“Listen, Louisa. It wasn’t a mistake to hire me. I promise it wasn’t. I’ll work for free if I have to.” Louisa gave me a small smile. “We are going to bring this place back. So, maybe some people have forgotten about us … we’ll remind them. I’m sure my parents could help.”
“No, no, Annie. I cannot trouble your mother and father. I won’t.”
“But—”
“Really, I’d prefer you not mention it, dear. They certainly have enough on their plates.” I knew what my grandmother was saying was true—my parents did have a lot on their plates—but they also loved Louisa like I did and would be upset to know what was going on. I felt terribly torn and confused. What could I do instead of telling my mom? I thought for a moment. “What about all the customers who love you? Mr. Silverman and Meg and the Kopinskis? Surely they will want to help.”
“They do help, Annie. Just by coming in. But I’m afraid we just don’t have quite as many regulars as we used to. And I would never dream of discussing money matters with the ones who remain.” She was firm. It was hard for me to accept. Hardly a month went by that Louisa wasn’t buying piles of Girl Scout cookies from someone’s niece in the neighborhood or giving someone a little short of change a free scone. It seemed to me it was the neighborhood’s turn to help her.
“You can’t move away,” I said a bit desperately. “So many people love you. Mom and Dad and Luke and Billy and Beth love you,” and for added emphasis, “Ling and Hieu, and Meg, and Denise, and Greg with the tan nose love you. And the Teashop Girls. The Teashop Girls love you, too! Remember the Teashop Girls, Louisa?”
“How are sweet Genna and Zoe? It seems like it’s been ages since I’ve seen them.”
I swallowed hard. My friends were just like everyone else. They had forgotten about the Leaf. But now, in its time of need, they would have to remember. And come back. They’d just have to. It was up to us. Genna was just going to have to stop thinking about boys for a minute and help drag customers in. Wait! Maybe she could just start dragging boys in. They followed her everywhere else.
“They’re still around, Louisa. Just a little busy. But don’t worry. The Teashop Girls are going to save the Leaf. I promise.”
Genna, in fact, had not been kidding when she announced she would come up wth a plan. She called me excitedly the moment I got home, just as we decided the day before.
“Okay, I got the chalk and I’ve got Zoe. Meet us at the corner of Monroe and Commonwealth in ten.”
“Cool.” Genna’s plan was actually pretty good. I was sure it would improve the situation at the Leaf. It wasn’t very Zen of us, but this was one instance where letting the ying and yang of the universe push us around like river pebbles was just not the answer. As I approached our corner, I could already see Zoe dressed in all white. She had come directly from a tennis match. I had a feeling her clothes weren’t going to stay sparkling clean if Genna had anything to do with it.
“Hey, ladies. Check this out.” I showed them the new tea advertisement Louisa had given me.
“Wow,” Zoe said. “How many of those do you have now?”
“Correction: We have over a hundred.” I smiled at her. “How was your match?”
“Pretty good. I’m trying to get the whole team to switch from Gatorade to iced tea.” She grinned. “I figure every little bit helps.”
“Oh, definitely,” I agreed. Genna was hopping around behind me, eager to get started on her plan. She had decided that we should combine advertising with art and make some chalkings in the neighborhood. Zoe and I couldn’t draw very well, but we were going to follow Genna around writing slogans like “Had Your Tea Today?” near her illustrations of teapots and things. It would be fun.
Monroe Street looked so pretty as twilight approached. Several families were out and about enjoying the weekend, making their way to Michael’s Frozen Custard for turtle sundaes or down to the park on Lake Wingra to put their feet in the water and to spend some time on the swing sets. We saw a young college-age couple holding hands and a group of people on bicycles. Gen waved to someone she knew from her theater.
