Isabel rolled her eyes and gave me a little smile that said Sadie always gets so competitive. I smiled back, but I secretly wanted us to bake the best thing too—or at least, I wanted our cookies to sell better than Monica’s. I was glad to hear Sadie was thinking of us as a team though—a team without Monica on it. “Sadie’s right. We want our cookies to be special,” I said. “If Monica’s have cinnamon, we should make something else.”
“How about peanut butter cookies? I love those,” Sadie said.
“Or oatmeal raisin?” Isabel said.
I shook my head. For all we knew, someone else could be baking those kinds too.
Sadie hooked her legs over the monkey bars and released her hands so she was hanging upside down. “I know!” she said. “Let’s make up our own recipe! That’s how they do it on The Batter-Up Bake-Off Show.”
“Yeah, but those kids are expert bakers,” Isabel said.
“Anna’s an expert,” Sadie said, just as the first bell rang. She pulled herself right-side up and started climbing down. “Do you think you could do it, Anna?”
I hesitated. I definitely knew I could bake delicious snickerdoodles, especially with Dad’s help, and I could probably follow another recipe just as well. But that didn’t mean I could make up something even better. I was about to say so, when I heard a voice behind us.
“Sadie! Guess what?” Monica called from where she was lining up to go inside with the rest of Mr. Garrison’s class. “My parents said I can go to the sleepover!”
“Yay!” Sadie shouted back. She picked up her backpack off the ground.
“You invited Monica to the sleepover? That’s great!” Isabel said.
Sadie nodded and looked at me. “So, what do you think?” she asked.
I took a deep breath and pulled my shoulders straight. “I think we’re going to invent the best cookie recipe ever.”
Chapter Eleven
The Taste of Regret
Isabel jumped up and down and let out a whoop. Sadie high-fived us both and said, “This will be awesome!” I followed my friends into our classroom and felt my smile stretch from ear to ear.
But when I took my seat and looked up at the word of the day, my smile shrank. The word was “exaggerate.” Exaggerate: to make something seem bigger, better, or worse than it truly is. A funny feeling itched at the center of my chest, like it was being tickled by the tip of Banana’s tail. I couldn’t scratch away this feeling though. It came from the inside.
My promise to invent a new cookie recipe had made my friends happy, so I was glad I’d said it—but I was worried I wouldn’t be able to do it. I knew I had exaggerated my baking skills. I wasn’t really an expert baker. I was only a beginner. How was I supposed to come up with a recipe so delicious and unique it would win the whole bake sale?
I knew I should tell Isabel and Sadie never mind, that I had made a mistake and we should stick with the snickerdoodles after all. They would be disappointed, for sure. But they were my friends. They would understand. It wouldn’t make them decide they liked Monica better. At least, I hoped it wouldn’t.
But I didn’t tell them right then, while Ms. Burland handed back spelling tests, because Sadie was whispering to Amanda, who sits in front of her, and whatever she said made Amanda turn and give me a big thumbs-up.
I didn’t tell them during science because we were reading aloud about liquids, solids, and gases. After my turn to read, Isabel tilted her notebook to show me what she’d been drawing—a picture of Banana wearing a little chef’s hat, in front of a shop called Anna’s Bakery. The sign in the window said WORLD’S BEST BANANA BREAD!
Justin leaned over my shoulder and said, “Anna’s Bakery? What’s that?” Before I could stop her, Isabel told him I was a world-class baker and would be inventing an amazing new cookie for the bake sale. “Cool,” Justin said. And then he told Keisha.
I put my head down on my desk. This was getting out of control.
By the time the bell rang for recess, everyone knew about the cookies. Our whole entire class expected my new recipe to be the very best thing at the bake sale. Ms. Burland even said she would be there to try it.
I couldn’t back out now. I had to invent a new cookie, and just hope it wouldn’t be a disaster.
