by Kami Kinard
We stopped in front of the snow cone booth. “I never did get that snow cone,” he said.
“How can you even think about a snow cone?” I asked, shivering. I wasn’t alone in feeling this way. The cold wind seemed to have blown the long line of customers away.
Andres grinned and ordered a blue raspberry cone.
“Coming right up, sir!” said the kid running the booth.
“Sir?” said Andres.
I giggled and pointed to his upper lip. “Oh! I forgot I was wearing it!” His tan face actually turned red. Then he put his arm around my shoulders, but unfortunately, that only lasted for about a second, because the next thing we heard was:
“You, sir! Step away from my daughter!”
Uh-oh. Mom definitely had the wrong idea. And I had never, ever, ever, heard her sound more dangerous.
Speaking of dangerous, she’s stomping up the stairs right now.
Well, that went a lot better than I thought it would!
Mom even apologized, kinda. She said, “I’m sorry if you think I overreacted, but when I saw you with a man who had a mustache and a tattoo … For a second, I thought he was much older. It scared me, Tabbi.”
So, an actual I’m sorry is way better than I’m sorry if you think, but hey, I’ll take it.
All in all, everything’s okay. Except for one thing. Mom was in full-on crazy mode when she yanked me away from Andres. I think it kind of freaked him out, because he ripped off the mustache, said “Sorry!” and disappeared into the crowd.
I’ve tried texting him to explain that Mom was cool as soon as she realized her mistake, but he’s not answering. I guess I’ll have to wait until Monday to talk to him!!! That’s assuming he’ll even speak to me on Monday. What if he thinks I’m genetically predisposed to be a raving, crazy woman like my mom? He might dump me now so he won’t have to deal with me later. This is torture!!!!
*Note to future self: No freak-out festivals (the bad kind) in front of daughter’s friends.
Longest. Day. Of. My. Life.
YAY! Andres was waiting for me when I got to school. And he still likes me! He was mostly concerned that I’d gotten in trouble. He lost his cell phone at the fall festival, and he’s been afraid I didn’t like him anymore! Like that’s possible.
He sat with Kara, Pri, Chip, and me at lunch. No more rolling along as a third wheel for me! And maybe not for Pri, either. You know that Ferris wheel ride she took in order to try to find Andres for me? Well, she ended up sitting next to Jonah Nate. Maybe that shoe-box lid was a good predictor after all.
I wish Andres hadn’t looked so nervous when I told him Mom wanted him to come over for dinner Friday night, not that I blame him after his last meeting with her.
Mom took the Cupcakes 4 Catastrophes cash to the bank and got a cashier’s check for it. Then she made a photocopy of that to turn in at her office. They matched what we earned. All of it! So now we have TWO checks for seven hundred nineteen each made out to Five Corners Elementary School!
Pri and Kara are coming over tonight because Uncle Mike wanted to meet the “cupcake girls” who helped raise the money. We’re going to virtually present Uncle Mike and his family with the checks via Skype. (Then pop them in tomorrow’s mail.)
We gathered around the laptop in the family room right at seven. Uncle Mike was already waiting for us.
“Mike!” said Mom. I waited for her to say something else. When she didn’t, I turned and looked at her. Her hands were over her mouth, and there were tears in her red eyes. I guess it is one thing to know your family is okay, but another thing entirely to see that they’re okay. I was going to have to take charge.
“Hi, Uncle Mike!” I said. “I want you to meet my friends.”
“The cupcake girls!” his deep voice boomed.
Kara and Pri were all smiles. “This is Kara,” I said, pointing to her. “And this is Pri.”
“We have something for you, sir,” said Pri. “This!” She held up the cashier’s check for seven hundred nineteen dollars.
“And this!” said Kara, holding the matching funds check.
When they moved their hands down from the screen, it looked like Uncle Mike was the one about to cry. “Thanks so much,” he said. “Maddie’s school really needs it.”
Then he pulled my cousin Maddie in front of him, I think partly to hide his face. But she’s so cute, we had a great time talking to her about noisy hurricanes; the shelter, where she made friends; and going to school in a building that isn’t your old school. Aunt Sally eventually sent her off to bed and she, Mom, and Uncle Mike had a long conversation.
They were still talking when Pri’s mom pulled into the driveway to pick up Kara and Pri.
I hugged them good-bye. “Thanks,” I said. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“You’re welcome, Tabs,” said Pri. Then her quick hands flew to her mouth. “I mean Tabbi,” she said. “Sorry.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Tabs is kind of a best-friend name.”
“I know. I know,” said Pri.
“Which is why you can call me Tabs any time!” I said.
Sheesh. Then Pri had tears in her eyes!
After a high fifteen, my two best friends went home.
You know how I said last Friday was the best night of my life? Well forget about that. Tonight was better. It wasn’t as exciting, that’s for sure. It was good. Just good. And sometimes:
Andres came over for dinner, and it went pretty well. Mom only asked him one or two questions that he could have, quite fairly, answered, None of your beeswax.
I mean, why does she need to know how many girlfriends he’s had in the past?
Anyway, he was a good sport about it. He totally charmed her by complimenting her on the chicken-and-rice casserole (gluten free). Then we had a surprise visitor: Mr. Gheary!
He said he was walking around the neighborhood and thought he’d stop in to get the recipe for the chocolate ganache cupcakes to give his sister. But his big blue eyes were looking at my mom in a way that said he was stopping by because he wanted to see her again.
