A Passport to Pastries! Read online

  PENGUIN WORKSHOP

  An Imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, New York

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  Text copyright © 2015 by Veera Hiranandani. Illustrations copyright © 2020 by Penguin Random House LLC. All rights reserved. First published in 2015 by Grosset & Dunlap. This edition published in 2020 by Penguin Workshop, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, New York. PENGUIN and PENGUIN WORKSHOP are trademarks of Penguin Books Ltd, and the W colophon is a registered trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Visit us online at www.penguinrandomhouse.com.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014043478

  ISBN 9780593096932 (paperback)

  ISBN 9780593096949 (library binding)

  ISBN 9780593223048 (ebook)

  pid_prh_5.6.0_c0_r0

  For David, Hannah, and Eli,

  my best readers and eaters

  —VH

  For Aeden and his sweet tooth

  —CA

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  About the Author and Illustrator

  Chapter One

  My name is Phoebe G. Green, and I have a new nickname! My dad made it up. Get ready for it: Phoebe Green, The List Queen. Pretty cool, huh? It’s an extra-special nickname because it’s actually longer than my regular name. Usually nicknames are shorter, like Pheebs. I’m always making lists, so that’s why my dad calls me The List Queen. Mostly I make lists about why I’m so lucky, but this week I had to make an unlucky list. It was just that kind of week. Here’s why:

  I didn’t do well on my spelling test last week, so my parents made me do very boring spelling flash cards.

  For some reason, the more I do very boring spelling flash cards, the more I think about what to make for lunch. Once I thought about how artichokes and tomatoes and melty mozzarella cheese would taste in a toasty wrap. (By the way, I’m a foodie, which means I like eating and cooking delicious things . . . a lot.)

  Then I got a bad cold and didn’t go to school for two days. My nose was so stuffed that food tasted like paper, which was the saddest thing ever.

  Because I was sick, I missed Charlotte Hempler’s birthday party, so I didn’t get to eat the homemade cupcakes her mom brought us. They might have tasted like paper because of my cold, but still. Then I finally felt better. So I made a wrap and brought it to school, but it opened up while I was eating it, and I got tomato juice all over my favorite purple T-shirt.

  * * *

  But then, everything changed at dinner one night. We ate yummy salmon (which is my favorite fish because it tastes very buttery even though there’s no butter in it), baked potatoes, and sautéed spinach (that’s a fancy way of saying spinach cooked in a pan). I helped Dad make all of it because we are the official family chefs now. One of my best friends, Camille, is the reason why I like food so much. She moved to my town all the way from France and brought these beautiful French lunches to school. I loved them, even though lots of people thought they were weird. Then I became a foodie, Camille and I became best friends, and Dad and I became the family chefs. My mom never liked cooking that much, so it worked out.

  During dinner, I started thinking about my boring spelling cards again.

  “Mom, I don’t understand why I have spelling tests,” I said. “When I use the computer, it always fixes my wrong words.”

  “Phoebe,” my mom said, “knowing how to spell is part of learning English.”

  “But, Mom, things are different in the digital age,” I said because I heard someone saying “digital age” on TV yesterday, and I thought it sounded cool, even though I didn’t really know what it meant. Mom, Dad, and my older sister, Molly, stopped chewing their salmon and blinked at me. I guess they didn’t know what it meant, either. Then Mom told us something very interesting.

  “I spoke to Isabelle Durand today,” she said as she took a bite of spinach.

  Isabelle Durand is Camille’s mom. I also have another best friend, named Sage, who is not French at all, but he does like french fries a lot.

  “Did Camille invite me for another playdate?” I started bouncing up and down.

  “This is even better,” Mom said. “February break is coming up, and you know how we normally visit Grandma Green in Miami?”

  “Yeah, yeah?” I said, almost yelling. I loved going to Miami. The pool there was really warm, and everyone was so old and nice and let me play cards with them.

  “This year, I think we might go somewhere else,” she said, grinning, and now looking at Dad.

  “Where?” Molly asked. “London?” Molly’s best friend, Maya, went to London last year, and Molly hasn’t stopped talking about it.

  “Close. The Durands invited us to France for Camille’s birthday!” Mom said excitedly. “Camille’s grandmother has a house right outside Paris where we could all stay.”

  “It’s a wonderful opportunity,” Dad said, smiling extra big.

  “Paris?” Molly said, and clapped her hands together. “That’s even better than London!”

  “Wow,” I said, letting it sink in. “Does Camille’s grandmother live in a really fancy French place like a castle?” I asked.

  “I’m sure it’s very nice, Phoebe, but I don’t think it’s a castle,” Dad said.

  “I can’t wait to tell Maya!” Molly exclaimed.

  Dad started to clean up the plates. “So what do you think, Phoebe?”

