Snickerdoodle Science

My mother’s career is very important to her. But while her jobs mean crisscrossing the country, I’ve been going nowhere fast. You’d think that just once she’d ask me, “Ginger, how do you feel about moving five times in 11 years?” Or, “Ginger, is it hard making new friends?” Or, “Ginger, what’s it like being named after a brown, twisted root?”

Mom is the person who chose my name. She loves food, though she’s a terrible cook. My little sister’s name is Caramel, and our dog is named Ben & Jerry, which confuses people. My dad’s name is Steve. Mom used to call him “honey bun,” but now she refers to him as “my ex.” My parents are divorced.

The first thing Mom does when we move into a new house is whip up a big meal, usually burnt pot roast, mashed potatoes, and mushy green beans.

“Once I start my new job, I won’t have much time to cook,” she apologizes, not realizing that this is good news to Caramel and me.

Caramel is 5, and she always hides her green beans and sneaks her pot roast to Ben & Jerry. She eats Mom’s mashed potatoes because she loves foods that are crunchy.

By the time I started South Paseo Middle School, it seemed like everyone already had a friend . . . or a club . . . or a sport . . . except for me. I had nothing. That’s why my ears perked up when my teacher, Ms. Lynn, exclaimed, “You’re here just in time for our annual science fair!”

Katie, who sits next to me, explained, “It’s the biggest event here, and it even makes the local news.”

Science has never been my best subject. I don’t think I even have a best subject. However, being in the news wouldn’t be bad, I thought. Wouldn’t that make a big impression on the kids here? And how about my friends back home? Or to be more precise, my friends back “homes.”

I’ve lived in New York, Florida, and now California. My friends will never meet. That’s why they each know a different Ginger. At my last school, I was Ginger, the fun girl. Before that I was Ginger, the fashion queen. I’ve even been Ginger, the princess, but that was in kindergarten.

Well, OK, maybe I was never really fun girl. Or fashion queen. That’s just who I tried to be when I reinvented myself at each new school. 

When we moved the second time, Gram sent me her
award-winning snickerdoodle recipe. Snickerdoodles are light, crumbly, buttery cookies, topped with cinnamon sugar. “There’s no problem a snickerdoodle can’t help solve,” Gram used to say as we measured and mixed. 

I miss Gram.

Now I always send snickerdoodles to my grandmother to let her know I’m OK. I follow her recipe exactly. It’s comforting to know that even when my addresses change, snickerdoodles always remain the same.  

“These cookies make me happy,” I told her over the phone. 

I could practically hear her smiling when she said “There’s nothing wrong with that!”

“Science fair?” Caramel asked, as she used her fork to try chiseling her tuna casserole into smaller chunks. “Do they have rides?”

I shook my head as Caramel snuck a biscuit to Ben & Jerry. I knew her tuna casserole would probably show up days later under the rug. She was always hiding food she didn’t like.

“No rides means no fun,” Caramel announced. She’s hard to impress.

The next day at school, I heard myself lying to Katie, “I won all the science fairs at my old school.”

“There’s no way you’re going to beat me,” Dylan cut in. He sat nearby, and just looking at him made me nervous. I couldn’t tell if he hated me or wanted to be my friend.

“You are so wrong,” Katie chided Dylan. “Ginger’s got a spectacular science project. Right, Ginger?” 

I gulped. Why had I even opened my big mouth? 

That night I stared at the solar system. It looked lopsided. I had made a diorama out of Styrofoam balls and dental floss, but Jupiter looked out of place and Saturn was missing a ring. I wished Mom was here. She’d give me an honest opinion, and maybe even some suggestions. It seemed like she was never around when I needed her.

Carefully, I placed my solar system in a box. Relieved that my project was done, I began baking snickerdoodles to send to Gram.

“Bedtime!” My mother had just come home. She surveyed the kitchen. “Whoa, who did the baking, you or Ben & Jerry?”

It was a mess. Eggshells and mixing bowls were everywhere. “I’ll clean up tomorrow after school,” I promised.

