Shake It Off

by Suzanne Nelson

These brownies had pretzels, toffee, white and dark chocolate bits, mini marshmallows, and even chunks of Oreo cookies. They weren’t necessarily the prettiest brownies on the planet, but—oh my gosh—they were good. I grabbed the tray from the counter, and then rummaged through the pantry and fridge, taking anything else I found that would work. With arms overflowing, I hurried back to the creamery.

  This time, I started the crazy shake with three scoops of chocolate ice cream, a splash of milk, and a hefty scoop from the jar of hot fudge I’d unearthed from the fridge.

  As she took orders, Wren threw me concerned backward glances every few seconds. I knew she didn’t want a repeat of what had happened with the Lesters. I didn’t want that, either.

  Everyone was already so unhappy with me, I didn’t want to make it worse.

  I plunked a square of brownie into the metal tumbler alongside the other ingredients, then set the mixture into motion with the shake agitator. Once the tumbler filled with thick and creamy chocolatey yumminess, I poured it into a glass. After squirting a swirling dome of Reddi-wip on top, I sprinkled on some chocolate chips, toffee, Oreo, and pretzel bits. That’s when the real fun started. I skewered another brownie square and stuck it into the shake so that the brownie hovered over the top of it. Then, on a second skewer, I made a kebob, alternating marshmallows with caramels, Oreo cookies, pretzels, and caramel popcorn pieces. I added that to the shake and, as a final touch, wedged two more Oreos onto the side of the glass.

  Just as I finished the shake, Aunt Beth breezed out of the kitchen precariously balancing two trays towering with burger baskets. She took one look at the shake in my hands and stopped cold.

  “Don’t worry!” I blurted before she could even open her mouth to protest. “It was a special request.”

  Heaving a world-weary sigh and closing her eyes for a long second, as if she were silently willing the shake to disappear entirely, she nodded. With that reluctant blessing, I carried the shake to the teenage camp counselor. Her head was bent over her cell phone, and she was so consumed in her round of Candy Crush that she barely even noticed the shake when I set it down in front of her.

  Rude, I thought.

  But what I said was, “Here you go.” I’d been brainstorming the whole time I decorated and added, “It’s a Maniacal Mudslide.”

  That got her attention at last, and she glanced up. She brightened immediately, but as she studied it asked, “Pretzels?”

  I kept my smile firmly in place. “For a sweet and salty combo.”

  Tentatively, she took a sip. There was a long pause and, finally, the shake won out over her temptation to nitpick. She sat back and admitted, “It’s good … Really good.” I could tell by her second, much longer, sip that it was. A swell of relief and happiness surged through me.

  “Hey.” Another camp counselor in the adjoining booth twisted around in his seat, ogling the shake. “Where’d you get that? I want one of those, too. It looks awesome.”

  Across the room, a little girl pointed to the shake, then yanked on her mom’s arm, declaring that she wanted a “brownie shake,” too.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I said to the customers as I walked back to the sales counter.

  Aunt Beth and Wren were waiting for me.

  “No complaints?” Aunt Beth asked warily.

  I shook my head. “I have requests for two more.”

  “We can’t,” Wren stated bluntly. “I don’t even know how to ring those up on the register. And we don’t have time—”

  Aunt Beth held up her hand for silence. “If Bria wants to make them, she can.” Her eyes were on mine, as if she was trying to assess my level of commitment. “You’ll have to clean up everything afterward,” she told me. “And only make the shakes customers ask for. No more improv. Got it?”

  My heart tripped nervously. This was her way of telling me I had one more chance, but I better not blow it. Did I want it? Or did I want to go back to the house for the rest of the day, back to the couch and TV? If I stayed at the creamery, it would mean an endless stream of uber-politeness with all the customers, even the difficult ones, and sore feet at the end of the day. But, crabby customers aside, making the Maniacal Mudslide had been fun. Really fun.

  I sucked in a breath, and then nodded with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. “Got it.”

  “Okay, then.” Aunt Beth gave me the first genuine smile I’d seen from her in two days. Wren only nodded briskly and turned back to the line of customers.

  I’d made one great shake, but that didn’t mean I was off the hook with my family. Still, the Maniacal Mudslide was a start.

