Strawberry Lips

1

I whisk the batter, smelling the fresh Californian strawberries in the mix. The seeds from the strawberries scatter the pink dough, making it look perfect.

Once I pour some milk into the bowl them some marshmallows, my arm starts turning again, creating a cupcake mixture my family will love. I can't wait for their reactions.

The sun from the kitchen window shines on my back while I lean over to get the cupcake tray in the cupboard below me. I line the tray with pink cupcake liners then pour in my strawberry mix.

I hear the beeping of the oven, telling me that the oven is heated to 350 degrees. I grab the cupcake tin with my batter covered hand and place it on the top rack of the oven, then putting 20 minutes on the timer. Perfect!

"Jules?" a voice calls from upstairs.

"Yeah?"

"Are you baking again?" my grandma says, shuffling down the stairs. She peeks her head in the kitchen and smiles at me. "Oh you little baker."

I laugh then go over to hug her. "Good morning, grandma."

"Good morning sweet Jules. So what may you be baking today?"

"Strawberry Marshmallow cupcakes today, grandma."

Grandma's eyes widen, "Ohhh sounds delicious sweetie. When will they be ready for me to gobble down?"

"In approximately 18 minutes, 43 seconds," I respond, a smile covering my face.

"Oh no, that's not soon enough. Oh what should I do?" my grandma asks, rubbing her chin in thought.

I laugh, knowing she does this every time I bake something. "How about lick the bowl?"

"Oh now that's an idea." Grandma takes the bowl from my hands and sticks her pointer finger in it, scooping up the batter.

"Now, now, grandma. Not too much. There are raw eggs in there. They can make you sick."

"Oh whatever. I'm close to age anyway," grandma replies, going in for a second dip.

"Grandma!" I yell, smacking her hand. "Don't talk that way."

Grandma snickers at me running away with the bowl. Sometimes she reminds me of my little sister, Harper, when she steals a chocolate bar. Oh how young Grandma can act. I don't want to loose her at all. She is like my best friend. I only have one other best friend, Andrew, and we have grown up together: we are like scones and tea. But grandma is like that one girl best friend any sixteen year old girl would want to have. She watches movies with me, curls my hair and paints my nails, and she was the one who actually taught me to bake. Loosing her, would be like loosing a big part of me. Like my limbs.

Grandma just turned 89 a couple weeks ago. The doctor says she is in perfect condition but I feel like that might be changing in a few years.

But it is bad for me to think like that! I need to think positive, and about how much I love her.

I walk out to the deck from the kitchen with my book and lay on the lounge chair. I take out the bookmark and start reading.

Julia has just gotten kidnapped by an unknown character and Joe is a suspect.

I love mystery novels, and especially with a treat to my side with a glass of milk or a cup of tea.

I turn the page by page, enjoying every tense scene and confusing parts, pulling me in with every word.

"Jules!" Andrew yells falling on top of me, making me loose my breath.

"Holy cow, Andrew. I can't breathe. Please get off of me," I say, gasping for air.