Crumb-y Day

Cookies

Rebbie hurried down Jackson Street. Her school bag thumped against her sides and sweat began to bead under her forelock. She had to get home first. Her feet clicked loudly on the stone streets as she ran at full speed. Heart thumping wildly, she reluctantly slowed down to fix a dangling buckle on her school bag.

Spilled homework would mean she would be delayed and if she was delayed that means disaster would strike.

Her youngest brother would get all the cookies.

Not only would they be chocolate chip cookies that mother made, but they would be fresh, and that meant gooey chips and just the right amount of softness and chewy-ness. Aside from that tempting factor, Rebbie couldn't let herself be bested by a 5-year-old.

After turning a few streets she came to a small house. It wasn't a super extravagant abode like mansions in other places, but it was home, with its curtains, backyard, and the occasional book fort. She rummaged through his bag, pulled out her copy of the house key, and turned it in the lock.

Once Rebbie stepped inside she snuck into the kitchen and found the mutilated white remains of a test scattered about the floor's surface. On the counter was a plate of cookies that remained untouched. Under the plate was a note from their mother, explaining how she, Joseph, and her older brothers would be home late so she made them cookies. As long as they were in bed by 9:00 pm.

But none of this was important to Rebbie. Who cares about chocolaty cookies? Her brother was home and was nowhere to be seen.

She decided to go check upstairs to see what was wrong, but not before she shoved some cookies in his mouth.

...

When she climbed up the stairs Rebbie found a trail of papers, books, pencils, and even a child-sized school bag flung all around the hallway.

The trail led to their room, with the door ajar.

"Michael? Are you alright?"

No response.

What if something had-

No, Rebbie thought. Maybe he is just napping. Or he slipped. I'm going to go in there and see what is wrong. I'm a responsible thirteen-year-old. I know CPR and I can find someone if something bad really did happen.

She stepped into the room. Everything looked normal. The bed was made. Their toy chest was open, and the bookshelf was empty.

The book fort reinforced with blankets in the middle of the room, however, was...sobbing.

"Michael?"

Silence then a faint:

"Rebbie?"

His voice sounded meek and scared.

"Michael, are you hurt?"

More sobs.

"Can I come in the fort?"

"...Okay."

Something was definitely wrong, she thought. He didn't even ask for the password.

Rebbie crawled inside wiggling around the fort, built out of books before lifting a blanket fraction of the roof off so she could sit up. This allowed more light to enter the book fort, revealing a small Michael with a tear-stained face buried in his hands, and clutching his leg.

He didn't look up.

Rebbie gulped. She'd seen her brother act quite like this before.

"Tell me what's wrong."

"Joseph,"

More sobs.

Even though he couldn't see her, Rebbie forced an awkward it-will-be-okay smile.

"I can get you some graham crackers. You love graham crackers. L-o-v-e them. Remember that story we wrote? Where you married a graham cracker monster? I still have it somewhere in my room. I'll read it to you until you die of laughter."

Michael buried his head further into his feet.

Michael lifted his head and sat up. Tears were dried on his face.

"Rebbie?"

"Yes?"

"Can I have a cookie?"

"Yeah, let me bring the plate up."

She got up and went to the door.

Michael smiled.