Campfire Cookies (14 page)

“Nah,” she said. “It's just been kind of a tough summer.”

“I know.” I nodded solemnly. “It's because you've got a cabinful of problem campers.”

She smiled. “Hardly. Right now Flowerpot and Purple
Sage have the only perfect Chore Scores in all of Girls Camp.”

I already knew we were tied with Purple Sage. But then I thought of something. “
Girls'
Camp?” I repeated. “Not the
whole
camp?”

“Silver Spur has a perfect Chore Score too,” Hannah said. “They announced the totals at the counselors meeting last night. Lance was totally trash-talking me too. You girls better beat those boys. If you don't, I will never hear the end of it.”

On Sunday afternoon, Grace, Emma, Olivia, and Lucy came into the camp kitchen followed by that counselor from Yucca Cabin, Jack.

I know this because I was in the camp kitchen already. I was preparing to make a batch of cookies. I had expected to have the kitchen to myself, so I was surprised to see them—and I guess they were surprised to see me, too.

“Vivek!”
Olivia was the first one through the door, and you would've thought I was a ghost. “How did you even get in?”

“I unlocked the door,” I said. “Then I opened it, and then I stepped across the threshold. Would you like me to demonstrate?”

Grace rolled her eyes. “She means who gave you a key,
obviously.
”

“It wasn't obvious to me,” I said, “and Mrs. Arthur did.”

“Seriously?” Grace frowned. “She wouldn't give
us
one! We had to ask a counselor to come with us and be responsible.”

Jack waggled his thumbs at himself. “That's me, the responsible party . . . although, come to think of it, what fun would
that
be?”

I had a feeling Jack had made a joke, but I didn't get it.

“Do you believe Mrs. Arthur gave Vivek a key and not us?” Olivia asked. “How sexist is that?”

“Not to mention it's unfair,” said Emma, “since everybody knows girls are more responsible than boys in the first place.”

“Speaking of
sexist
 . . . ,” said Jack.

Olivia took a step back, lowered her chin, and looked at Jack. I knew that look. My mother gives it to me all the time. “Are you saying
guys
are more responsible?” she asked.

“No offense, Jack, but you're a guy and you were late to lifeguard duty yesterday,” Emma said.

“Oh, swell,” Jack said. “Now the eleven-year-olds are keeping tabs.”

“I think I made my point,” Olivia said, and then she turned to me. “So, Mr. Responsible? What are you doing here? Making cupcakes for your mom like last year?”

“That can't be it,” Grace said. “His mom's birthday must be over by now.”

“I, uh . . . kind of missed it,” I said. “So I'm making her cookies—belated birthday cookies.”

Olivia, Grace, and Emma looked at Jack. Their expressions were smug.

Then Lucy started to giggle. “I get it,” she said. “Responsible party. Like the only fun kind of party is one that's
irresponsible
.”

“Thank you, Lucy,” Jack said. “I am glad someone appreciates my humor.”

Responsible party . . . what?

I still didn't get it, but I would have felt dumb asking, so I changed the subject. “I am making raisin cookies,” I said. “They're my mom's favorite.”

Grace made a face.
“Ewww.”

“It's okay if we don't all have the same tastes, you know,” Emma said.

“It's actually better that we don't,” said Lucy. “If everyone liked chocolate chip best, chocolate chips would become scarce, and the price would rise.”

Jack's eyebrows about jumped off his face. “Whoa! Lucy Lu!” he said. “You not only get my humor, but you're a thinker, too. How did you know that?”

“I'm not dumb, you know,” said Lucy. “I just have things to do besides pay attention.”

All this time, Emma had been retrieving cookie sheets, bowls, measuring spoons, and measuring cups from the cupboards and drawers. Then she went to the giant silver refrigerator for eggs and butter. From
the pantry, she brought back flour, baking soda, sugar, and walnuts. Each of these she placed on the wooden countertop by the sink.

Then she turned on the oven and said, “Okay. Who wants to do what?”

“I'll measure dry ingredients,” said Grace.

“I'll set up the mixer and cream the butter and eggs,” said Olivia.

“Great,” Emma said. “In that case, I'll grease the cookie sheets.”

Eleven years as an only child had taught me many tricks, and one of them was how to make the face of a sad, sad puppy dog. I made this face now. “Uh, so I guess I'll just make my own separate batch of cookies over here,” I said, and then I slumped away toward the other side of the kitchen.

“Wait a sec, Vivek,” Emma said. “You guys, we're going to have plenty of cookies. Couldn't Vivek mix in the oatmeal for us? And then he could add raisins to part of the dough for his mom. Is that okay?”

“Sure,” said Olivia.

“Go for it,” said Jack, “provided, that is, that I still get my agreed-upon share.”

“Your cookies are secure,” said Emma. “Grace? What do you think?”

“Hmph,” said Grace.

Meanwhile, Lucy said nothing. She was at the table by the window, setting up some project of her own. I guessed it had to do with painting, because I noticed there were brushes.

“Come on, Grace,” Emma said. “It's for his
mom
, and she is having a baby.”

“Hmph,” Grace said again. Then she added, “Girls are not only more responsible, but they are nicer, too.”

I took this to mean yes, and went to the pantry to get a box of raisins. When I came back and saw the girls hard at work, I suddenly remembered something. “Wait a sec. Is any of this about that thing that Grace asked me—?”

