Emily's Tiara Trouble Read online

  I give Chloe a hug. She deserved that fifty dollars.

  ‘It’s okay, because I had time to start building my diorama for the science fair,’ Chloe says. ‘I’m making the planets out of fruit. Mars is a lychee, Jupiter’s a melon and Neptune’s a lime. Lychees aren’t actually in season, but the restaurant’s fruit supplier organised to get me one from a batch imported from Thailand.’

  Ms Bayliss is on playground duty and she spots us at the school gate. She looks at us and the boys loitering around the containers.

  ‘You must be the famous baklava sellers I’ve been hearing so much about,’ she calls out. ‘Make sure you tell your customers that baklava contains nuts. I don’t fancy confiscating your produce because you’ve sold it to someone with an allergy.’

  Ms Bayliss is pretty awesome. I didn’t think we would be in trouble for selling the baklava – it is for a good cause. But the thought of having Yiayia’s massive cooking efforts confiscated is scary.

  We get to class and Bella immediately draws up four signs to stick on each batch of baklava:

  The anti-princesses make a few more sales in class. I try not to giggle as I watch Chloe pass a piece of baklava under the desk to Violet in the back row.

  We break for recess and walk to the picnic tables. Bella and Grace are with me, but Chloe’s staying behind to pick up an entry form for the science fair.

  I start dividing the baklava between us so we can sell it in the playground.

  Before I’m done, Chloe bounds around the corner towards us. She’s running almost as fast as Grace. Her face is as red as a tomato.

  ‘Stop, stop!’ she yells.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask. ‘Is something wrong?’

  Chloe tries to speak, but she’s too out of breath. ‘I … I just … it’s amazing … I just…’ she huffs and puffs.

  Grace gently grabs Chloe by the shoulders and looks her in the eye. ‘I saw Dad do this to one of my brothers at a soccer match once,’ she says. ‘Calm down. Take a deep breath and tell us what you’re trying to say.’

  Chloe ignores the advice and starts jumping up and down like a pogo stick.

  ‘Give the baklava away!’ she shrieks. ‘Give it away for free! I was just talking to the boy whose dad wanted to buy the recipe. He told me it’s done! They did the deal last night! We’re going to be rich!’

  It certainly is awesome news. I can see why Chloe is overwhelmed, but we still need to raise the money for Grace’s carnival.

  ‘Don’t you see, Grace?’ asks Chloe. ‘I can give you the money for your carnival. We don’t have to waste any more time baking and selling this baklava. Frankly, I’m sick of it! It’s been baklava this, baklava that. I’ve had enough baklava to last a lifetime!’

  Bella and I start laughing and jumping up and down with Chloe.

  ‘I can give you the money for your carnival … I can give you the money for your carnival.’ Grace repeats Chloe’s sentence over and over. ‘Wait a minute. Are you sure your parents will let you give me the money?’

  Chloe nods excitedly. ‘Of course,’ she says. ‘It is my recipe. The buyer wouldn’t have even tasted the baklava if it wasn’t for us selling it at school for your carnival.’

  Grace holds up her hands for us to stop celebrating.

  ‘No, you can’t do it, Chloe,’ she says. ‘We’d be failing our mission, which was to bake the baklava and sell it. We have to follow through.’

  I admire Grace’s dedication, but I think I can find a loophole. I pull my notepad from my backpack and flip to the page where I first wrote down our mission to help Grace.

  ‘Here it is,’ I say. ‘You’re wrong, Grace. Our mission never mentioned baking baklava. I wrote it right here – see?’

  Mission Baklava: Raise money for Grace’s carnival entry.

  ‘So, what you’re saying is, it doesn’t matter how we raised the money?’ Grace asks.

  ‘Exactly!’ I squeal. ‘The method wasn’t important. Just the result. All we had to do was find the money. And it’s done!’

  Grace finally gives in to the excitement and starts jumping too. ‘Free baklava for everyone!’ she yells. ‘Come and take it! First in, first served!’

  A stampede of sixth-graders almost knocks us over as they run for the picnic tables. We scoot out of the way as they fight for the pieces like squawking seagulls competing for hot chips at the beach. In the blink of an eye, the plates are empty.

  The sixth-grader I made the promise to yesterday folds his arms and stomps his feet. ‘Hey, I didn’t get any,’ he whines. ‘You have to make more.’

