Blaire Cooks Up a Plan (American Girl

by Jennifer Castle

  He just shrugged and replied, “Ms. Cheeger explained all the rules.” Then he got up, tucked the tablet under his shirt, and walked away.

  “All righty then,” Rose said.

  “That was awkward,” Thea added.

  “He could be, you know, a little friendlier,” Sabrina said.

  “He’s probably nervous with the new school thing,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll warm up.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Thea said.

  As I watched Eli walk across the playground, I wondered what friends he’d left behind when he moved. “It’s going to be weird for him to pick a community service project, since he just moved here,” I said.

  “I didn’t think of that,” Sabrina said.

  “Maybe we can help him,” I suggested.

  Thea looped her arm in mine. “Blaire, if you were a superhero, your name would be Mighty People Person.”

  I looked back at Eli, who was all alone. “Well, everyone could use a friend,” I said. And if Eli will let me, I thought, I’ll be his.

  There were three items left on my bed. A green velvet dress I got for Christmas two years ago. The jeans with the embroidered flowers running down one leg that I wore every single day in third grade. A pair of old rain boots, covered in smiling ladybugs, that hadn’t fit since I was five.

  I loved these clothes! I’d totally outgrown them, but it was hard to put them in the giant plastic bag with the other stuff I was donating. So I’d come up with a way to “keep” them forever.

  “Smile,” I said as I held my tablet over the dress and took a photo. I did the same thing with the jeans and the rain boots. I was going to put the photos on the big bulletin board in my room—my inspiration board—so I’d be reminded of how great these clothes had made me feel.

  As I added the clothes to one of the bags, I told them, “It’s someone else’s turn to love you guys now.”

  Mom peeked her head into my bedroom. “Ready?”

  “Yup,” I said, showing her my two bags of clothing and shoes. Mom, Dad, Beckett, Grandpa, and I had all gone through our closets and drawers. We had a total of eight big bags to donate!

  “Awesome. Dad and Grandpa are dealing with an overflowing toilet in one of the guest rooms, so we need to get back in time to set up the afternoon coffee service.”

  “Yuck,” I said as Mom and I each took a bag and started down the two flights of stairs. “Wait—I hope it’s not Marco’s room.”

  “That would not be super-bonita, would it?” Mom said from behind me.

  We were on the back stairs that led to our family kitchen. I squeezed through the narrow kitchen doorway with my bulky bag. I couldn’t see where I was going as I headed down the hall, so BAM.

  I walked into something.

  “Ow!”

  Oh no, I walked into someone. Ergh, I hoped it wasn’t one of our guests. I peered cautiously around the bag.

  It was Cat! She was rubbing her nose from where I bonked her with the bag, her new wedding ring sparkling in the afternoon light. When she saw me, she broke into a bright smile. “Where are you going, Santa?” she joked.

  “You’re back!” I dropped the bag and threw my arms around her. She’d been gone for two weeks, but it had felt like two months. Pleasant View Farm just wasn’t the same without her. Behind me, Mom saw Cat and dropped her bag to join us in a group hug.

  “How was your honeymoon?” Mom asked when the three of us pulled apart.

  “It was amazing. We hiked—”

  The phone down the hall at the front desk started ringing.

  “Hold that thought,” Mom said, dashing to the desk.

  “What’s all this?” Cat asked, gesturing at the bags.

  “We’re donating clothes to the Helping Hands Center.”

  “Uh, Blaire,” Mom called, her hand over the phone. “We’ll have to wait and do our delivery later. I need to deal with this.”

  “I can take Blaire,” Cat suggested. “We have a lot of catching up to do.” She raised an eyebrow at me and smiled. “I know you’ve got a ton to tell me.”

  “Thanks!” Mom said, turning back to the phone.

  We took the bags to Cat’s truck and loaded them into the back.

  “Well, that’s interesting,” Cat said, nodding her head toward the herb garden, where someone was sitting in the dirt among the plants.

  “Hi, Marco,” I called.

  Marco waved back.

  “He knows there are lawn chairs, right?” Cat asked.