Most of the streets in our neighborhood were named after ex-presidents. There’s Grant, and Harrison, and Jefferson, and Garfield. Monroe Street is one of Madison’s most special spots, like State Street in between the university and our city’s capitol square. State Street has no cars on it. The mile-long stretch has changed a lot lately (which my mom groans about constantly), with local shops and restaurants switching to chain stores. I was worried that it wouldn’t look so interesting in ten more years. I was also worried that my very own neighborhood was experiencing the same kinds of changes. What would happen to hometown proprietors like my grandmother? I was relieved we were doing something, even if it was small.
“Okay, Zo, you can have the white chalk,” Gen said diplomatically, knowing how much our friend loved staying spotless. “Annie, you can pick whatever you want. I thought we’d pretty much stick to the sidewalks around here.”
“Great!” I exclaimed. Genna was already busy drawing something, so Zoe and I smiled and started chalking out messages around her. It was almost as fun as our old weekly afternoon teatime. Genna’s drawings were amazing. I knew people would stop and notice them.
“So, Gen, what shows are they putting on this summer in Spring Green?” Zoe asked. “Annie and I will definitely go if you’re in one. If my stepdad says it’s okay.” Last year, we saw A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Genna played Mustardseed, one of Queen Titania’s fairies. Since the American Players Theatre is an outdoor theater, the production was incredible … real stars and a full moon made it so magical.
“Ooh, yay! Um, Much Ado About Nothing and The Merchant of Venice. I adore Ado! ‘Against my will, I am sent to bid you come into dinner.’” Zoe and I smiled at each other as Genna began quoting the play, bowing deeply and doing two different voices for the characters. “‘Fair Beatrice, thank you for your pains.’ ‘I took no more pains for those thanks than you take pains to thank me. If it had been painful, I would not have come.’ ‘You take pleasure then in the message?’ ‘Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife’s point. You have no stomach, signor? Fare you well.’ ‘Ha. “Against my will I am sent to bid you come into dinner.” There’s a double meaning in that.’”
“Bravo! Bravo!” I said, clapping loudly in the street as Zoe giggled. Genna took a deep bow.
We covered four blocks in an hour; then I had to get home. I gave Gen what was left of the chalk and brushed off my pants, which were no longer completely black.
Walking back home, I read over our handiwork.
Had Your Tea Today? The sidewalk asked me over and over again. Why yes, I answered back happily. Yes, I have.
This is the tea trade card Louisa gave me most recently. Isn’t it beautiful? Tea manufacturers and tea-shop owners made cards featuring their tea, and people like me have been collecting them for generations. We’re called “cartophilists.” Sometimes the cards have pretty artwork, like this one, or sometimes they have the name and address of a shop. They were always meant to be part of a set, to encourage people to buy more and get a complete collection. I think the Steeping Leaf should make trade cards, maybe with Genna’s drawings. Don’t you agree?
Chapter Seven
Sipping thoughts of peace, hope floats my way.
—MOONLIGHT SPICE TEA BAG
Exactly two hours after we finished our lovely tea chalkings, it started to rain. And not just rain, it was a torrential downpour of hurricanic proportions. All three of us had conveniently forgotten to check the weather. After wailing to each other on IM, we were very discouraged. None of our ideas were going to work, because we didn’t have, like, an advertising budget or driver’s licenses. We needed new ideas, and fast, but not one of us came up with anything good.
Louisa refused to talk to me anymore about the eviction notice. She insisted that everything was fine and that I could work whenever I wanted to. I didn’t really believe her and was terr
ified that she was secretly looking at retirement villas or monasteries in Asia that catered to old people. (Were there monasteries in Asia for old people? I hoped not.) I encouraged the customers we still had to “come back soon!” without even thinking.
When I tried to ask about money, she would just change the subject.
“Louisa, how much more per month do you think we need to make?”
