The Secret Cookie Club

by Martha Freeman

  Outside, the dry desert air hit me like a blast from a hair dryer, and the sunshine made me blink. Tomorrow I’d be home in Massachusetts, where the forecast was cloudy and humid.

  Along with most of the other campers, Emma, Olivia, and Lucy were sprawled on the oval-shaped lawn in front of the nurse’s office. Emma spotted me first and waved. “Where were you?”

  Olivia sat up and tugged her hat to shade her face. “We thought you were dead.”

  “Wait.” Lucy looked around. “Are you just getting here?”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “Yeah, she’s just getting here. Where did you think—?”

  “—I dunno.” Lucy shrugged. “Over with Vivek or something.”

  “Leave me alone about Vivek,” I said.

  Lucy said, “Okay,” but Olivia said, “Sor-ree!” and Emma asked, “Grace, are you okay? Do you want a glass of water?”

  “She’s gonna miss Vivek,” Lucy said.

  “Will you please stop—” I started to say, but then, with no warning, I burst into tears.

  There was a surprised pause, followed quickly by a collective cooing sound—oh-h-h-h—followed quickly by a group hug. I closed my eyes, feeling better because my friends loved me and worse because I was about to lose them forever.

  “Excuse me. Grace?” The voice was muffled but familiar. “Is that you? And are these the girls about whom you speak so often?”

  Oh no. I should have remembered another embarrassing thing about my parents: They are always early.

  CHAPTER 4

  Grace

  I introduced my parents to the Flowerpot girls, who were friendly even though they must have been in shock about how my parents’ outfits practically matched: Khakis, polos, and loafers all around, except my father’s polo was baby blue and my mother’s was pink.

  Then my parents wanted to put my trunk in the car and leave. Once they had seen that my friends were clean with no visible tattoos, that was all they needed to know. My parents don’t really believe in small talk.

  But Hannah—who could earn a gold medal in small talk with grown-ups if there were such a thing—explained that parents’ staying for lunch is traditional, and after that mine settled down because tradition is something they understand.

  My dad, Joe Xi, was born and raised in Singapore, where his family still lives. My mom’s name is Anna Burrows, and she grew up all over the world because her dad was in the U.S. government. They met in college in Massachusetts, and now they are both very brainy scientists, the kind who expect their only daughter to be brainy too.

  Olivia’s parents arrived next. They are tall and glamorous and African-American, and they look just like their picture on the bottles of Baron Barbecue Sauce you see in every supermarket. Also, they were dressed exactly right for picking up their daughter at summer camp in Arizona—jeans and a polo for him, jeans skirt, a T-shirt, and a turquoise necklace for her. Like movie stars, they smiled a lot. Unlike movie stars—my idea of them anyway—they also gave everybody big warm hugs.

  Emma’s parents turned out to be huggers, too, and the second they saw her they glued themselves to Emma like they’d never again let her out of their sight. Emma’s dad is a doctor, I remembered, and her mom is a lawyer. For parents they are kind of old—almost grandparent-age. I liked them, though, and anyway you would never call them embarrassing. Here is something cute: They were holding hands.

  After that it was time for lunch, and Lucy’s mom still wasn’t there.

  All of us could see Lucy was unhappy, and I thought she was worried something might have happened to her mom. But it turned out she was mad.

  “You never get mad,” Emma said. We were in the dining hall by then, filling water glasses to carry back to our table for the grown-ups.

  Lucy said, “At my mom I do.”

  Emma looked over her shoulder at me, and I shrugged. We knew Lucy lived with her mom and her grandma in Beverly Hills. We knew Lucy’s family didn’t have a lot of money. We knew Lucy’s aunt Freda had been a camper at Moonlight Ranch when she was a kid.

  We didn’t know anything else.

  “I’ll carry your mom’s water,” Lucy told me, “so I have something—” She stopped in her tracks. “Oh, no.”

  All of us stopped too, and looked where she was looking. A woman had appeared by the door. She had a lot of blond hair and a big smile, but the most remarkable thing was what she was wearing—a sleeveless green blouse, the shortest shorts I ever saw on a grown-up, and green cowboy boots.

