Rocky Road Ahead

by Coco Simon

  I looked at my menu. “How many variations can you make on a crêpe?” I asked, and giggled.

  “Endless,” said Tamiko, fake-serious.

  There were sweet crêpes and savory ones, filled ones and simple ones, meals and snacks, singles and stacks.

  “Hmm. Maybe we should do a savory one first, then a sweet one,” I suggested.

  “Or we could do a sweet one and then a sweet one,” Sierra said with a grin.

  I pointed my finger at her. “Bingo!”

  The waiter returned, and we placed our orders. I started with a lemon sugar crêpe, followed by a chocolate hazelnut one. Tamiko had a mushroom and Swiss cheese one to start, followed by cinnamon sugar. Sierra went rogue. She had vegetable soup first and then the same chocolate hazelnut one I was having.

  “Okay, so I was thinking, for Sunday . . . ,” I began as the waiter walked away.

  Tamiko and Sierra shared a meaningful glance.

  “What?” I asked.

  “What?” said Sierra, all innocent.

  “Why are you guys looking at each other like that?”

  “Like what?” asked Sierra, starting to blush.

  I stared at them. “What’s going on?”

  They were silent, and then Tamiko sighed. “Listen, Allie, we’re excited about Yay Gourmet. We think your mom deserves tons of credit and praise for what she’s created at Molly’s. It’s awesome. But . . .” Tamiko looked at Sierra for help.

  “But what?” I asked, my nerves all sharp and sensitive. “What?”

  “We think you’re overreacting a little,” said Sierra reluctantly.

  I stared at them.

  “Sorry, but it’s true,” said Tamiko with a nod.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, flushing.

  “All the instructions, the controlling-ness . . .”

  “The bossy texts . . . ,” added Sierra.

  My face was flaming red now. “I thought you guys were excited too! Jeez. Fine. Whatever. You don’t even have to come!” I wondered if I should go to the bathroom and text my mom to come pick me up.

  “Allie. Stop,” said Sierra. “We are excited. We’re thrilled! It’s just—”

  “You’re making us nervous. You’re overthinking it,” said Tamiko.

  “But someone has to!” I said, practically in a wail.

  The waiter arrived with our first courses just then. “Voilà!” he said, placing the crêpes and soup on the table with a flourish.

  “Merci,” said Tamiko to the waiter, who was as American as we were.

  If I hadn’t been in a fight with them just then, I would have laughed. It was like a joke, all this pretending we were eating dinner in France.

  Sierra placed her hand over mine on the cool marble tabletop. “Allie. I know you think you need to take charge and that your mom’s not taking it seriously enough. But she’s focused on the important part—the ice cream! That’s what they’re coming to write about. Not our . . . nails, or whatever.”

  What they were saying was setting my teeth on edge. No one moved.

  “We will do anything to see Molly’s succeed,” Tamiko said. “We love it almost as much as you do. We’ve been there from the beginning, since it was just a little baby ice cream store. . . .”

  “In little ice-cream-store diapers,” added Sierra with a smile.

  “Drinking from ice-cream-store baby bottles,” said Tamiko, laughing.

  “Shaking its little baby ice-cream-store rattle,” said Sierra, who was also laughing now.

  I couldn’t help it. I had to laugh too. They kept on going, stupid stuff about ice-cream-store naps and ice-cream-store blankies and whatever, and pretty soon we were all laughing hysterically while our food grew cold.

  “Okay. Stop. Stop. I get it. I’m sorry,” I said.

  Tamiko dug into her crêpe, and Sierra picked up her soup spoon.

  “It’s just that I’m so worried that the article could fail. And then what?” I whispered.

  “It’s not going to fail,” said Tamiko.

  Sierra shook her head and swallowed her soup. “No way. And you know what? It’s not your fault if it does. It’s not your responsibility. It’s your mom’s.”

  I sighed. “I know. I guess. I just want her to succeed. It’s important for my family.”

  “We know, chica,” said Sierra. “We’ll help.”

  “It’s gonna be awesome!” said Tamiko. “I’ve got a really great soundtrack ready.”