“Oh Annie, sweetie. Such talk! Did you see our robin hatched her chicks? Look.” I looked. She had. But I honestly was having a hard time getting as tickled about that as my grandmother seemed to be. “Also, Mr. Silverman brought me a book to give you. Let me see …”
She rustled through the shelves under the counter for a minute and produced a gorgeous leather bound Jane Austen title, Mansfield Park. I tucked it into my canvas tote and opened my mouth to ask again about the Leaf’s rent, but by then Louisa was greeting Ling and Hieu, who arrived with a racket, and I knew it was hopeless. Hieu was throwing a fit, crying like the world was about to end. I kinda knew how he felt. Ling tried to shush him with a plastic toy in the stroller, but it wasn’t working.
“Is he still teething, dear?” Louisa asked over the din.
“I think so,” Ling replied. “Or we have a Rosemary’s Baby situation on our hands. What’ve you got?” Hieu continued to fuss, though slightly more quietly after Louisa handed Hieu a large, dense cookie to gnaw on.
“Annie, can you fetch my book?” Louisa asked, as she gathered up some different herbs behind us. I didn’t know what Ling meant by “Rosemary’s baby,” but I did as my grandmother asked, quickly. She had a favorite herbal remedy book and probably wanted to double check it even though I knew she had most of it memorized. She flipped to the right page and prepared two packages for Ling. I tried smiling at Hieu and waving his toy, but it didn’t help much. I still had a lot to learn. Louisa handed over the herbal concoctions. “One of these is for the baby,” Louisa explained to Ling. “You won’t need to give him much at all.” She explained how to prepare a sweet herb paste to rub on his sore gums. “The other is for you, dear. It’s a tea. To help you sleep, should you ever get the chance.”
Ling looked very grateful. As much as my grandmother’s refusal to talk money frustrated me, I was awed by her. I could see she almost forgot to charge Ling for the herbs. (She did, though.) Mother and son headed for the door, both looking much calmer than they had when they came in.
I talked to my parents about the situation at the shop, sheepishly, because I knew Louisa didn’t want me to. They said they would think about how they could help, but I knew they were already worried about paying for Beth’s college in the fall. Instead of going to UW (Go Badgers!), where my mom could get her free tuition, Beth had to go choose a small, pricey East Coast liberal arts college. Note to self: If you want to have piles of money lying around when you get old, don’t have four kids. Meanwhile, my mind raced with possible plans to increase business and save the store. How could we get that rent money? And fast?
To Do, May 10
• Figure out a way to get the Steeping Leaf on the Travel Channel. Or something.
• Convince Beth to go to school here and give Louisa her tuition $. Yeah, right.
• ask Mrs. Peabody to check Zach’s locker again, as smelliness in that general area has not decreased.
• Buy Dad’s birthday present. Soon. Gah!
Almost two weeks had gone by since my first day, and so far, the power had stayed on. Even in the middle of the day at school, practically all I thought about was the Leaf and its bills. In algebra, x was the Leaf’s profit. Louisa had scraped together enough to pay a portion of the back rent. I could tell she was still very worried though. Things were precarious. The phone rang a lot and suppliers were on the other end, demanding back payments. I felt so helpless. Jonathan was the one bright spot in all of this, and even that wasn’t going so well. I came in a little early for my shifts to see him, “volunteering” for a half hour since we were rarely on the schedule together. He didn’t seem to be falling in love with me like he was supposed to. Rather, a typical conversation between us was more like this:
Me: So, my cousin in Los Angeles works as this assistant to a movie producer. Isn’t that cool?
Jonathan: Uh-huh.
Me: She says that famous rich people don’t like eating their vegetables, even though they pretty much have to in order to stay skinny. So they put them in smoothies and order them all wrapped up in these fancy little sushi roles soaked in wasabi. It seems like an awful lot of work to get an asparagus spear to go down, if you ask me. Do you like sushi?
Jonathan: Sure.
Me: Me too, but only if it’s cooked.
Jonathan: Then it’s not really sushi.
Me: Oh. Yeah. I guess not.
