Shake It Off

by Suzanne Nelson

  When we were smaller, the fact that our lives were poles apart hadn’t seemed to matter as much. We’d played on the tire swing hanging from the rafters of the livestock barn, built forts with Legos, made messes in the kitchen baking cookies with Mom and Aunt Beth. But now Wren was as dug into her life here as I was into mine, and our mismatched personalities seemed all the more magnified.

  I stared at the empty glass between us. The milkshake was gone.

  Wren stood. “I’m sorry you hate it here so much, but here’s the thing. Luke might not care, but I’m not going to put up with you sitting on your butt all summer doing squat.” Her voice was as hard and impenetrable as a tank. If I hadn’t been a little intimidated, I might’ve been impressed. “We can spend the summer annoyed with each other, or we can make it work. Your choice.”

  She walked out, leaving me in the kitchen, alone with my thoughts. I didn’t have to listen to her. I mean, what was she going to do? Put leeches in my bed? I shuddered. She wouldn’t … would she? I couldn’t be absolutely sure. She was tough. But … she was also scared. I’d seen it on her face tonight when she talked about CheeseCo. If she had to move, Wren would be facing a world as alien to her as the farm was alien to me. My guess was that it wouldn’t be any easier for her to deal with, either. Maybe I could cut her a little slack by doing what she asked.

  I stood to clean up my kitchen adventures. So … I’d suffer through the chores. It would be torture, but I didn’t have to do them well. I just had to survive them.

  The next few days passed as a series of small disasters. It was as if I were in one of those movies where the main character has to relive the same day over and over again, waiting to finally get it right.

  I woke up to Wren’s blaring alarm each morning and ignored it until I either dragged myself out of bed or Uncle Troy appeared with the ice water (I’d only been doused one time, but that was one time too many). Then, while Luke, Wren, and Gabe helped with the milking, I mucked out the goat pen, trying to ward off Tulip, the lunatic goat who’d developed an appetite for my clothing. Gabe, I’d realized, always checked the pen after me, and always mucked it out properly.

  He hadn’t spoken a word to me since the night fishing fiasco, but I caught him glancing my way as I went about the farm chores, even daring to make exaggerated moping faces at me. If he passed me in the farmyard, he started up a whistling rendition of “There Ain’t No Bugs on Me.” Luke thought it was hilarious. I didn’t. If Gabe was trying to win me over with that ridiculous behavior, he had another thing coming. I was still mad at him. I’d stay mad.

  After the outdoor chores were done, I would help Aunt Beth and Wren in the creamery. Help, though, was a strong word for what I did. I messed up so many food orders that customers actually started looking frightened when I approached their tables.

  “Maybe it’s better for you to work behind the scenes,” Aunt Beth suggested diplomatically after a few too many spilled trays. “Wren says you can make a decent shake, so let’s put you on shake detail.”

  I was secretly pleased with the new assignment, because of all the jobs I might’ve been given, mixing up milkshakes was definitely the easiest. But by the end of that first week, I was sick of boring milkshakes, too. Plus, I still hadn’t heard from Leila, and when I talked to my parents, they went on and on about how great their time in California was. It was enough to make me want to scream in frustration.

  Which is almost what I did now, as Wren tapped me on the shoulder with an order for two more vanilla milkshakes.

  “You’re kidding,” I moaned. “I’ve made twenty already today. Don’t these people ever want something new?”

  “It’s the Lesters again,” Wren said. “Don’t mess up this time. Please. He asked for Mom specifically, but she’s out in the pasture. Matilda’s gone lame and Mom and Gabe are trying to bring her into the barn so the vet can take a look.” Wren took off her apron. “I need to go help.”

  “What?” Panic rose in my throat. “You can’t leave me here by myself—”

  “Bria.” Wren sighed. “All you have to do is take the Lesters’ order and have my dad get their burger baskets ready.” She was already walking through the door. “That’s it. Impossible to mess up.”

  But, of course, it was not impossible, as I realized when I set down the order in front of Mr. and Mrs. Lester. It only took a nanosecond for him to frown.