  At first I felt sad about not going to Miami, but then I thought about walking on French streets and eating all the foods I’ve had at Camille’s house, like goat cheese, duck, and ratatouille (it’s a delicious vegetable stew that Camille’s dad made for us once that doesn’t even have rats in it).

  “I want to go!” I said, smiling.

  So that’s when my week started to get lucky again. Pretty cool, huh?

  * * *

  The next day, I was walking to school with Sage and wanted to tell him about going to France with Camille. But I wasn’t sure if he’d be jealous. I also didn’t want to talk to Camille about France until I told Sage. So I decided to stay away from both of them in the morning and look for things in my cubby until my teacher, Mrs. B, called morning meeting. That’s when everyone sits crisscross applesauce on the rug, and she tells us the plan for the day. We have to be very quiet, which I normally don’t like, but today I didn’t mind.

  Lunch was trickier, since Sage, Camille, and I usually sit together. So I decided to fall off the monkey bars at recess and pretend to bump my knee. Then I could eat lunch in the nurse’s office with an ice pack. The only problem was that when I pretended to fall off the monkey bars and hurt my knee, I actually hurt my knee. After being at the nurse’s office, I tried to walk back to my classroom without Camille and Sage seeing me, but just as I was going around the corner, our whole class came in from recess. I tried to rush ahead, but I was limping because my knee still hurt. Camille and Sage caught up with me.

  “Phoebe, is something wrong?” Camille as
ked, blinking her long eyelashes.

  “Yeah, all morning you’ve acted like you don’t want to talk to us,” Sage said, and looked me right in the eye, which makes me very nervous.

  “Guys, nothing’s wrong. I just—” Then I put my hand over my mouth.

  “What?” they both said at the same time. Sage nicely took my hand away from my mouth.

  “Sage, I’m going to France with Camille’s family in February. Camille, I didn’t want to talk about it with you until I told Sage,” I said loudly. Then I swallowed. “That’s all.”

  “You are?” Sage said.

  I nodded.

  “Oh!” Camille said, clasping her hands together. “So that means you’re definitely coming?”

  “Yeah! My dad said it’s a wonderful opportunity!” I stood up tall.

  “Why didn’t you want to tell me?” Sage asked.

  I thought for a second. “Because I was afraid you’d be jealous. Aren’t you?”

  Sage looked up and thought for a moment. “I guess a little,” he said.

  “Not a lot?” I asked, starting to feel a bit mad.

  “But I don’t want anyone to be jealous,” Camille interrupted in her worried way. “Maybe you could come, too, Sage.”

  I jumped up and down and clapped my hands. Going to a whole other country with Sage and Camille would be the best thing that’s ever happened in the whole history of everything!

  “Yeah!” Sage said, and started jumping, too. “Oh, but wait,” he said.

  We stopped jumping.

  “We always visit my cousins and go skiing over the winter break.” He looked down.

  “Oh, too bad,” Camille said with her head down.

  “Now I am really jealous,” Sage said.

  I smiled.

  “Maybe we could be jealous of your ski trip, too,” Camille suggested, looking more cheerful.

  “That’s a perfect idea!” I said. I didn’t even know Camille could have perfect ideas like that. So we all agreed to be jealous and that way no one got left out. I’m lucky to have such great best friends.

  Chapter Two

  It was finally the day of our trip to Paris. My eyes popped open as soon as the sun came up. I immediately jumped out of bed and started trying on clothes. I wanted to look super French for the trip, so I thought about Camille’s mom. She acted Frencher than Camille and always wore a lot of black clothes, but not in a scary witch way, just in a fancy French lady way. While I tried on French-looking clothes, I thought about the five very important things Camille taught me to say in French:

  S’il vous plaît (Please)

  Merci (Thank you)

  Bonjour (Hello)

  Au revoir (Good-bye)

  Je m’appelle Phoebe. (My name is Phoebe.)

  “Phoebe, we’re leaving right now. We have to meet the Durands at the airport!” Mom called in her very high-pitched voice that she saves for trips.

  I rushed downstairs in black dance tights and a black leotard because those were all the black clothes I could find. I was also wearing a beret, which is a black hat that French people wear. I know that because I have a book about France that Mom bought me for the trip. Molly says most French people don’t really wear berets. She takes French in school, so she thinks she knows everything. But in the book, lots of people wear berets, so I know Molly’s wrong.

  “Phoebe!” Mom said, now pretty much screaming. “Our flight leaves in two hours, and you’re not wearing any pants!”

  I looked down. “I’m all covered, and I think I look very French,” I said. “Don’t I?”

  Mom opened her mouth to say something and then closed it and threw her hands up in the air.

  Molly was behind me and pulled me away from Mom. “Come on,” she whispered in my ear. “I’ll help you find something. If we don’t get in the car quick, Mom’s going to explode.”