Still, I was totally crushing. I stared at him as he finished up his shift duties and tried to figure out what he was thinking. I decided to bring up the Steeping Leaf’s problems with him. That was something we had in common. Since Genna and Zoe and I didn’t have anything else up our sleeves at the moment, maybe Jonathan and I could somehow save the shop together. It would be so romantic. Anyway, it was better than hanging around worrying and doing nothing.
“Um, Jonathan? I’ve noticed the shop isn’t as busy as it used to be. I’m worried.”
“Tell me about it. We seriously need to cut costs or this place is history.”
“What if we just sold more tea?”
“That would be good too. But we can’t afford to advertise. And we also can’t afford to buy half the supplies we need. We’re almost out of espresso beans. I can’t believe I decided to make this place my econ project. I am so screwed.”
“Your what?”
“Econ project. I have to write a major paper for one of my classes about a local business, but this is more like a local joke.”
“But … but …” Okay, this is embarrassing, but my eyes filled with tears. How could he say such a thing?
“Look, Annie. I don’t mean to sound like I don’t care. I just think it is going to take more than good chi to put this place back on track. I’m sorry, but Zen monks don’t have to deal with a corporate coffee conglomerate. We do.” I sighed and looked sadly across the street at the coffeehouse with its steady stream of customers going in and out.
“I want to do something too! Let’s tell everyone their coffee gives you back hair.”
“Ha, right. What we really need to do is go in there, take notes, and copy everything they do down to the overpriced mocha brownies. It’s a business model that really works.” Jonathan had a look of admiration on his face; I felt confused. Copy them? What was he talking about? I glanced around the teashop at the well-worn furniture, packed shelves, and walls full of travel posters curling at the edges. The Steeping Leaf was a million times better than any stupid big coffee chain. I opened my mouth to protest but stopped myself. He was so, so … so completely adorable when he got excited. “Huh,” was all I managed to blurt out.
“No, seriously.”
“Seriously what?”
“Let’s go tonight after this place closes. They are open way later, you know. Take a few notes. Spy. We, the younger generation, need to show your grandmother how things work these days. Longer hours, less product, higher prices. She needs to see that the Steeping Leaf has to join the twenty-first century.”
“Um.”
“I’ll meet you there at eight, after you’ve closed up.” He tossed his rag on the counter and grabbed his backpack. I couldn’t believe that I was being asked on what could potentially be a date … to the boring, sterile, overpriced coffee factory across the street.
But hey, it was better than nothing. I smiled bigger than I had since Louisa hired me.
Louisa’s Very Best Spiced Blueberry Scones
* * *
INGREDIENTS
2 cups organic whole wheat flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
cup sugar
½ teaspoon salt
�
� teaspoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon ground ginger
6 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 egg
½ cup half-and-half
¾ cup fresh blueberries, rinsed
½ cup clotted cream
* * *
Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Grease baking sheet.
Combine all the dry ingredients (flour, baking powder, sugar, salt, cinnamon, and ginger) in a large bowl and mix well.
In a different bowl, combine the butter (room temperature), vanilla, egg, and half-and-half and mix well. Stir into dry ingredients.
Gently fold in the blueberries.
Place the dough on a floured surface and roll out to 1 inch thick.
Cut into 2-inch triangles and put them on greased baking sheet.
Bake for 20 minutes or until golden brown.
Serve warm with clotted cream.
Makes 18 scones.
Chapter Eight
Coffee is not my cup of tea.
—SAMUEL GOLDWYN
I had an upcoming world history essay due for social studies, so I decided to write everything I could find out about tea that weekend. You could say I was obsessed, but I prefer “focused.” I was IMing with Genna at the same time, which I’m sure my teacher would love if she knew. Hey, I’m learning to multitask young. It was after midnight, directly after my big date—more on that in a second, I know you’re curious. I got all my major points written down and decided to fill the rest in tomorrow once I read a few more sources. We were supposed to organize our writing chronologically this time, so I tried to keep all my tea facts in order by when they happened. I knew I would add my essay to the Handbook as soon as it was graded.
The Teashop Girls Page 5