Mom was helping Maddy turn the madeleines out onto a foil-covered countertop.
Some were underbaked—the ones that Maddy had overfilled. Some were overbaked—the ones that I had underfilled. And some looked just right—Ella’s. She was nice enough not to say “I told you so.”
With the next batch, we followed Ella’s example, filling the wells half full. Then we watched them carefully through the oven window, looking for the moment when the edges had just started to brown and the top halves popped up.
After Mom pulled the second batch of madeleines out of the oven, we let them cool and then sprinkled them with powdered sugar. They looked perfect!
When we tasted the soft, lemony cookies, we all agreed that they were perfectly delicious, too.
“We should get some reviews,” Maddy said.
“Reviews?” Ella asked.
“You know, people telling us what they think,” Maddy said. “We should each take some madeleines home for our families to taste and have them write down what they think. If we get good reviews, we can print them in our brochures. It’ll be really good advertising!”
Brochures? I hadn’t thought about advertising yet, but if our business kept going well, we would need those someday. “I like it,” I said. “Good thinking, Maddy.”
Before Ella and Maddy headed home, I waved them over to the computer at the window. “Can we make a schedule for when we get together to work on our business?” I asked, opening my online calendar for August.
Maddy took off her apron. “Seriously? I hate schedules. Do we really need to put this on a calendar, Grace?”
I stared at my calendar for a minute, feeling my cheeks flush hot. What was with Maddy? It seemed as if just when things were going well between us, we would suddenly hit a brick wall. “What’s wrong with some planning?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
Maddy shrugged. “I just think it’s more fun if we wing it,” she said. “Don’t you, Ella?”
Ella looked from me to Maddy, and then she slowly untied her apron from around her waist. She pulled it off over her head and carefully returned it to the canvas bag.
“Ella?” I asked.
Finally she answered. “In a way, you’re both right,” she said, avoiding my eyes. “As soon as you put us on a schedule, it turns this into a chore. It becomes something we have to do. But if we don’t put it on a schedule, we might not get anything done.”
I thought of Mom, whose lesson folder had been practically glued to her side since we returned from Paris. “But teachers can’t start a new year without planning ahead,” I said. “Why is our business any different?”
“Because we’re kids,” Maddy said. “That’s what’s different. And this is supposed to be fun.”
I sighed in frustration. “I guess I just do better when I have a plan, that’s all.” I looked at Maddy and Ella. “Can we just try to put things on a calendar? It won’t be set in stone. We can change it anytime.”
“Okay, fine,” Maddy replied. “But Grace, we already know we’re showing up again tomorrow morning. Ten a.m., right?”
Ella shook her head. “I can’t. I have to help with my brothers tomorrow morning, but I can meet later.”
See? I wanted to say to Maddy. This is why we need a plan.
“When?” I asked Ella.
“Um, around two o’clock should work,” she said.
“Is that okay with you, Maddy?” I asked carefully.
She nodded halfheartedly. I imagined that if she were a cat, she’d be flicking her tail in irritation.
I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. I really wanted this business to work, but working with friends was turning out to be harder than I’d thought.
“I think I got spoiled in Paris,” Mom said as she cooled down on the deck after her early Saturday-morning run.
“How so?” I asked, trying to keep a firm grip on Bonbon’s leash even though I was still groggy and half asleep. Owning a dog meant a lot more work and responsibility than I’d realized. When Bonbon started whining and yipping to go outside every morning, I had to get out of bed, whether I felt like getting up or not.
“In Paris,” Mom said, leaning against the deck railing to stretch her legs, “you biked with me nearly every time I ran. Now, without you, each mile just feels a little harder. I miss your company.” She smiled.
“I know,” I said, sounding a teensy bit whiny. “But I can’t walk Bonbon and bike with you every morning.”
“I know, honey,” she said.
As Bonbon pulled me along toward Dad, who was weeding the flower garden at the edge of the yard, I called back, “Mom, I’d love to bike and have her just run alongside me, but she’s hard enough to walk on a leash.”