  ‘Make it yourself,’ I say. ‘We’ve got better things to do than cook for boys.’

  It has quite possibly been the most exciting day of our lives.

  We’re on a high. As Chloe and I walk home from school it almost feels as though we’re floating.

  ‘If I could bottle up a formula to recreate this feeling I would definitely win a Nobel Prize,’ Chloe says. ‘It would be a potion to make you weightless. An anti-gravity serum. There are so many scientific possibilities.’

  We arrive at Chloe’s apartment and the sight of her brother eating fruit salad brings us back to earth. Seeing Alex reminds us of Chloe’s dilemma: working in the restaurant.

  Her mum and dad still haven’t told her when she will have to start. And Chloe still hasn’t had the guts to ask.

  ‘What’s the matter, Chloe?’ Alex asks. ‘Shouldn’t you be pretty chuffed right now?’

  He has obviously heard about the recipe deal.

  ‘I’m giving it to Grace,’ Chloe says. ‘I don’t care about earning any money. That’s why I’d rather have my weekends to myself than work in the restaurant kitchen.’

  Alex scratches his head. ‘Hang on,’ he says. ‘I thought you’d like it there, being surrounded by all that baking. You love cooking, don’t you? You created that baklava recipe.’

  Chloe looks frustrated, so I interrupt.

  ‘It’s not the cooking she likes,’ I say. ‘It’s the mixing, the experimenting, the coming up with new concoctions.’

  He still doesn’t get it.

  ‘It’s the science, Alex,’ I explain. ‘Chloe loves science.’

  Alex spoons some more fruit salad into his mouth. ‘Well, Professor Chloe, you better tell Mum and Dad you don’t want to work in the kitchen,’ he says between mouthfuls. ‘They’re counting on you for next Saturday. I saw your name on the roster.’

  Chloe’s eyes narrow. ‘Where did you get the lychee in that fruit salad, Alex?’

  Alex swallows. ‘It was in a box on the coffee table,’ he says. ‘There was a lime and a honeydew melon too. Want some?’

  Chloe freaks. She launches herself at Alex and starts pounding his chest with her fists.

  ‘No, no, no!’ she cries. ‘First you get a scholarship to boarding school, then I have to work in the restaurant on weekends, and now you eat my science fair project!’

  Alex shields himself from Chloe’s swinging arms. ‘Eat your project? What are you on about?’

  Yiayia and Chloe’s parents rush into the lounge room from the stairwell.

  Tears are flowing down Chloe’s cheeks. I help Yiayia pull her away from her brother.

  We’re all in a state of shock. We’ve never seen Chloe behave that way.

  ‘Everyone calm down,’ Chloe’s mum says. ‘Can someone explain what’s going on here?’

  The moment has finally arrived. ‘The talk’ is coming. Chloe’s weekends are about to be made a thing of the past.

  I wonder if I should leave, but Yiayia motions for me to take a seat.

  I sit with Chloe and her mum and dad on the couch. Yiayia and Alex head to the kitchen to pour some tea.

  ‘Alex’s fruit salad was supposed to be my science project,’ Chloe says. ‘And I don’t want to work in the kitchen when Alex leaves. I don’t want to be a dishwasher. I don’t even want to be a cook. I’m a scientist.’

  Chloe’s dad surprises us all with his response.

>   ‘Okay,’ he says.

  Chloe wipes her eyes. ‘What do you mean, okay?’

  ‘Chloe, a scientist needs to check her facts,’ her dad says.

  Yiayia and Alex bring in teacups, but I can’t drink. I’m too anxious to hear what facts Chloe hasn’t checked.

  ‘We were never going to force you to work in the restaurant, Chloe,’ her mum says. ‘We thought you might like to help with the lunch rush for an hour or so on Saturdays. That’s why we put your name down to replace your brother, but it’s not set in stone.’

  I cover my smile with my hands.

  ‘So, this is just a big misunderstanding?’ Chloe asks.

  Her dad takes a sip of tea. ‘You obviously have a great talent, Chloe. One we haven’t recognised before, but Yiayia has filled us in.’

  ‘We want to use those talents,’ Chloe’s mum continues. ‘We’d love it if you came up with more recipes – or call them experiments if you prefer. Maybe it is time we went through some of our old dishes and gave them a fresh twist.’

