Any Day with You

by Mae Respicio

  “Sir, I, ummm…,” the man says. “I’m, uhhh…Look. Sorry about earlier. I was having the worst day, but that’s no excuse. Thank you for the coffee. I appreciate it.”

  Tatang extends his hand and they shake.

  How does my great-grandpa do that—bring out every kindness in people?

  As we walk off, I ask, “Why were you so nice to that guy when he wasn’t?”

  “My dear Kaia, I always go for the more challenging choice.”

  I sit at the kitchen island with my mom while we wait for Trey and Abby to come by. Mom’s writing something down and slips the paper toward me.

  “What do you think of this menu for Tatang’s going-away party?” She rattles off a few dishes and a schedule of eating and karaoke-ing, our family’s favorite things.

  “He’s going to love it.”

  Getting ready for Beach Season has helped me take my mind off Tatang leaving—but I can’t keep avoiding it.

  “Do you think Tatang felt bad when he left the Philippines for California?” I ask.

  She looks surprised, but thoughtful. “It’s hard to leave what’s familiar, Kaia. He’s going back to his heart.”

  It reminds me of a documentary that Lainey, Dad, and I watched about sea turtles. Certain species of sea turtles spend most of their time in the ocean but will return to their birthplace to lay eggs. Even if they’re thousands of miles away, they use the Earth’s magnetic field as a guide back to the place they’re always connected to. Home.

  “Mom, how much more time before Tatang goes?”

  She gets up to look at the calendar on the wall, and I join her.

  “Getting closer…Around a month and a half now. But I’m excited for his new journey. Let’s keep doing our best to help him prep.” She sighs. Her words don’t match how she really feels.

  My fingers trace the calendar’s squares, following a trail to the Beach Season deadline. We have a little more than a couple weeks.

  * * *

  Prop time.

  We’re getting ready for our next scene: the bakunawa’s first day of pastry school. We’ll film it in the camp cafeteria tomorrow, but today Abby and Trey have come over to rehearse in the kitchen.

  We open and close cupboards. “Should I turn on some music?” I ask. “Let’s pretend we’re on a baking show.”

  If there’s anything my family does well together, it’s watching cooking shows. By the end of each episode I’m wishing I could reach through the screen to taste things.

  Trey picks a playlist on my phone and turns up the volume. We bob our heads to a beat, plucking out boxes of cake mix, tubs of icing, bowls, mixers, and measuring cups.

  In our story, Bakunawa gobbles up the other cooks’ sweet sun cakes until they chase him away by banging on metal pans. This climax scene is what’s going to cinch our spot in the contest.

  Uncle Roy comes in—he raids our pantry whenever his gets empty. Mom hates it but she says that’s what little brothers do. It makes me wonder how Toby and I will act when we’re grown-ups.

  “Kaia and crew!” Uncle Roy opens the fridge, takes out orange juice, and swigs straight from the bottle.

  “Don’t let Mom see that,” I say.

  He picks up a cake box and scans it. “Whatcha up to?”

  “Baking props for the scene we’re shooting tomorrow,” Abby says, dumping cake mix into a bowl. A powdery cloud poufs up. “Is this how we do it?” she asks, coughing and waving it away. Abby and her mom don’t cook much at home.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold. Up.” Uncle Roy raises the box to his face to get a closer look. “Red dye number 40…monocalcium phosphate…propylene glycol? These are chemicals used in antifreeze and fertilizer! This stuff’s gonna kill you!”

  “Yuck, I never knew that.” Abby takes a step back from her mixing bowl.

  Uncle fans himself like he might faint. “Kaia, you call yourself my niece? Shame on you! In this family from now on we bake from scratch!”

  “Rude,” I whisper to Trey, and he snorts.

  “Why didn’t you rug rats ask me to help?”

  I shrug. “You’re always busy.” Uncle Roy’s laptop calendar gets so full that he has to put sticky notes on his screen just so he remembers everything. We like to tease him about that.

  “Puh-leeze. Am I not the only legitimate baker in this family? Okay, outta my way,” he huffs, throwing the cake mix box into the recycling bin.

