❄

The house reeked of strawberries and I hated strawberries. Mom was baking again but this time she kept me out of the kitchen. I didn't know why since what happened last time hadn't really been my fault. It wasn't my fault that salt looked like sugar and baking soda looked like flour. Whoever made the ingredients just wasn't smart enough.

Why wasn't sugar blue? And salt green? And baking soda brown? Flour can still be white though because it's boring. Baking soda isn't boring though. I and Dad made a volcano with baking soda at the science fair and—

"Olly," someone screamed from behind me. . . then I couldn't see anything.

Uh? Why am I blind? I blinked at the small hands covering my eyes in confusion before realizing what had happened. My sister was back!

"Happy Birthday!" she yelled in my ear and I grinned, peeling her fingers off my face.

"Happy Birthday," I yelled back, really happy to see her. "How's ballet?"

"Booorring," she said, her face molded into a mask of seriousness. It made her look like the men Dad invited over sometimes. I told her that.

We both laughed, thinking about their scary black suits and scary eyes. Dad wore suits too but he wasn't scary. Dad was nice. He was the best dad in the whole world!

"Why didn't you come," she stabbed my chest with her finger and threw her backpack in front of me. "Everyone misses you lots."

"Nope. I promised Mom that I'd help," I used my arm to direct her attention to the mess on the dinning table.

"What's so fun about making cakes?" Her face scrunched up like she had eaten something sour.

"What's so fun 'bout dancing?" I stuck my tongue out at her.

"Everything."

"Your crazy."

"It's you're, stupid."

"You're stupid, stupid."

"Mooom, Olive said I'm stupid," she ran to the kitchen before I could stop her.

"No mom! Olive called me stupid first!"

We arrived at almost the same time and glared at each other, waiting for judgement to descend on who was really wrong. Olive had to be the one in trouble not me. It didn't matter that she got here first.

Mom just spared us one glance before looking back at the burnt cake sitting on the counter in front of her. When she started whisking a new bowl of eggs while kicking the horrible cake into the bin, she finally gave us the answer we had been waiting for.

She said, "If an apple calls an apple stupid, is it stupid?"

But was Olive stupid or was I? And how did we turn into apples? And why were apples the only stupid fruits? Why not oranges or bananas. . .or. . . Or strawberries!

I didn't know and Olive didn't know either.

We returned to the table.

"We should have told Dad," she said after we had stared at the unicorn sticker on her bag for long enough. "He won't call apples stupid."

I knew Olive was upset. Apples were her favorite fruit. I liked apples too.

I got an idea, staring at her frown.

I ran to Dad's office, eager to get the headstart this time around. "Dad! Olive called me stupid. And mom called apples stupid. And Olive is upset!"

I heard Olive chasing after me and laughed. I was going to win this time and then she would be the one helping Mom bake and maybe they would bake a nice apple cake that had no strawberries. And I would be helping Dad in the office like an adult and I'd tell Olive how much fun I had.

She'd be so jealous!

❄