Sweet Girl Read Online Free Page B

watch a moment longer before turning and heading in the other direction. I give myself only as long as it takes to get back to my car to think about those dreams and the little girl who they belonged to.

    “OK, Miss Mackenzie”—my mother smiled down at me while tying her apron around her waist—“what’s the first thing we have to do before we start a new recipe?”
    I was overeager to answer, and I nearly tripped over the untied lace of my Keds as I ran across the kitchen to her.
    “Oh, I know, Mama!” I crowed as I hurried to climb up onto the chair she had set at the counter for me. “We preheat the oven!”
    When her face fell a little, I knew I’d said something wrong. She leaned down to tie my shoe before she responded.
    “That’s almost right, sweetheart, but that’s the second thing we do. Can you remember the first? It’s very important.”
    My six-year-old brain scrambled for the right answer, and then my shoulders slumped when I realized what it was.
    “First”—I recited the line she’d told me a kajillion times already—“we have to check my levels to make sure it’s OK if I have some sugar before we bake.”
    “Exactly!” She beamed her approval. “Now then . . . ” Her voice trailed off as she held my index finger in her hand and used a tiny machine to get a sample. I used to hate this part, but I’d been doing it for so long now that I could mostly ignore it when it pinched me.
    While we waited for the readout, I washed my hands (that’s step three for a good baker, Mama says) and came back over to the counter.
    “You’re all set, Kenzie!” She smiled and put the monitor back into the cabinet. “Now, what should we bake today?”
    My mind spun with the images of all the yummy things we’d made last time she’d had a day off like this. Mama and I loved to bake, and because it was so close to Christmastime, we got to make even more things than usual. Then we bundled them up in pretty paper and handed them out to the neighbors in our apartment building.
    “Um . . . ” I trailed off, trying to come up with a fun idea for us. “Maybe—what about peanut butter cookies? The kind Malin likes.”
    “Mmm, that’s a good idea,” Mama said, running her fingers back through my hair. “Then she can have a cookie when she wakes up from her nap. OK, so peanut butter cookies.”
    She walked across our small kitchen and began pulling ingredients from the shelves. She got out our big blue mixing bowl and my favorite spatula. Next came the flour and the sugar and a jar of peanut butter. We liked chunky, not smooth.
    “What can we do to give these cookies a Kenzie-spin?” she asked. “What should we add to make them more special?”
    I wasn’t surprised when she asked. Mama usually asked me for ideas to experiment with a recipe. I didn’t always have a good answer, and she helped me a lot, but sometimes I came up with really fun creations. Like that time I asked her if we could put cookie dough into our brownie dough, and the dessert we made was so good. We called them brookies because they were brownies plus cookies. I wanted to come up with something just as good for our recipe today.
    “Um . . . what about if we add gummy bears?” I asked hopefully.
    Mama made a grossed-out face, and I laughed.
    “Kenzie, remember how we do this? Try to think of something you’ve had that you already know tastes good with your main ingredient. This time we’re using peanut butter, so maybe we could do jelly or—”
    “Chocolate!” I yelled, so excited at having come up with the idea.
    “Shhh,” she whispered. “Malin is still asleep, remember?” She spoke quietly, and I tried to lower my voice too.
    “But chocolate works, right? Like a peanut butter cup?” I danced in place.
    Mama reached into the pantry, pulled out the chocolate chips, and placed them on the counter with everything else.
    “Chocolate is a great idea, smart girl.” She smiled at me.
    What seemed like a billion