Free Julia’s Kitchen by Brenda A. Ferber

me.
    â€œBut you want to,” I said.
    Marlee grinned, caught. “Well, it is fun to bake brownies. And we haven’t done anything really fun since … well, you know.”
    No, I thought. It would not be fun. It would be sad and empty and unfair to Mom.
    â€œI wouldn’t make you do it, Cara. I mean, it’s totally up to you. I know you said you didn’t want to bake, and I get it, but … Mr. Temby did promise extra credit to kids who brought in baked goods, and I sure could use some of that.” Marlee raised her eyebrows and tilted her head to the side. “So?”
    I was torn between wanting to satisfy Marlee and needing to be loyal to Mom. “Can’t you just bake tonight, after I leave?”
    Marlee sighed. “I guess. But, Cara, come on. It’d be more fun if we did it together. We’ve never done that. And who knows? It might actually make you happy.”
    I doubted that. But Marlee was my best friend. I supposed I could do this for her. “Oh, fine, fine, fine! Let’s do it.” I tossed my pen aside and stacked my valentines in a pile.
    â€œReally?”
    â€œReally. Before I change my mind.”
    Marlee’s grin spread across her face. “All right … if you insist.” She got up and pulled out a box of Duncan Hines brownie mix from the pantry. “Brownies it is!”
    I took a deep breath and set about finding a bowl and spoon.
    â€œWe need two eggs, water, and oil,” Marlee said, reading the box.
    We never used mixes at our house. And we never baked with oil. Pure, unsalted butter, Mom used to say. No substitutions.
    Marlee ripped open the plastic and poured the brownie mix into the Disney Villains bowl I’d found. She poured it in too fast, sending a chocolate dust cloud into her face, which made her sneeze. I measured the oil, then the water, carefully looking at the measuring cup from the side. Marlee cracked the eggs.
    â€œOops, I think I got some shell in there,” she said, peering into the bowl. She started to put her finger in the bowl to fish the eggshell out.
    â€œWait. Let me see,” I said. I took one of the eggshells and used it as a spoon to remove the other shell. The shells acted like magnets and stuck to each other easily.
    â€œCool,” Marlee said.
    â€œTrick of the trade,” I said. I felt that I’d always known the eggshell trick. Mom must have taught me. I’d never baked anything without her before today. Was she watching me now? If she was, what was she feeling? Was she happy? Sad? Proud? Were her feelings as mixed up as mine?
    We had to stir fifty strokes by hand, so we took turns, twenty-five each. I liked watching the yellow egg disappear into the brown batter as we stirred.
    â€œI’ll grease the pan,” I said. I opened the refrigerator, which was covered with Disney magnets, and looked for the butter. Mom always kept a stick wrapped in wax paper just for greasing pans, but all I could find in Marlee’s refrigerator was a tub of margarine. So I took a paper towel, scooped out some margarine, and spread it evenly around the pan.
    â€œNow for my favorite part,” Marlee said, pouring the batter into the pan. She scraped the sides of the bowl with the wooden mixing spoon. I knew a rubber spatula would work better, but I didn’t say so. Besides, I wasn’t sure the Rosens had a rubber spatula.
    Marlee smoothed out the batter, then popped the spoon into her mouth. “Mmm…” she said, licking her lips. “You want the bowl?”
    I shook my head. I had loved licking the bowl clean when Mom and I baked, but this was different. This didn’t feel like real baking to me. It felt like a shortcut. An imitation. Besides, I reminded myself, I had sworn off desserts forever—baked or raw.
    â€œYou take it,” I said. “Or let’s leave it for Max.”
    â€œMax who?” Marlee said, digging right in. She had