Cookie monsters, p.15
Cookie Monsters, page 15
I stare at the menacing grandma. “Uh-huh.”
And before I can utter another word, Beckett turns on the speaker and walks out of the booth with a microphone. He bends down to hand it to me and walks away. “It’s all yours,” he says over his shoulder as he sidles up to the concession stand.
I fumble with the microphone, causing it to make a loud screeching sound. That can’t be good, I think as everyone cuffs their ears and turns around to find the source of the annoyance. And yep, it’s me. All me!
“Just pitch your little heart out, Brookie,” Betty Jean encourages me.
My eyes shift to Lyric, who is watching me fumble the ball big-time. “Are you having those same feelings you did back in the gym at cookie cookoff?”
I nod, scanning the room.
Everyone is watching.
Lyric doesn’t experience any degree of stage fright when she’s onstage. In fact, she morphs into a whole other person, singing to the heavens, shaking her Hollywood hair so it blows in the imaginary fan. I’m the opposite of that person right now. Nevertheless, Lyric does her best to encourage me anyway.
“You got this. Just picture them in their undies,” she says, shrugging, unaware that Mom would’ve told me to do the exact same thing.
“Hi, uh, hi.” The mic flips and flops around in my hand until I’m finally able to fumble through a few more words. “I’m, uh, Brooklyn Ace. And I’m a seventh grader at Valentine Middle School.” My voice cracks and I sound like a toad falling off a lumpy log. “I’m, uh, here today selling… uh—uh—uh—”
“Cookies!” Lyric yelps, nudging my belly, hitting me somewhere around my large intestine.
“Right. World Scouts cookies.”
“Cookie queen,” Lyric says as Betty Jean shakes her head and clears her throat. “Tell ’em you’re the reigning cookie queen!”
“Yes, I was,” I say, bobbing my head up and down, not repeating the most necessary part of the pitch at all.
“What’s your goal, Brookie?” Betty Jean whispers to me.
I give up when my thoughts escape me and the bowlers go back to, well, bowling.
“I’m, uh, working to be the top seller in all of America—I mean, Santa Monica, this year.”
Beckett shrugs when the last few people who were paying attention completely lose interest. And I know this episode of the cookie chronicles is over when the mean grandma turns to me and snarls. It’s at that exact moment that I start to feel dizzy and the walls get ready to swallow me. I know what to do, I think as I dig into my tool belt and try on a few strategies.
I reach for my ears and press into them.
Then I press harder.
But nothing happens.
I try clutching my sweaty hands together and pressing into them while I count down from five.
“Five, four, three-two-one—five, four, three-two-one.” I shut my eyes and motor through the numbers a lot faster than Dr. Simone demonstrated. But when I don’t feel any relief, I throw in the towel and race back to the front door, trying to outrun my embarrassment. I can feel Lyric on my heels as I bolt out of Big Bob’s Bowling Lanes as fast as I can.
This definitely isn’t going to be as easy as I thought.
I hear Betty Jean’s words sizzle through the air behind me. “Let me know when you’re ready for Betty Jean’s Cookie Boot Camp, Brookie.”
I roll my eyes, fighting back the overwhelming feelings of defeat, and run faster toward the car.
TWENTY
It’s my least favorite day of the week again: FRIDAY!
I can’t even believe I’m saying this, but the love/hate relationship I’m in with Fridays is starting to feel really wicked. And I’m not the only one having all these negative feels.
Stella Rose zips up her backpack and slings it over her shoulder. “I made the rounds with Lyric to Beach City Car Wash yesterday to represent Brookie’s Cookies,” she starts explaining, swatting at the air when her bag gets tangled in her scarf. “And let’s just say, Piper Parker’s sales team didn’t miss a single beat.”
“They’re still everywhere, and I mean everywhere!” I exclaim as we head out of Mr. Reynolds’s English class. “Even without Logan and Dallas!”