I tried the treat method again, and the moment my hand went to my pocket, Bonbon ran back to me and dropped her rump to the ground, her eyes on me.
“Looks like she’s making progress,” Mom called.
“Yes, but I’m afraid the second she spots a squirrel or another dog, she’ll be pulling me along like a train engine.”
Mom laughed. “She’ll learn, eventually. Till then, Grace, don’t worry about joining me in the morning. Staying motivated is my job. Not yours.”
I tried to stay close to the deck so that I could keep talking with Mom, but Bonbon twisted and pulled at the end of the leash, as if trying to get away. “Mom, she needs to burn off some energy. Is it okay if I walk her on the towpath?”
“Sure,” she said. “There are a lot of walkers and joggers out this morning. Just turn around before you reach town.”
“Okay,” I said, leading Bonbon through the gap between the stone wall and the house.
As we set off on the path, a zillion birds sang from leafy trees. I recognized the oriole and the bluejay. When a robin hopped along on the ground ahead of us, Bonbon strained at her leash toward it.
“No, you can’t play with the robin,” I said, calling her back to me with a treat.
I discovered again how strong she could be—and that treats don’t last forever. When I reached into my pocket, the dog treats were all gone.
Now, with each passing walker, biker, or leashed dog, Bonbon tried to pull out of my hands. Walking her was exhausting. I already had one blister on my hand. How many treats was it going to take for Bonbon to learn?
As we rounded a bend in the path, I sucked in my breath. There was a great blue heron on stilt-legs, dipping its long beak into the river.
I tried to turn around, but Bonbon had already spotted the big bird. She started yapping.
“Bonbon, no barking,” I said firmly.
But it didn’t help. The heron flapped into the air and flew away.
“Aw, Bonbon, you ruined it!” I scolded. But she was already on the trail of something else, and all I could do was follow.
We passed several houses, their backyards butted up on either side of the canal. Some had steps or small bridges leading to their yards. At one, under an arch heavy with English ivy, I spotted a bike trailer, the kind parents use to bike with small children. This one was bright yellow nylon with blue trim over a metal frame that tilted sideways. One of its two wheels was gone. Taped to the trailer’s side was a piece of cardboard that read FREE.
Wait. Maybe I couldn’t expect Bonbon to trot nicely on a leash alongside my bike, but she was certainly small enough to fit inside a bike trailer. “You could bike with me! If we can get it fixed…”
I spun around and headed back home at a jog, with Bonbon trotting at my side.
“Josh!” I said, rushing into the kitchen. He was spooning cereal with sliced bananas into his mouth.
He glanced up at me, his mouth full.
I was out of breath. “I…I found the perfect thing for Bonbon so she can bike with me. A bike trailer that kids ride in. It’s free, but I need you to look at it. It’s missing a wheel and looks a little beat up, but if you could fix it, then…”
Mom stepped into the kitchen with wet hair, smelling of ginger-o
range shampoo. “Then you could bike with me!” she said, finishing my sentence. “Oh, that’s a great idea.”
Josh looked from Mom to me. “I’m heading to the bike shop right now,” he said. “I don’t really have time.”
“It’s on your way. Just look, okay?” I pleaded. “I’ll trade doing dishes if you can fix it.”
Josh shrugged. “Okay. I’ll look. But no promises.”
“Thanks!” I said. As I unhooked Bonbon’s leash, I was already imagining our first bike ride together—my little friend in the trailer behind me instead of trying to race up ahead. She’d still need walks, but now I could bike with her, too. It would be perfect!
t two o’clock, Ella and I were ready to get going on our next baking project. But Maddy was nowhere in sight.
Ella and I waited five minutes, and then ten. While we waited, I told her about the bike trailer I had spotted on the towpath.
“Cool!” she said. “Is Josh going to be able to fix it?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Send him a text,” she suggested.
