TIME TO VOTE: Writing for Kids Winter Contest!

THE WRITING FOR KIDS WINTER CONTEST!


What It’s About

• Entries must include: A disappointing cookie.
• Entries must be titled.
• Entries must be 600 words or less (not including the title).
• Entries must be written for kids! But all genres are welcome.

How to Vote

Send me your vote – one vote per current AW member in good standing since at least December 14, 2014, using the private message function.

In the subject line of your private message, type VOTE: CONTEST

In the body of the message, include up to three votes in order, from first to third. List both the entry number and the title. For example:

6. Bust Your Capulet
3. You've got Rhythm
12. Happy Feet

YES, entrants may vote for themselves.

Voting will close at 7:00 P.M. US Eastern on January 14, 2015. Any votes received after that time won't count.

I will then post complete results with vote totals for every entry, and announce the winners!

Neighbors

Chloe and Alex were tossing around a football and ideas in Alex's backyard, just killing time on a slow summer day.

"We could, like, take a couple of CDs over," Alex said. He grunted as the football hurtled into his arms. "Listen to some rock." He threw it back, hard.

"Nah," Chloe said. "Tons of friendships die because of music. Why get off on a bad foot?" Alex nodded, so she added, "Maybe we should ask your mom. She's good at her counseling job, so that means she's good with people, right?"

"Hey, that's a great idea," he said. "Why didn't I think of that?"

Chloe was already halfway to the house, her blonde hair waving in the wind. "That's why I'm the genius and you're the sidekick," she yelled.
____
Alex's mom was filling out some paperwork when they rushed in the sitting room, but she pushed up her glasses and smiled. She never scolded them for running inside the house as long as they were careful. She was just awesome like that. "What's up?" she asked.

"Mom, we've been trying to think about something we can do for Roger, the new neighbor," Alex said. "Because Chloe and I thought it could help him feel less homesick, like when we moved here and Chloe's family invited us to dinner. But we can't think of anything good."

"Well, you could make Roger a snack yourself and take it over. It would be the friendly thing to do. Maybe some granola bars or an easy recipe like that.”

They exchanged glances, Alex’s eyebrows pushed up. Chloe was grinning, so he grinned back. “That’s a great idea, Mrs. Zimmer. Thanks!”

She smiled, setting her glasses back on her nose. “Not a problem, kids. If you need any help, holler.”

“Help?” Alex snorted. “What could go wrong?”
____
Homer, Alex’s golden Lab, was wagging his tail furiously as he devoured the last of the twenty-four oatmeal cookies-turned-doggie-snack. They’d forgotten about the cookies, too busy slaying the evil Geolarks and running from giant dragons, until Alex’s mom rescued the smoking cookies and yelled for them to come into the kitchen. Now, Chloe was staring at Alex, her arms crossed as she gave him her killer gaze.

“Told you I heard the timer ring.”

“Did not,” he protested weakly. It wasn’t the best idea to argue with a mama bear. “At least we know that we aren’t cut out to cook.”

She huffed. “Still doesn’t help us with Roger. Everything we’ve thought is too difficult, like your idea to get him one of those welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift baskets those welcoming committees do in fancy places.”

Homer burped and trotted off into the backyard.

“What’s wrong with fancy?” Alex said, frowning.

“Uh, the fact that we’ve got like, eight dollars between the two of us? We need something easy and fun, and I’m always the one coming up with everything.” Chloe stretched out the last word.

“Well, since everything we’ve thought of or tried doesn’t work, how about we just go over? You know, like maybe new friends or neighbors. Mom always says to be a friend. And you’ve always said Mom’s smart.”

“True,” Chloe admitted. She stared at the cookie crumbs littering the front step. “Sure beats this. Come on, let’s go.”
____
Roger opened the door after four knocks. He was just about their height, with square glasses and blonde hair. “Hi,” he said after a few seconds.

“Hey,” Chloe said, giving him a huge grin. “I’m Chloe, and this is my friend Alex. And we’re your new neighbors.”

The Food and Drink Family

Emily told everyone that when she grew up, she was going to marry her dad.


Dad usually laughed. “Sure thing, graham cracker.” The only thing he loved more than Emily and her mom was food. He never ceased to find new food nicknames for Emily. (Mom got drinks.)

“What does your mom say about that?” amused onlookers would ask.

“I did marry the best one,” Mom said.


“That’s right, hot cocoa.” Dad winked.