  I giggled. “He likes to find unique spots to sit and think. He says different perspectives are good for creativity.”

  “Man, I missed this place,” Cat murmured.

  Cat hadn’t even pulled out of the driveway when I burst out with the big news. “We saw the review in Empire State Weddings!”

  “No way,” Cat said. “Is it—”

  “—it’s amazing.”

  “Oh my gosh,” Cat said, suddenly nervous. “We haven’t even seen pictures from our wedding photographer. Does everything look okay?”

  “Okay? It looks incredible! When we get back, Marco will show you the magazine and you can see for yourself.”

  “Marco? As in, the guy in the herb garden?”

  “As in Marco Gonzalez from Room Revolutions!”

  “That design show you and your mom watch? Cool,” Cat said with a smile. “And he’s staying at the B and B?”

  “Yup,” I said. “He came to Pleasant View Farm because of your wedding review.”

  Cat shook her head. “He came to Pleasant View Farm because it’s a special place.”

  I nodded. “Marco said it was magical.”

  “Marco’s right about that,” Cat said, pulling into the driveway for Bluefield Helping Hands. It was a small brick building with a parking lot full of cars.

  “There’s the donation bin over there,” I said, pointing to a giant metal yellow box in the corner of the parking lot. But when we pulled closer to it, I saw a sign taped near the top:

  OUR BIN DOOR IS BROKEN. PLEASE BRING DONATIONS INSIDE!

  We parked and took a load inside. Even though I’d driven by Helping Hands, I’d never gone inside. One wall was covered in a cool mural of a rainbow with a group of people underneath—they were all sizes and colors. Over by another wall, a woman was hanging something on a bulletin board.

  “Clothing donations?” she asked when she saw us with our plastic bags.

  “Yup,” Cat said. “Blaire here collected items from her whole family. We’ve got more to bring in.”

  The woman smiled at me. “Thank you! This is perfect timing, because we have some volunteers coming today to sort through clothes. I’m Eileen. Let me help you with the other bags.”

  Eileen got a cart and helped load the rest of the bags. Then she brought us down a hallway to a room filled with empty plastic bins, all labeled with signs like GIRLS SIZES 7–9 and BOYS, INFANT SIZES. There were other bags and boxes of donated clothing, and we put ours in the pile with them.

  “This is a busy time for us,” Eileen explained. “Folks are coming in to get new clothes for school and warmer clothes for the winter.”

  I glanced at Cat. Mom always takes Beckett and me to the mall to get whatever new clothes we need. This is what some families have to do instead, I thought.

  As we walked back toward the lobby, we passed an open doorway to a room that looked a lot like our restaurant storeroom. There were tall shelves filled with boxes and cans of food, and some people setting up grocery bags on a table.

  “That’s our food pantry,” Eileen explained. “Our Saturday distribution hours are about to start. We’re always looking for donations for that, too.”

  “Blaire? Blaire!” I heard a small voice and turned around. “It’s you! You’re Blaire!”

  A young girl and a man were walking toward us. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t think of her name.

  “I’m Abby,” she said. “I was in Beckett’s first-grade class last year? I remember you fro
m his birthday party.”

  “Oh, hi!” I said to them both, realizing the man was Abby’s dad. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing much,” Abby said, shrugging. She was holding a pencil and a pad of paper with some doodles on it. “Getting some help with our groceries because we’re having a hard time right now.”

  “Abby …” her dad said, and cleared his throat. “You don’t need to tell people that.”

  “Why not?” she asked. “You said it was no big deal and I shouldn’t be embarrassed.”

  “That’s absolutely right,” Eileen said, reaching out to muss Abby’s hair. “We’re happy we can be here when families need us. There’s lots of good stuff in there today, Abby. We just got a donation of apples and lettuce greens from a local farm.”

  Cat perked up at that. “You know,” she said to Eileen. “We’re from Pleasant View Farm. I’ll talk to Blaire’s folks about arranging a produce donation.”

  “Oh, wow,” Eileen said, turning to me. “I read the food blog that you and your mom write. Her restaurant is one of my favorite places in Bluefield. It’s a real gem in our community.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll tell my mom.”

