I could smell the warm yeasty aroma
before he sat down
next to me
on Mr Korsky’s seat.
He handed me one
without saying a word.
My first impulse was to say no.
No thanks.
My voice caught in my throat
as he held it nearer
and I took it quickly.
He took a big bite
and said,
with his mouth half-full,
‘Rachel baked them. Not me.
If you’re worried . . .
about food poisoning.’
I giggled.
Then I took a big bite to stop myself
from laughing at Mick Dowling
sitting beside me on the seat,
more nervous than me.
I chewed slowly
with my mouth closed
like Mum says I should.
‘It’s . . . delicious, Mick.’
I said his name,
like we’re friends.
He looked at the half-eaten biscuit in his hands
as if it could tell him what to say next.
He smiled,
‘I can get you another one . . . if you want?
Geez . . . I can get another fifty!’
I shake my head, quickly.
And then I decide what to do
when I get home this afternoon.
Chocolate crackles.
Mum’s recipe.
For tomorrow.
For Mick
and his friends.