  * * *

  “I don’t believe it.” Aunt Beth stared at the numbers on the page before her. “Sixty Maniacal Mudslides sold. In under six hours.”

  I was so tired after being on my feet all day that I’d been yawning my way through dinner. But I looked up from my food and noticed, for the first time, that everyone’s eyes were on me. Even Gabe, who’d stayed for dinner, was looking at me in surprise.

  “So … that’s good?” I asked.

  “It’s fantastic.” Aunt Beth sat back in the kitchen chair, a mystified smile on her face. “That’s more shakes than we sell in an entire week!”

  Uncle Troy held out his hand to me for a fist bump. “My niece. Rocking the Dawson milkshake. Love it.”

  “Thanks, Uncle Troy.” A sudden pride welled inside me, catching me off guard. “But it was no big deal. I drink shakes like that in Chicago all the time, but I don’t really know much about making them. I sort of winged it.”

  “Well, I thought it looked professional.” Gabe gave me an approving grin. “And it was the best shake I’ve ever had.”

  My brow furrowed. “When did you try … ?”

  He shrugged mischievously. “Luke and I might’ve grabbed two off the counter when nobody was looking.”

  Aunt Beth pretended to smack the backs of both their heads. “You sneaks!”

  Luke cracked up into his sleeve while Gabe smiled sheepishly. Wren was the only one who didn’t laugh. She’d been quieter than usual during dinner and hadn’t said boo about my Mudslides.

  “You should make more of them,” Gabe said to me. “Tomorrow.” He looked at Aunt Beth. “They really are cool-looking. I bet more people would buy them.”

  I blushed at the compliment, and let my hair hide my face.

  “Hmm.” Aunt Beth looked at me hesitantly. “Would you want to make more, Bria? Today might’ve been a fluke, but we could try again—”

  “Yes,” I blurted, before I’d even had time to think. Suddenly, my exhaustion disappeared, replaced by a buzzing excitement. “I’ll make more.”

  The steady flow of customers and the constant requests for Mudslides had made the hours at the creamery fly by. But it was the shake itself—the designing of it and the experimenting with it, making it look its yummiest—that had been the best part of all. When I’d seen customers snapping pics of the shakes—my shakes—with their phones, a warm satisfaction had washed over me.

  “Maybe I can try some other flavors?” I suggested. “I could do one with s’mores, maybe, and one with Reese’s Pieces …”

  Aunt Beth laughed. “Whoa, whoa. Let’s take it one day at a time for now, okay? First, let’s see how the Mudslide does tomorrow. But …” She gave me a peck on the forehead. “I’m not saying no. Just a ‘We’ll see.’”

  “Okay.” Then an idea struck, and my adrenaline surged. “Do you have some colored pencils I could use?”

  “We keep all the craft supplies in the cabinets in the mudroom,” Uncle Troy said. “Help yourself.”

  So, while everyone but Aunt Beth and Gabe settled on the couch in the den for TV, I went into the mudroom in search of the art supplies. I only noticed that Gabe had followed me into the room when I stretched onto tiptoe to reach for the case of colored pencils, and he stepped beside me, with a soft “Let me.”

  He reached past me, his arm brushing against mine for a split second. The w
armth of his skin made my pulse leap. He smelled of freshly mowed grass and sunlight, like the outdoors. I was surprised how much I liked it. Even more surprising was that he was here beside me in the first place, when, for the last two days, he hadn’t said a single word to me. Or even looked in my direction. I’d thought he hadn’t wanted anything to do with me after our talk, but now, here he was, offering to help.

  “Thanks,” I managed breathlessly when he set the pencils in my hands.

  He nodded. We stood there for a moment, unmoving. I waited, not just because I sensed he wanted to say something more, but also because—strange as it was—I liked being so near him, and the way the rest of the world suddenly seemed to fall away under his steady gray gaze.

  “Congrats on your shakes going over well today,” he started.

  I shrugged, blushing furiously once again and hoping he wouldn’t notice. “It accidentally happened to work. I mean, I wanted it to, but I didn’t know for sure—”

  “I know,” he said. I felt a wave of relief seeing his smile. It had only been two days, but I realized now that I’d missed it. “It was still a help.”

  “Did you like it?” I asked. “The Mudslide?”

