Page 6

JULIE

Ms. Lawrence claps her hands together to get our attention. “I’d love each group to share how their projects are coming along, so we can provide feedback and help with any issues that have come up.”

I stare at my blank notebook. A few groups make their presentations, and they are great. One group is supporting a mentoring organization called WriteGirl that pairs teens with professional writers. Another wants to volunteer at Huntington Gardens to assist with school group tours. The last group tells us they are partnering with The Plus Bus to offer a free plus-size prom dress to anyone who wants one.

Our turn is coming up soon, and, in my notebook, there’s absolutely nothing written down.

I have never not done well on a school project or been this unprepared. I’m usually the group leader with ideas for days. But for some reason, I’m stumped. I’ve scratched out everything I came up with.

London also has nothing written on his tablet, though I notice he pushes his electronic pencil around like he has. None of this surprises me.

I make eye contact with Randall, who looks like he downed an espresso before class. He is positively twitching, staring at his notebook with intent.

Okay, so Randall has an idea.

I clear my throat and raise my hand.

“Yes, Julie,” says Ms. Lawrence.

“May my group and I step outside to go over our idea one more time?”

I smile sweetly. Ms. Lawrence nods. London and Randall look at me, surprised. I wave us out into the hallway.

“Okay, we have nothing,” I say, “But Randall, I can tell that you do.”

Randall opens his notebook wide and shows us the pages. On the blue-lined paper, there’s a drawing of a garden with rows of vegetables growing.

“Hear me out. The gardening club I run at Hope Street Elementary needs funds to continue our mission,” Randall says.

“What’s the mission?” asks London.

“A gardening club run by some of the third graders. We create recipes from the vegetables, fruits, and herbs we’re growing so the kids understand how to use them.”

“It sounds good, but would we have to work with these kids?” I ask.

“Yeah, duh,” says Randall.

I narrow my eyes at Randall’s smart-ass comment.

“Got anything better?” asks Randall.

“Sadly, no.”

Ms. Lawrence sticks her head out of the classroom door.

“Ready?”

“Positively,” I say.

London, Randall, and I walk back into the classroom and stand in front of our class. I raise my eyebrows at Randall, hoping he understands that it’s all on him to begin.

“Our project is called Garden of Eating,” starts Randall.

A cute name.

“We support the third graders at Hope Street Elementary and their homegrown garden,” says Randall.

Randall flips open his notebook to show off the drawing to the class. He points to the arrows in a flowchart. The main words in the flowchart are in capital letters.

“By teaching kids how to GROW their own food, we teach them sustainability,” says Randall.

“Their CREATIVE skills come into play through developing a recipe from scratch, either solo or together, to put together a full menu.

“And lastly, we TEACH them interpersonal skills to work as a team from start to finish.”

Ms. Lawrence claps loudly and the rest of the class follows suit. But I can’t let this presentation end without any input from me.

I clear my throat. The applause dies down. The idea is on the tip of my tongue, so I let it out.

“We’re also going to grow traditionally Asian vegetables, like gai lan, taro root, and daikon radish, to offer for free at the local farmers market,” I say.

Randall’s eyes widen at my declaration.

London adds, “We’ll include simple recipes to give away, as well, so customers know how to use the produce.”

“Wow,” says Ms. Lawrence. “Very impressive. I love the many ways that Garden of Eating can impact the community. I can’t wait to see your project come together.”

Me too.

Randall glares our way. But I don’t care because our presentation was the best one.

Of course, I know next to nothing about gardening. I’ll figure it out though. How hard can it be?

As soon as the bell rings, Randall whispers, “Follow me. Now.”

London isn’t as bothered by Randall’s bossy attitude as I am. We duck into an empty classroom.

“What was that ?”

London shrugs. “I think we did awesome.”

“Yeah, why are you freaking out?” I ask.

“You two suggested a bunch more work than I had planned. You know we have to present the final project in May. We can’t possibly tackle everything you said our project was about.”

Randall paces the room. He’s always been a worrier, even when we were kids. London rests his hand on Randall’s shoulder.

“I’ll handle the budget and logistics. And I’ll ask the Korean grandmas at church for recipes. They’ll happily share. They love me,” says London.

He snaps his fingers. Randall’s furrowed forehead eases a little bit.

“And I can act as head chef and organizer so we can secure the seedlings we’ll need,” I say. “Now, this is the part where you say ‘thank you’ for making your presentation even better.”

Randall grunts. London glances at his Apple Watch.

“Shoot, I’ve got to jet,” London says. He slips out of the classroom, winking at me before he goes. Oh dear.

Now I’m alone with Randall.

“Listen,” I say, “You know those were good ideas. I don’t like working with you any more than you like working with me, but I also can’t get anything less than an A in this class, so let’s pretend we can get along for a few months. Deal?”

Randall tilts his head, arching his dark eyebrows to the ceiling.

“Fine,” says Randall. “Truce.”

Randall sticks out his hand. We shake. As Randall leaves, I tell myself that it’ll be fine. I’ll stay completely focused on the project and put my family’s long-standing grudge to the side for now.

After the project is over, anything goes.