by Coco Simon
Chapter One The Dream Team
“Casey Peters to the rescue! Yasss!”
I hung up the phone and tossed it onto the bed, pumped the music up loud, and danced around my room.
It was Monday after school and I had nothing planned, so I was excited to get called in to work with my BFF, Lindsay Cooper, at her family’s restaurant, which also happens to sell the most delicious donuts ever made.
Back in the day, Lindsay’s grandparents, Grandpa and Nans Cooper, opened the Park View Table, which is now a booming family business in Bellgrove, Missouri. True to its name, it sits right across the street from and has a dashing view of, you guessed it, the park!
Between Nans’s finesse in the kitchen and Grandpa’s tight ship on the floor, the Park is the only restaurant in town worth talking about, with its legit menu and flawless service.
Nans initially started the Donut Dreams counter in the Park to stack enough dough (so to speak!) to send Lindsay’s dad, their oldest child, to the university of his dreams. Unlike his brother and sister, who stayed close to home, Mike Cooper ended up going away to school in Chicago.
There, he fell in love with Lindsay’s mom, Amy, and traveled to Europe with her. Amazingly, out of all the places they could have chosen to live in this whole wide world, they came right back to Bellgrove to put down roots and have kids—Lindsay and her younger brother, Skylar, aka. Sky.
Lindsay’s dad took over Donut Dreams, and Lindsay’s mom became an art teacher at Bellgrove Middle School until she passed away a few years ago.
My mom says it was Amy Cooper’s choice to settle here instead of some big city or foreign land. Mom knows this because my mom and Lindsay’s mom were the original BFFs! They even ended up having Lindsay and me at the same time, literally. Lindsay and I first mingled cries in the hospital, since we were born one day apart. Our oldest photo together is with our moms in the hospital nursery. And the rest is history.
My mom loves to tell me how Lindsay and I used to stare at each other in the hospital and smile and coo to each other. She just assumed we were just friendly babies, but we never did that with anyone else.
Then a few weeks after we both were home with our families, my mom brought me over to Lindsay’s house for a visit. She says the minute we saw each other again, we reached out for each other and cooed and giggled and laughed. True BFFs from the start!
I guess Lindsay’s mom actually preferred the charmed small-town life that Lindsay and others hope to escape. I totally understand why Lindsay wants out—going to school with the same kids since kindergarten, everyone is always in your business, that sort of thing.
But small-town life also has its perks. Not only delectable donuts, but also this feeling of safety and being known by everyone you see.
The truth is, Donut Dreams is more than just a pretty name for a donut spot. People patiently wait in line here just to sink their teeth into the pillowy sweetness of a banana cream or elderberry jelly donut.
Without Nans’s bright idea, Lindsay’s parents would never have met in Chicago, which means my best friend wouldn’t be my best friend, because Lindsay wouldn’t even be a thing in my life.
And where, oh where, would I be without Lindsay Cooper?
I feel honored to be the only non-family member who works at the Park on days like today, when one of Lindsay’s cousins has a cold or a big exam.
All of Lindsay’s aunts, uncles, and cousins are employees at the restaurant. The only family member of hers who isn’t recruited to work at the restaurant is her brother Skylar, aka. Sky, who’s nine.
I pranced over to my dresser and pulled out my yellow Donut Dreams T-shirt, the back of which read THE DREAM TEAM. Thankfully, I keep my room pretty neat—except for the closet and under the bed, that is—so I wasn’t tripping over stuff looking for my stretchy jeans when my mom popped into my room carrying a load of clean laundry.
My mom is the assistant principal of Bellgrove Middle School, where I just started going this year. Ever since she got her back-to-school hairdo, I admired how her reddish-brown ringlets framed her perfect round face.
“Casey, it sounds like New Year’s Eve in here!” she was shouting. “What’s going on?”
I lowered the music. “They need my help at Donut Dreams today,” I said. “Is it okay if I work for a few hours, Mom? Pleeeease?”
I already knew what the answer would be. As long as I ace my schoolwork and keep my room somewhat tidy, any opportunity I have to be responsible is all right with Laurie Peters.
“I hope you’ll always be this enthusiastic about work,” Mom said with a laugh. “Go ahead and make some dollars… not eat empty calories!”
Mom knows me to a T. Lindsay and I always manage to sneak in a donut or two when no one’s looking.
“Yes!” I cheered, my mouth already watering.
Mom left my room, and I went back to zipping around in search of my comfiest jeans to wear (why is it that even though my room is pretty neat, I can never find what I want to wear when I want to wear it?).
I finally found them and paired them with the bright Donut Dreams shirt that makes me feel like a superhero whenever I slip it over my head.
Even though I see Lindsay all the time, it was still exciting to work with my BFF. Plus, every time I was at Donut Dreams, I felt inspired.
Let’s just say, there’s something dreamy about spending time in a place so creative and colorful!
Chapter Two First Crush?
“Casey, are you ready?” Mom called from downstairs minutes later.
The car keys jingled as she lifted them from the hook by the front door.
I hurriedly swept up my hair into a messy bun, slipped my phone into my back pocket, and galloped down the stairs, grinning from ear to ear.
