Dawn Allerton was singing with my grandma.
Dawn Allerton might be an opera singer.
And then it felt like the whole population of the lovely town of Jewel was also singing about the children of the world and their dignity, their dignity! on the hottest day on record, when Grandma had just blown the first challenge of the Strawberry Ambassador Competition after we had already almost been disqualified for flying away in a hot-air balloon.
This was my life.
* * *
—
Meg 1, Grandma 3
34
Reboot
No one spoke much on the way home, but there was a weird happy energy, probably from the group singing.
We had just lost in the worst turn of events ever.
When we got to the house, Mom said, “I’ll help you take off the toilet paper, Meg.”
“No thank you,” I said.
I was not going to be accepting anyone’s help at the moment.
Everyone sat outside talking about the competition and the music and the strawberries and the ha ha ha ha la la la, while I tore off toilet paper. They even called Grandpa Arthur on speakerphone to tell him about the day.
Did Grandma feel true remorse for what she’d done? Was this part of her war plan? Was she trying to make us lose?
I needed a reboot. I needed to restart. I needed to regain command.
The stuff that went down? Horrible.
My grandma? The worst.
Was I about to give up? No way.
When I was done de-toilet-papering, I went to my room, shut the door, and looked in the mirror we have on the wall.
“You can do this, Meg,” I told myself. “You can rise from the ashes. She thinks she has the upper hand? She does not have the upper hand. You got this.”
Someone knocked on the door.
“What?”
“Who are you talking to?” Hattie asked.
“No one,” I said back. Then I whispered, “You can do it.”
* * *
—
While Grandma was in the shower, I opened the next challenge in the privacy of the coat closet with a flashlight. I needed time to focus and figure out what to do myself first. Grandma would see the details soon enough, and I needed to plan.
FOOD TRUCK ROUND-UP
SPONSORED BY THE JEWEL RESTAURANT ALLIANCE
The Jewel Restaurant Alliance is proud to be a part of the Strawberry Ambassador Competition. We proudly present a Food Truck Round-Up where contestants will use their creativity, ingenuity, and resilience to feed the good people of Jewel. The challenge is divided into three tasks.
Task 1: Using the strawberries you picked, you and your partner will team up with a food truck restaurateur to create a strawberry-themed delicacy. You will have limited time with the chef to discuss the recipe you would like to create. You then will have 2 hours to make the food.
Task 2: You will be provided with paint and other supplies to create a sign and decorate the outdoor dining area. Be sure to advertise both your charity and your culinary offering. This will need to be accomplished during your allotted 2 hours.
Task 3: You will sell your strawberry creation to the public at the Food Truck Round-Up beginning at 6:00 p.m. that evening. Food truck sales end at 9:00 p.m. You are allowed one helper in addition to your team. All proceeds will go to your charity and will count toward your grand total for the finale. Food supplies and paint/materials donated by the Jewel Restaurant Alliance and Hometown Crafts.
My heart pounded.
This was it.
This was the perfect challenge for me.
We were going to cook.
We were going to create strawberry-themed food.
I knew exactly what we were going to make and I knew exactly what food truck we needed in order to make it. I would have Hattie be our helper. Grandma doesn’t even like to cook anymore except to make the most disgusting green protein shakes ever.
Finally.
Finally, a wave of true relief came over me.
This was my time to assert total and complete control.
35
Taffy Tussle
Guess what? Big news. Huge surprise. Grandma didn’t agree with my strawberry food idea!
“I’m not sure that will sell the best,” Grandma said.
We were sitting at the kitchen table and she had toilet paper wrapped around her hair again. “You know toilet paper doesn’t belong on your head or your skin, right?”
“I say it does.”
“You say toilet paper goes on bodies?”
“Absolutely,” she said.
“What if there’s another toilet paper shortage, Grandma?”
“That’s an interesting question. If there’s another toilet paper shortage, I will make sure to reuse and recycle.”
Oh my gosh.
“It’s a sacrifice for beauty.” She fluttered her eyelashes. It was funny but I tried not to laugh.
“For real, though. Why do you do it?”
“Oh, it’s to keep my hair nice when I sleep. I try to blow it out and curl it once a week. Otherwise it takes an hour to get it looking good.”
I stared at her. Her hair was a big triangle.
“Do you want me to do your hair like this, too?” she asked. “We could be twins!”
“That’s my dream come true, Grandma,” I said.
“I knew it.”
She really was one of my favorite people but right now she was the enemy and I needed to treat her as such.
“Let’s get back to the task at hand. We have to get to the food trucks tomorrow at three. We want to be partners with My Fairy Treat Mother.”
“Don’t you mean your fairy godmother? And who is she?”
“No, My Fairy Treat Mother. It’s Trudy Martin’s food truck. She’s our neighbor and she’s a cooking genius.” I took a breath and then I laid it all out on the table. “I’ll be in charge of this challenge and we’re going to make strawberry taffy.”