  “Which reminds me!” said Sierra. “Tessa wrote this amazing song last week, and we’re practicing it tomorrow. I want to send you guys a demo of it. It’s so cool.”

  I sighed. Tessa was the last person I wanted to talk about right then.

  I sliced my crêpe harder than necessary, and a piece shot across the table toward Sierra. “Sorry,” I said, reaching over to pick it up.

  “Tessa is so talented,” continued Sierra. “She’s also so smart. She skipped second grade, you know.”

  “Wow!” Tamiko said. I didn’t bother to say anything.

  Sierra ate a bite of her soup and swallowed, then started singing:

  “Something electric in the air,

  Breeze flowing through my hair,

  Hoping you will appear . . .”

  Another love song from Tessa. What a surprise. I imagined her sitting with a guitar, strumming away as she daydreamed about Colin. Suddenly I couldn’t bear to listen to the song anymore. “Blah, blah, blah,” I muttered.

  “What?” asked Sierra, surprised.

  “If Tessa’s going to make you sing her songs, they should at least be half-decent.” The words spilled out of my mouth before I could stop myself.

  Tamiko and Sierra stared at me.

  “Wow, Allie, that was mean,” said Tamiko.

  I knew Tamiko was right, but the blood had rushed to my head, and I felt like I was about to explode. “I’m just saying the truth,” I replied, but it came out snappier than I’d meant it to.

  There was a pause. “What’s the deal?” Sierra asked.

  “Are you still mad about the Yay Gourmet thing?” asked Tamiko. She’d finished her mushroom and cheese crêpe and had neatly lined her utensils up on her plate.

  “No. I’m just so sick of hearing about Tessa! She’s smart, she’s popular, she’s cool, she’s talented, she writes songs for your band, she has pretty hair—”

  “But those are all positive qualities!” said Tamiko.

  Suddenly Sierra did a facepalm. “OMG!” she said, shaking her head. “How could I be so blind?”

  “What?” asked Tamiko.

  “It’s because Tessa likes Colin!”

  “So?” asked Tamiko.

  “Allie does too!” said Sierra.

  The waiter came to clear the plates away, and we had to just sit there and not talk for a second.

  Then Tamiko said, “You do?”

  I looked down at the table. “I’m not sure,” I mumbled.

  “Okay, let’s start from the beginning,” said Sierra.

  “I’m gonna need another lemonade!” said Tamiko. “Serveur!” She called out the word for “waiter” in French, although I wasn’t sure if her pronunciation was correct. The guy didn’t even turn around. Then she called, “Waiter!” and he turned around and came right to our table.

  We had to laugh.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  PILLOW FIGHT!

  “So let me get this straight,” said Tamiko. “You might like Colin. You’re not sure. You just don’t want Tessa to like him, or him to like Tessa?”

  “I guess?” I said. “It sounds so bad when you put it like that.”

  “Can he like someone else? Not Tessa? Not you? Another girl?”

  The words “someone else” rang in my ears from Daniel’s comment at Molly’s the other day.

  “Why? Did you hear that someone else likes him? Or that he likes someone else?” I asked urgently, leaning across the table toward Tamiko.

  “No,” said Tamiko, widening her eyes at m
e. “Down, girl.”

  “It’s because she has a crush on him!” insisted Sierra.

  “NO!” I said strongly. “Not really. I mean . . . I don’t know.”

  “Tell us how you feel about him,” said Tamiko. “Tell Miko, hmm?”

  I laughed and rolled my eyes. “It’s just . . .” I sighed. “I like sitting on the bus with him in the mornings. Like, I look forward to it.”

  “Okaaaay,” said Tamiko.

  “He told his sister about me. Like, she reads my column in the paper.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Sierra encouragingly.

  “I get happy when I see him in the newspaper meetings. Well, except for last week, when he didn’t like my idea,” I said.

  “Jerk!” said Tamiko.

  “No. It was . . . It was a bad idea, actually. It wasn’t smart. I didn’t skip second grade like some people.”

  Sierra swatted me, and I laughed.

  “What else?” prompted Tamiko.

  “He told me he liked my new headband the other day. Like, he noticed it was new and said he liked it. And after I didn’t see him for a few days, when I saw him again, he said he’d missed me.”