So I did. But the reply that came five minutes later wasn’t what I’d wanted to hear: “Sorry, Grace,” he wrote. “The trailer wasn’t there anymore. Someone must have taken it.”
So much for my great plan, I thought. But then I reminded myself of what I’d learned in Paris: We can’t plan for everything. Sometimes we just have to “stay loose” and take things as they come.
I told myself that again when Maddy finally strolled in—half an hour late.
“Sorry,” she said, but she didn’t really sound sorry.
Then, as if she didn’t see the bowls, spoons, and recipes spread out on the counter, she said, “Hey, let’s start by designing the brochures we talked about! I have lots of ideas for those.”
I cut her off right away. “How can we design brochures,” I asked, “when we don’t even know what we’re making yet?”
I couldn’t help feeling irritated. We’d already wasted so much time today!
Ella added softly, “I think Grace is right. We should start by trying a few more recipes first.”
Maddy’s face flushed a little. “Fine,” she said, putting up her hands. “I guess I’m outnumbered.”
Ella and I exchanged a glance.
“Okay, so…I was thinking we should write down the ingredients we’ll need for a few more recipes, just in case we need to go shopping,” I said. “Maddy, do you want to write the list?”
I offered her a notebook and pen—and was relieved when she actually took them.
As Ella and I looked through recipes, Maddy jotted down the ingredients we would need. She spent more time, though, doodling distractedly in the margins of the notebook.
“It looks like we need to go to the store,” I said, looking at our growing list.
Ella winced a little, and I suddenly remembered her situation. She didn’t have any money to put toward supplies.
“Ella, will you be our record keeper for now?” I asked her. “You can keep track of what we spend on supplies, and when we start making money, you can pay us back—just like we talked about.”
“Record keeper?” she said. “Yes! I like the sound of that. And I have the perfect notebook to use for it at home.”
Maddy perked up, too. “I can run home and pull some money out of my piggy bank,” she said. “Let’s go shopping!”
Before I knew it, Ella and Maddy had dashed home on their bikes.
When my friends returned, Maddy and I pooled our money together on the counter. As we counted the money, Ella showed us the notebook she had brought from home. It was perfect, with a cute cupcake on the cover. Above the cupcake she wrote the words “La Petite Pâtisserie.”
“It looks almost official,” I said, beaming. It felt good to be moving forward again with my friends—finally.
At the City-Way supermarket, Dad grabbed us a shopping cart—and then pulled out a second one for himself and Mom.
“We need a few things, too,” Dad said. “You girls start looking and come find us if you need help, okay?”
“Will do,” I said.
Just inside the doors, past the stand of flower bouquets, the store’s newly remodeled bakery was busy with customers. They were lined up three deep at the counter.
“Psst!” I said to Ella and Maddy. “Let’s go spy and see what the new bakery’s doing right.”
We wove in and out of the crowd, peeking at all the desserts behind the glass. We saw cupcakes, cookies, and birthday cakes. There were doughnuts, doughnut holes, muffins, and breads—but nothing that looked out of the ordinary. So why was it so much busier here than at First Street Family Bakery?
I waved Maddy and Ella back toward the greeting card section.
“It seems like they make pretty much the same stuff as most bakeries,” Ella said.
“Nothing really unique,” Maddy agreed.
“Nothing très French,” I said with a smile.
Then Ella pointed to a big sign we’d missed hanging from the ceiling:
Everyday City-Way deal:
Buy one, get one free.
Buy a dozen, get a dozen free!
Ella studied the sign. “Wow. That’s a good deal.”
“Bargain prices,” I said. “But nothing like French pastries and treats. That’s why we need to make things people can’t get here or at another bakery.”
We went back to our shopping, satisfied that we were on the right track with La Petite Pâtisserie. With Mom and Dad’s help, we found most of the items on our list, but not everything.
Dad studied our list as we waited in line at the checkout. “Girls, it looks like you’ll need a few more things to get your French baking business off the ground.”
