She reached out with two fingers, lifted a hot cookie right off the pan, and juggled it quickly from palm to palm, laughing out loud.

“Hot, hot, hot,” she said, blowing on her fingertips before taking a quick bite.

“You never listen about hot baking sheets,” I said.

She leaned her shoulder against the refrigerator door, eating the cookie and looking out the kitchen window at the maple trees in the backyard.

“Coach Miller posted the starting lineup on the locker room bulletin board this morning,” Grace said.

“Are you on it?”