The Vanderbeekers to the Rescue

by Karina Yan Glaser

  Contents

  * * *

  Title Page

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Sunday, February 24

  One

  Monday, April 1

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Tuesday, April 2

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Wednesday, April 3

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Thursday, April 4

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Friday, April 5

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Saturday, April 6

  Thirty-Three

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Preview: The Vanderbeekers Lost and Found

  Read More from the Vanderbeekers Series

  About the Author

  Connect with HMH on Social Media

  Text and illustrations copyright © 2019 by Karina Yan Glaser

  Map © 2019 by Jennifer Thermes

  All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to trade.permissions@hmhco.com or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.

  hmhbooks.com

  Cover illustrations © 2019 by Katya Longhi

  Cover design by Lisa Vega

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Glaser, Karina Yan, author.

  Title: Vanderbeekers to the rescue / by Karina Yan Glaser. Description: Boston ; New York : Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, [2019] | Series: The Vanderbeekers ; [3] | Summary: The Vanderbeeker children, ages six to thirteen, race to help save their mother’s baking business from closure after it fails an inspection.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2019001115 (print) | LCCN 2019002594 (ebook) | ISBN 9780358162117 (ebook) | ISBN 9781328577573 (hardback)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Family life—New York (State)-Harlem-Fiction. | Bakers and bakeries—Fiction. | Pets—Fiction. | African Americans—Fiction. | Harlem (New York, N.Y.)—Fiction. | New York (N.Y.)—Fiction. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Family / Siblings. | JUVENILE FICTION / Lifestyles / City & Town Life. | JUVENILE FICTION / Social Issues / Friendship. | JUVENILE FICTION / Business, Careers, Occupations.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.G5847 (ebook) | LCC PZ7.1.G5847 Vat 2019 (print) | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019001115

  v1.0819

  To Katie, Lauren, and Harrigan,

  fellow animal lovers

  and sisters of my heart

  “They keep coming up new all the time—things to perplex you, you know. You settle one question and there’s another right after . . . It keeps me busy all the time thinking them over and deciding what’s right.”

  —L. M. Montgoimery, Anne of Green Gables

  Sunday, February 24

  One

  It was a blustery, wintry afternoon on 141st Street. A blizzard was ripping up the East Coast, and the center of the storm had decided to stay on top of Harlem and hang out for a while. Meanwhile, the brownstones along the street stood strong and steady, protecting their inhabitants the same way they had for over a hundred years. While plows rumbled up and down the avenues, snow inched up the windowsills and dusted the bricks, engulfing parked cars and piling up on sidewalks.

  In the exact middle of 141st Street sat a humble red brownstone with a weathervane currently covered in snow. The Vanderbeeker family lived on the ground and first floors of this brownstone, and at the moment they were all in the living room. Thirteen-year-old twins Jessie and Isa, ten-year-old Oliver, and eight-year-old Hyacinth were regretting that they had let Laney, newly turned six, choose the board game. She had selected the very one that could go on for hours. As they waited their turn to roll the dice, each yearned for warmer weather, spring bulbs peeking up through the earth, and getting dirty in the community garden they had created for their upstairs neighbors the year before.

  When her phone rang, Mama weaved through kids, pets, and stacks of books to grab it from the side table by the door. The Vanderbeekers heard her say “Really?” and “Of course!” and “That would be wonderful!” As her voice grew in volume and enthusiasm, the Vanderbeeker kids paused from their game.

  Papa, who was wearing his favorite pair of forest-green coveralls and attempting to fix a leak in the kitchen sink, put down his wrench and made his way toward Mama to see what was going on. When she hung up, her whole family was surrounding her. Her eyes were bright with a mixture of excitement and astonishment.

  “That was Perch Magazine,” Mama said. “They want to feature me and my business in their October issue.”

  “What?” screeched Isa, Jessie, and Hyacinth at the same time. Oliver, Papa, and Laney looked at one another in confusion.

  “What’s Birch Magazine?” Oliver said.

  “Perch Magazine,” Isa clarified. “And it’s only the most amazing magazine ever. They do interviews with awesome women, like Hope Jahren—”

  “She’s a geobiologist known for her work on stable isotope analysis to analyze fossil forests!” Jessie interrupted.

  “—and Jacqueline Woodson—”

  “I know her books!” Oliver exclaimed. “I love her books!”

  “—and Sonia Sotomayor,” Isa finished, her face flushed.

  “Supreme Court justice!” Hyacinth squeaked.

  “You’re going to be on the cover?” Laney asked. “What are you going to wear? Can I be in the picture too?”

  Mama looked dazed. “I’m definitely not going to be on the cover. They have a section about small-business owners, and they want to feature me. I have no idea how they even know me! Someone from the magazine must have gone to an event where my desserts were served. There will be a whole magazine spread about my cookies! They’re going to send a photographer to the brownstone!”

  Papa pulled Mama into a hug and started doing a little dance with her at the bottom of the stairs. “I’m so proud of you.”