  “This shake’s watery.”

  I eyed the shake mug, taking in the thick swirl of vanilla at its top. “It looks fine to me. I just made it.”

  “Take it back,” he snapped. “Your aunt can make me a new one.”

  My hands fisted at my sides. “My aunt’s not here right now,” I said through clenched teeth. “And you don’t have to be so rude all the time, you know.”

  “I’m rude?” He threw his napkin down on his seat. “Wait until your aunt hears about this—”

  “Tell her whatever you want,” I blurted so loudly that other customers turned heads in our direction. “Go ahead! I don’t care!”

  I spun away and slammed straight into Gabe, who was standing there alongside Aunt Beth and Wren. They’d seen the entire outburst unfold. Shame flashed over me. I opened my mouth to defend myself, but looking into my aunt’s shocked face, all words left me. I pushed past them and ran headlong out the door.

  On my way past the livestock barn, I found myself stopping inside to see the old tire swing. Memories from childhood, previously fuzzy around the edges, crystallized now. I had a vision of Mom pushing me on this swing, of me and Wren swinging together with our heads thrown back in laughter. Mom had told me once that the swing had been here since she was little. Now I climbed onto it, pushing myself off the ground with one foot. The swing swooped upward through golden beams of dust motes, and I took a long, big breath at the top. As I got back to the bottom, I saw Gabe step into the barn.

  His dark curls caught the sunlight, and the way his forearms were crossed against his chest, I could see every tendon outlined under his skin. My heart leapt against my will. Why did he have to be cute when he was so completely unnerving in every possible way?

  “Well, at least you get along with the tire swing,” he said with that half-curling smile. “Too bad it’s not one of the creamery customers.”

  I clambered off the swing. “Yeah, well, the swing wouldn’t tell me off in front of a room full of people.”

  “Mr. Lester wasn’t exactly telling you off, but …” He shrugged. “You see what you want to see, I guess.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I started toward him. “I haven’t done a thing to him. I did not give him a watery shake today. And when I offered him something new to try, it was like his world was ending!” I dug the toe of my shoe into the hay strewn across the barn’s floor. “It’s just so typical. As far as everyone around here is concerned, anything outside the confines of Tillman, Iowa, doesn’t matter. Or even exist.”

  Gabe shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck and mumbling something indecipherable.

  “What?” I pushed, “You think I’m wrong?”

  He began to walk away, then stopped and faced me. “I think Mr. Lester’s not the only one being stubborn about the way everything should be.”

  I balked. “You mean me?”

  “Do you ever listen to yourself?” His gray eyes darkened into two swirling storms, all trace of amusement gone from his face. “You criticize everyone here for not wanting to try new things. But you’re doing the same thing.”

  “What are you talking about? Everything I’ve been doing around here is something new. Mucking poop and waiting tables and—”

  “But you haven’t been giving any of it a fair chance. Not really. I tried to show you the ropes. I wanted to help.” He shook his head. “I get what it’s like to feel out of place. But … your attitude is your choice.” With a deep breath, he said, “Here’s what I think. You’ve been sabotaging your jobs, hoping it will eventually get you out of them.” His eyes never left
my face, and for the first time, I saw real disappointment in them.

  I swallowed, dropping my gaze to avoid his. “That’s not true—”

  “Isn’t it? You take the shovel into the goat pen without scooping up a single thing. You pick fights with customers in the creamery. And you know good and well that Wren or Luke or I will clean up your mistakes.”

  “I—I …” My voice drowned in my throat.

  “Do whatever you like, but know this.” His face was resigned, his voice soft but immovable all at once. “I love my mom and dad, but they both work long hours. This right here’s my second family. I don’t want the Dawsons to sell to CheeseCo any more than Luke and Wren do. You have no idea how much work they put into this farm, or how much it means to them. So if you’re not going to help them, then stay out of my way. Because I am.”

  With that final resounding word, he spun on his heel and was gone, without as much as a glance back in my direction.