“Shhh!” I said, glancing at the line behind us.
“What?” Dad asked, wrinkling his brow.
“Mr. Thomas,” Maddy whispered, “we don’t want other kids to steal our business idea.”
“Oh,” Dad said. “I see.”
Mom suggested we make one more stop: the Kitchen Shop.
She introduced us to the shop’s owner, a man with a bright green vest and a ready smile. “Mr. Hammond,” Mom said, “these girls want to start doing some French baking. Can you help them find what they need?” She handed him our shopping list.
“But of course,” he said, leading us to his French section.
In no time, Mr. Hammond helped us find parchment paper, a couple of special pans, and a pastry bag with tips. “This will get you started,” he said. “You can always come back for more.”
“Merci beaucoup!” I said as we left.
“You’re welcome!” he replied.
When we returned home, Bonbon acted nearly as excited as we were to unpack our supplies. She raced in circles around us before I caught her and leashed her to take her outside.
Mom started putting things away in the refrigerator as Ella and Maddy reached for their aprons.
“Sorry, girls,” Mom said, glancing over her shoulder. “It’s getting too late in the day to let you take over the kitchen right now.”
I looked at Ella and Maddy. “But, Mom, we had plans.”
“And so do I,” she said. “Like making dinner.”
Just when we were ready to launch into baking, our plans screeched to a halt. I could almost imagine Mom holding up a big red stop sign.
I knew we couldn’t take over Mom’s kitchen, but there had to be a way to share it. I glanced at the clock and thought hard, and a solution came right away. Maybe today we could bake after supper instead of before.
“What if we do a sleepover?” I flashed Mom a smile. “Then after dinner, we could get started. Could we, Mom?”
“Wow, when you get an idea, you don’t easily let go, do you, Grace?” she said, pulling lettuce, grated cheese, and tortillas out of the refrigerator.
“I think I get it from you, Mom.” What could she say to that? It seemed true as far as I could see.
“Okay, s
ure,” she said. “If you girls like tacos and your parents say yes. And if you can get Bonbon outside before the poor little thing has an accident.”
I glanced down at the little dog, who was circling my feet. “Oh, sorry, Bonbon!” I opened the door and raced outside after her.
Mom agreed to our putting up a tent outside to sleep in. First, we found the nylon bag on a garage shelf, and then we carried it beneath the shade of the oak tree and slid out the tent and poles.
For a moment, we all just stared at the pile, unsure of what to do. It reminded me of the first time we were together in the kitchen.
To make things go better between us, I suggested we try something new. “What if we divide up jobs?” I asked. “One of us could put the poles together while the other two spread out the tent.”
Maddy reached right in to grab a couple of metal poles and started clicking them together. Ella and I spread the tent across the ground and then found the nylon sleeves that the poles slid into.
We all had to work together to get the poles through the sleeves, but pretty soon the whole thing popped up like a giant orange mushroom. Then we took turns doing the fun part: hammering stakes into the ground at the tent’s edges.
“Wow, we worked really well together,” I said, admiring our results. If we could only learn to work that well as a team in the kitchen, our business could be amazing!
As we stepped inside the tent to roll out our sleeping bags, the sun glowed through the tent walls, and for a few moments, everything seemed possible.
After a dinner of tacos and fruit salad, we cleaned up the kitchen, only with plans to mess it up again.
Then we leaned over the recipes we wanted to try, spread out on the counter like road maps. I wanted to start with fresh peach tartelettes, but Maddy leaned toward macarons, and Ella wanted to try crêpes with different fillings.
I didn’t care so much which recipe we tried. I was already thinking about what came next.
“Maybe we should split up jobs again, like we did with the tent,” I said. “To me, there are three big jobs: Getting things ready—or prep work. Mixing and rolling out dough—or actual baking work. And cleanup. I’m thinking, let’s each pick one area we are in charge of, and then the next time we bake, we can rotate—we can take turns at each job.”
Grace Stirs It Up Page 4