Free The Blue Door by Christa J. Kinde

himself on top of her grandparents’ refrigerator. Prissie shot him a dark look, which he met with an uncertain smile.
    “Lighter,
lighter
, dear,” urged Grandma Nell, demonstrating again with a deft turn of her round of dough. With sure hands, she rolled out the pastry, transferred it into a waiting pie tin and then crimped the edges.
    Prissie banged at her lump of dough and sighed in dissatisfaction when the crust tore. With a scowl, she folded it over to try again.
    Grandma peered over her shoulder. “You should have just patched it.”
    “But it wasn’t
right
!” argued Prissie.
    “It’s okay to have a little imperfection,” the older woman tutted.
    “I can’t have any mistakes if I’m going to win a ribbon at the fair!” she protested.
    “People expect a homemade pie to have a few irregularities. Trying to hide them only makes matters worse because overworking the crust toughens it,” Grandma Nell explained. “Don’t worry so much about how it looks; taste is the important thing.”
    “Yours always look perfect,” Prissie pointed out dejectedly.
    “I’ve had a few more years of experience,” her grandmother chuckled. “Speaking of taste, have you decided what kind of pie you’re making for the competition?”
    “Will the apples from Great-grandma’s trees be ready in time?”
    “Oh, I dunno. It’ll be close, but you might find enough ripe apples to work with.”
    “I will ask Abner to help if you want,” offered Koji from overhead.
    Prissie knew she’d heard that name before. “Who?”
    “What, dear?” asked her grandmother, who was mixing up a crumb topping.
    She made a shushing motion at the boy and replied, “Grandpa always brags about those apples and the pies his mother made from them.”
    Nell’s blue eyes sparkled. “That’s the truth, and for good reason. Pete’s mother loved those trees! Their apples were the secret behind her pink applesauce, which was the prettiest color, and without a drop of food coloring to help things along.”
    “I maybe remember it … a little.”
    “You were only five when she passed on, but you loved the color pink even then,” Nell smiled. “I’ll see if I can hunt up her recipe. She was real particular about the blend of apples, and that may translate into a winning pie.”
    “Shouldn’t I make up my own recipe?” Prissie asked.
    Grandma Nell shook a floury finger in her direction. “Those who are smart learn from those who are wise. And it
will
be your own recipe if you’re adapting Mother Pomeroy’s pink applesauce into a pie.”
    Prissie’s eyes took on the shine of anticipation. “I want to! Can I?”
    “I don’t see why not,” her grandmother said with an indulgent smile. “But first things first, roll out your crust.”
    “Yes, ma’am!” Prissie exclaimed, using her rolling pin to give the dough a zealous thump that made Nell — and Koji — wince.
    “My pie looks pitiful,” Prissie mourned as she slid it into the oven next to her grandmother’s. “Neil is going to make fun of it; I just know it.”
    “I would like to taste your pie,” Koji declared.
    “I could probably sneak you a piece,” Prissie offered. “Momma wouldn’t mind.”
    “Perhaps … perhaps if I …” the boy began, suddenly looking nervous. “Prissie, if Harken and Shimron obtain permission for a change in my status, would you accept it?”
    Prissie couldn’t understand why Koji would need
her
approval for such a thing, but there was no mistaking the hopefulness shining in his dark eyes. Planting her hands on her hips, she asked, “Is it something
you
want?”
    “Very much,” he replied seriously.
    “Then, why don’t you?”
    Koji’s smile was truly beautiful.
    Just then, someone rapped smartly on the screen door. No one in the family ever knocked, and most folks who dropped by simply gave a holler, announcing themselves. “Who could that be?” she murmured.
    As if in answer, a cheerful voice hailed, “Special