Chapter Fourteen
Tea is the new tea.
—UNKNOWN
Halt, Teashop Girl! Who is spying now, Annie Green?” The last voice I wanted to hear in the whole wide world shouted at me from the cereal aisle just as Louisa, Genna, and I pushed the cart toward the checkout.
Zach. How was this possible?
“Zach, do not come near this cart.” I put myself between him and it, but it was too late. He left his friends behind and came bounding toward us.
“Mmm, white chocolate chips. I approve. When will the next scone be done? I’ll take five.” He saw everything we picked out, even though I was leaning over the cart and trying to stack the less interesting foods on top.
“Zach,” Genna said. “Go away. Stop spying on superior life forms. We’re trying to do something special here, and you’re driving Annie crazy.”
“He is not,” I said. I stood up straight again, folded my arms over my chest, and glared at him. Okay, maybe a little crazy. But I wasn’t going to admit it.
“Hello, young man,” Louisa said. We all turned to her, unconsciously waiting for a verdict. Surely Louisa would understand why I wouldn’t want a spy around the shop. Period. Especially a rude one who kissed me and then tried to pretend it didn’t happen. “How is your family?”
All three of us gaped at her. Zach recovered right away, though, and said, “They’re good.”
“Tell your parents to come in and see us at the shop,” Louisa said. “I’d like to share some new teas with them.”
“Okay,” Zach said. He didn’t seem to know what to say after that, so he ambled back to his friends.
“Louisa,” I hissed. “I think he’s the one who messaged SweetCakes about our secret ingredient. We need to ban him! And his family,” I added. “Immediately! And I need to buy all new scone ingredients. Let’s put the currants and white chocolate back on the shelf.”
“Nonsense, dear. Don’t worry. It’s time to check out.” Louisa gave me a squeeze and I made a face at Genna. She shrugged helplessly.
I loved my grandmother. But sometimes she didn’t get it at all. I bet boys were a lot easier to deal with when she was young.
Genna and I helped Louisa put her groceries away, and then I went home and straight to bed. I wanted my next blog post to be extra special. I planned to hand out fliers promoting SteepingLeafScone.com at the farmer’s market on Saturday, which meant that I’d need to be up early tomorrow for baking and taste testing.
When I woke up, I didn’t go to the shop. Instead I planned to use our kitchen at home for my next scone. That way, no customers would be tempted to spy on me and I’d have more space. With the deadline fast approaching, I planned to make two different recipes. We were running out of time to find the scone.
To Do: Friday, July 31
• Bake scones.
• Do an awesome and hopefully funny blog post about said scones.
• get fliers ready for the farmer’s market.
• Help Zoe contact school-board members about cafeteria food. Like, yesterday (oops).
• Forget Zach was born.
• Figure out what to do about hair before high school starts and/or convince parents and Louisa to invest in central air.
I was surprised to find my mom typing on her laptop at the kitchen table. It was Friday, and my parents were supposed to be at work. Usually the boys were either off skateboarding with their friends during the week or being supervised by their babysitter, a saintly neighbor.
“Hi, Mom, why are you here?” I asked.
“Good morning, sweetie. Luke is sick, so I’m working from home today.”
“Oh.” I was gone so much yesterday, I hardly even knew what was up with my own brothers. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Probably just a cold, but he’s feeling pretty bad. He’s still sleeping.”
“Is it okay if I make a scone recipe here today? I’m not going into the Leaf.”
“Sure, hon. Just try to do it as quietly as possible. How come you don’t want to bake with Louisa?”
“Oh, it’s not that. It’s just I’m worried someone at the Leaf is spying on my scones and giving secrets to the competition. I can be more secretive here at home,” I explained. “Dad can eat them later.”
“I see. Well, okay, then. Do we have the right ingredients?”
“I think so. I’m making a dummy scone today to throw people off the scent of my real, soon-to-hopefully-be-award-winning scone. So it doesn’t really matter what I put in it, as long as it tastes good and the blog post looks nice.”
“Sounds good.”