Chapter Twelve
In My Expert Opinion
When I got home from school, I clipped on Banana’s leash and told her all my worries as we walked around the block. Banana looked up at me with big eyes and wagged her tail in sympathy. She didn’t know how to fix my problem, but it still felt good to tell her about it. Banana’s a really good listener.
We circled back to the house and found Chuck in the kitchen, eating the last of the snickerdoodles. “Don’t worry, I saved you one,” he said. “But only because Dad said I had to.”
“Gee, thanks.” I poured myself a glass of milk and set it down next to my cookie. Chuck picked it up, took a swig, and gargled the milk before swallowing. “You’re disgusting,” I informed him.
Chuck flashed a smile that showed all his teeth. “Thank you,” he said.
“Hey, if you were inventing a new kind of cookie, what would you put in it?” I asked.
“Hmmm.” Chuck scrunched up his face while he thought about it. “Oh! I know—grasshoppers,” he said.
“Ew.” I already regretted asking him.
“Yeah, I guess grasshoppers are too crunchy. So maybe worms?” he said.
“Chuck, I’m being serious,” I said.
“Okay, fine. I would use . . . honey,” he said. Banana lifted her ears. I agreed, honey cookies sounded tasty. “And mashed bees,” he added.
I gave him a shove. “Thanks a lot.”
He burped. Banana tucked her tail between her legs. Even she’d had enough of Chuck’s grossness.
Dad walked into the kitchen, loosening the tie he always wears for work. Dad is a writer so he works at home where nobody but us sees him. If he wanted, he could wear a space suit and flip-flops, or a hat made of tin foil, but Dad says the tie helps him focus. He pulled it off now and draped it over the back of a chair, and I knew he was done with his writing for the day.
“Who wants to help grate cheese for the tacos?” Dad asked.
Chuck and Banana both sat straight up. Chuck loves tacos almost as much as Banana loves cheese. “I do!” he said.
Banana barked in agreement, and Dad laughed. He reached down to pet her. “I’m sure you’d be very helpful, Banana, but we’ll let Chuck take cheese duty tonight,” he said. “Anna, will you set the table for dinner, please?”
“Okey-doke.” I slid off the chair and went to open the silverware drawer. Dad put on some music and tied his apron strings. By the time Mom walked in and took off her work shoes, the whole house smelled delicious.
I piled my first taco high with extra tomatoes and cheese, letting a few scraps fall to the floor for Banana as I took a giant bite. We’re not supposed to feed Banana people food at the table, but it was mostly an accident, sort of. Besides, Mom and Dad break that rule sometimes too. It’s very, very hard to say no to Banana’s begging because she’s very, very cute, which makes her very, very good at it.
Mom and Dad weren’t really paying attention to what I was doing though. They were too busy talking about Mom’s busy work day and the client she was helping to “build their brand” and “maximize customer loyalty.”
Under the table, Banana leaned against my leg and nudged me hard with her snout. At first I thought she wanted more cheese, but then she nudged me again and I realized what she was saying. She was right: The person I should be asking about my cookie question wasn’t Chuck, it was Mom. Mom’s the boss at her office and a super-smart business person. She’d for sure know how to help me sell the most cookies.
I thanked Banana for her good idea with another scrap of cheese, and waited until Mom and Dad had finished talking, so I wouldn’t get scolded for interrupting.
“Hey, Mom,” I said as soon as I had the chance. “If a client asked your
advice on how to really stand out, like how to make sure the thing they’re selling is better than what anybody else is selling, what would you tell them?”
Mom raised both eyebrows like she was surprised at the question, but she didn’t ask why I was wondering. “Well,” she said, and I could tell from her face that she was thinking seriously about her answer, “I’d probably tell them, ‘You should play to your strengths.’ My advice would be to figure out what sets you and your product apart and makes it special, then focus on that and run with it.” She took a sip of water. “Does that make sense?”
“I think so,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure yet. But then I got it: What made our cookies special was that Sadie, Isabel, and I would be baking them together, and we’re a really good team. So our brand new, one-of-a-kind recipe should show off how great the three of us were together. Thinking about it that way, I knew exactly what kind of cookie we should invent.
