Free If the Shoe Fits (Whatever After #2) by Sarah Mlynowski

excuse.”
    Grumble, grumble, grumble.
    Kayla just stares at her clementines.
    Back in the kitchen I discover that batch three of the brownies is burnt.
    I’m beginning to get nervous.
    “What about ketchup brownies?” Jonah suggests.
    “That’s disgusting,” I say. “And stop eating the brownie mix!”
     
    “I think these need vanilla,” Cinderella says, sampling batch four. I’ve just cleared the plates off the dining room table.
    I have no idea what vanilla does to brownies, so I am happy to take her word for it.
    “Cinderella?” Kayla says, poking her head into the kitchen. “I’d like another glass of water.”
    Seriously? Can she not pour the water herself?
    “Of course,” Cinderella says.
    Kayla eyes the many plates of brownies. “What are you doing in here?”
    “Preparing dessert for tomorrow,” Cinderella answers, which is not a lie.
    “Oh,” she says. She looks like she’s about to say something more, but she doesn’t. When Cinderella hands her a glass of water, though, she whispers a tiny “Thank you.” Then she hurries out of the kitchen.
    Cinderella looks stunned. “What was that ?” she says. “Kayla never says thank you. None of them do.”
    “That’s so rude,” I say.
    “That’s the least of it,” Cinderella says. “Last week Kayla dripped tomato sauce on the chair and then blamed me. Betty made me scrub it with my toothbrush. She and Kayla just laughed. Then Beatrice spilled more on purpose. The two of them are the worst. Sure, Beatrice’s usually the instigator but Kayla’s no angel.”
    I put my arm around her thin shoulders. “You’ll be out of here soon. I know it.”
    “You will,” Jonah says, helping himself to another spoonful of batter. “This stuff isn’t bad. It’s not as awesome as dogs-in-a-blanket but —” His eyes light up. “Can you make dogs-in-a-blanket brownies? That would be awesome.”
    “Please don’t,” I say.
    “We could dip them in ketchup!”
    Sometimes I’m not sure how we’re even related.
     
    Cinderella finishes batch five at around eleven.
    I chew carefully. It is chocolaty. It is the perfect amount of gooey. It is melt-in-my-mouth delicious. Hurray!
    “Cinderella,” I say slowly. “This is the best chocolate brownie I have ever had in my entire life.”
     
    The next morning, we wait for Betty and her daughters to leave to visit more friends before we start baking. (I know — more friends?)
    We use up all the chocolate and all the flour and all the eggs and make ten trays of brownies — one dozen brownies per tray. We wait for them to cool down, pack them up, and get ready to go to the market.
    If we sell them for a dollar each, we’ll even have extra money. Cinderella is going to need extra cash for supplies and stuff.
    Except …
    “Um, guys?” I ask. We’re all ready and standing in front of Cinderella’s house. We have the brownies, some signs, and even the ironing board. That was my great idea. We need some sort of table for the booth, right? “Where is the market? And how are we supposed to get there?”
    “Cinderella,” Jonah says. “Don’t you have a car or something you can drive?”
    She shakes her head. “My coach turned into a squashed pumpkin, remember?”
    “How do you normally get there?” I ask.
    “I normally walk. It’s not that far. Maybe twenty minutes. No problem.”
    “Um, yes, problem. We’re carrying ten trays of brownies.” I look down at her still swollen foot. “Even if Jonah and I carry your share, I don’t think we’re walking anywhere.”
    “Maybe she can stay behind and bake more brownies?” Jonah asks. “And we can do the selling?”
    “I don’t know if that’s gonna cut it with Farrah,” I say. “How is she walking on her own two feet if we’re leaving her behind?”
    We stand there, not sure what to do.
    One coach goes by us. And then another one.
    “Can we call a taxi?” Jonah asks.
    “A what?” Cinderella asks.
    Hmm. If this brownie thing doesn’t work