  Chloe’s lips begin to curl upwards.

  ‘Let me get this straight,’ she says. ‘I don’t have to work in the kitchen, or the restaurant?’

  ‘For a science whiz, you’re not a very good listener,’ Alex scoffs.

  ‘No, Chloe, you will not have to work in the restaurant or the kitchen,’ her mum says. ‘You’re only ten. All we ask is one of your amazing recipes every once in a while.’

  Chloe pounces on her mum for a hug. Then Chloe and her dad hug. Then Chloe and Yiayia hug. Then Chloe and I hug. Chloe even gives Alex a tight squeeze.

  It’s back to being the best day of our lives. We just need to find a fresh lychee.

  Bella’s mum, dad, brother and all the anti-princesses are chipping in to finish the treehouse.

  Dr MacKenzie hired a proper builder to get the walls up, windows in and roof on. She told Bella she was very impressed with her design.

  ‘All we need is a coat of paint,’ Bella says.

  Dr MacKenzie has tins of all the primary colours ready to go.

  ‘How about blue?’ he asks. ‘Blue’s not too girly.’

  Bella groans. Her favourite colour is actually pink, but not because she’s a girl. She likes how fuschia brightens up a painting or drawing.

  And she especially loves a pink sky, like at dusk.

  ‘What’s wrong, Bella?’ her mum asks. ‘What have we done now?’

  Bella’s parents have been trying hard to please her. And they’re not doing it with gifts, they’re doing it with time. They’ve actually taken a weekend off work and they’re using it wisely.

  ‘I was thinking pink might be better,’ I say. ‘That’s Bella’s favourite colour.’

  Bella’s parents are surprised. They just got used to the fact Bella doesn’t like fairytales and dolls.

  ‘It’s not about what’s best for boys and what’s best for girls,’ Bella tries to explain. ‘It’s about everyone being different. Some girls do like fairytales and dolls. I suppose some boys do too.’

  Max calls out from the top of the treehouse, ‘Not me. No dolls for me, thank you very much.’

  We all laugh.

  ‘I guess what I’m trying to say is, you can’t assume someone is going to like something or not like something,’ Bella goes on. ‘You need to get to know them.’

  She decides to use the anti-princesses to make her point.

  ‘You can’t just assume that Chloe likes cooking because her parents own a restaurant,’ she continues. ‘The truth is she doesn’t really like cooking. Her awesome talent is science. And Grace’s mum and dad make her do ballet because they think that’s what girls are good at. But Grace’s awesome talent is running. And Emily…everyone talks about how pretty she is because they think that’s what girls want to hear, but all Emily wants is for people to realise that her awesome talent is maths.’

  Max climbs out of the treehouse and flops down on the grass. ‘What’s this got to do with paint?’

  Dr Singh raises a finger to her lips. ‘Shhhh, Max,’ she says. ‘Let your sister finish.’

  ‘What’s this got to do with paint?’ Bella repeats. ‘I want pink paint. That’s what. My name is Bella, I don’t like fairytales, my awesome talents are building and art, and I want to paint my treehouse pink.’

  Dr MacKenzie pulls some paintbrushes out of the toolbox. ‘Pink it is,’ he says. ‘Let’s get mixing that red and white.’

  Two hours later the treehouse is finished.

  Mission HQ: complete.

  Grace’s mum and dad think they’re at the Junior District Athletics Carnival to spectate. Grace is so close to being able to compete that she didn’t want to risk her chance by telling them about her entry too soon.

  Even though we’ve paid the entry fee, Grace hasn’t been able to turn off that tiny voice in her head saying her parents could still stop her. But she has to tell them sooner or later. She just needs to find the right moment.

  Bella, Chloe and I join Grace and her family in the grandstand, trying to contain our excitement so as not to reveal Grace’s secret.

  A group of boys walk past and Mr Bennett nods hello in their direction.

  ‘Good runners, those boys,’ he says. ‘They’ll be stars one day, just you watch.’

  A voice booms over the loudspeaker: ‘Under-eleven girls, please meet at the end of the hundred-metre track.’

  It’s now or never.

  Grace closes her eyes and inhales.

  ‘Mum, Dad, I have to go and line up,’ she blurts. ‘I’m competing. I entered the carnival.’