Grandma scrunched up her face like she’d just been hit by a baseball or something.
“You want to make candy?”
“Yes, specifically taffy.”
“Taffy?”
“Taffy.”
That’s when Grandma said, “I’m not sure that will sell the best.”
“You’ve never had Trudy’s taffy, Grandma. She makes the best in the state. Everyone knows about her and we can make different variations of strawberry taffy.” I showed her my list.
Strawberry Cheesecake Taffy.
Strawberry Lemon Taffy.
Strawberry Shortcake Taffy.
Strawberry Salted Caramel Taffy.
“Salted Caramel?” Grandma asked.
“Yes. Strawberry Salted Caramel.”
Then I had some more ideas and I scribbled them down right there at the kitchen table.
Strawberry Snickers Taffy.
Strawberry Mint Taffy.
“Meg. You’re going too far.”
“Too far?” I laughed. “You’re telling me I’m going too far? Go bold or go old, right, Grandma?”
She ate a bite of cucumber. Mom, Dad, and Hattie had gone out for shakes. They’d wanted us to go too and I’d said, “Yes, Grandma, you should get a shake.”
“Are you going?”
I shook my head. “No. I’m too tired.” Really, I wanted to solidify my strategy, go over recipes, get everything in place without her hovering around. I was still simmering from the awful strawberry picking results.
“If you’re not going, I’m not going,” Grandma said.
“What?”
“We’re partners. I’ll stay here so we can get ready for tomorrow.”
I looked at Dad, pleading with my he
art and soul for him to save me.
He got the message. “Uh, Mom. Why don’t you come along? I think you’ll get a kick out of this ice cream shop.”
“Nope. I’m staying with Meggy.”
Sigh.
So here we were, in the kitchen, eating cucumbers and arguing over taffy, which we would be selling at the Food Truck Round-Up.
Strawberry sour cream.
Strawberry kiwi.
As I was coming up with ideas, Grandma abruptly stood up.
“Grandma. What’re you doing?”
“I think we need to go bigger.” She started opening cupboards. “Where does your dad keep my cookbook binder I lent him?”
“Grandma, we’re making taffy. You don’t need to worry about recipes or anything. I’ve got it.”
She pulled up a chair and stood on it to look in the high cupboards. I felt anger rising in my chest like water in a washing machine.
“I have it figured out, Grandmother.”
“I know. I just want to look.”
The cookbooks were in a drawer under the oven. The binder Grandma was talking about was definitely with them. I knew that, Grandma didn’t.
“You mean that ratty old pink thing? I think he got rid of it,” I said.
She looked at me. “Oh really?”
“Uh-huh.” I kept my face very calm.
She opened the spice cupboard, the plates and cups cupboard. She looked under the sink.
“Why would he do that, I wonder,” Grandma said. “Your dad loves to cook.” She was getting closer to the oven. I stood up. “And he loves that binder.”
This was true. My dad was into cooking and baking and brewing too. And Grandma gave him her recipes since she and Grandpa usually ate out now.
“Dad’s been doing new things lately. He thought those recipes were getting outdated.”
Grandma laughed. “Outdated?”
“Yes. Super outdated and old-fashioned.” I walked over to the stove and stood in front of it, trying to look casual.
“I had a recipe for strawberry shortcake that was one of the most popular desserts at a church potluck one year.”
“No one eats strawberry shortcake anymore, Grandma.”
“Is that so? Your grandfather and I had strawberry shortcake at a buffet last week.”
“Whoops. What I meant to say was no one under the age of sixty eats strawberry shortcake anymore.”
Grandma gave me a side eye. “Nice one, Meg. Very nice.”
Grandma looked on top of the fridge, in all the drawers, and in the pantry.
“I have a recipe for strawberry muffins from my Aunt Sue in that binder and a strawberry icebox cake but that would be hard to serve in big batches.”
“We’re making taffy.”
She opened the dishwasher.
“You think we keep the cookbooks in the dishwasher?”
She smiled. “I think it’s important to be thorough.” She put a finger to her nose just like Dad and I do when we’re thinking. “I think there might even be a strawberry rhubarb pie in there. Oh! We could do my freezer jam.”
I folded my arms. I was not going to be let down. Not after everything that had happened the past two days. This was where I held the line.
“I’d like to look in the oven, if you could excuse me,” Grandma said.
“We don’t keep cookbooks in the oven either.”
“You don’t? Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.” I was not moving. I was a boulder.
“Let me look.”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“They’re not in there,” I said, and though I was keeping my voice very steady, the sweat was starting to break out on my forehead. She was a bulldog.
“Maybe we should try on some costumes for the challenge tomorrow,” I said. I was desperate.