  “And I’ll let you know about the donation,” Cat added.

  “Wonderful,” Eileen said, handing Cat a pamphlet with the center’s number on it. “We can never have enough fresh food to offer our families. It all goes so quickly.”

  “We’ve learned to get in line early,” Abby’s dad said.

  “That’s why I bring my drawing stuff, because it’s boring to wait,” Abby added. “But it’s okay if we don’t get the green things. I hate those!”

  “Abby,” her dad said, shaking his head. Then he turned to me. “We can’t get her to eat any vegetables. We’ve tried cooking them lots of different ways, but she always turns her nose up.”

  “Once, when I was little,” Abby added, “I threw some spinach across the room because it tasted so gross! There’s still a stain on the wall!”

  I knew everyone had vegetables they didn’t like, but I couldn’t imagine not eating—or cooking—any at all.

  Suddenly: idea-spark! “Hey, Abby,” I said. “Have you ever tried cooking vegetables yourself?”

  “Ewww, no,” she replied, scrunching up her nose. “Plus, I’m only seven. I don’t cook.”

  “But anyone can cook, especially if you have a grown-up’s help. I cook all the time! Do you remember the lunch from Beckett’s birthday party? I made that with my mom.”

  Abby’s eyes grew wide. “Those were the best chicken tenders ever. And Beckett had a very delicious cake, too.”

  “What if I gave you some of my favorite vegetable recipes?” I asked. “Would you try one?”

  Abby gave me a sideways look, then smiled. “If I do, will you make lunch for my birthday in October—including cake?”

  Her dad started to say something, but I held out my hand to Abby for a high five.

  “Deal!” I said as Abby slapped my palm. “But back to those veggies—I’ll make up some recipe cards and you can pick one.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Eileen said, her eyes bright with excitement. “Would you be able to make extra? I’d love to have some available here at the center for other kids and their parents to take.”

  “Of course,” I said. “I’ll make a whole bunch.”

  “Dad!” Abby burst out suddenly, tugging her dad down the hall. “The pantry’s open.”

  “Bye, Abby!” I called.

  “Bye, Blaire! Can’t wait for my birthday lunch!” Abby suddenly rushed back to me and handed me a piece of paper. “Here. I drew this puppy wearing a fairy costume. You can have it.”

  “Thanks,” I said, taking the drawing. I couldn’t help but smile. Goats in pj’s. Puppies in fairy costumes. Abby and I had a lot in common.

  “I should go help with the distribution,” Eileen said, waving to me and Cat as she started to follow them. “We’ll talk soon, I’m sure!”

  As Cat and I walked out of the building, past other families who were arriving for the food distribution hours, Cat put her arm around me.

  “I’m glad that donation bin was broken,” she said.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Well, it’s one thing to push a bag of clothes through a little door. It’s much cooler to meet the people who Helping Hands actually helps.”

  I carefully folded the drawing Abby gave me and tucked it into my pocket. Cat was right. The center wasn’t a place for random strangers anymore. It was there for a kid I knew. And I could do something to help her.

  I couldn’t wait to get started on my recipe cards.

  Wooooo. Wooooo.”

  “Thea, stop making ghost noises!” I nudged my friend as we sat in the back seat of Grandpa’s van the next day. “You’re creeping me out!”

  “This place is creeping me out,” Thea replied.

  We were heading up a narrow, winding road lined with droopy willow trees on either side. The branches swayed in the breeze and looked like arms that were trying to grab the van. The driveway was full of potholes, and even though Grandpa was going slowly, we were getting bumped and jostled around. A thick morning mist made it impossible to see what was ahead of us.

  We rounded a sharp bend and suddenly there it was, four stories high. I’d seen stone houses before—they were all over the Hudson Valley—but never one this big. Or this eerie. Several windows were boarded shut and scraggly vines hung over the porch. Two of the front steps were broken.

  “Haunted,” Thea whispered. “Definitely.”

  “Empty,” Grandpa said with a chuckle. “For years.” He parked the van behind three other cars in the driveway, and I recognized Marco’s motorcycle. “A family who just moved to Bluefield is fixing it up.”

