It turns out being a group of three is good enough for Frankie too. When she and Lillian walked into the exhibit room, dragging all of our stuff, you would have thought they were BFFs. One of them would start telling a story about Nicky and his paper airplane or describing the taste of fire extinguisher foam, and the other would finish the sentence. If I didn’t know them, I’d think they’ve been friends for two years, instead of two hours. Part of me wishes I’d gone over to help this afternoon after all, so I would know what actually happened that finally brought Frankie and Lillian together. So far all they do when I ask for more details is look at each other and crack up. I guess you had to be there.
Whatever went down at Casa Caputo, Lillian and Frankie—along with Theresa, Nicky, and The Goons—totally killed it with the waffle cones and endless supply of ice cream. Everyone seems impressed with the other parts of our project, too—especially all of the historic details Frankie made sure we included in the dioramas and Lillian’s miniature food—but I’m pretty sure our exhibit is so popular because we’re the only ones giving out sweets. Mr. McEnroe has been back to “assess” our project three times already, but I’ve noticed he’s less interested in reading the long historical essays on our posters than sampling the different flavors of ice cream.
After the ice cream runs out, the three of us realize that we’re starving. We’ve been so busy scooping and showing off our displays that we haven’t even checked out the potluck (except for Lillian, who got around to tasting only what her own mother brought). Out in the hallway we discover that pretty much everything has already been eaten, except for a couple of slices of pizza that Carla DiRosa’s parents brought from their restaurant. We’re about to divide the two slices up three ways—despite the fact that they’re ice cold and the cheese is getting hard—when somebody near the end of the hallway screams. Everyone goes silent, except for the screamer, who, it turns out, is excited rather than in danger.
It’s been a day full of surprises, but when Frankie, Lillian, and I turn around, we find ourselves face-to-face with the biggest surprise of all. Chef Antonio—decked out in his kitchen whites with the ANTONIO’S KITCHEN logo on the side—is walking toward us with a huge grin on his face and a casserole dish in his hands. And he’s not alone. Henry, Errol, the Newlyweds, Javier, and even Angelica all make their way over to the table where our mothers are packing up their serving dishes. Ms. Johnson, the security guard, is leading the way, looking totally starstruck. She must be a fan, which explains how they all got in.
“Buenos noches! Did we miss the party?” Chef Antonio asks the entire crowd. The kids and parents who watch his show laugh and clap excitedly while everyone else just looks confused. Chef puts his casserole dish down on a table. “I guess nobody’s hungry anymore, eh?”
“I am!” Lillian, Frankie, and I blurt out together.
Javier leans, in a somehow cool way, around his dad. “Jinx!”
We all laugh, and I think Lillian might even be blushing.
“I have something here for you, chicas,” Chef says. “But I’d like this young lady to taste it first.” He pulls a fork out of his jacket pocket and hands it to my mom. She looks as stunned as I feel.
Chef Antonio gestures to the casserole dish, and my mom starts peeling away the foil. As soon as she’s unwrapped enough to see what’s inside, she steps back from the table and pretty much howls. Big, happy laughs like I have not heard from her in forever. Frankie, Lillian, and I look at one another, wondering what Chef could possibly have made that’s so funny. Finally, my mom pulls herself together enough to peel away the rest of the foil. It’s Nana’s noodle kugel. I should have guessed.
Mom wipes the tears out of her eyes and scoops up a forkful of kugel. Chef Antonio watches expectantly as she chews.
“So?” he asks after she swallows.
My mom drags out the moment, slowly licking her lips. “Not bad,” she finally says. “Not bad. I think Nana Silver would approve.”
Everyone laughs. At least Frankie, Lillian, and I do, along with our moms and everyone from our Saturday cooking club. I look around at all of the now-familiar faces and realize that that’s exactly what we are: a big, colorful, mismatched, messy family. And right now that’s just what I need.
“Bueno!” Chef says, taking a little bow. “Muy bueno.”
I have to agree.
Acknowledgments
Thanks from both of us to our editor, Fiona, for bringing our tale of three girls, three moms, lots of brothers, several dads, and a couple of grandmothers into the light of day. . . . And to Peter, our tireless agent, for persevering to publication with patience and wisdom.—DAL and JER
My deepest gratitude goes to my coauthor, friend, and neighbor, JillEllyn Riley, for inviting me to join her in dreaming up the adventures of Liza, Frankie, and Lillian at her dining room table, and for never failing to offer me a cup of tea and a plate of cookies. Someday, we will have that cocktail. Much love and thanks to my husband, Ian, for his patience, support, and willingness to take on the role of kid chauffeur while I wrote, and to Lili and Julian for (most of the time) putting up with “Don’t go in there, Mommy’s working,” even on the weekends. Thanks are also due to my own Brooklyn BFFs, for their confidence, counsel, and enthusiasm for early-morning coffee dates.—DAL
Thank you to my coconspirator, Deb Levine, for weathering all manner of crises and craziness—including an earthquake—to keep the cooking club going with grace and a keen sense of humor. To the gifted, creative cooks who contributed delectable ideas for our fictional chef—he is very grateful. To my own dashing fellas, all three—Eóin, Cullen, and Alan—big heart, big love. And as always, to Miles.—JER
DEBORAH A. LEVINE’s writing for children, adults, and everyone in between has appeared in books, magazines, and online. She lives, works, eats, and occasionally cooks in Brooklyn, New York, with her husband, two kids, and two cats.
JILLELLYN RILEY is a writer, editor, and fledgling drummer. She lives in Brooklyn with her family within a few steps of great pasta, pizza, and pastries in all directions.
ALADDIN M!X Simon & Schuster, New York
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the authors’ imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
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First Aladdin hardcover edition February 2015
Text copyright © 2015 by Deborah A. Levine and JillEllyn Riley
Jacket illustrations copyright © 2015 by Leo Espinosa
Also available in an Aladdin paperback edition.
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
ALADDIN is a trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc., and related logo is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
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The text of this book was set in Arno Pro.
Jacket designed by Je
ssica Handelman
Interior designed by Mike Rosamilia
Library of Congress Control Number 2014935944
ISBN 978-1-4424-9939-3 (hc)
ISBN 978-1-4424-9940-9 (pbk)
ISBN 978-1-4424-9941-6 (eBook)
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