5 Marshmallows and Friction

CHAPTER FIVE MARSHMALLOWS AND FRICTION" 15° F WE DIDN'T USE the hot chocolate mix that comes in an envelope and you just add hot water. We made the good hot chocolate—with real milk. Mom poured the milk into a pot and set it on the stove. "You guys can take it from here," Mom said after she turned on the burner. "I need to get back to my rosebushes." "Why do you cover them up?" Simon asked.

"To protect them from the wind and the cold," Mom answered as she pulled her gloves back on. "They'll bloom better in the spring if they're covered with burlap in the winter. And I have to get it done— it's going to be so cold on Monday." Mom went to work on her rosebushes, and we worked on the hot chocolate. Rosie squirted the chocolate syrup into the pot. Simon did the stirring. And I got a bag of marshmallows from the cabinet. They were the little ones, not the big giant ones. "So how are we going to stay warm on Monday?" Simon asked Rosie.

"We're going to use friction—and trap the heat," Rosie said. Simon and I had no idea what Rosie's plan was, but we totally trusted her. After the chocolate milk got hot, we poured it into three mugs and sat at the kitchen table. Rosie put a few marshmallows into her mug. Simon grabbed a big handful and dropped them in his mug. A couple overflowed, but he just ate them straightaway. I used six marshmallows (an even number). But they got melty pretty fast, so I needed to scoop them out two (another even number) at a time to eat them. I didn't want them to melt into one (an odd number) big marshmallowy blob.

"What's your plan?" Simon asked, taking a slow, careful sip of hot chocolate. After that sip, there was a little more room in his mug, so he dropped in some more marshmallows. "We're going to make our own heat on the way to school," Rosie started to explain. She rubbed her hands together to remind us what friction means. "And we're going to trap it like inside a mitten." "What are we going to rub together?" I asked.

"We need to figure that out after we drink our hot chocolate," Rosie said. That was enough explanation for Simon and me. We were confident Rosie knew what to do. The hot chocolate was cool enough to drink instead of sip now. Simon gulped half of his down in two big swallows. Then he filled his mug to the top

with marshmallows. "Simon!" Rosie exclaimed. "What?" "You have more marshmallows than hot chocolate!" He brought the mug up and tilted his head back, and lots of marshmallows and a little hot chocolate flowed into his mouth. He looked at us—his mouth was so full that he couldn't close it.