Read Online The Secret Cookie Club by Martha Freeman - Free Book Online Page B

I envy kids who have a parent around to solve problems. Other times I’m proud of Benjamin and me for taking care of ourselves.
    My parents usually get home around six o’clock and we eat dinner around seven. After that, they work at their desks while either Ben or I cleans up. Luckily, my parents don’t cook much, so cleanup equals putting plates in the dishwasher and throwing away cardboard takeout containers.
    Since it was a Friday night, the Jewish Sabbath, Mom had prepared what for us counted as a special, homemade dinner: spaghetti with sauce from a jar along with asalad from the expensive grocery store, the one where all the checkers have tattoos and even the ketchup is organic. My parents don’t follow all the rules about being Jewish, but they like the rituals. So we had lit candles before dinner and said the Sabbath prayer in Hebrew.
    Ike sat by my chair while we ate. When I was little, I used to drop a lot of food—more than Benjamin ever did—and even though I don’t drop so much anymore, our dog stays optimistic.
    When I told about tutoring Kayden, Benjamin had one question: “Did you dance in front of Mrs. Haley?” Benjamin is eight years old, a third grader.
    I shrugged. “I kind of had to. She said I wasn’t as bad as I thought and I should practice in front of a mirror.”
    Benjamin made a face. “Please promise me you’ll keep your door closed. If I saw that, I might be traumatized for life.” My mom gave Benjamin a warning look, but he just grinned. “I’m young,” he said. “My brain’s impressionable.”
    â€œYour brain is soft, you mean,” I said.
    Benjamin covered his head and squealed, “ Don’t hurt me !”
    â€œEnough, you two,” my father said. “Is there any other news of the day?”
    â€œOh yeah, I almost forgot,” I said, and I told about the e-mail from Grace.
    â€œDid someone say cookies ?” My father perked up.
    â€œCookies are bad for your heart,” Ben said.
    â€œBut good for your soul,” said my father, which made my mom laugh. They have been married about a hundred years, but still really like each other. Sometimes it’s gross.
    â€œSo if the cookies are supposed to help you solve a problem,” my mom said, “what problem do you need help with?”
    There was something, but I didn’t want to say it right then. “Nothing much,” I answered. “My life is actually going pretty smoothly.”
    Note to self: Do not make that kind of announcement ever again. The universe just sees it as a challenge.

CHAPTER 21

    Emma
    There is no such thing as a clean-your-plate club in my family because (according to my parents) clean-your-plate clubs contribute to obesity. So I was trying to decide whether the remains of my dinner—four spaghetti noodles and a dressing-soaked lettuce leaf—were worth eating when my mom asked, “Did you scan those photos for GG’s book yet?”
    It was the question I dreaded.
    â€œRight,” I said, which was a way to answer without actually answering. Then—leaving the last bites for the compost bin—I stood up in a hurry. It was my turn to do the dishes, and also I didn’t want to be asked for details.
    GG is what we call my great-grandmother, and the photos were for a book the family was putting together for her ninetieth birthday in January. My grandmother—GG’s daughter and my mom’s mom—was coordinating it all. Mom’s and my job was to scan old photographs of GG’s early life, write captions, and lay them out on pages.
    Mom had thought this would be good for teaching me about family history and good for mother-daughter bonding. But she’s so busy, we haven’t even started yet, and it has to go to a printer by the end of next week.
    Our dog, Ike, followed me into the kitchen. He is ten years old, which is old for a golden. He has a white