11 years old
My eyes stay focused on the clock, counting down the minutes until the game is over. York and Zander’s championship baseball game has been all they have talked about for weeks. The game was against a rival school, and both boys have been practicing extra hard. There is no doubt in my mind that they should win. I was anxious and super-excited for them to come home; I even asked Ida, our chef, to help me make a double batch of my favorite double-fudge cookies with caramel chunks. My mom used to make them to celebrate our happy days, and I wanted to surprise York.
“Staring at the clock like that won’t make time go faster,” Ida jokes with me while she moves around the kitchen, getting ready to make dinner.
I smile. “I hope he loves them,” I tell her. I’m sure she thinks I’m only talking about my brother, but I also mean Zander. He’s been at our house daily after practice, and I’m hoping he’ll come back with York today after the game as well. I rub the sweat off my hands onto my jeans, silently praying that I get to see him again. My little heart can’t get enough of seeing his perfectly-shaped nose, those mysterious eyes, the red of his lips, and the sharpness of his jaw. Even at fourteen, he looks older. My cheeks blush just thinking about being in the same room as him.
“The game should be over by now, right?” I ask out loud.
“Should have been a while ago,” Ida comments, “I would think he’ll be home any minute.”
I chew on my lip as my heart flutters in my chest. I tear my gaze away from the clock and get off the stool, pacing circles around the kitchen island. Ida eyes me curiously, but she stays silent while chopping the various vegetables in front of her. When the front door slams shut, I take off toward the noise, a huge smile tugging on my lips. Right as I slide around the corner, I come to a complete stop when York throws his glove at the wall before running upstairs. Zander’s head hangs down, his black hair falling into his face. My eyes run over his defeated posture, and just like that, all the excitement I had been feeling leaves my body.
“Are you…is everything okay?” I ask, my eyes bouncing between him and the stairs. I feel like I should go after York or something; I hate seeing him upset.
Zander’s eyes flick up the stairs too before settling on me. His eyes are intense, even when filled with sadness. “We’ll be fine, Amelia,” he tells me. My heart swells again. Zander is the only person who calls me by my full name. To everyone else, I’m always Ame or Mia. I like that he does. It feels like my name is too important to shorten it.
“Did the team lose?” I hate to even ask. His shoulders fall, and he nods his head.
Tears burn my eyes for both of them. This was such a huge game. It’s all we’ve heard and talked about for weeks. I study Zander, and suddenly, all I want to do is make him happy. To take away the sadness on his face, just like he did for me when we lost our parents.
“You know what makes all things better?”
Those golden eyes jump to mine. A ghost of a smile pulls at his lips, and he shakes his head.
“Follow me.” I turn and head back to the kitchen, waving my hand at him, making sure he’s following. He does, and I feel on top of the world.
I push open the kitchen door and lead him over to the smaller table. “Sit here.”
Zander follows my orders and sits, a mischievous glimmer lights up his eyes, but he still hasn’t asked what I’m doing. Quickly, I run over to the microwave, where I had a few cookies waiting on a plate, and heat them up for a few seconds. Once the timer dings, I grab the plate and pour us each a glass of milk, setting the gooey treats in front of him.
“Cookies?” He tilts his head smiling.
“Not just any cookies. They are double fudge and caramel. That’s why I heated them up; they’re the best when the caramel is warm. Trust me, these will make anything better,” I tell him, feeling completely confident in my words. He’s already smiling and reaching for a cookie.
I watch while he takes a bite, waiting for his approval.
“Wow,” he grins, “these are so good.”
I beam at him and pride fills my chest. “I told you. Those cookies will make anything better.”
“I believe it,” he murmurs, his smile faltering slightly.
“Was the game that bad?” I question. “York seems really upset.”
“We should have won.” He shakes his head. “There were some bad calls by the umpire. A couple of the guys had minor errors too, but it was enough. Everyone feels like shit.”
My eyes widen. “That’s a bad word.”
Zander’s eyes find mine. “You’re right, sorry. Everyone just feels really bad.”
I nod, thinking again about York, his hours of practice this week and how much this meant to him. This was the one game, the one team he always wanted to win against because of our dad. The towns’ rivalry went back years, to when our dad had played, and he always talked it up to York. My brother was going to be crushed, and I didn’t know if my cookies could fix it. I wish my parents were here. Dad would know what to say, and if the cookies didn’t work, my mom would know a song that would. And we would sing loud and long, until our throats were sore, because she always told us these two things fix anything.
I can remember the many times she would dance around and sing in the kitchen, just to make us smile. She had a made-up song for every situation, big or small. Once I caught onto the words, I would sing with her.
“I know right now it hurts, but you guys played your hardest. I know you did. Keep practicing, and there is always next season,” I remind him. “And if I have to, I’ll bake cookies and sing until you feel better.”
Zander holds my gaze for a few more seconds, something flashing in his eyes. Eventually, his head dips, like he needed to hear those words, like it made him feel better to have someone reassure him that he tried, and even though they lost, he did all he could.
“You sing?” he asks suddenly, and my cheeks ache from turning so pink. I nod.
“My mom used to sing about anything and everything, even if the words didn’t make sense.” I shrug. “As long as we smiled, she was happy. I picked it up from her.”
“Are you good at it?”
“I’m okay,” I tell him, downplaying how much I actually like to sing and the practice I put into it. I feel embarrassed for some reason. What if he thought I was a terrible singer? My dad used to tell me my voice was more mature than my age, but I have no idea what that really means. My mom’s smile would be huge when I sang for her, so I like to believe I’m not bad.
“Thanks, Amelia,” he watches me, almost shyly, “I do feel better now.”
I want to burst from his praise. My cheeks hurt from smiling so big. Butterflies swirl and dance in my stomach.
The kitchen door flinging open steals the moment. When I see York there, cheeks flushed and lashes wet, I want to hug him. I don’t though, because I know he’d hate me doing it in front of his best friend. As he keeps telling me, he’s a man. “Ida and I made cookies,” I tell him, holding up the plate, “Mom’s cookies.”
York’s eyes widen, and he glances away from us again, hiding the emotion on his face, before walking over and sliding into a seat at the table. His long fingers grab a cookie. He hesitates a second before taking a bite. Just like Zander, York’s lips finally pull up into a smile. “These are great, Mia, thank you.”
I flush from my brother’s compliment. The rest of the afternoon, I sit and watch while they talk, eat a dozen cookies, and strategize for next season. It might not seem like a lot, but this right here, made my entire day. That fact that I could add some happiness to their bad day is all I wanted to do from now on. My brother needed those small things that reminded him of our mom, and Zander…I think he just needs someone.