Before I could finish the question, laser beams
shot from the eyes of Olivia, Emma, and Grace.

Jack saw them too. “Whooey,” he said. “You seem to have touched a nerve with that one, buddy.”

“Never mind,” I said. “I withdraw the question.”

After a whole lot of discussion—most of it too boring to listen to—the membership had decided that I should paint flowers on Hannah's card and balloons on Lance's. I wonder if that was sexist.

Note to self: Ask Olivia.

Last year when we baked cookies, it was exciting. We set off the smoke detector. There was thunder and lightning. Then the power went out.

In the end, we ate our cookies by candlelight.

Not that I care, but Vivek did look cute by candlelight.

Also last year, our “responsible party” had been Hannah and not Jack. Hannah doesn't make as many jokes as Jack, but she works harder.

This year nothing exciting happened, but you know what? In the end, there were cookies, so no complaints—as my nana would say (usually right before she finds something to complain about).

By the time the timer dinged for the last cookie sheet, the atmosphere was thick with the sweet smells of butter, sugar, and nuts.

“Do we get to actually eat any, or are they all designated for a higher purpose?” Olivia asked Emma, who was putting away the ingredients while Grace washed the dishes.

“Why are you asking me?” Emma asked.

“Because you are the boss,” said Olivia.

“Oh, no,” said Emma, “not anymore. I'm just normal Emma this summer. No more bossiness. I swore it off.”

“Is this about that time I called you bossy?” Olivia asked.

“What if it is?” said Emma.

“Because I never said bossiness is
bad
,” Olivia said.

“Yes, you did, O,” I said. “I was there. What do you think of my pictures?” I held them up to be admired.

“Excellent!” said Vivek.

“Vivek—you weren't supposed to look!” said Grace.

“I promise to pretend I never saw them,” said Vivek, “but the balloons look almost 3-D, and the roses are quite realistic.”

“The thorns are a nice touch,” Jack added.

“
Lucy!”
Grace scolded me. “The guys were never supposed to see them!”

I felt bad, but the only thing to say was, “Oops.”

“I'm pretty sure oatmeal cookies induce amnesia,” Jack said. “I read it in one of my textbooks.”

Vivek said, “The minimum dosage is two cookies, and three is preferable.” He had not taken his eyes off the cookies since they'd come out of the oven.

“Are they cool enough to eat yet, Emma?” Olivia asked.

“I am willing to risk it,” Vivek said. “If I burn my mouth, it will be for science.”

“Are you having a growth spurt?” Emma asked. “I'm afraid you'll spoil your dinner.”

“I'll get the milk,” said Grace.

A short while later, we were all eating cookies.

“Dee-licious!” Jack said. “Good work, ladies.”

“Ahem,” said Vivek.

“And gentleman,” said Jack.

“They're certainly much better than the plastic-wrapped s'mores we get at the campfire,” Vivek said.

Emma made a face. “I don't like those either.”

“They've got chocolate and marshmallow,” said Grace. “What is not to like?”

“You know what would be cool?” Vivek said. “If we could have cookies on Pack Trip.”

“We might be able to save some,” said Emma.

“They're going fast already,”
said Olivia. “Besides, they'd be stale by then.”

“Can you make cookies over a campfire?” Vivek asked.

“I never heard of that,” said Jack.

“We could probably find a recipe
if we could go online
,” said Olivia. “But of course”—she sighed a heartbroken sigh—“thanks to Buck, we can't.”

•  •  •

Vivek was wrapping up cookies for his mom when Jack remembered he had to be somewhere.

“Where?” Emma asked.

“Somewhere . . . ,” Jack said, and then he threw out his chest and began to sing, “. . . over the rainbow, way up high. . . .”

Olivia clapped her hands over her ears. “Okay, okay, you can
go
!”

“I've got to go too,” Vivek said. “We're having a cabin meeting at five.”

“Hannah's probably back by now,” Emma said, “but she won't be looking for us yet. Give us your key, and we'll lock up. Mrs. Arthur might not trust us, but you do, right?”

When Vivek hesitated a moment, Grace repeated, “
Right?”

“Right!” said Vivek. “Absolutely.”

“You don't mind if I take just a
few
cookies for the road,
do you?” Jack asked. “After all, without a responsible party such as myself, there wouldn't be any.”

“Not too many,” Emma said.

With a flourish, Jack swept a handful off the cooling rack and onto a plate. Then he clicked his heels three times, saluted, and headed for the door. Vivek was right behind him.

When they were gone, I looked at Grace. “What?” she said. “Do I have oatmeal stuck in my teeth?”

“I don't think so,” I said.

“Then why are you looking at me that way?” Grace asked.

“Because I've been thinking. If you don't want to break into Silver Spur Cabin, I could do it. I don't mind.”

“Seriously?” Grace's eyes lit up.

“Seriously,” I said.

“Thank you.” She sounded relieved. “We'll have to look at the map of Boys Camp and practice the stuff I've been working on to make sure the delivery will go okay.”

“Do we have time?” Lucy asked.

“Yeah,” Grace said, “if we don't waste any.”

“We should have thought of it before,” said Olivia. “You're athletic like Grace. Plus you're a recognized hero, known far and wide for quick thinking.”