen to respect her dad’s wishes and not tell her brothers that he had been forced to take time off work. It would just disappoint them if they knew the truth, and they were obviously going to need Freddy’s optimism and Herb’s hopefulness if the family wanted to have any chance of surviving this summer.
Freddy went on, “Dad could have taken all that cash and used it to pay off the house, or go to another work conference, or sock it all away in his retirement savings—but he didn’t. He’s investing part of it in us now. Which means this time together must matter to him, right? If we can show him that we can do a good job with this, maybe…”
Freddy didn’t need to finish the sentence. Lucy and Herb knew what he was going to say: that if the Peach Pie Truck were a success, maybe things could change.
Herb nodded. “But what actually makes a food truck successful?” he asked. “How will we know?”
“We need to make money, obviously,” Freddy said, rubbing the little dog’s ear like a good-luck charm. “Dad said if we make ten thousand bucks, and win the Ohio Food Truck Festival, that’s success. If we can do that, we’ll prove to Dad that it was worth it for him to take all this time off. But if we don’t succeed, we’re going to lose him to work again. Probably for good.” He set the dog gently on the ground and took a deep breath. “Lucy, I know you’re not super-excited about this whole plan, but don’t forget that Dad’s trying to share with us something that mattered to Mom. We all have to decide if we want to help it succeed or watch it fail. I personally think it’s worth a shot to try to succeed.”
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