On the way to the Park, my thoughts drifted to Matt Machado. Matt is a friend I made at sleepaway camp this summer. Ever since I came home from camp, he’s never been too far from my mind.
Before meeting him, I can’t say I was really into boys. I’m still not, but Matt’s different. He isn’t lame like the other boys at camp or the Bellgrove boys I’ve been ignoring since kindergarten. We actually have real stuff in common, not just liking the same candy or music or whatever.
For instance, we’re both biracial, except his mom’s black and his dad’s white, and my parents are the opposite. Before meeting Matt, the only other biracial person I knew was my older sister, Gabby, but she doesn’t count.
I have friends at camp that I’ve known from years of going there, but Matt was new this summer and didn’t know anybody until we met at orientation on the first day, during one of those corny icebreaker activities.
We became camp BFFs, which made some of my other camp friends jealous, because just like with Lindsay, once we clicked, I wanted to spend every spare moment with Matt.
We would find each other during breakfast and eat together before jetting off to our different activities. Then we’d loop back in for lunch before kayaking together on the lake and then we’d have dinner. Sometimes we’d end our days at the campfire. At camp we were each other’s worlds.
After being two peas in a pod all summer, it was strange not being in each other’s business all day, every day.
We’ve texted back and forth a few times, but there’s no rhythm to it. And whenever he does text back, sometimes days later, it’s usually a one-word response.
Ugh. Back to reality, I guess. Whatever.
Since I was in such a good mood and everything, I thought about texting him something funny to help him remember the jokes we shared… in case he forgot.
Matt thought I was hilarious and got 95 percent of my jokes. I hadn’t realized I could have such a wicked sense of humor with an
yone else besides Lindsay.
I stared into my phone and thought about what to text.
I must say, it’s harder to plan on being funny than to just be funny naturally, in the moment. I couldn’t think of anything to say and lost track of time.
I must have been staring into the distance, not saying anything, for too long because Mom took notice.
“With Lindsay hard at work, I wonder who else could have you so deep thought,” Mom said.
She peeled her eyes from the road for an instant to glance down at the blinking cursor on my phone.
Mom never misses a beat, especially when it comes to me. She knows Lindsay is the only person that I text 24/7, and there’s a no-texting rule for all workers at the Park.
I hadn’t breathed Matt’s name to anyone besides Lindsay. The only reason Mom would know that Matt existed was if she noticed his picture in my room on the bulletin board, but she never asked me anything about him.
“Nobody special,” I answered, my face warming.
I fired off some silly cat meme to Matt and put my phone away.
But oh, Matt was special. He was funny, smart, mysterious, and certifiable eye candy.
I never had a reason to talk to my mom about a boy before, and even now, I wasn’t sure if there was anything to talk about besides our kayaking and campfire coziness.
And that wasn’t something to bring up to your assistant principal mom… or was it?
Thankfully, we arrived at the restaurant before Mom could dig any deeper.
“Have a good afternoon working hard,” Mom said, beaming with pride.
“Thanks, Mom. And I’ll try to save room for dinner after I’ve sampled every kind of donut in the case!”
I let out a wicked laugh, leaped out of the car, and shut the door before she could open her mouth to protest.
Chapter Three Picture Perfect
“There she is!” said Lindsay’s grandfather when he spotted me breezing through the doors of the Park.
I made a beeline for the podium near the entrance, where Grandpa Coop greets his hungry customers and oversees the floor to make sure everything is sanitary and moves smoothly. When I got to him, I gave him a big hug.
“How’s my honorary grandchild?” he asked.
I adore everything about Lindsay’s grandfather, like he’s my own. I love how he makes such intense eye contact with every person he speaks to, and how he makes it a point to greet everyone who enters the restaurant. He has this way of making everyone feel special and seen. I also love his crinkly eyes and how the lines in his face tell a story of who he is—someone who likes to laugh as hard as he likes to work.
I even love how he manages the Park with his “iron fist, sunny glove” style. Along with the delicious food, the restaurant’s level of friendly professionalism is key to its success. Grandpa Coop is strict about certain things—okay, well, everything. Counter crumbs and sauce smears make him cranky, and his radar for fake smiles from his staff is crazy accurate.
He’s no-nonsense about the rules, but never unpleasant. I don’t know how he does it. Even when he throws us his signature side-eye for having our phone in hand at work, or reminds us to wipe a teeny smudge we missed off the glass display, no one ever feels like they’re being bossed around.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice to save the day,” he cheered.
Grandpa Coop always has this way of making me feel like a vital part of the restaurant.
“Now go rescue your other half behind the donut counter!” he said.
Clearly, my BFF needed some rescuing, because she was swamped.
After going into the back to wash my hands, clock in, put on an apron, and glance at the inventory, I raced over to the Donut Dreams counter.
Lindsay looked a bit overwhelmed as she struggled to serve the first wave of the elementary school crowd, three squealing Girl Scouts. Her gloved hand hovered over a different donut each time the girls changed their minds. By the look on Lindsay’s face, this had been going on for some time.
“The pink one with sprinkles… no, wait. The chocolate one. No, wait! Maybe the glazed. Ooh, I don’t know which one I want!” said one of the girls.
