Pumpkin Spice Secrets Read online

  CURL UP WITH ALL OF THE SWRL NOVELS!

  Pumpkin Spice Secrets by Hillary Homzie

  Peppermint Cocoa Crushes by Laney Nielson

  Cinnamon Bun Besties by Stacia Deutsch

  Salted Caramel Dreams by Jackie Nastri Bardenwerper

  Copyright © 2017 by Hillary Homzie

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Sky Pony Press, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018.

  First Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are from the author’s imagination, and used fictitiously.

  Sky Pony Press books may be purchased in bulk at special discounts for sales promotion, corporate gifts, fund-raising, or educational purposes. Special editions can also be created to specifications. For details, contact the Special Sales Department, Sky Pony Press, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018 or [email protected].

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  www.hillaryhomzie.com

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

  Cover design by Liz Casal

  Cover photo credit iStock

  Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-5107-3045-8

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-5107-3011-3

  Printed in the United States of America

  Chapter One:

  SWEET MEET

  “Order anything you want,” says my sister, Elvie. We’re at the Friendly Bean Café in the shopping center close to our house. The whole place smells like coffee, whipped cream, and chocolate.

  “Anything?” I ask. When Mom takes me here she only lets me get hot cocoa. She still thinks I’m five.

  Elvie smiles. “Anything. It’s my treat.”

  Okay, right now I’m thinking—big sisters are awesome. Three people stand in line in front of us. It’s Saturday afternoon and the place is packed. At the tables, moms chat together while their toddlers happily munch on cookies. High school kids gossip and laugh, and some customers sit by themselves looking at their phones or reading the newspaper. There’s a hissing sound as the barista steams milk behind the counter.

  Elvie drove me to the Friendly Bean to talk about something. I have no idea what, though. I feel excited and nervous at the same time.

  “So, you promise what you want to talk about isn’t anything bad?” I whisper.

  Elvie shakes her head. “No, Maddie. I promise. But it is really important. A sister talk.” She points to the menu. “Now, focus. They have frappés, cappuccinos, lattés, teas, and every kind of cookie and brownie you can imagine.”

  “Dessert too?” I ask as the barista knocks a small silver pitcher of frothy milk against the counter.

  “Go for it!” Elvie jiggles the car keys in her hand before stuffing them into her purse. “After all, you’re starting seventh grade this week.”

  “And you’re going to be a junior,” I add.

  “Ugh. Don’t remind me.” Elvie constantly goes on about how hard her year is going to be. She’s signed up for three AP courses and has been stressing about it. But I don’t know why. She always gets A’s.

  “Okay, I promise never to bring up that being a junior is crazy hard—except for right now.” We laugh, and move up a little closer to the counter. At a nearby table, there’s a group of girls whom I don’t know, whispering their secrets. Somehow, even though I don’t know them, they make me feel left out. Suddenly, I’m really missing my best friend, Jana Patel. She’s been away with her family for two weeks up at their cabin in the White Mountains in New Hampshire. Which is about three hours from Northborough, where we live in Massachusetts.

  “Why don’t you tell me what you want and then grab us a seat?” says Elvie, looking behind her as more people walk through the door. “This place is getting super crowded.”

  I study the specials on the blackboard right next to a HELP WANTED sign. The one with the smiling jack-o’-lantern catches my eye. The drawing is really good. Plus, I love pumpkin spice. After ordering an iced pumpkin spice frappé and a pumpkin spice muffin, I put my windbreaker on the back of a chair and gaze out the window. Mom had insisted I bring it, even though it’s broiling hot outside. The sun is shining brightly, and the sky is a perfect blue with frothy white clouds.

  Elvie grabs our drinks, and I rush over to get mine from her.

  “Here you go,” she says, handing me my pumpkin spice frappé. “Your muffin is coming.” She pivots around to pay at the counter. Heading back to our seats, I see two women, clutching shopping bags, about to sit down at our table. The table where I just put my windbreaker! How could they not see it?

