Hell's Belles

3
x
- 7 = 2
x
- 2

Solve for
x.

Annie sighed. She had no idea how to solve for
x,
but there was a lemon tart in the display case that would help solve the growling in her stomach.

She swept her long brown hair into a messy bun, closed her math book, and thought up her own equation:

Annie + a steaming cup of chamomile tea = heaven.

Pushing aside her homework, she rose and crossed the black and white checkerboard floor of Rosie Lee's, the café she and her dad had recently opened in his hometown of Liberty Heights, Illinois. It was hard to believe that a few short weeks ago, the shop had been filthy and covered in cobwebs. A lot of hard work had gone into transforming it into the cozy place it was now, but it had been a labor of love — the shop was Dad's dream.

Although from the frown on his face as he bent over the spreadsheets arranged on the counter, the dream looked like it had become a nightmare. Annie guessed that he was having some math trouble too.

“I must take after you,” Annie joked, reaching into the case and removing the cream-topped pastry. “No head for numbers.”

“You can say that again,” Dad grumbled. He dropped his pencil and ran a hand through his brown hair. “I can measure out baking powder with the best of them and calculate the proportion of butter to flour with my eyes closed. It's subtracting monthly expenses from income that trips me up.”

Annie glanced around the empty shop and grimaced. Things had gotten off to a good start, but lately it seemed like the only foot traffic in and out of the shop consisted of people popping in to hang notices on the community bulletin board Dad had installed.

The people were grateful for the advertising space, but once they'd pinned their flyers to the corkboard, they all hurried off to finish distributing their materials.

One guy, who'd posted an index card advertising a 2003 Toyota Camry with low mileage, had bought himself a small coffee to go, but other than that, none of the bulletin board people had purchased a thing.

“So has there been any?” Annie asked. “Income, I mean.”

Dad hesitated, as though he might be about to try to make up a happier answer. Then he showed her the number on the calculator screen. “Not much, Beanie.”

Annie rolled her eyes at the nickname. Beanie was short for String Bean, which referred to Annie's long, lanky frame. She'd shot up nearly a foot last year, which had sadly put a swift end to her gymnastics career. On the upside, she now had the tall, slender figure of a model.

She really didn't mind the Beanie thing. It was so Dad — cute and a little bit silly.

What wasn't silly was the money issue. There wasn't anything cute about “not much income.”

Annie had been afraid that would be the case. When they'd opened the British eatery, they'd both had high hopes. Dad's baking was superior, and the space was warm and welcoming.

It had seemed like a no-brainer to Annie — they were going to be a big hit.

But here it was, four weeks later on a crisp, early autumn afternoon; customers should have been flocking in for hot tea and cinnamon scones warm from the oven. Instead, the cheery little place was utterly deserted.

As though he were reading her mind, Dad motioned to the empty tables. “I must be doing something wrong, but for the life of me, Annie, I can't imagine what it is.”

His voice was a mixture of confusion and disappointment. It made Annie's heart sink.

“Don't say that, Dad,” she said, placing the tart on the counter and throwing her arms around him. “You're doing everything right. The food is brilliant, the shop is the cutest place in town, and . . . and . . .” Unfortunately, she didn't have a third “and” to add, so she just hugged him tighter. “It'll be fine. It takes time for a place like Rosie Lee's to catch on. But once it does, we'll have customers lining up around the block.”

Dad pressed a kiss to Annie's forehead and chuckled. “Now I remember why I dragged you here all the way from London. To be my own personal cheerleader.”

Annie winced.

Cheerleading was a sore subject. She'd been chosen for the Liberty Heights High School cheerleading squad, but had had the audacity to turn them down. That decision had pretty much made her Public Enemy Number One in the eyes of Kelsey Howard, the most popular girl in school. Instead of picking up a pair of pom-poms, she'd stepped into a pair of roller skates and joined Liberty Heights' junior roller derby league.

And derby girls, it turned out, were always hungry.

Tummy grumbling, Annie picked up the lemon tart, then pointed to a gorgeous chocolate-frosted cake under a glass dome on top of the display case.

