Frosting and Friendship (12 page)

“But you hate to sing,” my mother says.

“Not since I met Betty,” says Grandpa.

“Betty?” both my mom and I say at the same time.

“She sings like an angel,” he says. “Just like you, Lily.” He takes my hand in his and leads me to the door. “She wants to meet you.”

I look at my mother, and she shrugs. What else can we do but follow Grandpa Frank to the sing-along and meet this angel named Betty?

When we get downstairs, we go to the music room. A lady is sitting at the piano flipping through sheet music, and in the center of the room are chairs in a circle. About half of them are filled with people. As soon as we walk in the room, a tall, thin woman with gray hair and a big smile outlined in red lipstick gets out of her chair and walks over to greet us.

“You must be Lily,” she says to me, her hand extended. I shake it as I say, “Yes. Hi.” She looks at my mom and says, “And, Connie. So nice to meet you. I'm Betty.”

My mother shakes her hand and says hello.

“She's new here,” Grandpa says. “Do you know what she used to do? She used to be a psychologist.
She specialized in helping people overcome their fears and achieve their dreams.”

“How interesting,” my mom says. “What a wonderful way to help people.”

Before she can reply, Mr. Green, a longtime resident of New Beginnings, walks up to us and says, “Why did the chicken cross the road?”

“I don't know,” I say like I always do when I see Mr. Green and he asks me this question. I guess it's his favorite joke, though he never gives the same answer twice.

“Well, you see, he was a rubber chicken and he wanted to stretch his legs.”

It makes me smile. Mr. Green turns around and takes a seat in the circle.

“In your opinion,” Mom asks Betty, “what's the biggest mistake people make when it comes to their lives and their dreams?”

“Oh, that's easy,” Betty says. “They let other things get in the way. They put it off and put it off, doing other things, telling themselves it's okay because there will be time later. Really, deep down, the truth is, most of them are afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” I ask.

“Oh, any number of things, I suppose. They're afraid of making mistakes. Of not getting it right the first time. Of having people make fun of them. But see, what you have to remember is that the people who made their dreams come true felt afraid too, but they didn't let it stop them. That's the difference.”

The lady at the piano runs her hands across the ivory keys, and it gets everyone's attention. The four of us take a seat in the circle.

A woman wearing a purple and red dress with matching red shoes and dainty white gloves on her hands gives each of us a songbook.

“Thanks for coming today, everyone,” the piano lady says. “We're going to start with ‘You Are My Sunshine' on page six.”

After she plays the introduction, we're all singing along. Betty is sitting beside me. When I glance over at her, I notice how her pretty green eyes sparkle like emeralds and she sings with a slight grin. Her voice is smooth and nice, but it's the happiness I notice the most. Anyone could look at her and tell that she loves to sing.

And when I look at Grandpa Frank, he is a picture of happiness too. He doesn't care if he can't sing a single note on key. He's here and there's music and Betty's smiling. There's a lot for him to be happy about.

I close my eyes for a moment, and as I start to sing, I know that for now, I don't have to try to chase away a bunch of worries about a hundred different things. It's just me and the cheerful, sweet song. Every cell in my body remembers how much I love this—music and singing.

And I never want to forget how it feels.

A
n hour of singing with a bunch of people who are not young chickens but are nice to be around anyway seems to be just what I needed. On Friday, I float through the day, hardly a care in the world. I tell Belinda to be at my house at seven o'clock Saturday night, with all of their equipment.
She says, “I'm so glad you changed your mind.” Like I had a choice?

Friday evening, right after dinner, Madison takes me grocery shopping because Mom is busy closing a deal. Whatever that means. I think it means she's sold a house. Or almost sold a house and is trying to get the paperwork signed to make it official.

Madison is a huge help and suggests items I hadn't even thought of getting, like some cartons of lemonade so we have something to drink besides water. We also buy paper plates, cups, and napkins, and all of the stuff I need to make the cake pops and cookies.

“Are you feeling pretty good?” Madison asks on the drive home. “About the party?”

“I think so.”

“Mom's going to help you make the cake pops?”

“Yes. We're going to do that tomorrow. Tonight I'm baking the chocolate-chip cookies.”

Madison turns on her blinker before turning onto our street. “I saw Mom had a cleaning lady come today. That was a smart thing to do. I was worried we'd be up until midnight tonight, dusting and vacuuming.”

“Wow, talk about a fun Friday night,” I tease.

“Are you guys gonna play games at the party or what?” she asks.

“I don't know. Isabel had that on her to-do list, but we never talked about it. Do you know any good ones?”

She pulls into the driveway. “Let's see. How about pass the orange? You use either your feet or your neck to pass the orange from person to person. No hands allowed.”

“That sounds hard,” I say, trying to imagine playing that game with Sophie's friends. “And awkward.”

A sudden wave of panic washes over me. I'm not going to know most of the kids at the party. They'll all be from Sophie's school. I'll know Sophie and Isabel, of course. And the other two girls from the book club, Katie and Dharsanaa, will probably be there. But that's it. I'm going to have a bunch of strangers in my house. Everyone will know everyone, except me. That seems so . . . weird. At least Abigail and Zola will be there. It makes me more thankful than ever that I kept quiet about the whole band thing.