“I hit up two barbershops and a nail salon on my way home,” Lucy says. “Before I could get in the door, they were ushering me back out. Piper’s crew had already been there taking orders an entire twenty-four hours before me.”
“Well, that can’t be good,” I say, slogging up to my locker. “Do we really need to go check the Friday cookie tally this week?”
Lucy taps her foot against the floor. “Yes! Pootie’s going to read the results, and we missed him doing it the last two weeks.”
“And?” I sulk deeper.
“Annnd… I want to hear him announce that you’re the queen bee this week.”
I snortle at her and belt out a loud, “Humph!”
“B,” Lyric adds, “you never know how this is all going to unfold. You have to show up for all of it. And soon enough, you’ll get more businesses to invest in your brand. It’s only a matter of time.” She fluffs her big spiral curls. “We just have to be diligent and work the system.”
“If you say so.” I trudge down the hall toward the tally board outside Principal Pootie’s office.
“Can I have your attention, students,” Principal Pootie says, addressing some of the kids hanging around the bulletin board. A few boys bounce basketballs in the hallway, causing him to scratch his throat and fuss. “Please, stop that right now!”
He gives them a stern look, but they don’t stop until their coach blows a whistle loud enough to make everyone jump a few feet into the air.
“Thanks, Coach,” Pootie says before turning to the tally board. I glance at it, still unable to focus on the list of names scribbled there. All I see are the cutout letters:
VALENTINE MIDDLE
WORLD SCOUTS COOKIE SALES
WEEK 3 RANKINGS
“Since you’ve gathered at the cookie tally board, I’ll take this time to read off the rankings.”
He scratches his butt and some of the kids snicker. But he just ignores them and says, “Don’t forget about the band competition starting this weekend as well as the basketball tournament, where our Valentine Bees will be playing in the second round.”
A kid with wavy red hair geeks, “What about the science fair happening in the lab, too?”
“Yes, I was just about to say that.” Pootie waves his hand around his head.
Lucy folds her arms over her shaggy knit jacket and snides, “Can he just say the rankings already?”
“Or slide over so we can read them ourselves,” Lyric agrees.
“Try to relax, B,” Stella Rose says when I push my fingers into my mouth and gnaw on my cuticles before I realize I barely have any left.
“I just want to know!” I whine. “How badly did she beat me?”
“This week, students,” Principal Pootie says, adjusting his reading glasses and getting right down to it, “not much has changed since last week. Piper Parker is still in the lead with one thousand boxes of cookies sold.”
Stella Rose tightens her yellow-and-blue cashmere scarf. “She’s a cookie crook.”
“A total crookie!” Lucy whisper-sulks.
“Crud!” I squeal, and stomp my foot into the floor. Principal Pootie stops and balks at me.
“And, Ms. Ace, you are this week’s big comeback kid. That was quite a music video you released,” he says, doing the now infamous “Cookie Monster” dance. “You’ve managed to climb all the way from fifth at the first-week tally to a sweet second-place ranking with nine hundred and seventy-five boxes sold—above Margaret Miller.”
Principal Pootie wipes the sweat from his forehead. He reaches out to someone in the crowd and says, “Congratulations, Ms. Parker! That’s a whole lot of cookies! We’ve never seen this kind of cookie story unfold at the midpoint of the race… well, not in the history of Valentine Middle. Even Valentine High is impressed.”
The small crowd hoots and hollers, but all I can focus on is Piper Parker when she steps in front of everyone and takes an actual bow.
“Take your bow, too,” Lyric hypes over the crowd, pushing me forward. “You’re right behind her! You’re the official cookie monster!”
“Yeah,” Lucy says, shoving her fist into the air. “You moved up a whole spot and now you’re on her butt.”
“Ew!” Stella Rose squeals.
A group of seventh graders pushes past me in the small crowd.
“I can’t wait for the pool party,” one kid with a face covered in freckles says to a boy hobbling past us in a leg cast. “You think your calf will be good by then?”
