Tough Cookies [Stewarts]
Feb 12, 2014 2:43:04 GMT -5
Post by Tomer Berelowitz on Feb 12, 2014 2:43:04 GMT -5
Turned out someone, or two someones (...most of the time), noticed that Tomer wasn't around as much. They weren't concerned, no, not really, but they needed to know how to make not-burnt cookies. Tomer didn't know why they chose him for this, as there were other kids who knew their way more around desserts, but he'd been gently bullied into agreeing and had spent an afternoon online memorizing how exactly to go about doing this. And how to correct things if something went wrong. And how to put out oven fires.
One of the Home Ec rooms had been reserved, with promises everything would be cleaned up and nothing would remain but the lovely smell of chocolate chip cookies to mark their passage. Ingredients for a double batch, or about forty cookies. Depending. Tomer was very willing to let the twins and their foster dad and Uncle Josh and Sean have all the cookies (giving his portion away). Not that he didn't want any or thought they wouldn't create viable product, but he didn't need a baker's dozen cookies. He supposed he could share them with his roommates too, but Uncle Josh and Sean had been so nice to him he felt he really ought to offer to them first. (And there was little chance of being turned down, even if they did burn a little.) He had Clover to share, and had some candy and treats his family sent in care packages.
Naomi and Orion had been in charge of bringing the ingredients Tomer had told them they'd need; Tomer had been in charge of information. What, how, where, and how long. On the back of his wheelchair was the little tarp bag he'd worn at Field Day; it held two bottles of water for refreshments. He sat in the Home Ec room at the station they'd use, looking through the cupboards and taking out the things he could manage. Wire racks, cookie sheets, spatulas, spoons, all laid out neatly on the table.
Motion at the door made him look around, turning his chair. "Hi," he said. If he was a little thinner than usual, a little more solemn, a little more anxious around the eyes and mouth, had a bit more tension in his shoulders and hands... it was understandable. His phone was resolutely off. "I found the mixer, and the oven's preheating."
One of the Home Ec rooms had been reserved, with promises everything would be cleaned up and nothing would remain but the lovely smell of chocolate chip cookies to mark their passage. Ingredients for a double batch, or about forty cookies. Depending. Tomer was very willing to let the twins and their foster dad and Uncle Josh and Sean have all the cookies (giving his portion away). Not that he didn't want any or thought they wouldn't create viable product, but he didn't need a baker's dozen cookies. He supposed he could share them with his roommates too, but Uncle Josh and Sean had been so nice to him he felt he really ought to offer to them first. (And there was little chance of being turned down, even if they did burn a little.) He had Clover to share, and had some candy and treats his family sent in care packages.
Naomi and Orion had been in charge of bringing the ingredients Tomer had told them they'd need; Tomer had been in charge of information. What, how, where, and how long. On the back of his wheelchair was the little tarp bag he'd worn at Field Day; it held two bottles of water for refreshments. He sat in the Home Ec room at the station they'd use, looking through the cupboards and taking out the things he could manage. Wire racks, cookie sheets, spatulas, spoons, all laid out neatly on the table.
Motion at the door made him look around, turning his chair. "Hi," he said. If he was a little thinner than usual, a little more solemn, a little more anxious around the eyes and mouth, had a bit more tension in his shoulders and hands... it was understandable. His phone was resolutely off. "I found the mixer, and the oven's preheating."