  His eyes lit up and my breath hitched in my throat. “It was really good.” His voice lifted with his smile. “But for future reference, I’m partial to mint chocolate chip and York Peppermint Patties.”

  I tilted my head at him and feigned a shocked look. “Oh, making special requests now, huh? So demanding.”

  “Nah. Consider it a challenge. I wanna see what sort of shake you can sculpt with those ingredients.”

  “Sculpt?” I rolled my eyes. “You make it sound way fancier than it actually is.”

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “Look out, world. Make way for Bria Muller, the next Michelangela.”

  His smile widened, and then I was smiling, too, with a new, unexpected headiness.

  “Gabe?” Wren was calling from the kitchen. “Ga—oh.” She appeared in the doorway of the mudroom. She glanced from me to Gabe, and the briefest hint of a frown streaked across her face. “Here you are. We’re starting a Star Trek episode. I’m making popcorn.”

  He cleared his throat and took a step back, and it was only in that instant that I realized how close we’d been standing to each other. Without his warmth, I felt the coolness of the air between us.

  “Actually, I should head home.” He glanced at the clock in the kitchen. “Mom and Dad will be back from work soon.”

  “Oh. Okay,” Wren said.

  He moved toward the side door and Wren gave him a disappointed wave, looking like she had something else to say, but it was only “See you later.”

  He waved back, then gave me a nod and headed out into the night. The moment he was gone, the fogginess in my head cleared, but it took longer for my heart to slow. Wren studied me for a second longer, and then spun on her heel and headed back to the den.

  I started to follow, thinking that, for the first time, I’d give one of her Trekkie shows a try to get on her good side again. But my steps slowed when I caught sight of Aunt Beth hunched over a pile of papers in her study, looking worried.

  “Aunt Beth?” I peered into the study, and she lifted her head and smiled at me, but not quickly enough to hide the worry on her face. “Is everything okay?”

  “Oh, sure.” She waved a hand at the papers before her. “Just reading through some paperwork.”

  Even from the doorway, I could see the CheeseCo logo emblazoned on the pages. “Why do you have CheeseCo papers?”

  She smoothed down the pages before her. “I suppose you missed the news yesterday. CheeseCo’s officially made an offer now. And it’s a good one.”

  Oh. Well, that explained Wren’s foul mood. “So … What will you do?”

  Aunt Beth gave a tired laugh. “If I knew the answer to that, honey, I wouldn’t still be sitting here. Go on, now. Let me stew on these for a bit.”

  I nodded, sensing that she didn’t want me to press any further.

  I went upstairs and from the bottom of my suitcase I unearthed the sketchbook Mom had gotten me. Then I returned to the den and sat down on one of the couches with the sketchbook and the box of colored pencils. While Captain Kirk battled a mishmash of alien life-forms, I propped my sketchbook against my bent knees and began to draw.

  Ideas for new shakes formed in my minds’ eye and, as they did, I put them down on paper. The more I drew, the more lost in my sketches I became. When I finally glanced up, with a crick in my neck and both my feet falling asleep, I realized that the TV was off and the room was quiet. Wren and Luke had gone upstairs. I’d been so consumed with drawing, I hadn’t noticed. I glanced toward the kitchen and study and saw that the lights were off. My aunt and uncle must’ve gone to bed, too.

  I stood stiffly and stretched, working out the kinks in my back and legs. Then, with visions of shakes still fizzing and popping in my brain, I dragged myself to bed.

  I woke to the enticing smell of fresh-baked brownies and sun streaming through the bedroom window. I went downstairs to find Aunt Beth and Wren pulling not one or two, but four trays of everything-but-the-kitchen-sink brownies from the oven.

  “Second breakfast for Luke and Gabe?” I asked through a muffled yawn.

  Aunt Beth grinned. “Your Maniacal Mudslides weren’t a fluke.”

  “What?” I blinked, hazy from oversleeping.

  “Word got around in Tillman,” she continued. “As soon as the creamery opened, kids were coming in from town asking for your shake. Luke offered them hayrides to tide them over while we made more brownies. But we don’t know how to make the shakes.”

