Abby, Tried and True

A New Wild and Precious Day
After sleeping for fourteen hours, Abby woke to the smell of French toast, which made zero sense. Mama Dee would be at her bakery shop in town- Dee’s Delights-creating specialty cupcakes and birthday cake masterpieces for her customers. Mom Rachel was probably still asleep because she stayed up late some nights editing videos for her YouTube channel, Lettuce Eat. Also, anything Mom Rachel created in the kitchen smelled savory, not sweet. Abby’s brother, Paul, who was sixteen, usually slept till noon-it was summer break, after all. Miss Lucy, their princess-y dachshund dog with the world’s stubbiest legs, couldn’t reach the griddle without a catapult. And Abby’s turtle, Fudge, was in his tank on a rock, sunning
himself under the heat lamp. Abby wondered if it was worth getting her heavy heart out of bed to solve the French toast mystery. She ran a hand through her long, knotty hair, and her fingers got stuck. She
knew she should brush it, but she didn’t have the energy.
Against her better judgment, Abby found herself shuf-
fling barefoot toward the kitchen. Bluegrass music played through the speakers in the sunny kitchen.
Paul wore Mom Rachel’s coOKING IS MY SUPERPOWER apron. His thick, dark hair was wide awake, sticking up in forty-two divergent directions.
“Paul?”
Her brother, spatula in hand, turned. “Hey there, Six-
Pack!”
His nickname for Abby came from the shortened version “Abs”-that Paul turned into “Six-Pack.”
“Hey,” Abby replied with all the energy of a dying houseplant.
Miss Lucy waddled over, her long ears flopping and the tags on her collar jangling. She didn’t care that Abby’s heart was shattered. She had needs. Miss Lucy, in her fake diamond-studded collar with her dachshund princess atti- tude, always had needs.
When Abby bent to pet her, Miss Lucy sneezed twice on her hand, then returned to her spot near Paul.
“Love you too,” Abby muttered.
“These bad boys are almost done.” Paul flipped each of the slices. The French toast sizzled, smelling like warm but- ter. “How many slices?” Paul tossed one piece so high, it somersaulted before landing back on the griddle. “Booyah! Thought you might flip for my French toast, Six-Pack.”