Kookies *REWRITING*

1

One.

One week until the English final.

One day until the Math final.

One over-exerted brain.

With all of the studying I should be doing right now, the only thing I can think to do is bake cookies. Visions of equations and theories for statistics flashed through my head; Z-scores, T-scores, standard deviations... all mixed into the dough. The sweet smell of stress fills the kitchen.

"Hey Lizzie!" Fresh from the book club, Mom walks in, a well-worn copy of The Help in hand. "A new family just moved into the Newitt's home. I hear they have a boy your age! How about you take some of those cookies over to them? Heaven knows you don't need them all."

I glance back at the towers of cookies behind me. "Who told you that?"

Mom sets the book down and moves to take a cookie. "Julie. She's not one to gossip, but she does know a lot about the neighborhood." Mom takes a bite and a crumb falls on her shirt.

"Julie does know a lot about the neighborhood..."

"Mmph," she swallows, "seriously though, it would be really nice if you took them some cookies. But say they're from the whole family and not just you." Mom brushes her hand off on her jeans, and, picking her book up off the table, leaves the kitchen.

"Yeah okay," I say quietly after her. The oven timer rings and I pull on my oven mitts to take out the tray.

***

The walk to the Newitt's is quiet. Long. I left my headphones at home, but now I'm really regretting it. Their house isn't actually too far from mine, it just feels farther because of the anxiety I feel about meeting these new people. The cellophane-wrapped cookies feel wet and slippery in my sweaty hands.

The grass was wet when I got to the house, and something was in the way of the walkway. "Great," I mutter, as I squish my way up the front door, "I'm gonna have to clean my Converse again." Taking a deep breath, I fix a smile on my face and knock on the door.

There's yelling inside, but I can't quite make out what's being said. There's a woman's voice and a young man's, but the words just sound like gibberish. 'Whatever. At least the walk over here was peaceful,' I shrug as I step down the first stair.

The door swings open. "Uh, hello?"

I jump at the voice and slip down the last step. My wet shoes slide on the cement and my feet fly in front of me. Instinctively, I shoot my hand out to soften my fall, but as by butt hits the ground I hear several loud crackles and crunches- I landed on the cookies. "Umm," I pull myself up awkwardly, my butt stinging in pain, as well as the hand that caught me. "Sorry to bug you, I just came by to bring you some cookies, but it looks like I'll have to bring you some some other time because they... Broke." I hold up the ripped bag, cookie crumbs spilling out of the various holes, and look at the person who opened the door.

He's got dark brown hair and even darker brown eyes. He's wearing all black; black hoodie, black jeans, black socks. He's even got black studs in his ears. His face is blank, large deep eyes just staring at me.

I let out an awkward laugh. "Um, I'll just get going then. Nice to meet you! Bye!" I walk a little more carefully this time, but I still slip a bit on the grass. I hear him laugh loudly behind me, and I mentally kick myself.

"Great. Just great! This day just keeps getting better and better. First my calculator dies, then the stupid grass and now my hand." My palm is scratched up and bleeding, salted with bits of broken cookies. The ripped bag dusts the sidewalk with crumbs as I walk.