  I nodded and followed her. She helped me find a red skirt that she said looked very chic with my outfit. I wasn’t sure what “chic” meant, but it sounded nice. Sometimes Molly could be a pretty cool big sister even if she was a know-it-all.

  We all finally got in the car and zoomed away. Then Mom yelled out, “Oh no!”

  And Dad yelled out, “What?”

  “Our passports!” Mom yelled back.

  Passports are these neat little books with your picture inside them to remind you who you are. Mom says they don’t let you leave the country without them.

  So we zoomed back to the house, and Mom ran inside and got the passports. Then we zoomed away again, this time for good.

  Once we got to the airport and through all the guards who X-ray you and look at your passport and then back at you and then back at your passport over and over, Mom calmed down. Then we saw the Durands at the airplane gate.

  Camille came running over extra excited, wearing her red dress and a dark blue coat.

  “You look very chic!” I said, feeling extra excited, too. I still wasn’t sure what that meant, but I assumed it meant something French and nice.

  “Thanks!” she said. “I can’t wait to show you my grandmother’s house.”

  “I can’t wait to see it!” I said, and then we jumped up and down and hugged because going to France with one of your best friends makes you want to jump up and down and hug a lot.

  “Phoebe, my, my,” said Mrs. Durand, who was wearing a black sweater, black pants, and a red coat. “Look at you!”

  “See, Mom, I do look very French. Mrs. Durand looks just like me!”

  Mom and Mrs. Durand smiled at each other.

  “But I am missing my beret,” Mrs. Durand said, and touched the top of her head.

  “That’s okay,” I said to Mrs. Durand. “You can borrow mine if you want.”

  * * *

  On the plane, Camille and I got to sit together in a three-people row with Molly, but Molly wanted to read her books and listen to her thirteen-year-old rock music, so she put her earphones on.

  I turned to Camille and showed her my list of foods I wanted to try in France:

  Baguettes (They’re not little bags. They are long loaves of bread that look like baseball bats.)

  Tarte tatin (It’s an upside-down apple pie that someone must have made by mistake.)

  Madeleine cookies (They sound so friendly, don’t they?)

  Quiche (I’ve had it before, but I want to try a real French quiche. It’s kind of like an egg pie.)

  Bouillabaisse (It’s some kind of fish stew, but mostly it’s just fun to say. Bool-ya-base!)

  The Eiffel Tower (It’s not a food, but it’s always been my dream to walk up all the way to the top. At least it’s been my dream since last Thursday when Mom told me you could.)

  Camille looked at the list and nodded excitedly. “I love all these foods, too. We’re so alike. That’s why we’re best friends!”

  I smiled. “What’s your favorite French food ever?” I asked.

  “You’ll see,” Camille said, “at my birthday dinner.” Then she pointed to the last thing on my list. “I’ve never walked up the Eiffel Tower, either. Maybe we could do it together?!”

  “Okay,” I said. But secretly I thought, what kind of French person has never walked up the Eiffel Tower?! I also thought about what Camille said about us being so alike. Is that really why we were best friends?

  After a very long time of card playing and trying to nap on the small lumpy airplane pillows they gave out for free, eating snacks with fancy French words on the package, and watching movies, we finally landed. I kept the earphones and a bag of nuts with French writing on it so I’d always remember my first plane trip out of my whole country and into another one. I tried to keep the pillow, but the airplane people said I had to give it back. In the French airport, not one person was
in a beret. Maybe we flew to the wrong country by mistake?!

  The Durands rented a big car for all of us. As we drove through Paris, I could see the Eiffel Tower behind us, so I knew we were definitely in France.

  “Hi, Eiffel Tower!” I called out, waving. I still didn’t see anyone wearing a beret, though.

  When we got out of the city, I started looking for a big, fancy house.

  My mom said not to get my hopes up, but I couldn’t keep my hopes down. They just kept going up.

  We turned on to a little dirt road.

  “Is there going to be a gate?” I asked. Camille looked at me.

  “A gate?” she said.

  “You know, in front of the house?” I asked because fancy houses always have gates. At least they do in storybooks.

  “There’s no gate,” Camille said, looking confused.

  We pulled up in front of a little stone house, which was cute but not that big or fancy and did not have a gate in front of it. No berets. No gate. No fancy house. Maybe France was going to be a little different than I thought.

  Chapter Three

  Camille’s grandmother, who Camille called Mémé, came out of the house, waving. “Bonjour, bonjour!” she said. She wore white pants and a black sweater, and had her silvery hair in a bun. After she hugged everyone, she held my face with both of her hands. “Comme elle est adorable!” she said. I smiled and nodded even though I had no idea what she was saying. Camille told me later that it meant “She’s so cute!”