“Oh, now you want to wear costumes?” Grandma asked.
“Uh, yes.”
Grandma nodded. “Okay. Good. I was thinking you’d dress up as a Dalmatian and I’ll be Cruella de Vil.”
“That seems about right,” I said. “After that dress trick you played on me in the strawberry fields.”
“Well, I saw you had a copy of Little Women in your room and thought you should get a feel for how the girls lived,” she said. “Also, you did steal my strawberry-picking clothes, so I had no choice.”
She spotted the drawer I was guarding and then she looked at me. Our eyes locked.
“Grandma. Back away.”
“I can’t back away, Meg. I will not.”
“Grandma. We’re making taffy. It’s been decided. Back away and go sing a show tune.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“I really would. I love your voice.”
“I know you do,” she said, and then, like a cheetah, she made for one side of the oven, but I was too quick and got in front of her, so she went for the other side and I blocked her. Then she did a dirty trick and went straight for my gut, tickling me like she used to when I was little.
“Hey,” I laughed.
She lunged for the drawer and got it open.
Oh no. No no no.
“Not today, Grandma!” I yelled, and I dove and grabbed the beat-down pink binder, the pages almost falling out, right out of her hands.
“Meg! Let go. What are you doing!” But I was too fast. I got it and I ran.
I ran hard.
36
The Unplanned Attack
I ran through the kitchen and across the front room, jammed on my flip-flops, and bolted out the door.
Grandma was right behind me. “Get back here! Where do you think you’re going? We need that!”
“No, we don’t!” I yelled.
I ran down the driveway and onto the path to the lake. Grandma was in her nightgown with the toilet paper streaming from her hair. “Meg. Be reasonable.” She had on Dad’s tennis shoes and she was hobbling after me. “Just let me look.”
But there was no way.
Grandma used to be an okay cook. Used to be.
She told us over and over again that she was done cooking, but now she needed that cookbook? She wanted to be the one who picked what we made? She was going to be in charge of a cooking challenge?
If I’d learned anything in the past two days it was that Grandma never ever gave up.
And from now on, neither did I.
I kept running down the path and I was getting tired and my lungs were burning.
Grandma kept following me.
“Go back home!” I yelled.
“No way!” she yelled back. “I want my recipes.”
“This is war, Grandma. I’m not giving in and I’m not giving up.”
“This is not war, Meg. This is grand larceny. I want my property back.”
“They’re Dad’s.”
“They’re mine! On loan!”
I kept going. She’d run out of steam soon enough. I myself had a side ache of epic proportions, my body was sore from picking, and my feet were killing me. Don’t run down rocky paths in flip-flops, it’s not a good idea.
I ran until I got to the beach. It wasn’t a big beach, there were trees and logs and my favorite humongous rock.
Grandma was nowhere in sight. She’d probably turned around.
I was relieved.
Finally, a victory.
I climbed up on the rock to catch my breath and lie down and maybe not die.
Why was she so stubborn? I had a completely reasonable and actually fantastic idea and she wouldn’t listen. She always thought she knew best.
Sometimes I know best.
Sometimes kids know better than adults.
I sat up. And then I yelled, “I know best!�
� My voice echoed, bouncing off the water and the rocks. It felt awesome to hear it. Like someone was agreeing with me.
“I know way better than my Grandma Sally, who is out of control!” I yelled.
The echo yelled it back.
“Grandma Sally is not going to win!” I yelled even louder.
Oh, the sweet sound of my own voice.
Just then a bird swooped down and barely missed my head.
I screamed and almost fell.
“Watch it, bird!”
The bird flew up in the sky and looked like it was going to zoom back down. First the fox and now this?
“Leave me alone!” I yelled.
The bird flew back and forth overhead and I thought, what if she really did have some way to send animals to intimidate me? I wouldn’t put it past her.
And then, as I was watching the bird get ready to attack, Grandma was at my feet, reaching for the binder, which I’d set down.
“Stop!” I yelped and grabbed it and chucked it in the lake.
I couldn’t believe I did it, but I did. I just threw it like a football.
We both watched as it sailed way way way out into the deep.
A big splash.
And then…
It sank.
The lake swallowed it up and everything went silent.
Like a dream.
And then she screamed. “NO!”
And she ran into the lake.
“Grandma!” I yelled. I scrambled to get down and ran in too.
Grandma dove and started kicking toward where I’d thrown the book.
Dad said Grandma was a terrible swimmer and she looked like a terrible swimmer and I didn’t want her to drown and I thought she might drown.
“Grandma!” I yelled.
She was swimming sort of, but she was going nowhere, and she kept going under and then sloshing forward and then going under again.
“Grandma!”
I got to her and I pulled her back toward the shore. She had wet toilet paper all over her and her green face mask was gone and she was furious.
The War with Grandma Page 13