I can’t even tell you exactly what that meant, “good at Petersville,” but she was right about that too. Whatever it meant, I was and she wasn’t. And Petersville wasn’t something like basketball she could choose not to do. She’d just have to get up and do it badly every day till one day she either got better or left. And maybe she would get better when she started school, but maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she’d wake up with that feeling that she was in the wrong bed in the wrong room in the wrong town every morning till she was old enough to go someplace right. My parents would have said that was impossible, that it would just take time, but that’s what parents have to say. The truth is they have no idea.
“I’m sorry.” I wasn’t even sure what I was apologizing for, but I felt bad. Maybe Josh was rubbing off on me.
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”
“But maybe I could help.” I slid off my chair so I was kneeling under the table now too. “I mean, I know I was weird when you asked Josh to join your book club, but it’s okay with me if you still want him to.”
“Thanks.” She gave a little smile, but she still looked so sad.
“And…maybe, maybe I could make the doughnuts while I take care of Zoe so you could still go to the Solve-a-Thon.” I couldn’t believe what I was offering.
“Really?” Jeanine said.
“Really?” Dad said.
“Yeah, sure. As long as Dad makes sure Zoe gets that I can’t play all day.” Even if it didn’t work, I could always make the doughnuts the next day. The Regional Solve-a-Thon wouldn’t roll around again for a year.
“Done.” Dad reached out to shake my hand before I could change my mind. “Zoe!”
“What?” Zoe yelled from the living room.
“Come here!”
“Why?”
“Now!”
A moment later, Zoe appeared in the doorway in her ski jacket and fairy wings. “Don’t yell. It hurts my concussion.” She’d been in and out of concussions since my father’s accident.
“What did we talk about yesterday? When I call, you come. Period.”
“I don’t remember yesterday. You know, concussion,” she said, pointing to her head like my dad was a complete nuddy.
Dad rolled his eyes and said something in French that sounded like, “Deeeuh meh deh!”
“What did I do?” Zoe said.
“Nothing,” Dad said.
“Then why are you Frenching at me?”
“Just listen. Mommy’s sick and has to rest and I have to take Jeanine to the Solve-a-Thon, so Tris is going to play with you, but he’s also going to be making his doughnuts, so you have to play quietly while he’s working in the kitchen. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said and skipped off.
“Okay?” he said to me.
“Okay.” It so wasn’t, but it was too late to back out now.
“All right, Jeanine, thank your brother. Let me just tell Mom. Hopefully, she’s made it off the bathroom floor by now,” he said as he climbed the stairs.
Jeanine and I crawled out from under the table and began collecting her pencils. “You really think you’ll be able to make the doughnuts with Zoe around?” she said.
I shrugged.
“Hey, um, I’m sorry for before, you know, for what I said about Charlie.”
“It’s okay. It’s true. But it’s okay, I think. He and I weren’t friends like…like you and Kevin are. I just didn’t know it.”
“Oh. I’m still sorry.” She looked down at her pencils.
“We missed one.” I pointed to a pencil that had rolled over by the stove, and Jeanine picked it up.
“I know you haven’t known him that long or anything, but Josh is really nice. It’s good you met him.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“All right, let’s get this show on the road,” Dad called. A second later, he was jogging down the stairs.
Jeanine pulled her hood up and Velcroed it under her chin. “Hey, if you can’t get the doughnuts done, maybe I can help you make them tomorrow, okay?”
“Sure. Hey, good luck,” I said.
“Thanks…also thanks for…” She trailed off.
“I know. You’re welcome.”
18
“But I told you we’re taking turns!” I yelled at the bathroom door. Zoe had locked herself inside and was holding my pastry gun hostage.
“Dad said you had to play Peter Pan.”
“Really? Is that what Dad said? Because what I remember him saying is that you have to let me bake.”
“Oh, yeah! I remember that too,” she said like she was all excited we had this in common.
“Okay, so come out, I’ll bake, and then we can play Peter Pan.”
“But Dad never said which came first, Peter Pan or doughnuts. Why can’t Peter Pan go first?”
I thought for a minute. “Look, if you come out right now, and be good till I finish making the dough, I’ll give you fairy dust to play Peter Pan with.”
The door flew open, and Zoe stood there, a band of lotion painted under each eye like a linebacker. “What fairy dust?”
• • •
Thirty minutes later, I had my first blob of doughnut dough. I’d followed the recipe more carefully than I’d ever done anything in my life, but since I’d never made doughnuts before, I had no clue how I’d done.
The dough felt good, soft like new Play-Doh and cold and sticky too, but it didn’t feel different from any other blob of dough I’d touched before, so who knew? I’d just have to wait and see, which made me nervous but also kind of excited. I covered it with plastic wrap, then put it in the pantry to rise. It would need two hours, which gave me plenty of time to play with Zoe and make the cream.
“You can come out now!” I called.
Zoe climbed out of the cardboard box she’d dragged into the kitchen and pulled the masking tape off her mouth. “Where’s my dust?”
Just so you know, the cage and muzzle were Zoe’s idea. I’d told her that if she touched or said anything while I was cooking, our deal was off, and she didn’t want to take any chances.
“It’s coming,” I