  Olivia started to say something, and from her face I knew it would be snarky. But Emma kicked her and then said, “That’s not your mom, Lucy. Say it’s not.”

  Lucy sighed, looked into each of our faces like she was going to her own execution, then turned and started walking toward the blond woman, waving. “I’m over here, Mother!”

  Am I mean if I felt better after Lucy’s mom turned out to be even more embarrassing than my parents?

  Her name was Karen Kathleen, but she went by KK, and even though she was wearing those terrible shorts, she was nice—friendly—and she made everybody laugh, even my own mom.

  Lunch was the regular camp food—hamburgers and salad. There were veggie burgers for vegetarians like Lucy and her mom. While we ate, Hannah told stories about the summer—like how Flowerpot Cabin should’ve won first prize on Talent Night, only there was that Ryan kid in Lasso Cabin who had an international trophy in violin, so even though the other boys only tapped on spoons from the dining hall, their band still won.

  Vivek was in Lasso Cabin. Of the three spoon players, he was the best. Now he was sitting two tables away with his parents, and I was carefully looking in the opposite direction.

  “And didn’t you girls make cookies?” Emma’s mom asked.

  “From my grandfather’s recipe,” Hannah said. “They were delicious. These daughters of yours can really bake.”

  “Vivek was there too, and we sent some to his mom for her birthday,” Olivia said, looking at me. “Where is Vivek anyway? I want to talk to his mom. I want to know if she liked the cookies.”

  But before Olivia had a chance to look around, Buck, the head of camp, rang the cowbell to get everybody’s attention.

  “I just wanted to say a few words about what wonderful kids y’all have and what a pleasure it’s been . . .”

  You get the idea.

  We were pushing our chairs back when Hannah said, “Would you parents mind if I borrowed your daughters one last time? You’ll want to go out and open up your cars and get the AC going. Otherwise you’ll roast.”

  Since no cars are allowed in camp, parking is out beyond the fence. Now we Flowerpot girls gathered for the last time under the cottonwood by the front gate.

  Hannah’s eyes looked damp, but she spoke briskly. “Good-byes should be short and sweet. But I did want to give you each something.”

  From her day pack she pulled four small presents, each wrapped in newspaper and rainbow ribbons, each marked with our own name.

  Olivia shook her head sadly. “Such a shame you couldn’t get real wrapping paper.”

  “Newspaper’s good because it’s recycled,” said Lucy.

  “Let’s open them, everybody!” said Emma.

  Inside were recipe boxes—a green one for Lucy, pink for Olivia, red for me, and blue for Emma. There were recipes inside, too—cookie recipes.

  “Your grandfather’s?” Emma asked.

  Hannah nodded, and by now a couple of tears had escaped her eyes. “There’s a baker’s dozen there, his thirteen all-time favorites.”

  “A dozen is twelve, Hannah,” said Lucy.

  “A baker’s dozen is thirteen,” Hannah explained, “and I am gonna miss you guys. Now, get out of here! Short and sweet, remember? But don’t forget me . . . and don’t forget each other!”

  To help me find it, my parents had told me their rental car was a red Ford. But it turned out so was everyone else’s—except Olivia’s family’s. The Barons had a gold Porsche SUV that stoo
d out by a mile as it drove past. The windows were tinted so I couldn’t see O, but I waved anyway. I was still looking for my parents when someone behind me called, “Grace! Hang on!”

  It was Vivek, and I felt myself turn bright red from embarrassment . . . and maybe happiness, a little. I turned around, and he was two feet away from me holding out a small brown paper sack stamped MOONLIGHT RANCH TRADING POST.

  “I bought these for you. I mean, not for you exactly. But they made a, uh . . . mistake and gave me these. And everyone likes them, so you must like them too. Here.”

  I took the sack, too surprised to look inside right away, and then my parents came up.

  “Who is this, Grace?” asked my father.

