Free Sister of the Bride by Beverly Cleary

the cookie jar empty. Gordy again. The cookie jar was always empty. She found a half a bag of corn chips that Gordy had missed, or perhaps had not got to yet, and poured two glasses of milk, which she set on a tray and carried out the front door. Bill was still sitting on the step. She set the tray down and sat beside it. “Have some corn chips and a glass of milk,” she said hospitably.
    â€œThanks,” said Bill, and crunched into a handful of corn chips.
    â€œIsn’t it funny?” remarked Barbara. “I was planning to bake some cookies this afternoon.” Nowwhy did I have to go and say a thing like that? she asked herself. It was simply not true. She had not baked cookies since her junior high school cooking class.
    Bill looked interested. “You were?”
    Now Barbara was stuck with her fib. “Yes. The cookie jar is empty.” This was certainly true. Since her mother had gone back to teaching, it was almost always empty.
    â€œMy mother never bakes cookies,” said Bill, and Barbara thought he sounded as if he wished she did.
    â€œDoesn’t she like to bake?” asked Barbara.
    â€œI don’t know. Anyway, she doesn’t have time. She has this big career and everything. She’s pretty tired when she gets home.” He reached for another handful of corn chips.
    Mrs. Cunningham’s career was well known in Bayview. She commuted to San Francisco, where she wrote advertising copy for a chain of women’s clothing stores. She was always the most fashionably dressed commuter at the bus station, and her clothing always looked brand-new, as if she had bought it only the day before. This was in sharp contrast to the housewives of Bayview, who were seen about town in comfortably baggy slacks oncold days and in cotton blouses and skirts on warm days.
    â€œWe eat out a lot,” continued Bill, “but the store pays Mom so much she can’t turn them down. Every time she tries to quit they give her more money.”
    Barbara could not find anything to say to this. Her family almost never ate in restaurants; and although she knew her mother and father could always use more money, they seemed satisfied with their pay as teachers. Her mother, she knew, was teaching because teachers were needed and not because she wanted more money, although of course the extra income was welcome, especially since Rosemary was in college.
    â€œAnyway, Mom bought me the Vespa,” said Bill.
    Barbara was a little shocked by this statement. In her family a gift came from both parents, no matter which one earned the money that paid for it.
    â€œBut it sure would be nice if she baked cookies once in a while,” continued Bill, searching the bag for the last of the corn chips.
    Barbara began to feel sorry for him. She pictured him going home hungry to a cold house. At least in winter it might be cold, if his mother turned the furnace off before she went to work, but that wasnot probable since she earned so much money. At this time of year, even though it was raining, the weather was not very cold. She tried, but it was almost impossible to feel completely sorry for a boy like Bill.
    â€œWell, I won’t keep you any longer.” Bill rose and opened his big black umbrella.
    Barbara did not want him to go so soon. “Oh, you weren’t keeping me from anything.”
    â€œThe cookies,” Bill reminded her.
    â€œOh—yes,” said Barbara hastily. She considered for a moment before she added, “Drop by for a handful sometime.” She was satisfied that she had struck the right casual note. She did not want him to think she was trying to trap him with cookies for bait.
    â€œThank you, ma’am.” Bill managed to bow with a flourish and hold his umbrella over his head at the same time. “This was a lot better than eating a bag of French fries at the drugstore. See you soon.” With that he stuck the umbrella handle down the back of his