  Sierra and Tamiko both raised their eyebrows and nodded meaningfully at each other.

  “Stop!” I laughed.

  “Well, one thing’s for sure,” said Tamiko. “He likes you, sistah!”

  “Yeah. Guys do not notice headbands on girls they don’t crush on,” agreed Sierra. She and Tamiko high-fived.

  “But I think he likes Tessa. Patrick said—”

  Tamiko waved her hand in the air. “Buzz, buzz, buzz. Who cares what Patrick says!”

  “Okay, well, Daniel said—”

  “Uh-uh, no way,” said Sierra.

  “Well, then, I saw them together on Sunday!” I blurted.

  “Oh,” said Tamiko.

  “Hmm,” said Sierra. “What were they doing?”

  “I don’t know. Walking. Taking the bus?”

  “Did it seem date-y?” Tamiko asked, narrowing her eyes critically.

  I sighed. “I don’t know. I mean, I assumed so. What else would they be doing?”

  “Look,” said Sierra. “You aren’t even sure you like him. But you’re jealous of Tessa. Here’s what my mom says when Isa and I are feeling jealous: ‘Stop being jealous, and instead spend your energy on being the best you that you can be.’ ”

  “Hmm,” I said. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Like, when I used to get jealous that Isa was better at soccer. And I’d spend all my time obsessively watching her instead of practicing myself! And she’d get better while I’d get worse! But actually, in the end, I had to admit that she was really good, and I . . . wasn’t that good but also wasn’t that interested in soccer anyway.”

  “So what do I do?”

  Of course, right then the waiter arrived with the bill. We waited until he was gone.

  “Focus on your friendship with Colin. You’ve got that going on,” said Sierra.

  “And the whole newspaper thing,” added Tamiko.

  “And don’t worry about Tessa,” said Sierra.

  “Right. What she said,” said Tamiko.

  I sighed. “I’ll try.” Anne of Green Gables popped into my mind, unbidden: It’s been my experience that you can nearly always enjoy things if you make up your mind firmly that you will!

  Oh, Anne! I thought. Why do you always have to be right?

  We all decided to sleep at Tamiko’s that night. Mrs. Sato very nicely let me and Sierra stop by our houses to grab a few things. I took my books out of my backpack, grabbed the polka-dot headband Colin liked to show it to them and the M.F.K. Fisher book, and jammed my overnight stuff into my backpack.

  At Tamiko’s she showed us all the sneakers she was customizing in her craft room, or “studio,” as she called it. They were amazing. There was one pair she was painting in camouflage with “flocked” paint, so the paint looked furry. There was another pair she was embroidering with flowers using a heavy-duty needle and embroidery thread. A third pair was getting bedazzled with rivets and “gem” studs, and there was one last pair that she was trying to scent by spraying them with cinnamon spray every day for a week. (They reeked.)

  “These are awesome, Miko,” I said. “I’m impressed. You’ve been very busy being the best you that you can be.”

  Later we watched a movie and had popcorn with Parmesan cheese on it; then we headed up to bed.

  As Tamiko was blowing up an air mattress for me, I unpacked my bathroom kit, and something flew out of my bag. I stooped to pick it up and saw the flyer Mrs. K. had given me earlier. I stopped for a minute and looked at it.

  “Teen Classes,” it said.

  Ho hum, I thought. Bor-ing!

  But Sierra was in the bathroom getting ready, so I sat on Tamiko’s bed for a minute and flipped through the brochure. It was actually pretty cool.

  There were the usual sporty offerings: dance, gymnastics, swimming, soccer, basketball, all at the town YMCA. Then there was stuff like language classes, writing courses—summer-school kinds of stuff.

  No thanks, I thought.

  But toward the back were “Pre-Professional Classes,” and that was where things started to get interesting.

  “Hey, Tamiko,” I said. “Did you know there are fashion design classes being offered in town this summer?”

  “What?” asked Tamiko. “Where?”

  “At the high school, at night. They bring in real fashion people and show you how to do stuff like make patterns, design fabric, all kinds of things. It looks really cool.”