“Gather your rations, sailor,” she commanded, doing her best Navy Admiral impersonation. “Then muster at our usual table.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” said Dad, snapping her a silly salute. He punched the off button on his calculator and grabbed a knife.

Moments later they were seated by the large window, bent over their desserts. Annie tasted Dad's cake — it was beyond delicious. And the buttery crust of her lemon tart was so delicate that it actually melted in her mouth. If only people would try Rosie Lee's, she was certain it would become their favorite place in the world.

“You really outdid yourself with this batch,” she told her father, using her baby finger to mop up a smear of lemon filling from her plate. “Who cares if you're hopeless with numbers and spreadsheets? You're an absolute wizard in the kitchen.”

Dad gave her a grateful smile. “I appreciate the rave review, Beanie, but the fact remains: we need customers if we're going to stay afloat.” He put down his fork and stared at the mural on the wall behind Annie. It was a red double-decker London bus filled with remarkably lifelike portraits of some of Britain's most celebrated citizens. And the best part was that it was custom-designed and hand-painted by Annie's best friend, Lexie.

Annie could see from the look on Dad's face that he was suddenly missing one British citizen in particular, and not someone on the bus. “If your mother were here, she'd certainly get our financials in order,” he said softly.

“Maybe.” Annie frowned. “But she's
not
here.”

After her parents separated, Annie's American-born dad had decided to leave England and return to the United States. Annie had been given the choice to remain in London with Mum, or try life in America with Dad. It had been the most difficult decision of her life, but ultimately she'd chosen to go with Dad. Throughout Annie's whole life, it was always Dad who had really been there for her. Mum loved Annie and Annie loved her, but Mum was always busy at her law firm.

The truth was, Annie missed her mother a lot, but this wasn't the time to wallow in that. Dad needed to get his confidence back, and thinking about his failed marriage and his ex
-wife, thousands of miles away across the ocean, probably wasn't the way to do it.

On the other hand, Annie felt a little tingle of hope. If Dad missed Mum — and maybe not just for her business skills — that could mean there was a chance that Annie's parents would consider trying again.

Of course, that would require Mum taking her nose out of her law books and legal briefs long enough to miss him, too.

Dad was still looking wistfully at the mural. “It was a gamble, taking you away from all your friends and bringing you to America. I hope I didn't make a mistake.”

“You didn't,” Annie assured him. “Going to an American high school is amazing. It's like being in a teen drama! Honestly, sometimes I think I'm going to walk into the cafeteria and see the cast of
Glee
or
90210.
It's been really fun.”

“Good — as long as you don't turn into a drama queen yourself!” Dad joked.

Annie had enough real-life Liberty Heights High drama queens to deal with already. But she didn't mention that to her father.

“I won't,” she said. “And you didn't
take
me away from England,” she reminded him, slapping her hand on the white tablecloth. “I chose to come. And here I am. So let's not be gloomy about it. Let's figure out a way to make it work!”

Dad sat back in the chair and blinked at her. Annie knew he was surprised by her assertiveness. Frankly, so was she. The old Annie had been more quiet and reserved, and a lot less confident. The old Annie might have turned and ran the minute the cheerleading captain, Kelsey, looked at her sideways. The old Annie probably would have already accepted defeat and begun packing her bags to head back across the ocean to London.

But the old Annie wasn't a roller girl!

Annie popped up from her chair and put one hand on her hip, affecting the persona of a cranky, wisecracking diner waitress.

“You done here, pal? We got other customers waitin' for this table, ya know. Meatloaf's the blue plate special tonight. Can't keep them regulars away when that one's on the menu.” She chomped on her imaginary chewing gum. “So you ready to pay, or what?”

Dad faked a frown. “Well, since I know the chef personally, I thought this might be on the house.”

“Oh, fine.” Annie rolled her eyes and pretended to fluff her imaginary beehive hairdo. “Just be sure you leave a decent tip. You think I woik my tail off in this joint for the fun of it?”