  Grace’s mum looks at her sympathetically. ‘Sweetie, you can’t enter,’ she says. ‘It costs a lot of money.’

  Money talk. This is where I shine.

  ‘We’ve paid for her,’ I say. ‘It was forty dollars. We started fundraising at school – we planned to make six dollars and seventy cents per day, but then Chloe was given fifty dollars, so we ended up with more than enough.’

  Grace’s dad coughs. Or is he choking? ‘You can’t do something like this without our permission,’ he splutters. ‘You’re only ten, Grace.’

  Bella boldly steps forward. ‘Her first race is only a few minutes away. You’re not going to stop her, are you?’ She pulls a rolled-up sheet of cardboard from her backpack and unravels it.

  ‘And we baked and baked to raise money for Grace’s entry fee,’ adds Chloe. ‘You’re not going to let all our work go to waste, are you?’

  Mrs Bennett smiles and runs her hand over Bella’s sign. ‘This is very sweet, girls,’ she says. ‘You’ve put in a lot of effort.’

  She seems to have come around. The anti-princesses have worked their magic on her.

  Mr Bennett, meanwhile, has not come around. His lips are twisting into a cat’s-bottom pucker and his nostrils are flaring. It’s as though he’s trying to think of an excuse to stop her, but he can’t find the words.

  ‘Go, Grace,’ I say. ‘We’ll cheer you on here with your mum and dad.’

  Grace runs off without looking back.

  Bella, Chloe and I stand up so we can get the best possible view of the race.

  Grace takes her place at the starting line.

  ‘This is it, Grace,’ I whisper. ‘Everything you’ve been working so hard for is about to happen.’

  The starting gun goes off. Grace takes her first big step. Then another, then another. Step, step. Step. Step.

  Her legs are moving so fast they’re almost detaching from her body. Her eyes are focused on the ribbon pulled across the finish line.

  It seems to take only milliseconds for Grace to burst through that ribbon. Her first proper hundred-metre race is over. Just like that.

  The crowd is going nuts. The anti-princesses are the loudest of all.

  ‘Woohoo, Grace!’ Chloe yells. ‘Go, Grace!’ I squeal. ‘We love you, Grace!’ cries Bella.

  Grace makes the slow walk back to the grandstand.

  Her dad is dumbstruck. He hasn’t utte
red a word since Grace left for the track.

  ‘We knew you’d win, Grace,’ I say. ‘And you’re going to win the next four races too.’

  Grace’s dad opens his mouth to speak. ‘You … you beat them by half a length,’ he says. ‘The others … they were still at the fifty-metre mark when you broke the hundred-metre ribbon.’

  ‘I had no idea you were so fast, Grace,’ her mum says.

  Her parents are pretty clueless for grownups. Athletics is Grace’s calling. This is what we’ve been trying to explain to them for years.

  Grace’s brothers run over from the officials’ desk. ‘Grace, you beat the boys!’ yells Oliver.

  ‘There were no boys in that race,’ their dad snorts. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Her time, Dad,’ Oliver says. ‘We just checked it with the timekeepers. Grace was a whole second faster than the winner of the ten-year-old boys’ race.’

  Bella, Chloe and I leap towards Grace to give her a group hug.

  ‘A whole second is a long time over a distance of a hundred metres,’ I say. ‘Trust me. I know numbers.’

  I think Grace’s mum is crying. I’m pretty sure they’re happy tears, though. Proud, happy tears.

  Her dad puts his hand on Grace’s shoulder.

  ‘I was wrong, Grace,’ he says. ‘You’re exceptional. You won by such a distance and you beat the boys. You’re a star.’

  It’s great to see Grace win the next four races. It’s even greater to see her win over her mum and dad.

  Mission Baklava: complete.

  Yiayia doesn’t get behind the wheel much, but when the occasion calls she drives the restaurant van. And Chloe’s solar system diorama is such an occasion, so Yiayia takes her and me to the science fair.

  Bella and Grace are here too. The three of us didn’t bother entering the fair – we’d rather help Chloe complete her mission to win.

  I spent a good two hours combing the internet for somewhere Chloe could find a new lychee. We tracked some down at an Asian grocery store on the other side of the city. Chloe used the ten dollars she had left over from the recipe deal to buy a whole bag so she’d have back-ups.