“It better be,” he quips back. “I’ve been selling cases of those dumb cookies for Piper so I can go to the pool party and jump off the diving board.”
“She’s totally going to win, bro; half the school is on her sales team. There’s no way that other girl will ever catch up to her now.”
I turn to my squad and point to my chest. “Me, I’m that other girl,” I whine as the assistant principal, who looks like Little Red Riding Hood, dashes out of Pootie’s office and shuffles up to him, whispering into his ear. We all stand silently, watching Pootie’s eyes pop and his head cock to the side.
“I think he’s staring at me,” I whisper-gasp to my girls.
“No, it’s an optical illusion,” Stella Rose says. “It just looks like that because there are so many kids in his line of vision.”
“Uh, no, it’s not an illusion,” I correct her when he motions with his index finger for me and Piper Parker to follow him.
“Girls, in my office, please,” he says as he shoos the rest of the Valentine kids away.
At a snail’s pace, I follow Piper into Pootie’s cluttered office. I sit down in the closest armchair next to the door and cross my legs at my ankles. If there’s anything I hate more than spiders, it’s being called into the principal’s office. It makes me feel like I’m about to get scolded, or even worse, suspended from school. Then I start to think about what Betty Jean would do. Would she be so disappointed in me that she’d leave me and Dad alone to fend for ourselves in this big world? We couldn’t make it without her—there’s just no way. So I absolutely can’t get in trouble.
“Girls, we have a situation,” he starts.
I do my best not to look at Piper, who has her hands folded on her lap and a tight, fake smile plastered across her face. She looks like a model student, but I know better. Despite my best attempts at ignoring her, I glance in her direction when she sneezes. On autopilot, I say, “Bless you.”
She shoots me a death glare that slowly settles into a smile. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” I say back, again on autopilot.
Crud!
I can’t let my guard down around her; she’s a mean-girl monster and I’m her prey.
“We seem to be caught in quite a bit of red tape,” Pootie says as Piper turns back to him and bats her lashes.
“What could you possibly mean, sir? We’ve been running a fair race.”
“Not according to the Cookie Council,” he corrects her as I scoot to the edge of my seat. “It appears that you both have violated rule twenty-six B from section four.”
“What the heck is that?” I yelp, tossing my arms into the air.
“Does this have something to do with her music video?” Piper asks in a very accusatory tone that I’m really not feeling.
“Well, what about your big television commercial that didn’t have anything to do with cookies, but with your daddy’s hotel?!” I fight back without flinching.
“Actually, girls, it has to do with both!” Principal Pootie says, rapping his fingers on his desk. He takes out his kerchief and swipes it back and forth across his forehead. But the tiny beads of sweat just pop back up. “The Cookie Council says you’re both in violation and that you’re breaking the rules with the commercial and the music video.”
“But we worked hard on that video! We had to come up with a song and then lyrics and then a whole thing with where we were gonna shoot and then—”
“I get it, Brooklyn, but this is above my pay grade.” He looks at the document in his hand and sighs. “You should be very proud of what you accomplished, but the Council has decided that all advertising needs to go through official scout channels only.”
“What does that even mean? I can’t make a video?”
“You can, but the rules are very specific about how that needs to look moving forward. I’ll be emailing you both the updated mandate.” He takes a deep breath. “Look, I’m pretty sure the Council just wants to keep the playing field fair for everyone.”
I stomp my foot onto the floor. “But that’s just it. I had to make a music video. How else am I supposed to compete when she keeps taking all my Old Faithfuls and beating me to the businesses?” I point at Piper and yell, “I’d be willing to bet that she’s got spies everywhere giving her intel on me and even—”
“You wish,” Piper says. “I’m outperforming you because I’m a better sales queen.”
“No! You’re a cheater,” I quip back.
“Girls! Girls! Stop this right now,” Pootie says, lowering the baritone in his voice so we know he means business. “You’re both incredible and very creative in your approach to selling cookies, but now we need to remove all the bells and whistles and get back to good, old-fashioned sales strategies that have been approved by the…” He looks down at the document and says, “World Scouts Alliance Cookie Council.”