  I wanted to call him back. I wanted to argue, to tell him how wrong he was. But—much as I hated to even contemplate the possibility—was he right about me? I hadn’t intended to wreck every task I’d been given since coming here, but maybe there had been a part of me—a bigger part than I cared to admit—that had wanted, even hoped, to fail.

  I saw Wren and Luke approaching. They were leading Matilda, her leg bandaged neatly by the vet, into the barn.

  “Hey, guys,” I started, “about what happened in the creamery—”

  “Save it,” Wren snapped, and Luke’s silence indicated he didn’t want to hear anything from me, either. I was debating whether or not I should try to explain again, when Aunt Beth called me back toward the house. I jogged over to where she was waiting.

  “Park it.” She pointed to one of the outside benches, her face stony. “We need to talk.”

  I sank onto the bench. “It wasn’t my fault! I was only—”

  “No more excuses.” Her voice seeped disappointment, but also tiredness. I noticed the dark circles under her eyes. She sat down beside me, and moved her hand as if to take mine, but stopped. “When your mom called me to see if you could stay this summer, I was thrilled.” She smiled sadly. “Baby, I’ve always loved you like I love Wren and Luke. And your mom’s been worried about you—”

  “I’m sick of hearing that,” I said.

  I expected her to argue or push, but she didn’t. She clasped and unclasped her hands in her lap. “Here’s the thing. Your uncle and I are up to our eyeballs in work. We’ve got the Fourth of July Bash coming up, and one of the milking machines bit the dust this morning. And we have some big decisions to make about CheeseCo, which I’m none too happy about.” She rubbed her temples. “I’ve been giving you the benefit of the doubt, but I’m also not going to wage a war with you all summer long, either. If you don’t want to do the farm chores, fine. But you still have to help around the house. No getting out of dishes or making your bed. Understood?”

  I nodded, too stunned to say anything. She was actually letting me off the hook! No more goat pellets or four-forty-five wake-up calls. I could sleep in! I could veg all day.

  “Thanks, Aunt Beth,” I said, and I meant it. “About Mom and Dad. Are you—”

  “Going to tell them about this?” Aunt Beth said, reading my mind. She nodded. “Have to, honey. Your mom and I don’t keep secrets from each other.” She stood. “Go on back to the house. We’ll see you later this afternoon.”

  Then she left me alone on the bench, with a free pass to spend my afternoon however I wanted. I jumped to my feet and, with a spring in my step, hurried to the house. First I would email Leila. Then I’d check out her latest fashion video. After that? The sky was the limit.

  My first afternoon of computer time and lounging around the house was glorious. It was maybe a little too quiet, but I could do whatever I wanted. As the hours dragged on, though, I started to get a taste of what avoiding farm life actually meant. I’d thought it was bad being included in all the chores, but over the next two days, I started to think maybe it was worse not being included. As everyone else went about their routines, I found it hard to look them in the eyes.

  Wren didn’t set her alarm; instead, Uncle Troy tiptoed in quietly to wake her. I thought I’d be able to enjoy sleeping in, but I still awoke when I heard the muffled sounds of breakfast drifting up from the kitchen. And without any chores besides occasional dishes and laundry, my days in the empty house felt long.

  I avoided the creamery and the barns. I kept mostly to myself, barely talking to the others during dinner and afterward, reading until bedtime. When I half joked to Mom and Dad over the phone about how much summer reading I could get done now that I wasn’t doing farm chores, they didn’t laugh. I couldn’t stop thinking about how I was letting everyone down.

  Only Leila, in the first email she sent, offered me any consolation. Good for you for standing up to tyranny, she’d written. Serves your family right for trying to put you to work. Nobody should have to spend their summer shoveling manure.

  I tried to take comfort in her words, but I just couldn’t. She was making my family out to sound like some kind of cruel dictatorship, and that didn’t sit right with me. Still, I wrote her back a thank-you, and told her how much I missed her.