  I introduced Vivek, who smiled and held out his hand. “My parents—” He looked around, but the sound of a car horn drowned out his voice. It was Lucy’s mom honking as she drove by. Lucy didn’t wave. She was too busy gesturing to her mom: Please quiet down!

  Vivek and I locked eyes for about half a second. Then I said, “We have to go. Have a really great year.” And I pulled my parents away.

  * * *

  In the car, I stowed the sack in my day pack without looking inside. What if it was a big disappointment? What if anticipation was the best part?

  Better to save the secret for later.

  Since our flight to Boston was at six the next morning, we were staying in a very nice, very clean hotel by the airport. Usually I don’t notice if hotels are nice or not, but after six weeks of sharing a room with four other people and sleeping in an upper bunk that squeaked, I definitely noticed. Likewise the air conditioning and the amazing menu at the hotel restaurant.

  Now that we were alone, my parents weren’t embarrassing anymore. Moonlight Ranch might’ve been the best thing that ever happened to me, but still . . . I had missed them.

  My parents and I read in the room after dinner. Right before it was time to turn out the light, I took the paper sack into the bathroom. I counted to ten. I looked inside. I laughed.

  “Are you okay, Grace?” my mother called.

  “Yeah, fine.” I flushed the toilet for show, came out, and zipped the sack into an inside pocket of my suitcase. My parents did not notice.

  “We have been saving some news for you,” my mother said.

  My bed was beside theirs. The air conditioning was so chilly, I had to pull up the covers. “What?”

  “You have been promoted to sixth grade—you are skipping fifth!” said my dad. “It is all arranged with your school and your teachers. Congratulations!”

  CHAPTER 5

  Grace

  Sixth grade at Nashoba Elementary was terrible but not unbearable, and after a while I began to rate the days. They were either excellent (when I did well on an assignment, there were Oreos in my lunch, and no one bothered me), good (when I did well on an assignment and no one bothered me), or bad (when someone teased me).

  Then I had to add a new rating: disastrous.

  This happened on a Thursday in October that had started out fine. I got 100 percent on the spelling test, raised my hand and correctly answered a question about world geography (River Nile), and filled in a worksheet on how plants make energy from sunlight. After lunch, Mrs. Keeran, our teacher, announced it was time to talk about the field trip to Walden Pond, which “will offer a unique opportunity to study history, literature, philosophy, and biology.”

  My classmates looked bored, but they might have just been busy digesting their lunches. I was looking forward to the field trip. It would be a whole day spent outside room 111, a whole day of sun and sky and water and trees.

  “As you know, class,” Mrs. Keeran continued, “you will work in pairs both at the pond and afterward on your Walden projects.”

  Even though I had no friends in room 111, I wasn’t worried about working in pairs. The class had done two other pair projects, and both times I had been with Kelly, who is even quieter than me. Kelly and I had developed a good system. My job was to do everything, and hers was to look anxious about how I was doing it but never complain.

  But this time, Mrs. Keeran said, we weren’t going to get to pick our own partners. This time she would assign them, and before I even knew what was happening, she had read all our names off the attendance book, and I was partnered with Shoshi Rubinstein!

  My stomach lurched. Shoshi, two seats behind me, groaned loudly. And after that, a couple of her minions began to giggle.

  CHAPTER 6

  Grace

  On Thursdays, I have ballet after school, and after that Lily’s dad drops me off at my house. Lily lives in my neighborhood and she’s in my ballet class, and we used to be friends. But now that I skipped a grade, it feels awkward, and besides, we only see each other at ballet.

  “Thanks, Mr. Stone. Bye, Lily.” I closed the car door and then went to the mailbox at the foot of our driveway, took out the mail, and jogged up our front walk.

  Since Mrs. Keeran had paired me with Shoshi Rubinstein, my stomach hadn’t stopped hurting. I had gotten through ballet, though, and provided I didn’t eat dinner, I’d probably be okay. The next day I would work up the nerve to beg Mrs. Keeran to give me Kelly as a partner as usual. It’s not as if Shoshi wanted to work with me. She would prefer one of her minions so together they could giggle and plot mean-girl plots.

