The Chocolate Twist

A twisted yeast donut with a hint of cinnamon and our shiny deep-dark-chocolate glaze on top

Almost an hour into Mattie’s slow, twisty bus ride through the Big Sur redwoods, the rocky cliffs above the turquoise ocean became smooth brown hills dotted with fluffy yucca fronds. As Highway One turned into a freeway and Monterey loomed ahead, Mattie’s stomach went queasy. It wasn’t from the ride or all their snacks. They were almost there.

“I’m so bored,” Beanie said. She slumped against Mattie’s shoulder. Beanie was practically buried under string cheese wrappers, tangerine peels, and empty cracker boxes.

Sasha shook an empty box. “Jeez, Beanie—I can’t believe you ate all that. I’m surprised you haven’t barfed.”

“Nobody say the word barf,” Beanie groaned.

“You just said the word barf,” Sasha said.

Beanie clutched her stomach, sending cheese wrappers and cracker crumbs flying.

“Here,” Sasha snapped, handing over Mr. Little’s phone. “Send Mom a message and tell her we made it. I just saw a sign for the aquarium.”

Beanie perked up. Her groaning was mostly an act—Beanie had never barfed in her entire life. Mrs. Little said she had a bionic stomach. Beanie’s fingers skittered over the tiny keyboard, adding emojis and misspelling every word.

Sasha leaned over Mattie to proofread.

“Beanie! I said send Mom a message, not Ms. Waters.”

Beanie jerked the phone away. “I already sent the one to Mom. I’m just telling Ms. Waters hi.”

She waved the phone toward the other girls. Mattie leaned back so she wouldn’t get smacked, but she did notice that Beanie had sent Aunt Molly a whole row of donut emojis along with her note about them being olmost ther.

Which didn’t seem like the most polite thing.

The donut emojis, not the misspellings.

Mattie tried to ignore the sourness in her stomach. Aunt Molly wouldn’t mind. She would know that Beanie didn’t mean anything by the tiny donuts. But they reminded Mattie why she had to get this right.

Mattie scrunched in her seat, wrapping her arms around her upset stomach, which made Sasha peek over at her. Mattie tried to think of the day’s plan like an adventure. It should be fun, right?

She grabbed the metal bar in front of their seat as Janelle slung the bus into the next lane, down the freeway ramp, and into Monterey. A few cypress trees clung to the edges of the city, but the sky was open and blue. The city’s bay and docks and streets spread outside of the big bus windows like the top of a cake.

Mattie pointed toward the bay. Ripples of current and shadows of kelp smudged the surface of the water like they always had. “There it is.”

The bus hissed to a stop, and its doors creaked open. Janelle shifted around on her seat to wave them off. “You two follow Mattie. She knows what’s good.”

Then the doors clapped closed again, and the bus eased off down the street.

Mattie peeked down at her shoes, standing there on the Monterey sidewalk. The bus to Monterey hadn’t careened around the corners out of control, hadn’t crossed any double yellow lines and crashed. Mattie was safe, but all around her the open sky echoed with the truth.

Mom wasn’t here.

Mom wasn’t anywhere.

Knowing that was still scary, but she couldn’t let being afraid steal her home—the home she had now, with the donut shop and their trailer and a feathery, friendly owl—away from her. So when Beanie hopped up and down, asking, “Which way, which way?” Mattie was ready to show her.

Sasha was glaring at the map on her mom’s phone, trying to figure out the directions. Mattie peeked over her shoulder, then pointed at the real street.

“The aquarium is that way,” Mattie said. “But we’ve got to do the click-camera thing first, Beanie.”

“Ahhhh. I forgot.” Beanie flopped her arms and let her shoulders slump.

Sasha squinted at the phone. “So if the aquarium is that way”—she turned the phone around in her hands, and the picture flipped—“then the pharmacy is . . .”

She pointed.

Mattie nodded.

Beanie skipped ahead.

Sasha zipped the phone back into her pocket.

It was kind of nice walking on actual sidewalks, but it felt strange too. The trees didn’t crowd close together in Monterey like they did in Big Sur. Things were open and straight and blue, not curvy and close and green. The whole city felt bigger but not fuller. Easier to get around but not an easier place to be. Mattie didn’t quite know how to put those feelings into words. So she didn’t. When they got to her old street, Mattie couldn’t see the house that wasn’t hers anymore. But it was just over the rise. Two blocks away. That was it.

The house tugged at her. Knowing it was there made Mattie want to make a whole new plan. But that house wasn’t what she was trying to save.

Mattie’s feet pulled her along, and pretty soon the girls were standing in front of the springy automatic doors of the big drug store. They walked in together, and whoosh! The place swallowed them up.

Rectangular lights blazed between the dotted ceiling tiles. The cash registers bopped, and the conveyer belts scooted candy and shampoo and bandages toward the rows of employees in scratchy-looking green vests.

Sasha and Mattie scanned the signs hanging above the maze of aisles. Pharmacy, first aid, cosmetics, hair care . . .

“There,” Sasha said, grabbing Beanie’s hand.

Mattie’s skin prickled when she read the red-and-white sign: Photos and Prints. This was it!

They hustled toward the faraway aisle, ignoring the teetering stack of red shopping baskets and the grinning uniformed greeter. The little counter of the photo section was almost as full of things as the kiosk at the campground. A stand with batteries and gift cards, a tray of gum, and a bunch of miniature umbrellas that nobody would need for months.

There was a silver bell at the edge of the only empty space.

Sasha reached her hand forward and smacked it with confidence.

A teenager using too much make-up to cover a pimple on her forehead leaned forward. She was sitting on a stool, scrolling through her phone and chewing on a piece of gum. Mattie knew Mrs. Little would be horrified. She did not approve of gum. The girls only got to chew gum at parties, never in the house.

“Yeah?” said the girl, not looking up from her phone.

Sasha pulled the click-camera out of her pocket and placed it in the center of the counter.

Beanie grabbed a massive bag of sour jelly beans. “Let’s get these too—I’m hungry!”

Sasha ignored the jelly beans, crossed her arms, and stared down the teenager. “My dad said you can get these things developed in an hour.”

But Mattie was starting to get a bad feeling about their plan.

The teenager behind the counter snorted. Really. And she laughed with her head thrown back, but all quiet, so she wouldn’t get in trouble with her supervisor. “Sure, you could get it done in an hour . . . like a decade ago.”

She hitched up her too-tight pants, pulled at her green vest, and tapped at a little sign with her short painted nails.

The nails were magenta and shimmery.

Kind of like a strawberry-glazed donut with sprinkles.

Mattie stared at those nails, mesmerized, thinking they must be a sign from the universe or something. Because right then, she really needed one. Because the actual sign that girl had been tapping made it clear that the pharmacy could no way get those pictures out of their busted-up camera within an hour.

“Can I still get the jelly beans?” Beanie huffed, shaking the bag in front of Sasha’s face.

Sasha was turning red.

Sasha Anastasia Little did not enjoy being wrong.

Or being laughed at.

And that teenager behind the counter was about to get an earful.