Friday was arts and crafts day, and Emily felt her heart all the way in her toes when Friday got near. Thursday, she watched for bedtime like a small, arts-and-crafts-loving hawk.


“Dad, what are we doing tomorrow?” Emily peeked out from her blankets, watching as her dad inched toward the door.


“Now, now, apple pie. You know that we can’t tell you yet. I promise you’ll have fun tomorrow.”


Emily sighed. “Dad. I already know that.”


“Well, that should be good enough, then, lemon scone,” Dad said.


“Sometimes, I think you are a rotten egg,” Emily mumbled, turning her head on her pillow.


“Good night, my favorite pizza!” Dad called cheerfully.


--


Despite her excitement, Emily found that arts and crafts time arrived before she knew it. “So, what are we doing?” she asked, doing cartwheels through the living room.

“Today, I thought we’d make and decorate our own Christmas cookies!” Mom said.

Dad patted Emily's head. “Worth the wait?"

In response, she jumped up and hugged him. “Let’s start now!"

Soon, Emily had decorated a full batch of snowman, reindeer, and Santa cookies. She couldn’t wait to eat them. She was on her way out of the kitchen when she heard it.

“You are one disappointing cookie.”


Emily’s heart contracted painfully. It was Dad! She had never heard him sounding so upset with her. Usually, he would laugh and shrug and ruffle her hair, but there wasn’t the slightest hint of a joke in his voice.


Did she want to go and see what he was saying? What if it broke her heart just that much more?

Courage, Emily. Emily trembled. Even when she was afraid of him, the voice she conjured for reassurance was still her dad’s.


Taking a deep breath, Emily tiptoed into the kitchen. She saw her dad’s back; the familiar kitchen island, their salt and pepper shakers…


And a box. Of real, honest-to-goodness cookies.


Emily ran and picked up the box. The cookies had expired a month ago.

She had never been so happy to see stale cookies in her life. “I’ll eat them all!”

Her dad smiled. “I can’t have you do that, pumpkin. Let’s make more.”

Emily nodded, unable to keep the smile from her face. As they mixed another new batch of batter, Emily leaned forward into her dad’s ear. “Dad, you want to know something funny?”

“Sure, sugar plum,” he said, whispering with the same solemnity.

“When you said the cookie was disappointing, I thought you were talking to me.”

“What? Blueberry tart, that’s ridiculous! You are the cookie I am the very proudest of.” Dad put his hands on either side of her face. “You know I mean that, right?”

“Now I do,” Emily said. She was so happy that she threw the old cookies at her dad.

He threw his head back and laughed. “These cookies need to go away, and we certainly can’t eat them. Watch out, almond butter! The Food and Drink Family strikes again!”

Emily rummaged for a tablecloth in the closet and quickly draped it over a dining room chair to make a makeshift fort. “You’re on, cookie butter!”

A Beautiful Swan

"He fakes, dribbles to the front, can he make it...?"

I stepped right up to the basket and shot my left lay-up, the one shot that I still felt kind of shaky on. The ball went over the hoop and kept on going, finally bouncing out of bounds.

No way tryouts were going to go well.

I didn't know what I was doing wrong. I kept my eye on the backboard, and my head was up. But I couldn't make that shot. And kids that couldn't make good shots got cut.

I'd never been cut. But I had a feeling it wasn't much fun.

"What's going on, Dan Man?"

My cousin Pete, who had a girlfriend and a job, was standing at the door.

"I stink."

"Who told you that?"

I told me that. But I was too embarrassed to say anything.

"Come on in. We're about to do the cookies."

"Do I have to? I wanna keep practicing."

"You can practice later. It's cookie time."

Pete and his brothers had been working for Mr. Hoang for longer than I'd been alive. Every New Year's Eve, they brought home free fortune cookies. We all took a cookie and opened the fortune. That fortune was supposed to come true during the New Year. Mr. Hoang and my Uncle Chan both said that the fortunes were silly western things, but my cousins took them very seriously.

And this year, so did I.

All twelve of us gathered around the table and listened to grandpa recite the normal poem about good luck in the New Year. I didn't even try to listen. I kept going over the lay-up If I saw it in my mind, I could do it with my muscles. That's what dad told me. Then again, he couldn't even name two NBA teams.

I grabbed my plastic-wrapped cookie and let my sweaty hands twist it around. I didn't want to open it. I didn't want to get a fortune that ended tryouts before they even started.

"Something wrong, Dan?"

Pete again. I shook my head and shoved the cookie in my pocket, pretending I'd already opened it.