When I came down for breakfast, my mess was still there. Caramel was busy pushing her food around her plate. I knew she wouldn’t eat it. That morning Mom made cheese omelets, only she used way too much cheese.

As I carried my box into the school cafeteria, I stopped and checked to make sure I was in the right place. It looked like I had entered a NASA laboratory. “I can’t believe kids made all these science projects,” I whispered to Katie.

“They didn’t,” she answered. “Lots of kids get help from their parents. Did your mom help you?”

“Uh, no,” I said.

“Good for you,” Katie replied. “I made mine all on my own too. Although I tested the electric currents on my dad.”

As I walked toward my table, each science project became more and more elaborate. I felt weak. I wished I had a snickerdoodle.

“Hey, Ginger, what’s in the box?” Dylan asked.

Reluctantly, I lifted the lid. One glance at my solar system and I let out a shriek. Caramel’s omelet covered my planets. Saturn was slimed. Mars was a mess. My project was ruined. My life was ruined. Not only did I have a losing science project, I had a losing science project smothered in cheddar cheese.

Ms. Lynn rushed toward me. I had to think fast. “Uh, excuse me,” I mumbled, “I need to make a phone call.” 

I dialed my mom’s number.

“You want me to what?” Mom asked. “I’m in the middle of an important meeting.”

“Please,” I begged. “I really need you.” 

I was considering living on the moon when my mother finally arrived lugging a moving box. I’d never been so happy to see her.

Minutes before the judges and news crew walked up, I finished my display. Then I dumped flour all over myself and threw a handful of cinnamon over my shoulder for good luck—only it landed on Dylan.

“Hey,” he groused. “This is a science fair, not a bake sale!”

Some of the judges looked confused. Ms. Lynn frowned. Crusty mixing bowls and measuring spoons were piled next to butter and eggs.

“I call this ‘snickerdoodle science,’ ” I began as I passed out the cookies that were supposed to go to Gram.

The reporter turned to her cameraman. “Interesting. A low-tech approach to science. Back to basics. Very refreshing. Let’s record this one.”

The bright light made me squint as I launched into my speech. “Who says science can’t be fun . . . or tasty? Just like a chemist, a baker must measure and mix ingredients. These snickerdoodles appeal to all your senses. They fit perfectly in your hand, they look delicious, they smell great, and your taste buds love them.”

Dylan grinned at the camera. “There are five senses. How do you hear a snickerdoodle?”

I took a chance. “This is how a snickerdoodle sounds,” I said, handing a cookie to the reporter. “Take a bite,” I instructed her.

She did and exclaimed, “Mmmmm!!!” 

“That,” I proclaimed, “is the sound of a snickerdoodle!”

The reporter turned to the camera. “There’s a new kind of science going on at South Paseo Middle School, and it’s called snickerdoodles!”

“Wow,” Caramel said as we watched me for the 100th time. (My mother found the interview online.) “You’re famous.”

I didn’t win the science fair. That prize went to a remote-control lawn mower/vacuum cleaner. Still, I was in the news, plus Katie invited me over. And even Dylan admitted at the end that my idea was unique.

Suddenly, I remembered that I still owed Gram a batch of cookies. Mom followed me into the kitchen. As I looked at the recipe, I said, “I’m sorry I made you miss your meeting.”

“And I’m sorry I make lousy omelets,” she joked. Then she got serious. “There will always be another meeting, but it’s not every day that you’re the star of a science fair. Ginger, how did you ever think up snickerdoodle science?”

“Easy,” I explained. “I just recalled what Gram always says: ‘There’s no problem a snickerdoodle can’t help solve!’ ” I hesitated. “Mom, I know you’re super busy, so maybe I can help you with the cooking—I’m pretty good at following recipes, even if I do make a mess.”

Mom gave me a hug. “I’d love that!” Then she added, “You know, there’s a reason I named you Ginger. It’s strong and sweet—just like you.”

I hope we get to stay here for a long time. I want Katie and Dylan and the other kids to get to know the real Ginger—problem solver, snickerdoodle baker, and mess maker.

As Gram would say, “There’s nothing wrong with that!”