  Uncle Roy starts doling out orders—soon the counter is covered in natural ingredients like flour, eggs, butter, sugar, and vanilla; we start measuring and pouring, sifting and beating. We taste a quick sample.

  Trey licks his lips. “Mmm!” he says. I agree.

  Our cakes go into the oven and the kitchen starts to smell sugary and wonderful. When Uncle Roy holds open houses, he has a trick: he bakes cookies in whatever house he’s selling because the pleasant smell reminds people of their childhoods and it gives them the warm fuzzies as they tour the place.

  By afternoon’s end we’re baking four perfect round cakes, plus some cupcakes we’ll eat with our crew after we wrap filming.

  As we finish cleaning up, Abby says, “Okay, let’s go over the schedule.”

  “Again?” Trey says, but she reads down her shot list, alternating between making notes and eyeing us to make sure we’re listening.

  The timer dings. I open the oven to peek in.

  “It smells delicious!” Trey’s eyes are wide.

  I turn off the oven, slip on some mitts, and carefully pull out our delectable props. “Smells like victory to me,” I say.

  Tatang comes in, sniffing. “This smells like a celebration!”

  “We’ll definitely celebrate with cake at our red carpet premiere,” says Abby.

  “Does this mean I’ll have to stick around a while longer to watch you all get famous if you win?” Tatang winks at her.

  I lean in to my great-grandpa and ask, into his ear, “Do you think we have a good chance?”

  “Whatever happens, anak, I’m sure your determination will be rewarded.”

  I’ll take that as a yes.

  I know Tatang’s joking about sticking around, but he won’t feel that way much longer. I’ll be giving him the best reason to stay.

  * * *

  I wake and the sun’s already up.

  Today’s a huge shooting day at camp. I jump out of bed, get ready, and skip downstairs. Tatang’s friend Harold beams at me from his seat on the couch.

  “There she is, my favorite filmmaker!”

  I take a flouncy bow. “Tatang told you about our movie?”

  “He can’t stop yapping about it! Everyone at the Gardens is living for his updates, Kaia. And if for some reason Celestino can’t be your date to the big premiere, I know thirty or so seniors who’d be willing to step in. I have a purple velvet tuxedo, by the way.”

  I laugh. “Thanks. You’ll get to see the film when we’re finished.” Harold lifts his palm for a high-five.

  I wonder how Tatang will feel leaving one of his best friends—they’re so close. “Harold, were you surprised when Tatang told you about his move?”

  “Sometimes it may seem like Celestino does things on a whim, but his choices are always intentional.” Harold pats my arm. “You still thinking about that?”

  “Of course, but it doesn’t matter because I thought of a way to change his mind!”

  He chuckles. “Well, one day you’ll travel the world too, young lady, and maybe you’ll see what it’s like to miss a place when one of your homes is thousands of miles away. I don’t think it’ll be so easy for you to sway your great-grandfather, but who knows? Maybe you’ll surprise me,” he says. “You joining us on our walk this morning?”

  “I wish I could.” I lead Harold into the kitchen and show him our cakes and cupcakes, packed neat
ly in pink bakery boxes from Uncle Roy. “Mom’s helping me deliver these to camp so we can finish filming.”

  Harold grins. “Keep me posted.”

  My morning at camp started with helping other kids on their films—same with Abby and Trey—but now it’s time for our own.

  Filming. Day two. Camp cafeteria.

  We’ve recruited our campmates for today’s complicated scene. Everyone works together putting up lights and microphones, lining the kitchen counter with mixing bowls and big wooden spoons, and dusting flour around. Once we’re done it doesn’t look like a high school cafeteria anymore, but a real live baking school.

  Our actors stand on set in costume and makeup, taking pictures of themselves while waiting for Abby to tell them what to do.

  Today we have:

  Dave Conway in the role of Siyokoy the Merman. I’ve given Dave the coolest look of bright aquamarine scales and little gills I molded and stuck to his neck with makeup glue.

