Julia’s Kitchen by Brenda A. Ferber

the dry ingredients and combine until just blended.” Timing was everything here. You couldn’t over-mix the dough at this point, or the cookies would be too heavy. I watched carefully and turned the Mixmaster off as soon as the flour disappeared.
    After stirring in the chocolate chips, I dropped the spoonfuls of cookie dough evenly on the cookie sheets. I kept the oven light on and watched as the cookie dough spread, then rose, then turned a perfect shade of golden brown. Why I had ever doubted myself? I was a great baker. Mom had told me so dozens of times.
    As the cookies cooled on wire racks, I considered biting into one. They looked so perfect and warm and, oh, they smelled so good. Whenever I baked with Mom, I wanted to eat the cookies the minute they came out of the oven, but Mom always said, “Not yet, Cara. It’s too soon.”
    But after the cookies had cooled, I knew I couldn’t eat even one. Instead, I placed them in a Ziploc bag and hid them behind a box of Popsicles in the freezer. I opened the windows in the apartment. It was cold, but I needed to get rid of the smell before Dad got home.
    While I washed the dishes, I thought about the baby Julia just starting her life. I wished I could cast a spell to make sure nothing bad would ever happen to her or her family, but I knew that was impossible. Life was filled with good and bad, joy and sorrow. That’s the world God created. I had a feeling, though, that God was rooting for the good, same as I was.
    *   *   *
    On Friday after school I baked the snickerdoodles and the oatmeal cookies, and figured out the bus route I’d have to take to deliver the basket.
    According to the lady on the phone at the bus company, I could pick up the number 4 bus three blocks from my apartment. One transfer and forty-five minutes later, I should be two blocks away from Renee’s daughter’s house. Yikes! I’d never taken a bus by myself before. What if something went wrong? What if I got lost? Or the bus ran out of gas? Or we crashed? Or I missed my transfer? What if it rained, and the cookies got soaked? Stop, stop, stop, I told myself. I would not worry my life away. Worrying didn’t help. Now it felt like wasted energy. Besides, even if everything went wrong, I’d find a way to deliver the cookies.
    Hey! Maybe that’s what God did. Maybe he helped you figure stuff out for yourself. Even when things got crazy. That made a whole lot more sense to me than a God who swooped in like a superhero every time I sent him a worrying message.
    *   *   *
    Saturday night, the Wittenbergs took me to Justin’s game. I didn’t know if it was because of the baking, or my new thoughts about God, or the sound of squeaking sneakers on the gymnasium floor, but I felt so light, so free. I whistled and clapped and screamed from the sideline. Just like before. I almost wished Marlee could see me.
    The next day was February 29, Leap Year Day. As I got dressed for Sunday school, I thought about how this was a bonus day, given to us only once every four years. It seemed like a day made for something special. Maybe a day to talk to Marlee.
    I realized I’d been waiting and waiting for Marlee to apologize to me, but the truth was, it wasn’t all her fault. I owed her an apology, too. She’d never acted the way my dad did, and I shouldn’t have compared them. I knew it wasn’t fair for me to burden her with my sadness all the time. I sure didn’t like Dad’s doing it to me.
    I decided to make Marlee a card using my scrapbook supplies. I folded a piece of yellow paper in half, and I cut two big circles out of pink and blue paper. I glued the blue circle to the front of the card and drew a frowny face on it. Then I wrote “I’m blue without you!” Inside, I glued the pink circle onto an accordion-folded strip of paper so it would pop out when Marlee opened the card. I drew a