“Um … Tabbi, why don’t you and Andres go sit on the porch swing for a few minutes?” suggested Mom.
I was so shocked that Andres had to lead me away. It wasn’t until much later that I realized I probably owed Mr. G a big old favor. There’s NO WAY Mom would’ve left me alone with Andres if Mr. G hadn’t dropped by.
When we got on the porch, I had my own personal freak-out festival. The bad kind. My teacher and my mom? Yuck! I kinda stumbled around, grabbing my heart and gasping until Andres took my hand and pulled me to the swing.
“Tabbi, you know you’re crazy, right?” he said.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you act so goofy about Mr. Gheary.”
“It wasn’t THAT goofy,” I said. “I’ve acted goofier before.”
“I know,” he said.
Wait. What did that mean? “What do you know?” I asked.
“I know you’ve acted crazier. I saw the —”
“Nooooo,” I gasped. “You saw the Triple Slice Pizza video? And you still like me?”
“Of course,” said Andres. He pulled out his phone and touched the screen. A picture of Pizza Face appeared. Andres held the image of the pizza next to his cheek. “I think we look alike, don’t you?”
After we stopped laughing (that took a while, BTW), I told him about the cootie catcher, the fortune cookies, and even the shoe-box-lid-and-top game. We laughed some more.
I glanced through the window into our house. Mom and Mr. G were in the kitchen. She was pulling out the mixer! Were they seriously going to bake cupcakes? I guessed they’d be in there a while.
“I can’t believe you thought you could predict the future,” Andres said. (Now that I think about it, it is kinda funny. But I’m not going to tell him that.)
“Oh, I KNOW I can,” I said.
“Prove it!” He put his arm around me and pulled me a little closer to h
im. I looked up at the twinkling stars. I knew I could make a wish. But I didn’t think I needed to now.
“I predict” — I stopped for a dramatic pause — “that I’m about to be kissed.”
Andres looked at me and smiled. “I’d say the probability of that happening is about one hundred percent.”
Shocker! Mom actually said Kara and Pri could spend the night. And she said we could stay up extra-late, which to Mom, means eleven thirty, but I’ll take it. For once we stayed out of the kitchen entirely, and we’re doing absolutely nothing but sitting around in our pajamas. (Pri’s are purple with tiny cupcakes on them.)
I’d already told them about the porch kiss. “See!” I said. “Proof that you should believe in predictions! The Party Bingo data I collected said I’d meet someone at school, my age, in the cafeteria. And it turns out Andres is in all three categories!”
“Hmmmmm,” said Pri.
“And I haven’t told you this yet, but I think Madame Fortuna’s prediction was accurate, too. She saw a dark man in my future. Because of the fake tattoo and mustache, Madame Fortuna probably mistook Andres for a man, like Mom did.”
“Hmmmmmm,” said Kara.
“And that fortune cookie said a man would walk through the golden doorway of my life! Andres walked through the harvest-gold balloon arch with me. An arch is a doorway!”
“Tabs,” said Kara. She forced a big old dramatic pause on me. “Those things didn’t happen because they were predicted. They happened because you were proactive.”
Not again! “What are you talking about?”
“You could have easily met Andres at the bus stop,” said Pri. “But you chose to meet him in the cafeteria.”
True, but …
“And you researched what Andres ate and made him a special cupcake — that’s taking matters into your own hands,” said Kara.
True, but …
“And you sought Andres out for the hayride, which was through the balloon arches,” said Pri.
True, but …
“All of that proves you were proactive!” said Kara.
Oh. Well. Maybe she’s right. (I HATE it when Kara’s right!)
I put my arms around my friends’ shoulders. Who cares if they don’t believe in predictions? I’m absolutely positive that my next one is going to come true.
* * *
My prediction: Kara, Pri, and I are going to be friends for a long, long time.
The older I get, the more I appreciate my family, so I would like to thank my children, parents, siblings, cousins, in-laws, aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews, all of whom make my life easier by simply being part of the giant support network that keeps me going. This book owes a particular debt to my husband Shannon, who helped me create the graphic images, and who allowed me to bounce countless crazy ideas off of him. Again. I don’t think I’d be the writer I am without Sudipta Bardhan-Quallen, whose friendship ensures that I don’t have to navigate through the publication journey alone, despite the fact that I live at the edge of the universe. Thank you, thank you, to my agent, Rosemary Stimola, for connecting with Kara’s story and helping her make it into a second book! I’m very grateful to the team at Scholastic, especially Whitney Lyle, whose flair for design has brought me another fantastic cover. Finally, I’m convinced that I have the most helpful, positive, visionary editor on the planet. Aimee Friedman, I couldn’t appreciate you more.
Kami Kinard enjoys writing about the boyfriend quest more than she enjoyed experiencing it. Her poetry, articles, and stories have appeared in some of the world’s best children’s magazines. Many of the characters you met in this book appeared in The Boy Project: Notes and Observations of Kara McAllister, Kami’s first book. She writes from Beaufort, South Carolina, where she lives with her husband and two children. Please visit her online at www.kamikinard.com.
Also by Kami Kinard
The Boy Project (Notes and Observations of Kara McAllister)
Copyright © 2014 by Kami Kinard
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Available
First printing, January 2014
COVER DESIGN BY WHITNEY LYLE
Illustrations © Kami Kinard
e-ISBN 978-0-545-58043-4
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.