Sid's Warm Cookies

Just as we were about to begin our tag sale, Sidney burst into the room with a dog and cat poster under his arm. His stepdad was right behind him, carrying two big boxes. We could smell chocolate as soon as they entered the room.

“Sorry I’m late, guys,” Sid said. “I was baking chocolate chip cookies. We just took them out of the oven this morning. Nothing like warm cookies!” He had one in his hand. It was so soft and warm it broke into two pieces. I could see melted chocolate oozing out. Sidney quickly popped the cookie into his mouth. “I can’t sell a broken one,” he mumbled.

Harry frowned. A working oven was a sore subject for him.

As I watched Sidney eat that delicious broken cookie, I got another idea for a plan. It was a horrible thing to do to a friend. But if Harry was able to sell just one stub person, I would have to use it.

“They smell divine,” Miss Mackle said.

“Well, Sid forgot a few things,” Mr. LaFleur said. “He didn’t tell me he needed something to sell at the fair until early this morning. So that’s why the cookies are warm.”

Miss Mackle sighed. “Oh, that’s too bad,” she said. “Sidney, didn’t you bring home the reminder notice on Monday?”

“I . . . forgot,” Sid confessed. “I’m really sorry.”

“He’s going to bring home school notices from now on!” Mr. LaFleur said sternly. “And, do his homework on time. Right, Sid?”

“Right,” Sid insisted. Then he taped his animal shelter poster to the front of his desk.

“Okay, guys. Good luck on your charity fair,” Mr. LaFleur called out. He gave his stepson a kiss on the head and left.

Sid took the lid off one of the boxes. The chocolate chip cookies were each in a sealed plastic Baggie. It was torture not being able to eat one. They smelled even more chocolaty with the lid off the box.

Ida handed baby food jars to each of us. “These are for your money,” she said. “I have lots more jars at home. My baby sister loves to eat.”

Miss Mackle said, “Let’s give Ida a big hand for washing them out and bringing them in.” Everyone clapped for Ida.

“At the end of the day,” Miss Mackle said, “you will dump your earnings into one of the three large mayonnaise jars on my desk.”

Each one had a set of initials on it: ASPCA, GSUSA, or UNICEF.

We all nodded. Even Harry.

Then Harry showed me a brown leather coin purse he had inside his desk. “For my own GS fund. I’ll take it home after school,” he whispered.

I crossed my fingers that Harry wouldn’t sell a single one of his overpriced stub people.