Madison turns the car off. “You guys could go on a scavenger hunt. You know, come up with lists of random items like dice and rubber bands and a stuffed rabbit or whatever. Then break up into groups and go around the neighborhood to find the stuff. First group back wins.”

“I don't know,” I say. “We might not have that much time. I mean, the New Pirates are going to be playing for an hour.”

She gives me a funny look. “The New Pirates? Who are they?”

“A band.”

“And Mom and Dad said that's okay?”

“Well, Dad said my band could play, but then Isabel wanted this other band, so I'm sure it's fine.”

Now Madison looks really confused. “Why isn't your band playing?”

I open the car door. “We're going to play too.” I sigh. “It's a long story. And it's not really important now. Come on. Help me carry this stuff inside.”

When we get to the kitchen, something smells really good. Dad is there, pulling a pan out of the oven.

“What is that?” Madison asks.

“Your mother is really stressed out,” he says. “I found a box of chocolate-chip brownie mix in the cupboard, so I decided to whip up a batch.” He smiles. “You know, because chocolate makes everything better. Or so I've heard, anyway.”

“Wow, Dad,” I say as I peer in the pan. “They look really good. Maybe you should help me with the cake pops tomorrow instead of Mom.”

“Sorry, kiddo. I won't be here. Another band had to back out of a wedding reception due to illness, so we're filling in. It's a couple of hours away, which means I'm going to have to leave here in the morning, and I won't be back until tomorrow night.” He rubs my head as he walks by. “I'm sure you and your mom are going to do a fantastic job. Those brownies need to cool for thirty minutes, so don't have any yet, okay?”

Both Madison and I nod. “Man, they smell amazing,” she says after he's gone.

“I know,” I say, my stomach begging for one. “I'm so impressed Dad made them.”

“Well, I'm going to go change and then I'm out
of here,” Madison says. “I'm meeting up with some friends at the movies.”

“Okay,” I say. “Hey, are you going to be around here tomorrow? In case Mom and I need some help?”

She shakes her head. “No way. I told you, I'm staying far, far away from here. You and Mom are on your own.”

“Madison, come on,” I say, giving her a little shove. “That's mean.”

She laughs. “Well, even if I wanted to help, I can't. I have a preseason doubleheader tomorrow afternoon that the coach set up. She wants to move us around to different positions and figure out where we play best.

“It'll be okay,” she says as she reaches for the silverware drawer and pulls out a knife. “I'm sure everything will be fine.”

She goes to the pan and cuts into the brownies. “Hey, it hasn't been thirty minutes yet,” I say.

She takes a bite of the ooey, gooey brownie that's falling apart in her hands. She catches a big chunk that falls off as it drops toward the floor and pops it in her mouth.

“Mmmm. Good,” she mumbles. “See? It's gonna be a piece of cake. Nothing to worry about, Lily Dilly.”

I nod as she heads out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with the big pan of brownies. I'm going to be good and wait the right amount of time before I have one, like Dad said.

If there's one thing I've learned, it's that things turn out best when you follow the instructions. Now, if only I had instructions for how to make a surprise party turn out perfectly from start to finish, I'd be set.

I guess I'll just have to cross my fingers and hope for the best.

W
hen I wake up Saturday morning and see my alarm clock says 10:15, I jump out of bed. I didn't mean to sleep so late. It must have been because I had trouble falling asleep the night before, thinking about the party.

I make my way downstairs, but no one is around. It seems strange. I go back upstairs and find the
door to my parents' bedroom shut. I knock softly. “Mom? Are you in there?”

I hear a soft moan and then, “Yes. Lily, come in.”

I open the door and see her curled up, under the covers. This is not like my mother. She's always the first one up on Saturdays, with a to-do list a mile long and lots of energy to get it all done.

“Mom, are you okay?”

She doesn't move. “Don't come any closer, sweetie. I have the stomach flu, and I don't want you to get sick.”

I can feel my heart racing. This is not good. In fact, it's terrible. “Are you sure? I mean, maybe you just ate too many brownies.”

She chuckles. “I wish, but I don't think so. I have a fever. And I'm achy.”

“Where's Dad?”

“He left a little while ago. He told you about the wedding reception, right? I'm sorry, Lil. You're going to have to make the cake pops by yourself.”

“Mom, I don't think—”

“You can do it. I saw the cookies you made last night, and they turned out great. Did you try one?”

“Yeah. They're really good.”

“See?” she says. “You're halfway there. Now close the door and go downstairs. If I rest, maybe I'll feel better and can help you this afternoon.”

If she has a fever, that seems like wishful thinking. But I don't say anything. I don't want to make her feel any worse than she already does.

“Can I get you anything?” I ask, feeling slightly sick myself that this is happening on the worst possible day.

“No, I'm fine. Don't worry about me. I know you have enough on your plate today.”

After I close the door, I try to give myself a pep talk, but I'm freaking out so much, it's impossible. No amount of pep talking is going to keep me calm right now.