  “It’s going to take a looooooot of fixing,” Thea said.

  I nodded. “What a fun project. I can’t wait to see the inside.”

  Grandpa knocked on the ginormous front door.

  “I bet this thing is going to open by itself,” Thea whispered as I rolled my eyes at her. When the door did open, I was grateful someone was standing behind it.

  “You must be the Pleasant View Farm folks!” the woman said. “I’m—”

  “—Suzanne!” I interrupted. “Marco’s assistant. I recognize you from the videos. I’m Blaire, this is my friend Thea, and my grandpa Ben.”

  “Come on in.” Suzanne smiled as she led us inside. “Marco’s hard at work in the library.”

  Suzanne walked us through the house, which was dim and dusty but full of ornate woodwork. “Look at those molded ceilings,” Grandpa said, and I craned my neck to see swans flying along the rooms. There was a wide staircase with a wooden banister. There were posts with enormous swans carved into them on either side.

  Thea paused to copy the swan’s pose, stretching her neck long and spreading her hands like wings. I giggled and tugged her down the hallway.

  The library was a big space with tall windows and built-in bookcases. There were bright lights set up around the room. Marco was perched on a ladder in front of an enormous fireplace. Behind him was a man with a video camera and a woman with a fuzzy black microphone attached to the end of a long pole.

  “Blaire! Thea!” Marco called when he saw us. “Welcome. Hello, Mr. O’Connell. You girls are here at just the right moment. I need someone with small fingers!”

  Thea and I exchanged a confused look. Strange, but interesting.

  When we got closer I saw that Marco was creating an intricate mosaic on the wall above the antique wooden fireplace mantel. Colorful tile mosaics were one of his specialties since they were a big part of traditional Mexican culture.

  Marco had finished one corner, with tiles of different shapes and sizes that were a pretty blue-green color. There was a sun design drawn in pencil in the center of the wall, and a box of yellow tiles nearby.

  “I have some teeny-tiny tiles I’d like to squeeze in,” Marco said, pointing. “Right there. Can you
do it for me? My fingers are too thick.”

  “Really?” I said. “We get to help?”

  Thea and I each took turns adding tile pieces to the mosaic with special glue. At first, Marco showed us where to put the tiles, but then he let us decide. It was like doing a jigsaw puzzle, except more fun, because where you put one piece determined where the next one would go.

  Marco’s videos always showed him making his mosaics in fast motion, but seeing the real thing in real-time motion was amazing. After half an hour, Thea and I had added dozens of tiles, but the mosaic still had a long way to go.

  “I never knew it took so much time to do this,” Thea said.

  “Me either,” I agreed. “And it’s so cool to see them up close and then step back and get a whole different image.”

  “Perspective!” Marco said. “It’s magical to look at the same thing from different points of view.”

  “That’s why you sit in the dirt, right?” I asked.

  Marco’s crew laughed. Thea looked confused.

  “Well, you girls did a great job on the mosaic. Fabuloso!” he announced. “I’ve had a sketch of this sun design in my notebook for months, and I was just waiting for the right wall to come along. I walked in here and realized, of course! It needs to go above a fireplace! Fire, flame, sun!”

  “Wow,” I said. “I have an inspiration board in my room where I keep ideas for projects.”

  Marco smiled. “Something small can become something big, no?”

  All I could do was nod. It was crazy and wonderful to be talking about this stuff with a professional designer. “Are you doing ‘room revolutions’ on the whole house?” I asked.

  “Most of it. The Masons—that’s the family who bought this place—knew it needed a lot of work, but they fell in love with it. And I did, too. We’ll redesign the entire downstairs and a few of the second-floor bedrooms.”

  “Which room does the ghost live in?” Thea asked, making her creepy Wooooo noise again.

  “It does seem like that kind of house,” Marco said with a laugh. “So far we haven’t seen anything spooky, but go ahead and explore the house! Let us know what you discover.”

  Suzanne appeared, and Marco called, “Paperwork break.” The guy with the camera stopped filming. Funny, I’d forgotten he was there.