"What's your fortune say?"

"Um... It says I will have a really great basketball season and I'll meet Rajon Rondo."

"Really? Let me see."

I took the cookie out of my pocket and put it in his hands, trying not to look at his face.

"You didn't even open it!"

"I don't want to. What if it's bad?"

"You're worried about basketball?"

I felt my face get as hot as it did when I ate the red mystery chili.

"Dan," he said, kneeling next to me. "This might be a disappointing cookie. That can happen. But I also know that hard work and practice will help you more than any fortune."

"How do you know?"

"I've tried out for lots of teams before. Trust me."

"What do I do if it's a--" how did he put it? "A disappointing cookie?"

"You laugh at it and prove it wrong."

He handed me the cookie, and I ripped it open, praying a thousand times that it wasn't a disappointing cookie. Maybe it could just be about the sun or something.

I ate the tasteless cookie and stared at the fortune.

"So?"

I read it out loud all by myself, trying not to laugh: "you are a beautiful swan."

Pete took it out of my hands and laughed so loudly that everyone else in the room got quiet. "Maybe it's time to question how useful cookie day is..."

The Bad Cookies

Cathy was excited that morning. It was Christmas Eve. She ran to the kitchen where her mother was cleaning up after breakfast.

“Let’s go to the bakery now!” Cathy pleaded.

Her mother smiled. “Get your coat.”

“Yes!”

Later that day the family would go visit Cathy’s grandparents and see all of her aunts and uncles and cousins. That night they would open presents. It would be so much fun. First, they had to go to the Bluebird Bakery.

Ms. Morrow owned the Bluebird Bakery. Every Christmas she baked her special cookies and gave them to all the children in town. The cookies were all different. Some looked like Santa Claus. Others looked like reindeer, or elves, or Santa’s house at the North Pole. The Santa cookies tasted like peppermint. The ones of the North Pole were coconut. The reindeer cookies were Cathy’s favorite—they were pecan shortbread with chocolate chip noses. They were all delicious.

Ms. Morrow would give Cathy a large bag of cookies. Then they would get a bag for each of her cousins and for Grandpa and Grandma.

Cathy’s mother drove them to the bakery. It began to snow. It was perfect.

“Remember, we can’t stay long,” warned her mother.

Cathy ran inside as soon as they got to the bakery. It smelled wonderful. Ms. Morrow beamed with delight when she saw Cathy.

“I know what you want,” Ms. Morrow said. “I’ve just taken the cookies out to cool.”

Ms. Morrow gave Cathy a reindeer cookie. Cathy eagerly bit in to it. It was . . . AWFUL!

“What’s the matter?” asked Ms. Morrow.

“It doesn’t taste right.”

“Let me try one,” said Ms. Morrow. She did and made a face. She tasted one of the Santa cookies. It didn’t taste good either. She tried an elf.

“My cookies are ruined! I don’t know what happened. I used the same recipe I use every year.”

Ms. Morrow went in to the back. She returned with a white bag.

“I forgot my reading glasses this morning," Ms. Morrow said. She held the bag out to Cathy. “What does this say?”

Cathy read the words on the bag. “Salt.”

“Oh, no! I used salt in the cookies instead of sugar. I’ll have to make more cookies.”

“How long will that take?” asked Cathy.

“No more than a couple of hours.”

“We can’t wait that long,” said Cathy's mom. “We have to go home and get ready for the drive to Grandma’s.”

“What about the cookies?”

“We’ll come back after Christmas.”

“But I won’t have cookies to share tonight.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Ms. Morrow.

Cathy and her mother said goodbye and drove back home. It was still snowing but it no longer made Cathy happy.

“Don’t mope,” Cathy’s mother told her.

“But I don’t have any cookies to give as presents.”

“Being with your family is more important than presents.”

“I know,” said Cathy grudgingly.

Later that day Cathy and her family drove to Grandma’s house. Cathy was glad when they got there but hated to have to tell everyone that she didn’t have any cookies this year.

Cathy was surprised when she went inside. It smelled almost as good as the bakery had. Cathy hugged Grandpa and Grandma.

“I don’t have any special Christmas cookies,” said Cathy.

“I do,” said Grandma.

“You do?”

“Ms. Morrow got my number and called. She told me how disappointed you were. She gave me her special recipe. I made her cookies. Would you like to try one?”

“Yes!”

Cathy tried one of the reindeer cookies. She grinned.

Now it was perfect!

The G. F. G.