Lindsay stood there silently, but knowing her, especially after a full day at school, she was probably cranky and losing her patience.
I put on my best smile and swooped in to join her behind the counter.
“Can I make a suggestion?” I asked. “How about lemon cream? It’s like eating two kinds of donuts with every bite. It’s so yummy—sweet and tangy at the same time.”
“Ooh, that sounds… dreamy!” one girl said, making the others giggle. “Give me that one!”
“Make it two! Make it three!” the others chimed in, raising their hands.
Lindsay smiled at me gratefully as she put the donuts in the bag I opened for her and rang up their order. After the girls left with their bag of donuts, she high-fived me.
“You’re a lifesaver!” Lindsay said. “What made you suggest the lemon cream?”
I shrugged.
“I looked at the inventory and noticed we had a lot of lemon donuts. Those girls obviously didn’t know what they wanted, so I just gave them a push in the lemon donut direction,” I said.
“Genius!” Lindsay said. “They were cute, but a couple more minutes and I would have paid for their donuts and pushed them in the ‘get out now’ direction!”
I laughed at the thought of Lindsay doing such a thing and tried to imagine Grandpa Coop’s stern expression lasting for more than ten seconds. It made me wonder if he would ever fire one of his grandchildren for getting cranky with a customer.
I almost jumped when my phone buzzed in my back pocket, which, oops, was actually supposed to be stowed under the counter during my shift. It was just a text alert, but my heart was racing.
I looked around to make sure that Grandpa Coop’s eagle eyes weren’t focused in my direction and took a quick peek.
Sigh. My heart slowed in its tracks. It was just my mom, trying to be funny.
You’ll want to keep your stomach empty for what’s cooking. Now put your phone under that counter and get back to work!
That’s my mom, all right. She always has to have the last word.
I sighed again, but a little part of me wondered what yummy thing Mom was making for dinner as I put my phone away.
“Don’t worry, he didn’t see you,” Lindsay told me, eyeing Grandpa Coop.
One thing I love about our friendship is how we always have each other’s backs.
“Thanks,” I said.
I put my phone next to hers. When I looked up again, Lindsay was studying me.
“Whoever you’re texting with must be mighty important to risk a scolding from Grandpa,” she said with a giggle. “And I’m right here! Who could be more important than me?”
“No one is more important than you,” I assured her. “It’s just… well…”
“Come on… spit it out,” Lindsay said.
She stared at me while I busied myself wiping the already spotless display glass.
Lindsay knows all too well how embarrassed I get by my own feelings—big or small—and I can’t stand to be embarrassed.
Maybe that’s why it’s so difficult for me to say how I really feel. Something I like about Lindsay’s family is how open and messy they are with each other sometimes, but it’s clear that the love is always there.
“Before I got here I sent my friend Matt a text, and I was kind of hoping this was him texting back. But it wasn’t,” I explained.
Okay, that wasn’t so bad.
“Ohhhh, I see,” Lindsay said.
She continued to look at me carefully. “So what’s the deal with you guys?”
“There is no ‘deal,’ ” I said.
I could feel the temperature of my cheeks shoot up a few degrees.
“Uh-huh,” she said, clearly not convinced.
“We’re just good friends, and I sent him something I thought he’
d think was funny, and I’m just…” I trailed off.
“Wondering if he thought it was funny?” Lindsay finished my sentence for me.
“Yes,” I said. “That’s all.”
But what I didn’t say was that every time I get a text, my heart starts pounding fast until I see who sent it. And when it’s not him, I start to feel really sad and I’m not even sure why, because he’s not even my boyfriend.
Why I couldn’t say this to Lindsay, I wasn’t sure. Something felt different with us ever since I got back from sleepaway camp.
I couldn’t figure out what it was just yet. We were usually so in sync with each other. But I guess spending some time apart over the summer and going to middle school might have changed things a bit.
It’s true that I had no phone or Internet access and so couldn’t contact Lindsay all summer, but we’re used to that now. We’ve been out of communication for the past few years when I started going away to camp.
This time I felt different, more than ever before. Even though Lindsay got her first job this summer at Donut Dreams, she was the same old Lindsay that I’ve always adored. I wasn’t sure if she could say the same for me, however.
“So how are you liking middle school so far?” Lindsay asked, changing the subject.
I breathed a sigh of relief, though something in Lindsay’s face told me this conversation was far from over.
My best friend always knew when I needed a change of subject, but she never forgot what we’d be talking about.
“Can’t say yet,” I said slowly. “But it’s been okay so far, I guess.”
This was our first year at Bellgrove, where Lindsay’s mom taught art for years until she died. To be honest, I wasn’t all that enthused about attending the school where my mom is the assistant principal.
Okay, I was mortified! I didn’t want to be insensitive though and talk about the extent of this with Lindsay, who I’m sure would give anything to see her mom in the halls on the regular.
Now the most visible trace of her mom is a colorful and kind of chaotic mural in the hallway that her students painted in her memory. Basically, the students painted what came to their minds, so the mural was a hodgepodge of storms, rainbows, and wildflowers.