From the Desk of Zoe Washington(13)

I thought that Dad would like the song, since it had a jazzy feel to it. I couldn’t tell him about it, though. I wouldn’t want to have to lie about how I discovered it. Plus, I kind of wanted to keep the song to myself.

I played it again and started to write.

From the Desk of Zoe Washington

July 7

Dear Marcus,

I’m listening to “Hang On Little Tomato” right now, as I write this. It’s not the kind of song I normally listen to, but I like it. I never thought I’d want to be called a vegetable . . . or is a tomato a fruit? That always confuses me. If it’s a fruit, then why is it always in regular salads with other vegetables, but never in fruit salad? Anyway, after listening to the song, I don’t mind the nickname.

That’s cool that you’re getting your degree. I like school, too. I know it’s not for a long time yet, but I’m excited for college. I really want to go to the CIA. No, not the government CIA. (People always ask me that.) The Culinary Institute of America. My dream is to become a pastry chef and make desserts all day long. This summer, I have an internship at a bakery in Beacon Hill. If I do a good job, my mom will let me audition for a kid baking show on the Food Network. I really want to get on the show so I can win the prize money, and have my very own published cookbook. It’d be a dream come true.

Besides baking, I like riding my bike, reading, and hanging out with my friends. Except right now, I’m sort of in a fight with one of my friends. That’s a whole other story. My favorite subject in school is French class. I like languages. I want to become fluent in more than one. Maybe I can even become a pastry chef in France.

What did you like to do when you were my age? Also, I’m curious about your family. Where are your parents? Do you have any siblings?

Sincerely,

Zoe





Chapter Nine


The next morning, after my parents left for work, I poked my head into the living room, where Grandma was reading a book on the couch.

“Hi, Grandma,” I said. “Can I walk to the mailbox? I’ll be right back. I have a letter for Maya.”

Grandma put her book down and then twisted around to peer out of the window. “Isn’t it raining outside?”

Streaks of rain slid down the outside of our window.

“I think the mail carrier will take the letter if you leave it in your own mailbox,” Grandma said.

“Ours usually forgets,” I said, not knowing whether or not that was true. “Anyway, I don’t mind the rain. I have a rain jacket, and I’ll carry an umbrella. I’m only going to the corner of our street.”

Grandma stood up and joined me in the foyer. “I guess that’s all right. Hurry back though, in case it starts to thunder.”

“Okay.” I was holding Marcus’s letter, and I tucked it under my chin, address side down, while I put on my rain jacket. As I slipped my left arm into the sleeve, the letter fell to the floor.

Address side up.

Marcus’s name was right there in plain sight.

Grandma bent over to help me pick the envelope up, and it was like I was watching her in slow motion.

“I’ve got it!” I yelped. I bent over and snatched the letter off the floor before Grandma could, bumping heads with her in the process.

“Sorry!” I said as she stood up again, rubbing her head.

“That’s okay, baby.”

I hugged the letter to my chest as Grandma looked at me funny.

Had she seen Marcus’s name and address on the envelope? I couldn’t tell from the expression on her face.

Before Grandma could say anything, I grabbed the umbrella from the holder in the closet and opened the front door.

“Be right back!” I said and hurried outside to the mailbox, my heart thundering in my chest.

Trevor was in the back seat of Dad’s car when it was time to leave for Ari’s Cakes on Monday morning.

I opened the front passenger door. “What are you doing in here?”

Trevor shrugged. “I’m coming.”

“What?” I turned to Dad in the driver’s seat. “What’s he talking about?”

“He’s coming with you to your internship,” Dad explained. “Just for today. Patricia got called into work, and asked if he could spend the morning with us.”

“What about Simon?” Watching Trevor was supposed to be his brother’s responsibility.

“He’s still in Maine,” Trevor said. “Camping with his friends. He comes back today.”

“It’s only for a few hours,” Dad said. “I already asked Ariana, and she said it was fine.”

Why didn’t anyone ask if it was okay with me? This was so typical.

“Get in, Zoe,” Dad said. “We’re going to be late.”

I jumped into the car and put my seat belt on. Dad pulled out of the driveway and I leaned my head against the window. Not even Dad’s light jazz radio station could calm me.

“How’s your summer been?” Dad asked Trevor.

“Okay, I guess,” Trevor said. “I’ve been playing basketball a lot.”

“You’re a point guard, right?” Dad asked.

“Yeah.”

I stared out the window and tuned them out.

My headphones were in my backpack, so I dug them out and put them on. I listened to music for the rest of the ride.