  With my frappé in my hand, I race to our table to intercept the women before they sit down.

  And then somehow I don’t see the boy walking in front of me to stand at the back of the line.

  And then somehow I slam my plastic cup right up against him.

  And then somehow the lid flips off my iced pumpkin spice frappé and it all spills onto his shirt. I mean all of it. The whipped cream, the caramel swirls, the sprinkles, and the icy rest of it.

  The boy jerks back and lets out a groan of surprise. His voice is surprisingly deep.

  “Uh oh! Spill!” cries somebody. Chairs scrape against the floor. I can feel eyes on me.

  “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry,” I say, at first not looking up.

  And then I do. And I wish that I hadn’t because the boy looking at me is cute. Really cute. Like if he were a yearbook picture, I would stare at it all day. His eyes are sky blue. His teeth are whipped-cream white. He’s got a swirl of curly reddish-brown hair on his forehead that’s shaggy but still not messy, almost windblown or something. He’s got these adorable dimples and his eyes look extra alive somehow. Freckles dust his nose.

  I think I’m saying something like, “I’ll get. Napkin. Now.” But I’m not really sure.

  “It’s fine, seriously,” says the boy. A staff person comes over and hands him a rag, and says she’ll be back with a mop.

  “I actually need to cool off,” says the boy, waving his hand in front of his face like a fan. “Just got back from practice. It was really hot.”

  He’s just too cute. I worry that he might be a mirage or a figment of my imagination. That I might have inhaled too much sugar. But of course I really haven’t had any of my frappé yet, since it’s dripping off this boy.

  But I do know that I’m scrambling for the napkins. There’s a stack of brown ones on a service counter to the left. They’re in my fist and I almost embarrass myself further by starting to wipe the pumpkin-colored swirly sludge off his shirt, but I stop myself in time.

  I try not to show any sign of distress, even though I feel so stupid right now. Breathe, I tell myself. Breathe. Among my friends I’m the calm one. The reasonable one. The one you can talk to and who won’t blab.

  My sister rushes over with another stack of napkins to help clean up the mess. “Sorry about that,” she says to the boy, like I’m some little kid she’s babysitting. “Looks like the mop person got lost.” Then Elvie tells me she’s going to get me a new pumpkin spice frappé and stake out a new table. After I thank her a million times, she leaves, but not before grumbling how they obviously do need more help around the place.

  “If I had to clean up,” says the boy, once my sister is out of sight, “I know I’d conveniently get lost too.” His
eyes twinkle. “It’s so much work. Especially when it’s a big mess.”

  “Yeah, well, my sister did order me the jumbo size.” I can feel my face redden. His shirt is so sopped. And this time I notice it says Northborough Middle School. That’s where I go! But I’ve never seen this boy before. Believe me, I would remember those eyes! Not that I’m one of the boy-crazy girls. Because I’m not. I’m just regular, I guess. You know, a couple of minor crushes last year that were really no big deal. Total opposite from Jana, who has a different crush every week and lets everyone know about it.

  I want to ask this boy how he could possibly be wearing a Northborough shirt, but I’m too embarrassed. I hand him the napkins.

  “Thanks,” he says. “Now my shirt will smell like Thanksgiving and—” he examines what’s left of the orange-y beverage in my cup.

  “It’s my favorite drink,” I say. Okay, I’ve never had it before but I’m sure if I had taken a sip, it would have been my favorite drink. “I really got it everywhere!” I tap my own chest. “You still have some sprinkles on your shirt.”

  “Thanks,” he says, as another café employee, a ponytailed guy with thick black glasses and tattoos up and down his arms, hurries over and cleans the floor with a mop.

  “I guess I should buy you a new shirt or something,” I say.

  “I can toss it in the wash.” The boy grins a lopsided grin, and I think I’m going to melt faster than an iced coffee left outside on the broiling hot sidewalk.