  Jessie took out her phone, opened the web browser, and typed madly with her thumbs. “Holy smokes, listen to these circulation numbers. Eight hundred thousand print copies and over two million unique views on their website every month!”

  “You’re going to be famous!” Laney yelled, hopping around them.

  “Now everyone is going to want your cookies,” Oliver said, mentally calculating how Mama’s increased business might positively affect his weekly allowance.

  “You’re going to need a website and a wholesale list,” Isa said wisely.

  “How do you know that?” Jessie asked.

  “Benny has to do it for Castleman’s Bakery,” Isa said.

  “When is the photo shoot?” Papa asked.

  “The first week in April,” Mama said.

  “That’s when your birthday is!” Laney yelled. “On April sixth!”

  Mama’s hands flew to her cheeks as she looked around the brownstone. The Vanderbeekers followed her gaze, and suddenly they saw their home as a fancy magazine photographer might. Franz, their basset hound, was methodically removing toys f
rom his basket and strategically placing them in areas with the most foot traffic. Hay was strewn on the floor from Paganini, Laney’s rabbit, who kicked as much of it as possible when jumping out of his box. George Washington, their orange-and-white tabby, was batting at the loose threads from the fabric of their couch, which was fraying because he used the furniture to sharpen his claws (even though there were two scratching posts in the living room).

  And then there were the piles of books, the odds and ends of Jessie’s science experiments, and Isa’s sheet music tossed on various surfaces. Oliver’s basketball was wedged under an armchair, and Hyacinth’s treasure box gaped open, yarn in a dozen colors spilling out in every direction.

  Jessie spoke first. “We can totally make this brownstone magazine-worthy.”

  Oliver was skeptical. “We can?”

  Isa stood up straighter. “Of course we can!”

  Papa touched the living room walls. “I’ve been meaning to patch and paint the walls. And refinish the floors. And build some more bookcases, because obviously five huge bookcases aren’t enough for us. I can do that by April.”

  Mama’s jaw began to relax.

  “Mama, trust us,” Isa told her. “We’ve got this.”

  The family gathered around her and did a communal Vanderbeeker fist bump.

  “Fame and fortune, here we come!” Oliver yelled.

  Monday, April 1

  One month, eight days later

  Two

  It turned out that thirty-six days were not nearly enough to make the apartment magazine-ready. The past month had been full of unexpected emergencies. Laney had had her tonsils removed and lived on milkshakes and applesauce for days. Oliver had sprained two fingers while playing basketball and wore splints for three weeks, and when his fingers had healed, he’d then managed to run his bike into a tree and ended up in the emergency room for x-rays. (He was fine.) Hyacinth had come down with an ear infection, strep throat, and pinkeye at the same time. Isa and Jessie were dragging under the weight of increased homework, and Isa had also been practicing violin in the basement every day for hours in preparation for an upcoming orchestra audition. Papa had been assigned a big project at work and had been working late nights and weekends, and Mama had been baking nonstop in addition to doing business-related things like creating a website, developing promotional items, and preparing for the magazine interview.

  Now it was spring break, and it was a big week. There were only five days until the Perch Magazine photo shoot on Friday, which also happened to be the day of Isa’s audition, and Mama’s birthday was on Saturday. As a result, the apartment was even more chaotic than usual.

  “We need a game plan,” Isa told her siblings, who were scattered throughout the living room.

  Laney was rearranging books to build a maze for Paganini. She believed mazes would make the rabbit even smarter than he already was. Hyacinth was kneeling on the floor, her eyes two inches from the carpet, trying to locate a sewing needle she had dropped. Over on the couch, Jessie was highlighting nearly every sentence in a science book she had found for fifty cents at the library sale. Oliver was staring out the window at the relentless rain and muttering to himself.

  “Did you know that the idea of absolute motion or absolute rest is misleading?” Jessie said, not looking up from her book, her highlighter racing furiously over the pages. “This book is blowing my mind.”

  “I can’t work on the treehouse with Uncle Arthur when it’s raining like this,” Oliver grumbled, pacing in front of the window before deciding that a snack would help him feel better. He made his way to the kitchen.

  “Oliver, don’t move!” Hyacinth exclaimed. She was still searching for her needle, which she had dropped while making a felt birthday hat for Mama. “I don’t want you to step on the needle!”

  Isa crossed her arms, annoyed at her siblings. “Did anyone hear what I just said?”

  “Nope,” Oliver said, frozen, scanning the carpet for a glint of silver. “Hey, does all this work we’re doing to get the apartment ready count as Mama’s birthday present?”

  Isa glared at him. “She’s turning forty. That’s a big birthday.”

  Oliver shook his head. “Maybe we should think of doing one family birthday party once a year. There are too many people in this family to keep track of.”

  “I don’t like that idea at all,” said Laney, who loved birthdays more than any holiday or other celebration.

  “Did you know—” Jessie began, looking up from her science book again.

  “Listen up,” Isa interrupted. “We promised Mama we would help her.”