Lucy hugged herself happily. Allison Reynolds gave the best parties--not that Lucy ever got invited, being two years younger and unworthy of Allison’s notice. But Lucy’s cousin Sophia was Allison’s best friend. Lucy was spending the holidays with Sophia, so Allison’s mother said, “What’s one more? Bring her along.”

So Lucy had escaped a tedious day of shopping with Aunt Rosa, and instead was at a party! Her fairy godmother must be working overtime. She looked at her grubby sneakers and giggled. "Forgot the glass slippers.”

Mrs. Reynolds uncovered a tray of gingerbread cookies. “Who’s ready for a contest?”

“Me!” the girls squealed.

Lucy bumped someone’s red-sequined shoulder.

“Watch it,” Allison growled.

“I barely touched you.”

Sophia grabbed Lucy’s arm. “Stop embarrassing me! You wouldn't dress up, even after I loaned you a skirt--”

“It didn’t fit. You’re as big around as a pencil.”

“And now you’re making a scene!”

Lucy tugged her stretched-out fisherman’s sweater. The others wore crimson ribbons, velvet, and sparkles. But Lucy’s parents were on a cruise. Disgusted at being left behind, she’d stuffed her backpack with whatever she could grab. They were lucky she wasn’t wearing holey sweatpants.

“Decorations are in the dining room,” Mrs. Reynolds announced. “Best one wins a prize!”

Hmmph. They couldn’t stop her from having fun. And, by golly, it would be fun to win a contest. “I’ll make the best gingerbread person ever.”

But when she reached for her cookie, the tray was empty.

“Oh, I forgot about you. I’ll make another--” Mrs. Reynolds patted dough into a messy lump.

Screams erupted. “Moth-errrr!” Allison shrieked.

Mrs. Reynolds dashed away.

Lucy found a rolling pin, flattened the dough, and cut out her cookie. But, wait. Did she have to go in there with those snooty-boots? Who needed raisins and red hots? Tubes of icing lay on the counter. Lucy gazed thoughtfully at the jars filled with pasta . . . .

Soon she was putting the finishing touches on a blue gown adorned with pasta shells. Elbow noodles and rotini formed a hairdo topped with a farfalle bow. She added a flowing cape. Weren’t fairy godmothers superheroes, of a sort?

“Just what I need--a Gingerbread Fairy Godmother!” Lucy wrote G. F. G. across the figure’s tummy, and slid it into the oven. Before long, a spicy aroma wafted through the house.

“Moth-err!” Allison called. “I smell gingerbread.”

Lucy grabbed an oven mitt and removed the pan. The fairy godmother, brown and puffy, sprang to the top of the refrigerator.

Lucy gasped. “Wh-where are you going?”

“To save the world!”

“The world? You’re my fairy godmother.”

The cookie woman flapped her cape. “You’re in no immediate danger. I have other clients, too, you know.”

“But I want to win the contest. You can’t leave!”

“Try and stop me.”

Lucy dove for the door, but the cookie vaporized and slipped through the keyhole.

“Huh?” Baffled, Lucy opened the door and ran outside. The cookie woman flitted past, cackling. “Fly, fly, like a bumblebee! You can’t catch me! I’m the G. F. G.” And she swooped around the corner, out of sight.

“For Pete’s sake!” Lucy stomped inside.

When the other cookies were done, Allison’s father judged the contest. Allison won.

Sophia nudged Lucy. “Sorry yours didn’t turn out. You can have half of mine.”

“Thanks.” Lucy bit into a sweet, crisp arm. “Actually, mine turned out fabulous. She would’ve won, only--”

“Oh, Lucy. Why must you be so difficult?”

Lucy pulled off a raisin. “You think I’m difficult? You should meet my G. F. G.”

The Gingerbread Reindeer

Georgia slowed down as she walked past the shop. It was still there. The gingerbread reindeer with the red icing nose. Its antlers made the most amazing shapes and she knew it would taste as good as it looked. She had to have it.

She felt for the coins in her pocket.

Her mum squeezed her hand .

“Why don’t we make some cookies?” she said.

Georgia sighed. She wanted the gingerbread reindeer. The best she could do was shortbread fingers.

“OK.” She forced a smile.

She was still trying to smile as she mixed the ingredients together. She didn’t like getting her hands covered in the gooey mess.

“Isn’t this fun?” her mum asked. “They’ll soon be ready. I can’t wait to try one.”

Georgia stuck the fork into the shortbread fingers.

