5 Like Mud

CHAPTER FIVE LIKE MUD Condensation (noun). A gas turns into a liquid when the conditions are just right. It's like a bunch of molecules at a party, sliding into one another mosh-pit style. Then an electric wand messes with them, and now the molecules are closer together and dancing in unison. WITH WIDE EYES, Liam studied the bag of semisweet chocolate on the counter. And the sugar, eggs, vanilla, flour, cocoa powder, and salt. "What are you making?" "Brownies," said Birdie. "Hey, I want to make brownies!" cried Liam. I put my fingers to my lips. "Shhh, keep your voice down." Liam squinted. "Is it a 'prise?" "A surprise," I corrected. "For Mom. She's been working really hard and needs a little treat." "I could hear you shouting earlier," said Liam. "You were loud."

"We shouldn't have been," said Birdie, setting out metal measuring cups. "I want to make brownies!" Liam grabbed the bag of chocolate pieces. "You're too little to cook by yourself," I said. Liam was in kindergarten. Mom didn't let me cook by myself until the summer after third grade. "At school, I'm a paper passer." Liam proudly thumped his chest. "And a line leader." "Well, now you can be the official taster," I said. "That's the best part of brownie making." "You get to lick the bowl," explained Birdie. "But I want to cook!" Liam waved the bag of chocolate. It dropped out of his curled fist, thwacking against the island counter. "Hey, what's going on in here?" asked Dad, walking in from the basement. That was where he has his woodworking area and spent several hours during the weekends. He glanced at the ingredients on the counter and then at Liam. "Why don't we let your sister and Birdie take care of baking? Buddy, I need you to go with me to the grocery store. We're clear out of milk. And you can't eat brownies without milk, now can you?" Dad scooped up the car keys from the rack. "Plus, I need a shopping associate. And just maybe you can help pick out some chips."

"The kind that gets my hands orangey?" Liam stared at his palm. "Or the kind with green flecks?" "Orange or green. Dealer's choice." "Yes!" As Liam charged to the door, he knocked into our dog's water bowl. A small puddle spread out on our new kitchen floor. "I'm on it!" I grabbed a rag and wiped the wood floor. "Thanks, Kate," said Dad. "But next time let your brother do it himself." "Sure!" I tossed the rag to Liam. "Go for it!" "You already did the good part," moaned Liam. "It's hardly wet now." Only my brother would think that wiping up a spill was fun. Once after Liam complained that I got to unload the dishwasher, Dad had said that I made everything look cool since I was five years older. I grabbed a glass of water and spilled it. "There you go! A huge puddle!" Dad rolled his eyes but didn't say anything. He was awesome like that. As Liam wiped, Dad put his hand on my shoulder. "There's something I want to ask you, girls." He drew in his eyebrows in a serious discussion face. "I want you to think about this long and hard before answering." Birdie and I looked at each other. When it came to very important questions, my dad, a

therapist, who asked people the right question to help them figure out their problems, was an expert. "Cakey or fudgy brownies?" asked Dad. I laughed, relieved that Dad was just being a goofball. "For brownies, I'm team fudgy." "Me too," said Birdie. Dad told us that was wonderful news and asked if we needed any brownie-making advice from Mom. In our house, Dad's the cook, but Mom's the dessert maker. I've helped her make brownies but never made them myself. Still, I told him that I had it covered. "Baking is sort of like a science experiment," said Dad, winking at us. "Where you still have to clean up after yourself." "It's only an experiment if we test something out," I said. "And not just anything, but a hypothesis." "I have a hypothesis," said Dad. "That your brownies are going to be delicious." Dad got a big thumbs-up from Birdie and me. Although after he and Liam left, I wished I had asked if Dad knew where to find Mom's brownie recipe. It took Birdie and me forever to find what

looked like the perfect fudgy recipe on her phone (saved by the bowl of rice that absorbed all the pond water). Suddenly, Birdie's phone's battery icon turned red. "Oh no! It's running out of power." Birdie frowned. "Snap! I forgot my charger." Unfortunately, my parents' chargers didn't work with her phone. And I didn't have a smartphone. Just an old flip one only to be used in an emergency. "Maybe we should look up the recipe on the computer and print it out," said Birdie. "Nah." I tapped my head. "It's all up here." I just need to get the ratios right. "Cooking is chemistry!" I boiled water in a pot like I'd seen Mom do, set a metal bowl on top of it, then stirred up the chocolate and butter into creamy deliciousness. When we set the smooth melted chocolate onto the counter, it immediately turned into what looked like pebbly mud. I yowled in frustration. "What is wrong with it?" shrieked Birdie. "I don't know!" Okay. Don't panic, I told myself. You can fix this. Examining the bottom of the pan, I noticed beads of water—condensation!

"Aha!" said Birdie. "The chocolate seized. It's when chocolate gets all mushy instead of luscious and silky. I saw that once on a cooking show." "Right. It's because it came into contact with moisture." I slapped my forehead. "I should have thought of that! That's basic chemistry. We've got to start all over again." I glanced up at the clock. It was 4:00 p.m. Dinner would be in one hour because Mom wanted to eat early tonight. She had to be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow for her fitness boot camp class. I pulled out a clean glass bowl and set it over the pan of boiling water. This time everything had to be perfect. "The chocolate looks great," I said a few minutes later. "And smells amazing." Leaning over, Birdie admired the rich walnut-brown color. "Super creamy," she exclaimed. "And this time, we'll wipe off the condensation right away." Just as I was about to pull the glass bowl off the stove, it shattered with a loud pop. Like a rain of hail, broken bits of glass and globs of chocolate hit the floor. "What's that noise?" asked Mom. Uh-oh!