  I smile back at him and for a moment just stand there sort of awkwardly.

  “I’m Jacob, by the way.”

  “Maddie.” I once again study his shirt and get brave. “So you go to Northborough Middle? I don’t remember seeing you …” My words trail off.

  “Oh, that’s because I used to be invisible, but my superpowers have worn off. So that’s why you can see me now.”

  “I was wondering.” I stand there grinning, knowing he’s joking. But I’m really wanting to know the truth.

  Squinting, he strokes his chin. “Actually, my parents were sending me to this private school. Endicott Academy. It was a pain. A long drive and whatever. I convinced them to let me transfer to Northborough this year for seventh grade. I know a ton of kids there, from my traveling soccer team.”

  “That’s awesome,” I say. “I do club soccer too.”

  “Cool.”

  There’s no way I’m going to tell him that I mostly sit on the bench. Jana is the star. “Northborough Middle is where I go too.” My cheeks warm. “I guess that part was obvious. Duh.”

  “Yeah, well, you never can be too sure.” He smiles again and his eyes do that twinkle thing. The line is growing longer. It’s looping to the very back of the store.

  This is almost too good to be true: he’s in seventh grade, and he’s my height—almost five foot seven. I usually tower over all the boys.

  “Well, see you around,” I say lamely.

  “Soon. Since school starts on Tuesday.”

  “Yeah, really soon, then. And the next time I see you. I promise I won’t spill pumpkin spice frappé all over you.”

  “Something chocolaty next time, then?” He chuckles.

  “Yeah,” I agree. “I can do that.”

  My sister is waving at me from a table across the room. She sits with her back perfectly straight as if she’s a model in some photo shoot. “Maddie, c’mon.”

  “Guess I got to go,” I say.

  “Yeah. Me too. I better get in line before it snakes out the door.” He glances over at Elvie, who’s holding my new drink over her head as if I might get lost in a giant crowd. “Your sister looks like her arm might fall off or something if you don’t get over there in five seconds.”

  I giggle. It’s true. “Well, ’bye, Jacob.”

  “’Bye, Maddie.” He spins on his heel and officially rejoins the back of the line.

  I don’t look back as I head towards our new table. I’m glad Jacob can’t see me, because my hands are trembling and my heart is pounding so loudly it’s like when they turn the bass all the way up at a school dance. Those eyes! I feel like I may actually lift off the ground and hover over the café for the rest of the afternoon.

  Chapter Two:

  SISTER TALK

  “So, have you been listening to a word I’m saying?” asks Elvie. She takes a bite out of her chocolate chip cookie. We’ve been sitting down at the Friendly Bean for five minutes now, and Jacob is still in line.

  “Um, yes, you were saying that middle school, seventh grade, is when things get serious.” A bald guy sitting at the table next to us clacks away at his laptop. I’m surprised Elvie didn’t bring hers to get in a little extra work. “Seventh grade is when they start to pile on the homework,” I say.

  “Exactly.” She nods, and her long black ponytail swishes. Only it’s true I’m not perfectly paying attention—I’m watching Jacob. Well, the back of Jacob. And those reddish-brown curls that touch the back of his neck. He’s now one away from being served at the counter.

  “Sixth grade is all about the transition from elementary school to middle school,” explains Elvie. She clasps her hands in front of her plate. Her nails are seashell pink, practical and pretty, just like everything about her. “And in seventh grade, they’re preparing you for high school. How you do this year will totally affect everything. Counselors look at your middle school record to see what classes to place you in for high school. If you want to get into a good university, you have to totally step it up, Maddie.”

  I take a bite out of my brownie. “I did fine last year.”

  “Yeah, but you got a B-minus in Language Arts.”

  “That’s because of the oral reports. Mrs. Kingston made them a big part of our grade.”

  “Well, you have to get over it.” She blows on her cappuccino and it makes a little wave of froth.