  On the third morning, after finally sleeping in until eleven (hallelujah!), I was grabbing a bagel from the kitchen, feeling the full weight of the house’s silence around me, when I peered out the kitchen window. I saw a stream of summer camp buses pouring into the creamery parking lot, and kids tumbling out of the buses by the dozens. There were way more kids than there were seats in the creamery, and I imagined the chaos of all of them vying to order as Wren and Aunt Beth scrambled to cook and ring up the orders.

  Surprising myself, I headed for the front door. I couldn’t stay in this too-still house a second longer. And besides, there was no way Aunt Beth and Wren could handle that crowd.

  Doesn’t matter, Leila’s voice whispered in my head. Not your problem.

  But I didn’t have to work at the creamery all day. I’d only stay until the crowd thinned.

  When I stepped into the little restaurant, the voices of a hundred excited camp kids crashed over me in a deafening wave. Kids were climbing over the backs of the booths, wrestling in line, and blowing spit wads at one another through straws. It was madness.

  I waded through the crowd to the sales counter, where Wren was frantically taking orders. She frowned at me.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked as she pushed buttons on the cash register.

  My cheeks burned, but I decided to ignore her harsh tone. I said simply, “You need help.”

  She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I thought you were above helping.”

  Ouch. That one stung. “I …” I swallowed. “I deserved that.”

  She did a double take, and I nearly laughed. Surprise wasn’t a look I saw very often on Wren’s face.

  I drew in a breath. “Look, I want a second chance, because … I’m sorry. About the way I’ve been acting. I might’ve messed up a few things on purpose, but I want to try for real.”

  I could see she didn’t want to give me another chance, but there were also half a dozen customers already complaining about the service taking too long. She didn’t have a choice.

  “Fine.” She slapped an apron into my hand. “You’re sorry? Prove it.”

  I nodded. “Where should I start?”

  “I need six plain vanilla shakes. ASAP.”

  “On it,” I said, but she was already consumed in ringing up the next order. I made the shakes quickly and, even though it pained me to do it, exactly like Wren had told me to—plain. Then, I brought the order to the customers’ table, without spilling a single drop.

  When I returned to the sales counter, I discovered a teen in a camp counselor uniform giving Wren a hard time about the shake menu.

  “I can’t believe you only have three flavors,” she was saying, her voice dripping with dissatisfaction. “We drove tw
o hours from camp for this? You don’t even have anything close to a Snickerdoodle Cyclone.” My ears perked at the words. Snickerdoodle Cyclone was a shake on the menu at Sip & Shake, and it was delicious. “This place is completely lame.”

  Something in the girl’s stuck-up tone struck a chord with me, and I blushed uncomfortably. Hadn’t I basically been saying that exact same thing since I arrived here? Only, surely I hadn’t sounded that cruel. I shifted my feet, swallowing thickly. But—oh—what if I had?

  Wren was frozen behind the register, her furrowed face a grenade about to explode. I stepped instantly to her side, smiling at the scowling teen.

  “You’re right,” I said to the girl. “We don’t have Snickerdoodle Cyclones. But I’ll make you something even better.”

  Wren elbowed me. Through her clenched teeth, she hissed, “You’re not going to try something crazy like you did with the Lesters. That was a disaster—”

  “It’ll be fine,” I assured her. “You’ll see.” I smiled at the teen, who was glowering at us with arms crossed. “Go ahead and have a seat. I’ll deliver your shake to you shortly.”

  “Bria …” Wren warned. “Bria, wait—”

  But I was already out the creamery door and running for the house. A vision for a new shake was forming in my mind, perfectly peaked with whipped cream and a tower of mouthwatering ooey-gooey chocolate of all kinds. I knew exactly what I needed from the house. I just had to hope it was still there and that Luke and Gabe hadn’t scarfed what was left of it.

  When I reached the kitchen, I smiled. There it was—the half-eaten tray of Uncle Troy’s everything-but-the-kitchen-sink brownies. It was his specialty—something he’d baked for his squadron back when he was younger and had been deployed overseas for months at a stretch.

  “I used to throw everything I could think of into the batter,” he’d said last night when I’d asked him why he was tossing handfuls of broken pretzels into the brownie mix. “We’d get care packages from home, and everybody would contribute stuff.”