“Can I go out to play?”

She’d been thinking. There must be a way to earn the money.

“Just for an hour.”

Georgia cheered up. That should be long enough.

She washed two cars in double quick time. The water was freezing and she got soaked. She almost gave up but the thought of the cookie kept her going. There had to be a better way of earning money though.

Maybe her neighbour would let her walk the dog. It was a big dog but Georgia had grown since the last time she’d asked. She felt much taller and her mum kept saying what a big girl she was.

“I don’t know, Georgia. Lottie’s very strong. Are you sure you can handle her?”

"She’ll be OK and we won’t go far.” Georgia didn’t have very long if she was going to get to the shop before it closed.

“Well, if you’re sure...” She attached the leash and handed it to Georgia.

They set off at a gentle pace. Then Lottie pulled on the leash and Georgia held on for dear life. She somehow managed to get her to stop at the shop. She tied her up outside and went in.

The shop smelt of chocolate and sugar. Georgia breathed it in as she shut the door behind her.

“What can I get you?” the shopkeeper smiled.

“Can I have that reindeer cookie in the window?”

He seemed surprised.

“That’s only for display. We’ve got lots more.”

“But I want that one.”

“The others are just as good. They taste better too.”

“I don’t want them. I want that one.”

“But you can’t eat that one.”

Georgia was sick of arguing. She counted out her money and pushed it across the counter.

The shopkeeper looked at the coins.

“You won’t eat it, will you?”

Georgia crossed her fingers behind her back.

“No. Of course I won’t.”

“Well, I don’t suppose anyone else will want it.”

She smiled. How could anyone resist? She had to be the luckiest girl in the world. Still she wished he’d take the money and hand it over. She waited.

Finally he put the reindeer in a bag and handed it to her.

“Thank you” she said as she closed the door behind her.

She untied Lottie and headed for home gripping the bag in her free hand. It was no good, she had to try it. She tied Lottie to a nearby post and took out the gingerbread reindeer. She took a lick. It was like licking a block of salt.

She offered it to Lottie.

The dog sniffed at it then turned away.

“You don’t like salt dough either? What a waste of money.”

Georgia almost ran all the way back. All she could think about was the delicious shortbread fingers waiting for her.

The First Law of Friendliness

I’m not a very good person.

Trouble is, I’m not bad, either. If I was bad, the robots would ignore me. They were programmed to. Apparently kids were supposed to want the privilege of talking to the stupid things.

JKM-14 -- Noel -- was waiting for me when I finally stepped into the house. “Good afternoon, Mira!”

“Thank you.” Don’t ask why I said that. I don’t know. It’s not like robots care.

“What do you want to do today?” Noel asked.

I pushed past her into the kitchen. “We are making cookies.”

We spent the next twenty minutes getting everything together, pouring milk, melting chocolate and butter, measuring egg substitute. I admit, I wasn’t very comfortable with Noel helping me. Sure she was programmed to do everything a sister was supposed to, but she didn't act like a real sister, you know?

My real sister never helped me bake, that's for sure.

When the cookies were in the oven, I said: “Tomorrow, I’m going to take these to school, and I’m going to eat all of them and not share with anybody.”

Noel raised a plastic eyebrow. “Won’t that make your friends sad?”

I shrugged. “What friends? Larissa's gone, Brayden's still ignoring me, and everyone else only talks to me when they want something. Nope. They don’t deserve anything.”

I could hear the gears moving in her head. Literally.

“Regardless,” she said finally, “sixteen cookies is a lot for you to eat at once.”

She had a point.

An hour later, when the cookies were cooling off, I told Noel that she could have one if she wanted.

“Thank you, but I do not have the ability to eat.”

“Oh. Yeah.” I took a cookie and bit into it. A little bit drier than usual, but then usually I had a real human helping me. “Can you put these into bags of five? Give one to Mom when she comes home and put the other two away for tomorrow.”

“Certainly,” she said.

I walked upstairs to get started on my homework.

True, ten cookies was a lot. But that didn't matter, really. I’d probably end up giving them all away tomorrow.

The Cookie-Making Marathon

One dreary, rainy winter day, my mom said, “We should cook!
Let’s taste-test every recipe inside my cookie book!”

We baked all kinds of cookies and we worked all morning long,
but every single treat we made had something very wrong.

We tried to make some lemon bars, so soft and sweet and sour.
Instead we baked up lemon glop, ‘cause Mom forgot the flour.