  “Okay, okay,” I say. “I’ll try.”

  A server comes by asking if we have any dishes she can take away. My sister shakes her head. Then she leans forward across the table. “Mom and Dad worry,” she says. “I’m just trying to help you out.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I say. “Even though I’m not as perfect as you always are.”

  “I’m not so perfect,” says Elvie.

  “Okay. Well, Mom and Dad think so.”

  She stirs her drink. “You have no idea about what they say to me when you’re not around, Maddie. An A-minus is not good enough. I have to get all A’s. A-pluses, even. They’re easier on you.”

  I fiddle with my napkin. Jacob is now ordering. I wonder what he’s going to get? “That’s because I’m not as smart as you.”

  “That’s so not true. It’s just that you’re more … distracted,” she says. “And you’re really good at other things. Like art.” She looks back at the hand-drawn chalkboard menu next to the HELP WANTED sign. “Like, I bet you could draw all of those little colored pumpkins and cocoa beans just as well.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” I shrug.

  “That’s something I could never do. It’d just be stick figures.”

  Jacob grabs his drink. It looks like he’s getting something chocolaty. A smoothie, maybe. The piped-in music, some happy-sounding reggae, almost makes me want to get up and dance.

  Elvie notices me watching him and raises her eyebrows. “You were talking to him for a really long time. You didn’t drop that drink on purpose, did you?”

  “What? No!” My eyes follow Jacob as he goes out the door. He stops for a moment, though, and turns to wave at me. I wave back, beaming. He’s followed by a fit-looking woman in a yoga top and pants. She is obviously his mother. Judging by the shopping bag she’s holding, she arrived later after doing some errands. I definitely would have noticed her earlier. She’s really pretty, and I can tell where Jacob gets those startlingly bright eyes. She gazes at me curiously, like she knows all about the spill. My face is probably turning cherry red right now.

  “It’s okay,” Elvie says knowingly. “I remember those days
. And he is cute.”

  “Yes,” I admit. And sigh. “He really is.”

  Elvie stirs her cappuccino. “So another thing I wanted to talk about is friendship stuff. Sort of, the rules. It’s really important this year. Seventh grade can get kind of dicey. Girl drama. That kind of thing.”

  “I know all about it,” I say. “We call it the BFF Code.”

  “Perfect,” Elvie says. “Like, don’t talk about a cool thing your best friend isn’t invited to in front of her.”

  I nod. One time, a girl from my ceramics class invited me to go skiing for the day in New Hampshire. She wasn’t someone I even knew that well. But Jana got really jealous. She can be kind of territorial. “Remember that time Jana wouldn’t speak to me when I went skiing with Baylor?” I say.

  “Exactly. So just remember to be a good friend. And don’t gossip. At least not too much. Always stick up for your besties if they’re being dissed or bullied. And never, ever go for your friends’ crushes or boyfriends.” I shake my head, thinking that I would never do that. It just wasn’t right—totally against the Code.

  Elvie was still talking. “Not that you have real boyfriends in middle school. But you get the idea.”

  It was funny hearing Elvie lecture me on all this, since as far as I know, she’s never had a boyfriend. Her only romance was with the current textbook in front of her face.

  I clear my throat. “Did you ever have a crush on a guy? When you were my age?”

  “Oh, sure. Of course. Not that anything happened. But, yeah. There were a couple of guys. Micah Hammond in eighth grade. All of eighth grade. He wore pink shirts sometimes. Which I thought was soooo cool. He was brave enough to wear them and nobody teased him about it. And he played the ukulele. And the violin.”

  “So, what happened?” I asked.

  Elvie glanced at her phone as it pinged with a text message. “Oh, gosh. I have a study group meeting at the house in fifteen minutes. We’ve gotta go.”

  “A study group? Before school even starts?”

  “In AP English we have an assignment during the summer. That’s what happens in the really hard classes.”