  There’s Jalissa Jones, a beautiful Sirena, with glittery bluish green and pink scales swept across her cheekbones, wave-shaped. She’s wearing a green leotard from last year’s school musical about healthy eating (Peas on Earth), when she played an asparagus (I was Avocado Number Four).

  Lastly, Jackson Cho is an evil vampire disguised as a baby called Tiyanak. I’ve painted dark shadows around his eyes and splattered fake blood around his mouth. He’d freak me out if we ever ran into each other in an empty alleyway.

  Each character is so much better than any Halloween costume. I snap photos of my creations and text them to Lainey, even though I have no idea when she’ll see them.

  Abby reviews the scene with our actors while Eliza checks in.

  “Looks like you’ve got it covered, Art Attackers. Good luck.” She waves as she leaves.

  I read through our scene one last time.

  INT. SUMMER BAKING INSTITUTE OF MAGICAL SWEETS KITCHEN—DAY

  Sunlight through a window.

  A counter piled high with pots and pans.

  Powdery flour…everywhere.

  Four eager students—Bakunawa, the SIYOKOY, the SIRENA, and the TIYANAK—are in the kitchen, baking cakes for a class project.

  They’re mixing. They’re tasting. They’re having a blast.

  Bakunawa does his best, a big smile plastered on his face, but it quickly turns into confusion. Compared to the other talented bakers he’s way out of his league.

  The creatures pour their batters into pans.

  One by one each pan of smooth cake batter goes into the oven.

  Hands on a clock move in fast forward.

  INSERT SIGN: One Hour Later

  DING! The timer goes off.

  The cakes are baked and finished now—and magically iced! They look delicious. Amazing. Mind-blowing!

  Well…except for Bakunawa’s. As soon as he sets his on the stainless steel countertop it SPLATS and FARTS. It sinks.

  The other creatures glance over to Bakunawa’s ugly cake and give each other amused, braggy smirks.

  The CAMERA TIGHTENS on Bakunawa’s face. His eyes get wide—and rascally. He licks his lips.

  When the other creatures aren’t looking…

  …we see a pair of silver scaly hands reach up to the counter and slide the first cake away.

  Bakunawa runs into a hidden corner and greedily gobbles it up, though the others don’t see him.

  Siyokoy, Sirena, and Tiyanak turn back to look at their perfect cakes—and notice that one is missing.

  What happened?!

  They hunt around, and when their backs are turned, the same pair of silver hands steals the next cake.

  CUT TO Bakunawa shoving more glorious goodness into his mouth. He finishes. He lets out a huge BURP.

  BAKUNAWA

  (sheepishly)

  Excuse me.

  Once again, silver hands reach up, only this time…

  …all eyes go to Bakunawa.

  He peers up at three angry, glaring faces.

  Caught!

  Siyokoy, Sirena, and Tiyanak shoot dagger looks at Bakunawa, who’s about to eat the third cake.

  SIYOKOY

  (confused)

  What the?????

  Siyokoy reaches for Bakunawa. Panic ensues and Bakunawa gets up, clutching the cake.

  INT. SUMMER BAKING INSTITUTE OF MAGICAL SWEETS DINING HALL—DAY

  SIYOKOY

  Bakuuuunaaawaaaaaa!

  Bakunawa hangs on to the cake and runs through the kitchen and into the dining hall.

  Siyokoy, Sirena, and Tiyanak grab metal pots and pans and giant metal and wood spoons from the counter, and BANG on them as loudly as they can, following close behind Bakunawa.

  All day we shoot the baking and eating scene beat by beat, and so far, so good. We have one part left to film: when the creatures grab pans to chase Bakunawa away with their loud noises.

  Abby says, “Nice work, crew. Take five, everyone—you deserve it!”

  She’s right: our group’s awesome and they’ve given this their all. They’re tired, but we’ve almost got this.

  “Are we done yet? I’m starving,” Dave asks, and the other actors nod, except for Trey, who’s already been chowing down on cake for these scenes.

  “We’ll get our reward soon,” I say. I can’t picture a better celebration than raising our cupcakes in a cheer once we wrap. We’ll be one step closer to the red carpet.