“Does this have anything to do with tomorrow’s bake sale?” Dad asked.
I reached down to scratch Banana behind her ears, and nodded at Dad’s question. “Yup. I think we’re going to need a few more ingredients.”
Chapter Thirteen
An Unwanted Ingredient
On Saturday morning, I woke up to sunshine peeking through the window blinds and Banana snoring softly in her basket beside my bed. I slid out from under the covers quietly, trying not to wake her, but the second my feet touched the floor, Banana opened her eyes and thumped her tail against the cushion in her basket. She was excited for bake sale day too.
After my breakfast of Gorilla Grams with milk and Banana’s breakfast of kibble, we hurried through my chores. By the time I’d finished straightening my room and vacuuming the whole upstairs, Dad had returned from the grocery store and it was almost time for my friends to arrive.
Banana perked up her ears at the sound of Isabel’s family minivan pulling into our driveway. We ran outside. I waved to Abuelita in the driver’s seat and she waved back as Sadie and Isabel climbed out of the car.
Banana jumped at their feet, yipping hello. I was bouncing up and down too, I was so happy to see them. I couldn’t wait for us to try out my cookie invention. We were going to have a great day, even though it would end with Monica being at the sleepover too. But by then Sadie, Isabel, and I would have already rocked the bake sale together, as a team. It would be clear to everyone, including Monica, that we were complete as a threesome.
Banana barked again and Isabel turned back to the minivan. I thought she would shut the door, but instead she said something I couldn’t hear to a third person who was stepping out of the car and onto my driveway. I stared. It was Monica.
She grinned. “Hi, Anna! We finished the setup early, so it turns out I can bake with you guys after all.” A funny look crossed her face and she added, “I hope that’s okay.”
I realized I was still staring at her with my mouth hanging open. I forced my jaw to shut and tried to push my lips up at the corners. It didn’t quite work.
“Of course,” I said. But it wasn’t okay.
It wasn’t okay with me at all.
Chapter Fourteen
Salt in the Wound
Isabel led the way up the steps and into my house, with Sadie and Monica following and Banana right at their heels. I stood outside alone for a second, watching them all disappear inside as if they didn’t even notice I wasn’t with them. Banana poked her nose back out and I heard Sadie call, “Come on, Anna!” and slowly my heart started beating again. I took a deep breath and walked inside.
Monica looked right at home in my house already. She plopped down on the carpet, sitting crisscross-apple-sauce with my two best friends on either side of her. Banana bounded over to them and Monica scratched her under the chin, in the special spot where Banana likes to be petted. Banana wagged her whole backside with delight.
Even Banana thought Monica was great. It felt like such a betrayal.
Dad came into the living room, wiping his hands on a dishcloth. “Hello, hello,” he said to Sadie and Isabel. His gaze landed on Monica. “Oh! And hello to you too,” he added.
“Dad, this is Monica. Monica, this is my dad,” I said. “She’s how we knew about the bake sale in the first place,” I explained.
Dad gave her a big smile and said, “Welcome.” I wished there were some kind of signal I could flash, one to say he shouldn’t be too friendly, that Monica wasn’t supposed to be here and I didn’t want her baking cookies with us. But I wasn’t sure how to do that without being the rudest person ever. Besides, Dad would probably just signal back that I should stop being a spoilsport and start being a good host. I decided to try.
“Are you hungry?” I asked Monica. “Dad’s making us turkey sandwiches with veggie sticks and dip.”
“Yum!” Monica said. She turned to Isabel. “Remember that time at lunch last year when we made a log cabin out of carrots and celery?”
Isabel nodded and Banana wagged and Sadie said, “That sounds awesome.”
I sighed and went into the kitchen alone.