  “I have helped,” Laney said, looking at Isa. “I chose my outfit for the photo shoot, and I made some new pictures for the walls, and—”

  Jessie finally put her book down. “You get to be in the photo shoot?”

  “Yup,” Laney said.

  Jessie glanced at Isa, who gave a little shake of her head.

  “We cleaned yesterday,” Oliver said, referring to the ten-second vacuuming job he’d done in the living room. “The apartment looks great to me.”

  Isa pointed to the chalkboard hanging by the front door, where they had made a list of things to do for the photo shoot. “We haven’t done seventy-five percent of the things on that list.”

  Oliver looked at the chalkboard. “We can’t do those things.”

  “Uncle Arthur is coming over,” Isa said. “Maybe you guys can build the bookcases today.”

  Oliver made a face. “Uncle Arthur is supposed to be building my treehouse.”

  “It’s raining,” Jessie pointed out.

  Oliver glared at the window, as if the weather were personally insulting him. “Fine. We’ll do the bookcases.”

  “Now, what about these walls?” Isa said.

  Hyacinth, who loved to paint, eyed the formerly white walls, which now sported years’ worth of scuffs left by sneakers kicked off inside the doorway, errant basketballs, and furniture that had bumped against it over and over again. There were dozens of spots where Laney had torn down a drawing she had made to make room for a new one, and the tape holding it up had taken off a layer of paint with it. A darkened spot by the window was the result of Isa putting a candle too close to the wall, scorching the paint, and nearly setting the whole brownstone on fire.

  And then there were the gouges. In addition to shredding couches, George Washington had a particular love for running his claws against corners of the walls, where thin, deep grooves rose two feet high.

  “I asked Mama about painting the living room,” Hyacinth said as she continued her search for the missing needle, “but she said the supplies would cost three hundred dollars.”

  “Three hundred dollars!” Laney exclaimed. “You could buy a whole castle for that!”

  Outside, wind and rain lashed at the windows. The sky was dark with heavy clouds, making it seem like evening instead of noontime. Paganini huddled in his book maze, uncertain about his enclosure and the weather.

  “Found it!” Hyacinth exclaimed, holding a sliver of silver in the air.

  Oliver breathed a sigh of relief and continued to the kitchen. A crack of thunder sent George Washington bolting up the stairs to the second floor, where there were plenty of beds to hide under.

  Oliver lingered by the kitchen, breathing in the smell of chocolate sea salt caramel cookies cooling on the counter. Mama had unwisely left the cookies unattended before she dashed out to a meeting with the editor at Perch Magazine. “I’ll be back before the inspector comes,” she had said before leaving.

  “What inspector?” Isa had hollered back, but Mama had disappeared. Isa looked at Jessie, and Jessie shrugged.

  “Probably a building inspector who wants to make sure the brownstone is up to code,” Oliver had said knowledgeably. Uncle Arthur was a contractor, and Oliver loved nothing more than when his uncle came over and taught him how to handle power tools.

  “Mama told me not to touch those cookies,” Laney warned. “She told me th
ree times.”

  “They’re for a party,” Isa said. “Library fundraiser or something.”

  “Mama won’t miss one cookie,” Oliver said, pulling the tray closer to the edge of the counter.

  Hyacinth gave an objecting squeak, just as the doorbell rang.

  Franz, who had been chasing a cat in his sleep, leaped to his feet and ran as fast as his short legs could take him to the front door. Oliver’s curiosity about the doorbell ringer won out over the cookie stealing—for the moment—and he joined the scramble to see who it was.

  First to get there after Franz was Laney. She slid the step stool in front of the door and stood on her tiptoes to glance through the peephole. “It’s a stranger!” she reported.

  “Back it up,” Isa said while her younger siblings made way to let the twins through.

  Jessie moved the step stool and looked through the peephole. A man about Papa’s age was standing outside the door, juggling a clipboard and an umbrella, and the thing that stood out most to Jessie wasn’t the rain pouring off his umbrella in a cascade of water or the large ID tag that said inspector in dark, bold letters. The thing that stood out most was his facial expression.

  He did not look happy.

  Three

  Jessie opened the door but kept the security chain engaged so the door opened only a couple of inches. Her siblings crowded around to peer through the crack. “Can I help you?” Jessie asked.

  “I’m Mr. West from New York State Department of Agriculture and Markets,” the man said. “I’m a little early. I’m here to meet with”—he squinted at his clipboard—“a Mrs. Vanderbeeker.”

  “He must be the inspector Mama meant,” Isa said to Jessie.

  Franz gave another howl and jumped so one paw swiped through the sliver of open door. Mr. West sprang back and dropped his umbrella, which the wind stole and joyfully sent tumbling down the street before anyone could say “Mississippi.”

  “Crumb!” the man said. The Vanderbeekers watched him internally debate whether to chase the umbrella. Deciding it was pointless, he tucked his clipboard into his bag and pulled the hood of his jacket over his head.