My mom returned to her computer, and I pulled flour, sugar, and milk out and placed them on the counter. I decided to do something really unusual and pulled some precooked salad shrimp out of the freezer. I also grabbed some green onion from the crisper. My next scone would be a Rangoon Scone. I hoped it would work. I thawed the little shrimps in the sink and chopped up the green onion into tiny pieces. Next, I put all the ingredients together, added some salt, parsley, and garlic, and cut the dough into circles.
When the scones started to turn golden brown in the oven, I took some cream cheese out of the fridge. These scones would be served with a nice schmear of the stuff. Just like the customers at the shop, my mom lifted her nose up as the aroma filled the kitchen.
“That smells unusual, Annie. What is it?”
“A shrimp scone,” I said proudly.
“Well, goodness, I doubt that’s ever been done before. I’ll try one.”
I plated a scone for my mom, and pulled it apart a little bit to spoon on some cream cheese. She smiled and took a bite.
“It’s … interesting, dear.”
Uh-oh. Chefs don’t want to hear “interesting” when they serve up their latest creation. I plated one for myself, spread on the cream cheese, and took a nibble.
Lesson learned: Seafood does not mix with tea treats. FAIL.
“You know, I bet your father will like these,” my mom said consolingly. “He eats anything. It’s one of the reasons we get along so well,” she added with a laugh.
“How come you don’t like to cook?” I asked. My mom did cook sometimes, but I could always tell that she was in a rush and didn’t really enjoy it.
“I don’t know. Never have. I guess your grandmother is so good at it that I wanted to find my own thing instead of trying to match her. I always skipped the kitchen lessons in favor of practicing my instruments.”
“Oh,” was all I said. I wondered why daughters liked to be different from their mothers. I, for one, had never shown much interest in learning the flute.
“But I think it’s wonderful that you’re getting so good at it, honey,” she said.
I looked at the shrimp scones and pulled a face. “You really think Dad will eat these?”
“Sure. And Billy. Just tell him you put something really gross in them. I always got him to eat his veggies when he was little by telling him they were covered in fresh worm sauce.”
“EW!”
Later that day, I signed in to chat. I knew Zoe was spending most of her day trying to get somewhere with the school board, so she would probably be online.
cuppaAnnie: hi zo
Kswiss211: hi A, how come you’re not at the Leaf? I went there before. I found this really great organization called REAP that I want us to join.
cuppaAnnie: oh, sorry. I baked at home today to avoid the spy
Kswiss211: oh. Louisa said some of the customers were asking about you
cuppaAnnie: bunch o’ spies. Which ones?
Kswiss211:!
cuppaAnnie: it could be anyone. how is it going?
Kswiss211: not well. Not one school-board member has answered my e-mails or called me back.
cuppaAnnie: oh
I was supposed to be helping her. I felt a twinge of guilt, but there was so much left to do to win the scone contest and I only had three weeks. I vowed to set aside some time during the weekend. I still needed
to buy some school clothes too. And get a haircut. Argh!
Kswiss211: yeah. I’m really bummed out. Also, most of the people at my garden said they don’t grow enough to donate to the schools.
cuppaAnnie:
Kswiss211: so, I want to work with some farmer’s market vendors instead. Can you come help me put together a video to send them? I want to film the difference between a gross school lunch and the kind I want them to serve
cuppaAnnie: that sounds neat. But I have to make a new scone yet today. My first one failed.
Kswiss211: oh. When will you be free?
cuppaAnnie: I don’t know. I’ll call you
Kswiss211:
I logged off the computer. I felt bad, but what was I supposed to do? I didn’t have that much more time left before the deadline. I hoped Zo wasn’t too annoyed with me. I couldn’t even think of a second scone to make anyway.
Dear readers,
Remember when I asked for extra-original recipe ideas? Well, I was totally serious about trying something outrageous, so I decided to make a scone unlike anyone’s ever tasted before. Being daring in the kitchen is good, right?