“But what about all the sales I generated already from the commercial?” Piper asks.
“And my music video?!” I huff.
“That’s the good news. The Council is going to let you keep them. But moving forward, no more advertising that doesn’t happen through approved channels.”
I chew on my fingernails and slouch back into my chair. “Jeesh, Principal Pootie, that’s way harsh.”
“But at least all our hard work will still be counted,” Piper says, slouching in her chair just a little.
“Yeah, that’s true,” I say, shocked that she’s the one in the room who found the silver lining.
“I just hope my dad will see it that way, too,” she mumbles.
“What’s that mean? You’re killing this game. Why wouldn’t he be on board with finishing fair and square?”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s really none of your business,” she says, and folds her arms over her chest.
I shrug and turn back to Pootie.
“But I see your point,” she finally says. “It’s just not that straightforward for me.”
“You’ve been in first place since this thing started. I just don’t get what you have to worry about. And your dad should be super proud of you. Right?”
Begrudgingly, I hold out my hand to her and wait for her to shake it. But when she doesn’t, I finally say, “Okay, Pootie—I mean, Principal Pootie. You’re right; we can do this without all the bells and whistles. We’re both creative and talented—no matter what anyone says.”
I look over at her, and she half smiles.
I try holding out my hand to her again, but this time I’m starting to feel like a jerk because she clearly has no intention of shaking it. Mom always told me to take the high road and be the best version of myself. So here I am… trying. And after a few extra-long seconds, to my surprise, she shakes it.
“Great!” Principal Pootie says, and pounds his fists onto his desk. “This is great. Now, there’s a list of acceptable sales channels in your scout handbook, and it says here…” He runs his finger down the document. “It says here that if you have any questions, your troop leaders can call the Cookie Council directly.”
I stand, ready to bolt from his office, but before I can, Piper Parker stops me.
“Brooklyn, can I say something?”
“Uh… to me?” I look at the door and wince when I realize I was centimeters from dashing through it. “What’s up?”
“I, uh…” She turns to Pootie and twists her neck around until he takes the cue to give us some privacy.
“Don’t mind me,” he says. “I’ll just be responding to the Council’s email.”
“I just want to say that I know you think I’m savage or whatever you and your friends call me.”
“How did you know—”
“But I’m not.”
I shove my hands into my pants. “Then why do you act like you are?”
“It’s complicated. But since you asked about my dad, and no one ever asks me about stuff, I just wanna say one thing.”
“First, Piper, I asked because it matters. All of it matters. And that includes you.”
I watch Piper take a few long, deep breaths, and she appears to be… nervous. I’ve never seen her this way before, and I’m dumbfounded. Yes, dumbfounded! But I lean in and listen just in case she has something to share.
“You might not know this about me,” she says, avoiding eye contact, “but being a winner is the only thing that matters to my dad. It’s the only time he sees me—when I win. So, I have to win at everything, even selling World Scouts cookies.”
“I—I didn’t know that.”
She grabs her white leather backpack and looks at me without blinking. Then she says, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
In that moment, I realize that she’s right. All we knew was that she transferred here a few weeks ago from who knows where and jumped into the cookie race with all her might. Maybe, just maybe, I was wrong about Piper Parker. Maybe she does know how to spell N-I-C-E.
“Listen, Piper, there are a lot of ways to compete, and all I’m saying is that you don’t have to be so cutthroat about it.”
She leans in closer and doesn’t blink. And with her whole heart, she says, “Sometimes I do.” Then, without looking back, she walks straight out of Pootie’s office.
TWENTY-ONE
After school, Magic and I are sitting in Dr. Simone’s waiting room, and let’s just say that after Pootie’s big announcement about the Cookie Council’s decision, I’m not feeling optimistic about my chances of becoming the next Santa Monica District queen.