Our sugar cookies tasted weird, all bland instead of sweet.
Without the sugar, sugar cookies aren’t so good to eat.

Your brownies turn to blondies, we discovered with a frown,
when you forget the chocolate dust that makes the brownies brown.

We baked some snickerdoodles but they simply wouldn’t do.
The snickers only snickered and the doodle doodled too.

We saved the very best for last and made the worst of slips.
The cookies looked alright, but I forgot the chocolate chips.

Although we followed recipes and tried our very best,
the only thing we made that day was one enormous mess.

We baked a thousand cookies and we couldn’t eat a one,
but Mom and I just laughed, because we sure did have some fun!

It's the Thought that Counts?

It wasn't an exaggeration to say that the fate of the universe was dependent on the cookies ten-year-old Aleesa Azaylea was baking.

She watched them through the window in the oven. She had commandeered the kitchen--okay, the ship's cook had given her permission--for today because the cookies were so important. In her imagination, she saw herself handing over perfectly formed Terrelian cookies in the shapes of Kitaid holiday figures, such as the Great Grok and his band of flying light wolves, the pink-leaved jami tree, and the Kitaid-like figures that kids made out of the foam that fell in winter on their planet. She would present the cookies to eleven-year-old Prince Benz of Kitai at their winter festival this afternoon.

She had spent all morning mixing flour from her homeworld of Terrel, Earthan sugar, spices found on multiple planets they had visited this year, and various other exotic ingredients. The final touch had been the sugar paints she had spent all her allowance on, back on the planet of Pixius. She had lovingly painted each cookie, even those depicting the horrible demon Argus, who punished the bad Kitaid children during the festival days.

The ship would be stopping at Kitai in the middle of their winter festival, and the ship's occupants would be expected to present tribute to the royal family. If they were pleased, it could cement peace between the two worlds. If they were insulted, it could lead to a horrible war that could echo throughout the galaxy.

Ding! The timer went off, telling Aleesa that the cookies were ready. She turned off the oven, pulled out the cookie sheet, and set it on a trivet to cool.

Were those jami trees always that crooked? Why did all the green sugar paint turn brown in the oven? The light wolves' ears were all wrong, and Great Grok was not as fat as the cookies made him appear. Only the Argus cookies turned out the way Aleesa had pictured them.

The universe was doomed.

Grega and the Pumpkin Chocolate Cookie

It was the week after early family Christmas visiting, and the evening and early morning was cold and blustery. She could not sleep, because Grega looked forward to the cookies that were sitting by the fireplace.

She woke up the next morning, and wondered if her jar would be filled with spare change yet. For she had already spent the amount, her mother found on the floor at her school on various varieties of candy treats. Today was going to be a wonderful day for Grega, for it was bright and Snowy! And everywhere she did activities, there were reindeer snowing. Her mother wondered why she was not happy, at the moment. Well sure enough, she wanted not a game console, or anything else besides candy. “Grega, there are cookies at home. Can you not wait for a home made cookie?”

As soon as the family got home, Grega looked forward to the cookie. But her parents told her she should wait for her cookie. Not only did they need to eat their Christmas dinner first, but mother was unsure whether she would like the cookie. For she had put pumpkin in the cookie mix, something she was not sure would mix. “Be sure to eat your broccoli casserole, for it is of course excellent for you” as all parental cliches went. Then they dinner time came and went, and they sat by the fireplace. Grega enjoyed her other presents, like a new pair of shoes after her old pair cracked and broke.

Then there was the cookie, and she pointed at it. “Has Santa had his cookie yet?” asked Grega to her mother, who was sipping hot chocolate.

“He has had his fill, but just one for today sweet pea.” said mother.

Grega crawled over to the fireplace, scuffing up her Christmas Night gown. She almost fell on her face like a clown. ‘Oh, here comes the cookie she sang in her mind. Yet it was, a very different cookie than she was expecting. It was, not what she expected. A pumpkin chocolate cookie. At first it was a let down, and the cookie made her want to frown. But suddenly the flavor was a delight. For the slight savoriness of the pumpkin was like salt and sugar, for chocolate and Pumpkin.

“How was your cookie dear?” said Grega’s mother.

“Your mom worked very hard on the.” said Grega’s father.

“They are gute, mama and pappa!” said Grega.

The rest of the week was ordinary, except for the cookies. Her mother narrowed them down to a craft. Grega thought this was quite daft, and everything was extraordinary for the rest of the year. She sang a cookie song:

Farewell to the sugary treat,
That was savory and sweet.