  Usually the mail is two or three catalogs no one looks at and an equal number of envelopes no one opens. About once a month there’s a blue air mail envelope with Singaporean stamps on it. This is from “home,” as my father calls it, sent by my grandmother or an old auntie who doesn’t use Skype. The letters say who is in the hospital or getting divorced or getting married or having a baby or dead. They are always long, and my father makes me sit down and listen to them read out loud.

  I tossed the mail on the kitchen island the way I always do. There was no letter from Singapore, but there was one that was strange—square and addressed in purple ink. I glanced at that one again and saw something really strange: It was addressed to me!

  Instead of opening it right away, I examined it for clues. The writing was round and neat. There was no return address, but the postmark was Los Angeles, 90035.

  I didn’t know anyone in Los Angeles.

  When I flipped the envelope over, I saw it was sealed with three glitter stickers: a dolphin, a unicorn, and a rainbow.

  And all at once I remembered—and I tore the envelope open, pulled out the pages (which were purple with pink lines and smelled like lavender soap), and read, without even taking off my heavy school backpack or sitting down.

  Saturday, October 10

  Hi Grace!

  I am not going to write “How are you? I am fine” because that is what everybody always writes. Right?

  So . . . what have you been up to since camp? I mean besides school. I like art class with Mrs. Coatrak, but otherwise school is always boring and always the same, right?

  At camp, I didn’t think I’d be that busy this year, but I am because guess what? I am babysitting for triplets who live on our street!

  The triplets are almost four and here are their names: Arlo, Mia, and Levi. Arlo likes animals, Mia likes games, and Levi likes to play pretend.

  Kendall, the mom, is also there when I babysit. I am supposed to keep the triplets safe and play with them so that she, Kendall, does not go totally bonkers being a mom.

  The first day I babysat them, Arlo stomped an anthill to destroy it. I yelled at him because ants are living creatures. Then the ants started biting Arlo, and he started crying, and soon all three of them were freaking out. I think I almost got fired the very first day, but now it’s getting better.

  My nana says I am now the breadwinner in our family. She is kidding but also not, because it’s true at the moment I am the only one in my family with a job. (My mom is looking for one, though. I think she was hoping we would soon be moving in with her boyfriend, but that didn’t happen, and I think now she is looking for a new boyfriend, too.)

 
My nana is my grandmother. Maybe I never told you that before. My mom and I live with her in her house.

  Change of topic. (“Change of topic” is something my mom says, usually when things get hairy and she’s afraid Nana might leave the room or yell.) Does Moonlight Ranch seem like it was a long time ago to you? Do you think about it and me and Olivia and Emma?

  Now you have to write back. Maybe you noticed at camp that I am the only kid in the universe who doesn’t have her own phone. Also I am the only kid who doesn’t have a laptop or a tablet or even a computer at her house. My nana says electronics are sapping our brainpower and turning us into a nation of empty-headed twits. I am not telling you this to be pathetic (honest!!!) but to explain that you can’t text me or message me or e-mail me like you would a normal person.

  You will have to write me a letter. But then it will all be worthwhile because after I get it YOU WILL GET COOKIES!!!

  Love ya always,

  Lucy

  P.S. I saw you and Vivek saying good-bye on the last day of camp. Did he give you a present? You can tell me. I would never blab!

  CHAPTER 7

  Grace

  As I read, I answered Lucy’s questions in my head:

  Yes, Moonlight Ranch seemed like a long time ago.

  Yes, I was busy.

  No, I didn’t think about Lucy, Emma, and Olivia very much.

  (And if sometimes I thought about Vivek, I would never tell.)

  Most of all, Lucy’s letter reminded me that I did have friends. This made me feel so much better after my disaster day that I decided to read it again. My stomach wasn’t in a knot anymore, so I went to the cupboard, got out three Oreos, and ate them. Then I sat down in the plaid recliner in the family room, and put the letter in my lap. I was just going to close my eyes for a second before I re-read it, but the next thing I knew, my father’s hand was shaking my shoulder.