  “They’re going to be the best things you’ve ever tasted,” Trey says to Dave.

  Abby turns to me. “Is everyone back now?”

  “Looks like it.”

  Dave, Jalissa, and Jackson wait at their marks while Trey crouches in the corner, holding the plate of cake before we film him getting chased away.

  Abby says, “Quiet on the set, please!” Silence. She shouts, “Sound!”

  I hold out a long boom stand with a microphone at the end and call out, “Speed!”

  “And camera!” one crew member shouts.

  “Camera rolling!” shouts another.

  “Mark it!” I say.

  “Scene four, take one, marker!” a crew member says, clapping the black-and-white slate board, then stepping out of the shot.

  “Aaaaand…action!”

  Trey grips the plate. Looming over him are the faces of three very angry monsters. He springs up and sprints through the cafeteria.

  Dave, Jalissa, and Jackson grab pots, pans, and spoons and bang fiercely while chasing him—until Trey trips.

  What happens next feels like I’m watching it in slow-mo.

  Trey falls face-first into the cake. Dave, Jalissa, and Jackson skid to a stop behind him, tripping and piling up like a train wreck.

  Icing flies. Bodies tangle. Pots clink and scatter.

  “Oh. My. Gosh,” Abby says, and the room goes dead quiet.

  Until Dave Conway starts laughing. He swipes his finger into icing smashed on the ground and licks it. “Woo-hoo! I’ve been waiting all day!”

  “You think this is funny?” Trey says, wiping frosting from his eyes. “I can’t believe I did that. I’m so sorry, Abbs…I ruined the shot!” His face crumples. “And the makeup.”

  Abby looks over to me in horror. “What just happened?”

  Dave looks at me, mouth full of cake. “Mmm…hey, Kaia, did your uncle bake this?”

  Trey takes a chunk of cake and flings it into Dave’s face. Dave does the same thing back but instead it lands on Jackson, who reaches for a fistful and chucks—it lands on poor Jalissa.

  “Food fight!” someone shouts.

  Soon the cafeteria is all shrieks and arms and cake flinging. Abby and I charge in, trying to stop everyone.

  “What are you doing?” Abby shouts, running aroun
d frantically. A gob of cake smacks onto her forehead.

  If Eliza comes in she’ll kill us—but as soon as Abby and I make eye contact, I can’t help myself: I reach for squishy icing and hurl it at her. She shrieks just as the cafeteria doors swing open.

  Eliza stands there, eyes wide, fists on her hips. Slowly she looks around the room.

  We all freeze.

  “I can explain—” Abby says, but Eliza holds up a hand. “You have twenty minutes to clean up. If I see even a crumb of cake anywhere, I’m shutting down production. Understood?”

  We nod hard.

  She gives us the teeniest secret smile and says, “Carry on,” before turning and closing the door behind her.

  When we can no longer hear Eliza’s footsteps, we all bust up.

  Of course our shot was ruined. Of course we have no more props to use. But we can’t stop laughing as we clean it all up.

  A few campers help me redo our characters’ makeup and we convince the crew to stay late for retakes. It’s more hard work, but by the end we’re killing it. The fun of making something has kept us going, and I hear one crew member say to another, “Their movie’s going to be so good.”

  I can’t wipe the smile off my face, especially when I bring out the last pink box, open it, and say, “Who’s ready for cupcakes?”

  Filming. Day three. Venice Beach…again.

  Trey sits at my bedroom mirror in makeup and new scales, practicing different expressions. There’s a picture on the wall above him of Lainey at the beach with her surfboard, smiling our way like she approves. She’ll be so surprised at how much better I’ve gotten at my art. She was right. Practice and trying new things have made a big difference.

  “I look…awesome!” he says.

  Please please please let today work out, I think.

  “Let’s go.” We grab our stuff and meet Uncle Roy and Abby downstairs.

  Uncle studies Trey’s face up close. “My niece, the artiste,” he says in a little rhyme, and I grin.

  We hop into Uncle’s car and soon pull into a spot by the Venice Pier. I wonder how it looks to strangers as we get out—three regular people and a sea monster.