Free Twelve Impossible Things Before Breakfast by Jane Yolen Page A

Andrew, intent on trying to step on the long black hem of his mother’s skirt, missed the wink.
    â€œGood-bye,” Hilary called, shutting the door behind the Mitchells. She had a glimpse of the moon, which reminded her of the Jackson book, and made a face at it. Then she turned to the twins. “Now, what about those cookies?” she asked.
    They raced to the kitchen, and each had one of the fresh-baked chocolate-chip cookies, the kind with the real runny chocolate.
    â€œCrumbs don’t count,” Hilary said. She scraped around the dish for the crumbs, and having counted what cookies remained—there were thirteen—she shooed the boys back into the living room. They turned on the TV and settled down to watch the show, sharing the handful of crumbs slowly through the opening credits.
    Adam lasted through the first hour but was fast asleep in Hilary’s lap before the second. Andrew stayed awake until nearly the end, but his eyes kept dosing through the commercials. At the final ad, for vitamins, he fell asleep for good.
    Hilary sighed. She would have to carry them upstairs to bed. Since she wanted to watch
Friday
the Thirteenth, Part II—or at least she thought she wanted to watch it—she needed to get them upstairs. It wouldn’t do for either one to wake up and be scared by the show. And if she woke them, they’d want to know the end of the Disney movie and hear at least one other story. She would miss her show. So she hoisted Adam in her arms and went up the stairs.
    He nuzzled against her shoulder and looked so vulnerable and sweet as she walked down the creaky hall, she smiled. Playfully she touched the doors in the proper order, turning around heavily on one leg. She couldn’t quite reach her fingers with her mouth until she dumped him on his bed. After covering him with his quilt, she kissed his forehead and then, with a grin, kissed each of her fingers in turn, whispering, “So there,” to the walls when she was done.
    She ran down the stairs for Andrew and carried him up as well. He opened his eyes just before they reached the top step.
    â€œDon’t forget,” he whispered. To placate him, she touched the doors, turned, and kissed her fingers one at a time.
    He smiled sleepily and murmured, “All right. All right now.”
    He was fast asleep when she put him under the covers. She straightened up, watched them both for a moment more, listened to their quiet breathing, and went out of the room.
    As she went down the stairs, the hollow tap-tapping echo behind her had a furtive sound. She turned quickly but saw nothing. Still, she was happy to be downstairs again.
    Â 
    The first half of the show was scary enough. Hilary sat with her feet tucked under a blanket, arms wrapped around her legs. She liked scary stuff usually. She had seen Alien and Aliens and even
Jaws
without blanching, and had finished a giant box of popcorn with Brenda at Night of the Living Dead. But somehow, watching a scary movie alone in the Mitchells’ spooky house was too much. Remembering the popcorn, she thought that eating might help. There were still those thirteen chocolate-chip cookies left. Mrs. Mitchell had meant the boys weren’t supposed to eat them. Hilary knew she hadn’t meant the baby-sitter to starve.
    During the commercial break, she threw off the blanket and padded into the kitchen. Mrs. Mitchell had just had new linoleum put on the floor. With a little run, Hilary slid halfway across in her socks.
    The plate of cookies was sitting on the counter, next to the stove. Hilary looked at it strangely. There were no longer thirteen cookies. She counted quickly. Seven—no, eight. Someone had eaten five.
    â€œThose twins!” she said aloud. But she knew it couldn’t have been them. They never disobeyed, except when she let them, and their mother had said specifically that they could have no more. Besides, they had never left the sofa once the