Well, as it turns out, not always, especially when seafood is involved. I made an Asian-themed shrimp Rangoon scone, and I’m sorry to report it was a total fail. There is a reason people don’t usually try to put shellfish in baked goods. Even serving it with cream cheese couldn’t save it. My cat, dad, and brother liked my efforts, but I’m afraid a winning scone that does not make. ☺
Does anyone have any original ideas that don’t attract all the neighborhood felines? Hehe.
Love, Annie
July 31 10:28 a.m.
Chapter Fifteen
It’s always tea-time.
—LEWIS CARROLL, ALICE IN WONDERLAND
After the “shrimp incident” I was bummed not to have a recipe to post. My mom reminded me that my blog didn’t have to be all scones. I agreed and posted Zoe’s quiche recipe. Then I spent some time posting nice comments on other people’s blogs. I noticed SweetCakes wasn’t just rude to me. Her (his?) particular brand of intimidating snark had found its way onto other blogs too. It seemed incredibly unfair that the SweetCakes blog continued to be in the top five on the leader board. I tried to remember what Louisa had said about just focusing on my own path, but it made me really mad. I also missed the Leaf, but I didn’t want to go back there. Any one of the customers could be a spy.
Possible Scone Spies
• Zach
• Oliver and Theresa (“Just moved here”? How convenient)
• That one lady at the shop who comes in and never smiles
• A barista from Corporate Coffee across the street
• Ling (Nah. Too busy)
• Zach
Fortunately, it was Saturday morning, and that meant one thing: farmer’s market! I got my tote ready with a bottle of iced tea and hundreds of fliers for our blog. I wasn’t going to shop today; I was just going down to promote SteepingLeafScone.com. Of course, a pumpkin bar for breakfast wouldn’t hurt. Even if Zoe, Genna, and now Louisa were on major healthy-eating kicks, I wasn’t about to give up my beloved Murphy Farms pumpkin bars.
I put on a yellow visor, then decided to leave it at home. The sky was actually a bit overcast and it was cooler than it had been. I tried to IM Zoe, just to make sure she wasn’t really mad at me, but she didn’t respond. She was starting to look ahead to the fall tennis season and that meant more hours on the court, so I just figured she wasn’t at home. Genna was going shopping in Milwaukee with her mom, so I’d have to try to see her later.
I wondered if Zach would be at the market. For a split second I even hoped so. I missed him, even though I’d never admit it, not even to the Teashop Girls. Oh well. Things were better this way. I couldn’t have anyone dripping lake water on my pretty fliers.
I skipped down the stairs. My whole family was at the table, minus Luke. My mom handed me a plate of scrambled eggs sprinkled with shredded cheddar.
“I’m serious, Dad,” Billy said. “Why hasn’t anyone invented it?”
“Invented what?” I asked.
“A sheet you put in the freezer before bed,” my brother said excitedly. “You know, to stay cool when you’re trying to sleep. You would pull it out and sleep on it and you wouldn’t need air-conditioning. It would have a squishy layer of frozen water inside.”
“Ew,” Beth said.
“That’s kind of not a bad idea,” I said. “I’d use that.” It was always so hard to fall asleep in the middle of summer when it was hot and sticky.
“What about condensation?” my dad asked, always the engineer. “When the frozen sheet melted, you’d get the mattress all wet.”
“Huh,” Billy said. “I dunno.”
I sat down at the table and noticed my dad was eating my gross scones.
“Dad, you don’t have to eat those,” I said.
“I think they’re delicious,” he replied, and took a giant bite. “See? I made an egg sandwich with mine.”
He had. It looked pretty bad.
“Me too!” Billy pointed out. His own scone was basically a pile of crumbles on his plate. He was using his fingers to eat it, and not having a lot of success. A constant cascade of crumbs fell to the floor on all sides of my brother.
“Ugh,” was all I could say. “Sorry, Mom.”
“How about ‘Sorry, Beth’?” my sister piped up. “They put them in the microwave, and now this whole place smells like cat food.” So much for Beth being nicer than usual.