  “Wow.” Suddenly I was wide-awake, feeling bubbles of excitement under my skin. “I can’t believe it.” But then I glanced at Wren more closely, and I saw something else I couldn’t believe. I cocked my eyes at her. “Wren, are you—are you wearing lip gloss?”

  Her lips had a pearly pink sheen to them, which she instantly tried to hide by awkwardly rubbing the tip of her nose with her hand. But she didn’t quite succeed.

  “You are!” Aunt Beth declared, with an expression on her face that was a combination of surprise and puzzlement.

  “So what if I am?” Wren’s cheeks pinked to match her lips.

  “What’s the name of your crush? Is he over at the creamery right now?” I blurted the words without remembering who I was talking to, auto-shifting into the way that I would’ve talked to Leila about boys. I instantly regretted it when I was met with Wren’s scalding glare.

  “This does not mean I have a crush,” she growled. “On anyone.”

  Aunt Beth held up her hands. “Won’t say another word about it.” She pecked Wren on her cheek. “Only … you have such beautiful lips. Doesn’t she, Bria? Gloss or no.”

  I nodded, but Wren only rolled her eyes, then scooped up two brownie trays in her pot-holdered hands. “I’m taking these to the creamery.”

  She was gone before Aunt Beth or I could say another word.

  “Always on her guard, my Wren,” Aunt Beth said to me. “Never wanting anybody to see her soft spots. I worry how she’d cope with us selling the farm to CheeseCo.”

  “But … I thought you hadn’t decided yet.”

  “Oh, we haven’t.” She shook her head. “But Mr. Brannigen wants an answer by the end of this week. And he wants contracts signed by July fourth. It’s hard to say no to the sort of security CheeseCo can offer … Your uncle and I aren’t getting any younger. Farm work doesn’t get easier.”

  “Wren told me she wants to run the farm someday,” I said. “That would help.”

  “I can’t count on that. And I wouldn’t put that pressure on her. Wren has lots of the world to see before she decides.” Aunt Beth clapped a hand on the counter. “Well. Enough of that. Why don’t you head over to the creamery to give Wren a hand?”

  I nodded. What she was really saying, in mom/aunt-speak, was that she wanted me to check on Wren. “Sure.”

 
I found my cousin in the creamery kitchen, scowling down at the tray of brownies on the counter.

  “I can’t tell if you want to eat them or strangle them,” I said teasingly, jolting her from her thoughts.

  “Don’t,” she said, “not after Gabe gave me a weird look on my way over here …” She grabbed a napkin and started scrubbing the lip gloss from her lips. “I don’t even know what I’m doing,” she grumbled. “I hate lip gloss! Ick!”

  “Wait,” I said, “was I right? Is it because of a crush?”

  “Don’t tell my mom,” she pleaded, confirming my suspicions. “Or Luke. He would be so mad.”

  “Why would Luke be …” Luke might tease her for any crush, but he would only be mad if the crush was on someone he cared about. I remembered Wren’s frown when Gabe invited me into his rowboat, her short temper whenever she saw me and Gabe alone together. “Is it … ?”

  “Gabe!” she blurted in a hissed whisper, throwing up her hands. “I like Gabe, okay?” Her voice broke, and she pressed her palms against her cheeks to hide her blush.

  How could I not have seen it? I’d known she was upset about CheeseCo, but I remembered her especially upset look when she’d found me and Gabe in the mudroom, standing close. I thought about Gabe’s dove-gray eyes, and my stomach dipped confusedly.

  “You like Gabe,” I repeated. “And … you’ve liked him since … ?”

  “Pretty much forever,” she said glumly.

  “B—but you never said anything,” I started. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She snorted. “Yeah, because I’m so good at the whole spilling-my-innermost-secrets thing,” she said dryly.

  “Does he know how you feel?” I asked reluctantly. I didn’t want to be hearing this. The whole idea made my palms go clammy. How could Wren like Gabe when … when … Oh. My. God. When I liked him, too?

  The realization knocked the breath from my body. Of course, I thought he was cute. But it was more than that. He’d gone out of his way to try to help me adjust to this whole new farm life. And he never fell for my “poor me” routine. Sure it was aggravating that I couldn’t put anything past him, but it was also refreshing that he told me exactly what he thought all the time. And that I didn’t have to try so hard to be perfect around him, the way I did with Leila.