Cookie Monsters: Chapters 17–25

I try to rally and
regroup, but it’s impossible when I spy Piper waltzing
into the room, flanked by her girl-groupies, Rachel and
Lindsay.

I blink hard, secretly wishing the dead reptile
would come back to life to slink around her legs and cut
off all circulation.

One by one, the kids in the room stop bantering with
each other and turn to watch our heated sideshow.

Piper, realizing that she has an audience, leans down
and slams her hand onto my desk, causing me to flinch—and I hate it when I flinch.

That’s when I spy Logan Smith and Dallas Chase, the
superstar quarterback at Valentine Middle, sidle up to us.

“I’m not worried,” I lie, trying not to let my twitching
lip tell on me.
"You should be,” she says, slithering away with her minions by her side.

“Don’t freak out,” Lyric says, smoothing out the gray tulle on her skirt, which is layered over her houndstooth
leggings.

We’ll take her down from that high
horse—trust me.

“Let’s just say
we’d rather not be associated with conceit and arrogance.”

“Let’s just say
we’d rather not be associated with conceit and arrogance.”

“Now that definitely sounds like a bribe,” I yelp before
I can catch myself.
Piper gasps, clutching her imaginary pearls like Betty
Jean does every time something shocks her socks off. “I’m
offended that you would even suggest such a thing. You
do know what incentive means, don’t you?”

“The competition isn’t over,” Piper says, sauntering
back to her seat.

Then I sit back and exhale, getting comfy in
the posh place, like I always do, admiring the shop's view.

Every few feet, watermelon-pink pedicure chairs and alabaster nail stations are positioned around the big rectangular room.

“I was just explaining Lucy’s life dilemma to Betty
Jean.”
“Oh yeah, she’s in deep. Her parentals are one step
away from sentencing her to a lifetime on punishment!”

“It’s ambitious, Brookie,” Betty Jean says, exhaling
deeply. She digs her fingernail into the steering wheel.
Then she shifts gears. “But then again, setting high goals
can be a motivating part of the sales process. You shoot
for the moon, but even if you miss, you’ll land among the
stars.”

“We just have to be diligent and work the system.”

“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.

Begrudgingly, I hold out my hand to her and wait for
her to shake it.

“I don’t mean to downplay all the hard work you guys
put into making the video go viral, but it stinks that those
sales won’t matter moving forward. I was really counting
on them to push me over the top.”

“You’re both at roughly a thousand sales and every move
you make going forward will be about sheer will. And
you’ve got more heart than she’ll ever have. You’re made
of atria and ventricles, and all the other cool stuff we
learned in science class.”

“You’re both at roughly a thousand sales and every move
you make going forward will be about sheer will. And
you’ve got more heart than she’ll ever have. You’re made
of atria and ventricles, and all the other cool stuff we
learned in science class.”

“Well then, congratulations, Brooklyn. That’s what
we call real growth. Clarity. An epiphany.”

I wanted to win so badly that it
all became about beating Piper Parker at her game, and
I forgot that I was playing my own game—one that Mom
put so much love and compassion into that was all about
being of service to others.

On the way to the Energy
Bee Farm’s stand, she listens to the latest revelation at my
Piper Parker pity party.

“What is it that I always tell you, Brookie? Never underestimate—”
“The competition in business,” I finish.
“Yes! You have to always stay ahead of them at all
times.”

“I know the different flavors, even
the vegan and gluten-free ones.”

“I didn’t know we offered vegan cookies,” Stella Rose
says, her eyebrows dancing a jig.

Twenty minutes later, we rush down the hallways,
into my bedroom, frenetic energy whizzing around us.

“I know what’s missing,” I say sheepishly.

To say that I’m embarrassed is an understatement.

“You shouldn’t,” Lucy says, sashaying into the room. “I practice my catwalk up and down my hallway at home.
I have to be ready for my first big fashion show when they
shout out the designer and I have to make my celebratory walk down the runway. I’m still trying to figure out if I’m
going to take a bow or do a series of twirls.”

This time is different; I’m finally ready to step up and use my voice to advocate for what I want.

I wake up on the final day of cookie sales still groggy
from a night filled with tossing and turning.

Between all the
businesses, especially good ol’ Bob’s, I managed to sell a stellar 2,677 boxes of cookies.

“I was wondering what took you so long to come get my order, Ms. Ace.
You were first in line last year. Or wait—was that your
mother?”
"It was my mom,” I say sullenly.

“Um...well, um...we didn’t really have to donate to
anyone. It wasn’t a requirement.”
“Yes, I know, Piper. That’s what makes it noble.”

Lyric flashes a zillion-dollar smile at me just as the
reporter moseys up to us with his camera in his hand.

I smother a snortle when Lindsay breaks
out into the routine and Piper nearly has a conniption.

“Brooklyn, it appears that Piper isn’t too keen on
going to London after all.”
“I’ve been, like, a thousand times, soooo...”