“No it doesn’t, honey,” my mom said. But she did pull the kitchen window open a little wider. “Eat your eggs.”
“How’s Luke?” I asked, choosing to ignore my sister’s complaining.
“Being a baby,” Billy said as he continued to spill his breakfast to Molly. Our dog was clearly in the shrimp-scone-fan category. The cats were circling pretty close too. Too bad they couldn’t follow my blog.
“Billy! Don’t you remember the last time you were sick and he stayed home and watched movies with you?” my dad reminded him.
“That’s just because he had nothing better to do,” Billy replied. “Mom! Don’t give me all of his chores! No fair!”
My mom was at the dreaded white board. I saw that after I handed out my fliers downtown, I would have to sweep the front porch and water the garden and all the potted plants. Not bad.
“Okay, I’m going to the square,” I announced as I finished my eggs. I rinsed my plate in the sink and put it in the dishwasher.
“Bye, Annie,” my family called after me. “Have fun!”
I hopped on my bike and took the bike path toward the capitol square. It was peaceful since it was still early, and all the college students were away for the summer. I knew some people preferred Madison when the students were gone, but I missed them. The students made the city feel alive. I hoped to take my place among them when it was time. But I’d live in a dorm, of course, and not at home! Even if I went to Edgewater instead of UW, and that was about eight blocks from my house.
I locked up my bike near the central library and decided to stand on the west side of the capitol in a shaded spot. It felt a little odd to be alone. I was usually with either Genna, Zoe, Louisa and the shop customers, or one of my family members. But it felt kind of good. I could walk anywhere on a whim. I bought my pumpkin bar, ate it, and began handing out my blog fliers. Most people just took them without looking at them, which was kind of disheartening. I should’ve brought free samples, like we had done with the tea at school in the spring.
I decided it might help to stand at a different part of the market loop, so I walked through the capitol building to the east side of the square. Even though I’d been in the state capitol a million times, it still made me catch my breath. The air inside was cool and still. All the marble and gold leaf made it look like a palace or a cathedral. I loved it.
On the other side of the square, I chose a spot not far from a restaurant called L’Etoile. The
re was a nearby café with wonderful baked goods called Batch Bakehouse, and I figured that anyone going in there might be interested in my contest. It had just opened a month earlier, but there was already a line down the block on both Saturday and Sunday. I handed out lots of fliers and got bolder about chatting with people to explain what I was doing. Several people offered encouragement and promised they’d check out the website when they got home. A few even went to it immediately on their phones and showed me when they hit the button to follow.
After about a half hour a tall man came out of the café and walked over to me. He had short cropped hair and a flour-covered apron. I felt nervous; he looked very businesslike. I thought I might have annoyed him by chatting up his customers about the things I was baking instead of the things he was baking. Oops.
“Are you the scone girl from the Steeping Leaf?” he asked.
“Um, yes. I’m Annie Green.” I shifted my bag to my shoulder and put out my hand to shake his.
He shook it. “I’m Tom Hines, the baker here. One of my customers told me about your contest. You know, you’re not allowed to hand out fliers down here without a permit.”
“I’m not?” I blushed. I didn’t know that.
“No. I’m surprised a police officer didn’t stop you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Hey, it doesn’t bother me. So, what do they say?” He reached for one of my fliers and I handed it over. I put the rest away. It wouldn’t help my cause if I got arrested. Thank goodness I looked young for my age. That’s probably why the fuzz hadn’t paid attention to me.
“I have less than a month to qualify for the finals in Chicago,” I explained. “I have to get as many blog followers as possible before then, so I came out to the market to introduce myself.” I still felt scared, talking to a real professional, but fortunately, my time as a barista had made me more confident. Still, I couldn’t tell yet if he wanted to help me or get me to go away.
“What have you baked so far?” he asked.
“Well, I’m experimenting with both savory and sweet,” I replied, warming up. “But my latest effort was a complete disaster. I was trying to be original, but it turns out shrimp does not go with scones.”
The Secret Ingredient Page 8