Read Online Pizza Is the Best Breakfast by Allison Gutknecht - Free Book Online

head. “Maybe,” I say. “But I bet Grandmom would like it better if we still tried to cook something without the book.”
    Paige thinks about this for one second. “You’re probably right. But I don’t remember any recipes off the top of my head.”
    â€œCome on,” I say, and I stand up and scurry into the kitchen to open the pantry door. “I have an idea.” I examine each shelf of the pantry until I find what I am looking for: a box of pretzel sticks, which has probably been wedged into the corner of the pantry since before the twins were born, because no one in this house really likes pretzels.These sticks crunch so loudly when you bite them that they make my teeth hurt and scratch the top of my mouth, but finally, they are going to be put to good use.
    â€œDo you see any marshmallows?” I ask.
    â€œYour mom keeps marshmallows in the house?” Paige asks like she is shocked. “Mine doesn’t.”
    â€œSometimes,” I say. “But when she does, they’re usually hidden somewhere.” Paige stands on her tippy toes, and it is very useful that she is ten years old and taller than me, because she spots it: a gigantic bag of marshmallows hiding behind the cans of green beans.
    â€œYes!” I yell. “Now we just need chocolate chips. Boost me onto the counter.” I pull out one of the bottom drawers, which is filled with dish towels, and step on top of it, then I use my arms to get onto the counter while Paige pushes meup from behind. I kneel in front of Mom’s baking cabinet, and I dig through the containers of flour and sugar until I find the bag of chocolate chips. “Got them!” I close the cabinet door and slide back down to the floor.
    â€œAre you going to give me a hint about what we’re making?” Paige asks.
    â€œMarshmallow ghosts,” I say. “Anya saw them in the cookbook—you know, before it was stolen—and I think I remember the recipe.”
    â€œOoh, I hate ghosts,” Paige says. “I think there’s a ghost in my house.” And my chin drops toward my chest.
    â€œYou have a ghost too?” I ask, and it comes out as sort of a squeak. I lower my voice then, because I do not want Mom to hear, and I whisper, “I am pretty sure there is a ghost in my house. I think it escaped from the Packles’ Halloween porch.”
    Paige nods her head very seriously, like thisstory makes absolute sense. “The ghost in my house smells like ranch dressing. Sometimes, when it’s early in the morning and I’m the only one awake, I’ll come downstairs and smell ranch dressing everywhere.”
    â€œHave you ever seen the ghost?”
    â€œNope,” Paige answers. “Have you seen yours?”
    â€œNo,” I say. “I do not want to either.”
    â€œOur ghosts must not be that scary though, right?” Paige asks. “I mean, don’t you think they would have done something bad by now if they were?”
    â€œI guess so,” I say. “How do you think we can get rid of them?”
    Paige pauses for a second, and then she lifts a single marshmallow out of the bag.
    â€œBy eating them, of course,” she says with a smile, and she pops an entire marshmallow in her mouth, handing me one to do the same. We stuffour cheeks with marshmallows until we can’t fit anymore inside, and we have to concentrate very hard on chewing so that we don’t spit them out.
    We then begin to use the marshmallows to create the ghosts. We stick the pretzel rods in the bottoms of them as a handle, and we push three chocolate chips into the sides of the marshmallows so that they look like the ghosts’ eyes and mouths. When we each have one finished, we hold them up by their pretzel handles so they can speak to each other, like in a puppet show.
    In my best spooky voice, I ask Paige, “What do you think they’re going to do to us now?” while I