  Tamiko came over to where I was sitting and peered over my shoulder. “Wow. That looks interesting. Ooh, and look at the photography classes. I could get into that big-time.”

  I turned a page. “And there’s cooking stuff too. Like cake decorating, candy making, and, hey! Ice cream making. My mom could teach that!”

  Sierra came in from the bathroom in the hall. “What is it?”

  I showed her the flyer.

  “Summer school?” she asked.

  “Kind of, but cooler,” I said. I was still scanning the pages. “Hey! They have food writing.” I looked up at them. “Food writing is pretty great, actually. The librarian, Mrs. K.—remember I told you about her?—she gave me this book.” I leaned over and pulled it out of my backpack. “It’s pretty interesting. It’s, like, professional food writing.”

  “Kind of like Yay Gourmet?” asked Sierra, her eyes twinkling.

  “Exactly!”

  “Well, maybe you should take that class. It might help you with your ice cream newspaper column. You do seem obsessed with food writing, after all!” teased Tamiko.

  I picked my pillow up from the air mattress and whacked her with it. She grabbed her pillow and whacked me back. Soon we were all three in a major pillow fight that ended only when Mr. Sato came to tell us to settle down.

  Just for the record: I won.

  We stayed up way too late and then slept until nine, so the next day I was running behind and was tired. Once I was home, I made myself an egg sandwich with sriracha and dove into my homework. At around ten my mom came home and dropped Tanner off, then headed to work. He was grumpy and took to the couch to watch cartoons while I did my homework in my room.

  At noon I went out to see what he wanted for lunch. I was thinking grilled cheese and chocolate milk. But he was sound asleep on the sofa. His cheeks were bright red, and he was bent at an uncomfortable angle, but still he was out cold. I tried to wake him up to at least take off his jeans and get him into bed, but I couldn’t wake him up.

  By one o’clock I was nervous. Tanner was still asleep and flushed. I called my mom at the store.

  “Oh, sweetheart! I’m so busy, and Rashid’s swamped at the counter. What’s up?”

  I told her about Tanner, and she gasped. “Can you take his temperature and call me right back?”

  I hung up and did what she’d asked. Tanner was super groggy, but I g
ot the thermometer into his mouth and waited until it beeped.

  The thermometer said 103.5 degrees.

  “Oh no,” I whispered. I ran back to the phone and called my mom at the store. My heart was beating hard and fast in my chest, and my hands were cold with fear. “Mom! He has a fever of a hundred and three and a half!”

  “Oh no! Oh, the poor boy!” my mom cried. Then I heard her take a deep breath. “Listen, Allie, I’ve got my hands full and I can’t leave the store. Your dad’s away on a business trip, and I don’t know when he’s coming back. I’m going to call the doctor right now, but you need to give Tanner some medicine, okay?”

  I felt my stomach sinking. I had to take care of Tanner myself? “Okay, Mom,” I said meekly.

  “Thank you so much, Allie. I’m so sorry to put you in this position. I’ll try to get home as soon as possible. Also, try to get him to drink as much water as possible, okay? Lots and lots of water.”

  “Right. Got it,” I said.

  I managed to get the medicine into Tanner. He took a few sips of water, then fell asleep again. I sat next to him on the sofa and kept waking him up so that he could take more sips. Soon he began to shiver and sweat. Then he became alert. After an hour had passed, he was wide awake and perky, and I took his temperature again. It read one hundred degrees.

  “Phew!” I said, looking at the numbers in relief.

  My mom had called three times while I’d been sitting with Tanner. The first time she had told me what the doctor had said—Tanner should take medicine, drink lots of fluids, and rest, and then we should see how he felt. Each time I’d filled her in on Tanner’s symptoms. Now I called her with the news that his fever had dropped.

  “Thank goodness. I was just about to close the store and come home. I’m so grateful to you for taking care of him. Thank you, sweetheart!”

  “It’s no problem, Mom,” I said, even though I felt exhausted. “I’m just glad he’s better.”

  “Right,” she said cautiously. “I hope he’s better.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “His temperature went way down.”

  “Yes, but that’s the medicine. The decrease might just be temporary. His temp could go right back up when the medicine wears off.”