Chapter Fifteen
A Little of This, a Little of That
I stayed pretty quiet during lunch, but if either of my friends noticed I wasn’t talking, they didn’t comment on it. Monica, Isabel, and Sadie had plenty to say to each other, so it wasn’t like the room was silent. Banana noticed, though. She stayed close by my feet and at one point even leaned against my leg to help me feel less lonely. When I finished my sandwich, I let her lick the mayonnaise and crumbs off my fingers, then stroked her soft ears. It helped.
Dad walked into the kitchen and chomped on a celery stick. “Who’s ready to do some baking?” he asked.
“I am!” Isabel said, jumping up to clear our empty dishes. Monica stood up to help, and a small piece of carrot rolled off her plate. Banana lunged to catch it. She crunched it between her teeth and looked up at Monica like she was her new best friend. I turned away.
Dad was already putting on his apron. I realized I hadn’t exactly told him we wanted to bake the cookies without his help. With Monica here, that seemed extra important. “Please please please can we do this on our own?” I asked. “It’s for the library! And our recipe is top secret.”
Dad hesitated, and I tried to make my eyes as big and round as Banana’s get when she begs. “Okay, but you know the rules: no sharp knives and no playing with fire,” he said.
“We promise,” I said.
He folded up his apron and stuck it back in the drawer. “Holler if you need me. I’ll be right over there in the other room.”
“We will,” I said.
I heard Monica whisper to Isabel, “Playing with fire?”
“He means don’t use the oven without him,” I explained.
“Oh,” she said. “We have that rule at my house too.”
I stood up straight and took charge. “Step one in baking is to thoroughly wash your hands,” I announced. “And everyone gets an apron, even Banana.” I tied the purple polka-dotted dishcloth around Banana’s neck, and chose the three nicest aprons for Sadie, Isabel, and me. I dug to the bottom of the drawer to find the plain beige apron no one in my family ever wears because it isn’t fun colors, plus it has a few ugly stains on the front. I handed that one to Monica.
“Thanks,” she said and put it on without complaint. I nodded and took my turn at the sink.
“Step two is to get out all the ingredients we’ll need—so now you get to see what’s in our top secret, brand new recipe!” I said as I dried my clean hands on a towel.
I dragged a stepping stool over to the cabinet and started taking out the ingredients we’d need and handing them to Isabel and Sadie to place on the counter. Banana licked her lips.
“These cookies are called Sanabels,” I said. “As in SA-die, An-NA, Isa-BEL.” I gave Monica a smile that I hoped look apologetic. “Sorry. I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“That’s okay.” Monica said it so nicely I almost felt bad. But it wasn’t
my fault she’d crashed our baking party.
“There are three special ingredients in Sanabels, one for each of us,” I said. “Peanut butter for Sadie, oatmeal for Isabel, and bananas for me—well, and for Banana,” I added. Banana wagged her approval.
“Mmm, peanut-butter-oatmeal-banana cookies sound great!” Sadie said.
Monica nodded. “I bet those flavors will go really well together.”
Exactly. Just like how Sadie, Isabel, and I went well together. Monica totally got it. It almost made me like her.
“Should we add chocolate chips, too?” Isabel asked. “Chocolate would taste good in there, I bet. And then there’d be four special flavors, for the four of us.”
“No! I already invented the cookie.” I jumped down from the stepping stool. “Besides, we don’t have any chocolate chips,” I added, even though that probably wasn’t true. But I didn’t want to add a fourth special ingredient to the cookies—the fourth person wasn’t even supposed to be here.
Banana flattened her ears and Sadie frowned, while Isabel shifted from foot to foot. I opened the refrigerator so I wouldn’t have to look at any of their faces. If they were feeling sorry for Monica, I didn’t want to know it. She’d left me out of her private jokes, her secret handshake, and her cupcake party. Why should I have to include her in my recipe?
“Want help?” Monica asked as I loaded up my arms with ingredients.
“Nope. I’ve got it.” I turned and tried to shut the refrigerator door with my toe.
“Here, let me take the eggs.” Monica put her hand on the carton.
I jerked away. “I said I’ve got it!”
Anna, Banana, and the Recipe for Disaster Page 3