Free It's Raining Cupcakes by Lisa Schroeder Page B

need to get around town and pass out samples. Oh, and I’ve contacted a newspaper reporter who would like to interview us.”
    â€œA newspaper reporter?” Dad asked as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. “That’s great, Dolores. How’d you manage that?”
    â€œEasy,” she said, as Mom slipped a mug of steamingcoffee in front of Grandma, then sat down beside me. “I called the paper up and told them they were missing out on the truly interesting stories surrounding the opening of Beatrice’s Brownies. How is a big, corporate, national chain going to affect family businesses? Is it the kiss of death? Will one small business be finished before it ever even started?”
    â€œMother!” Mom gasped. “We have to talk about ourselves in comparison to Beatrice’s? I don’t want to do that. Why can’t we just talk about It’s Raining Cupcakes? You know, what we have to offer and why we’re special?”
    â€œBecause,” said Dad, “your mother is a genius. A story like this will garner sympathy. It will get people in our corner. It’s exactly what we need. Nice job, Dolores.”
    My mom sighed. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
    Grandma nodded. “Completely ducky. Beatrice’s Brownies will be the villain. We’ll come out smelling like roses. Or cupcakes, in this instance.”
    I smiled as I finished the last bite of pancake. I was right. We were really lucky to have Grandma.
    â€œSo when’s the interview?” Dad asked.
    Grandma tapped her watch. “Today. One o’clock.”
    â€œToday?” cried Mom. “No, no, no. I can’t do it today. That’s too soon.”
    Grandma reached over, put her hand on Mom’s arm, and spoke in her calm but firm voice. “It’s not too soon, Caroline. It’s just in time. We need to get the word out about the shop now. And honestly, I don’t want to give you a whole lot of time to fret over it. We’ll do it today, and it’ll be over with.”
    Mom stood up and paced the floor. “I just don’t know. I don’t know if I can do it. David, can he interview you? I’m not good at this kind of thing.”
    â€œHow about if he interviews all of us?” I suggested. “He can ask a question and whoever wants to answer it does.”
    â€œSure,” Grandma said. “I think that’s a fine way to handle it. After all, every one of us is invested in this thing one way or another. Not just Caroline.”
    I looked at the clock in the kitchen. It said 10:10. “We have three hours to clean the place up and get ready. What should I wear, Grandma?”
    She smiled. “It’s all taken care of. Your mother and I bought you some new clothes yesterday on our shopping expedition. Wait until you see what I picked out for you!”

    I stood in my bedroom, looking in the full-length mirror hung on the back of my door. How do you spell style? G-R-A-N-D-M-A! Boy, did she know how to pick it out.
    She’d bought me a cute pink sundress with a black, short-sleeved jacket trimmed in pink that went over it. I hardly ever wore dresses, but this one made me want to wear them more often. She’d also bought me a pair of black sandals with short heels (which I now wore), two pairs of pants, and some fun summer tops to go with them.
    I heard the doorbell ring and looked at my watch. It wasn’t quite one o’clock, so I assumed it was Sophie. She’d called while I was dusting earlier, and when I told her we were getting ready to meet with a newspaper reporter, she’d asked if she could come and watch.
    I heard Grandma’s heels tap , tap , tap across thehardwood floor. I decided to let her greet Sophie and send her back to my room so I could surprise her with my newfound style.
    When she opened my door, she gasped and cried, “Whoa, Chickarita!”
    I spun around. “You like?”
    â€œBut