Daring Dreamers Club #2

by Erin Soderberg

  “Hon!” Milla’s mom, Erica, poked her head out the back door and called, “We need to leave in five minutes or you’re going to be late for your first day of fifth grade.” Chocolate Chip leaped up and raced toward the house. He usually got a treat when he came inside from the backyard.

  “Coming,” Milla said. She brushed at her shirt, trying to wipe away some of the pig slobber and mud. Too late—it was caked on, but Milla didn’t mind. She made her way toward the house, whispering, “Nothing could stop this fearless explorer…except for the fact that she was still just a kid and she never went anywhere other than school and her own backyard. But someday!” Milla swung her lunch up and off the kitchen counter, swiped her backpack off its hook, and headed for the front door. “Someday—soon—Milla the brave, bold, capable explorer would set off on her own and conquer the world.”

  “You’ll have to conquer the world next week,” Milla’s other mom, Eleanor—whom Milla called mum—said in her lilting British accent. “This week’s adventure is fifth grade, and school waits for no one.” She pointed to a pile of folded clothes on the arm of the couch. “Get dressed, love.”

  Milla glanced down at the dirty shirt and jeans she was wearing. “I’m already dressed.” She tugged at her dark ponytail, tucked a loose curl behind one ear, and smiled.

  Milla’s parents stood side by side. Her mom folded her light, freckled arms across her chest, while her mum merely raised her eyebrows. Somehow, they were both always able to say a whole lot without saying a word.

  “But I like this shirt,” Milla told them.

  “It’s covered in snout snot,” her mom said. “And mud.”

  “It’s only a little mud. Me and Chip’s adventures are messy.” Milla grinned as she pulled off her soiled shirt. She knew it was pointless to argue with either of her parents. Sassing back never seemed to work out the way she wanted it to. She wriggled into a clean pair of jeans and the bright blue cactus T-shirt her mum had set out for her. Then she waved her arms in the air. “Ta-da! Better?”

  “Much,” her mum agreed, leaning in for a hug. Her dark curly hair tickled Milla’s cheek. “Have a great first day. I might see you after my shift tonight, if you’re still awake. Yeah?”

  Milla squeezed her back, breathing in the familiar smell of her mum’s lemony-fresh hand lotion. Because her mum was a nurse and often worked long shifts with weird hours, Milla didn’t always get to see her first thing in the morning or last thing at night. Her mom worked slightly more regular hours as a vet and usually handled most of the school pickup and drop-off duties on her way to and from the clinic.

  “Chop-chop,” her mom said, jingling her keys and heading for the door.

  Milla slung her bag over her shoulder, then bent down to give Chocolate Chip a hug. He smelled much less lemony-fresh but was still lovable in his own way. The pig pressed his snout against Milla’s stomach, rubbing a wet splotch right across the front of her clean shirt. She pulled away, laughing as she raced out the front door. As she fled, she called back to her mum over her shoulder, “Too late to change again. Like you said, school adventures wait for no one!”

  The moment her mom dropped her off in front of Walter Roy Elementary, Milla’s friend Piper Andelman shouted and waved to her from across the playground. “Milla! You have to try one of these.” She ran over and held out a tiny coconut-crusted muffin. When Piper smiled, her eyes sparkled behind crooked glasses. Two messy reddish braids dangled out the bottom of a fleecy winter hat. All year round, even when they were living through the hottest months of summer, Piper liked having something on her head.

  “You know I can’t,” Milla said apologetically. Because of her food allergies, Milla never ate any food that she couldn’t be sure was safe. She’d once eaten a cookie at a preschool potluck and it had sent her to the hospital. She’d been so sick that she couldn’t even remember her ride in the ambulance. Her parents were constantly paranoid about her having another reaction, but Milla had been careful about what she ate for so long now that it was second nature. “Allergies, remember?”

  “Totally, one-thousand-percent nut-free. No dairy, either,” Piper promised, crossing a finger over her chest. “I wiped down the whole kitchen before I made them and triple-washed everything. I didn’t want you to have to miss out.” She wiggled the muffin in midair. “I’m calling them Fifth-Grade Flurries. Coconut, carrot, a touch of cinnamon, and one little secret ingredient—a new recipe. What do you think?”

  Milla took a bite, feeling grateful that her friend was always willing to work around her allergies. Coconut, carrot, and cinnamon sounded slightly odd, but somehow almost everything Piper baked or cooked tasted amazing.

  Piper was part scientist, part chef, and her inventions were usually delicious. She loved playing around in the kitchen, often combining weird ingredients to create unusual new treats. Of course, there had been more than a few failures over the years: once, she’d whipped up a strange fruit punch that fizzed and bubbled like a witch’s brew and turned a very yucky brown color; another time, she’d made candy that was so sticky it had yanked a filling out of one of her back teeth.

  Milla popped the rest of the muffin in her mouth, trying not to gobble it up as quickly as Chocolate Chip would eat one of his treats. “That’s super yummy,” she told her friend. “What’s the secret ingredient?”

  “Soda water! I need to adjust the amount to get a little more puff next time,” Piper said. “They’re too flat, but still acceptable.”

  Suddenly, Milla felt a tug on the side of her jeans. She looked down and found Piper’s little sister, Finley, gazing up at her. Finley was starting kindergarten, and Piper had been put in charge of delivering her sister from the playground to her classroom for the first few weeks of school.

  “Baaaa,” the little girl bleated.

  “Hi, Finley,” Milla said. “Are you excited for kindergarten?”

  “Baaaa,” Finley said again.

  Piper rolled her eyes. “Ignore her. She’s a naughty little sheep. I thought I lost my first-day-of-school shirt this morning—but then I figured out that Finley had stolen it. She was trying to chew holes in my shirt! This little critter claims sheep love to eat clothing.”

  “She’s a pretty cute critter, at least,” Milla said, laughing as she followed Piper and her sister off the playground and through the school’s front doors. “But, Finley, isn’t it goats that eat weird stuff?”

  “Whatever,” Piper said. “Finley’s not a sheep or a goat, so she shouldn’t be eating anything unusual. Unless I cooked it.” She gently guided her sister toward the kindergarten hallway. “Fin, where’s your name badge?”

  Finley blinked, but said nothing more than “Baaaa” again. All kindergarteners were supposed to wear a special name badge that identified them as school newbies the entire first week. “Baaaa!” Finley shouted one last time, then galloped into her classroom.

  What’s next on

  your reading list?

  Discover your next

  great read!

  Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author.

  Sign up now.