She chewed the inside of her cheek and slipped the spatula under an egg.

She turned twelve on Saturday, and her brown hair hung in the very same lopsided ponytail her big sister used to wear at that age.

The old kitchen refrigerator hummed its loud, steady buzz against the worn linoleum.

On the counter lay the handwritten grocery list for the birthday dinner, figured down to the last cent at exactly one hundred forty-two dollars.

“Are we doing the chocolate cake with cream cheese frosting?” Lily asked.