The Oakfield Park Cookie Factory

Cassie walked in the side door of the Fallon home to the site of the kitchen countertops covered with boxes of Rice Krispies and bags of marshmallows. Several sticks of butter sat out, waiting for their turn to be melted. And finally, a frazzled Bridget stood in front of the stovetop, stirring a large pot with a big wooden spoon. Upon seeing her friend, the blonde gave a loud sigh of relief.

“Yes, thank you! Can you check the cookies in the oven?” she asked, motioning below her with a knee.

Not seeing a stove mitten, Cassie grabbed a towel, folded it up, and inquired of the whereabouts of Bridget's little cheersister or the other Babybees. Deciding that the batch of peanut butter cookies was ready, she pulled the pan out.

"Sabrina's making the M&M cookies and those strangely awesome cinnamon roll cookies at her house. I figured we needed to spread out to as many kitchens as possible, or we'd be up all night," Bridget informed her. "Lemon poached several of the Babybees as they have a dual stove at her house. That's muffin and cupcake central. Did you stop at Tin's?"

SLAM

Cassie ignored the door slamming shut upstairs as she knew it to be normal around the Fallons.

"That's why I came over here," Cassandra chuckled. "Tin is already going nuts. Mrs. Day won't give up on teaching her how to make her homemade pies properly. Tanith is caught in the crossfire."

“No Teddy?”

“Oh, he’s there. Lurking around the corner, checking out Tanith,” Cassie revealed, causing Bridget to laugh. “And knowing Tinny and her mom, he’ll get roped in soon.”

SLAM

“Where’s your mom?” Cassie queried, concerned that Mrs. Fallon had a bad day at the hospital.

"Still at work. She's picking up an extra half shift. Or I hope it's only a half," Bridget relayed, satisfied she had the right mixture for this batch of cereal treats. "Hey, could you grab more cookie dough from the fridge? We can't waste any time putting in another pan. I also need to make chocolate chips later."

“Sure.”

Having caught the redhead’s concerned expression, Bridget further elaborated.

“Mom’s not picking up another shift for financial reasons. Dad’s caseload has been steady, so we’re good right now. It’s the damn hospital. They’re understaffed yet again.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you looked ready to.”

“Rice Krispie Treats, chocolate chip, and peanut butter cookies. Are we making anything else?” Cassie asked, rolling the dough into balls.

“Besides Sabrina’s two flavors, we’re only making oatmeal cookies. Regina’s handling that one on her own. I don’t know how well she or her mom bake, so I didn’t want to give her too much work. And I can’t make oatmeal here, or–”

“Brandy will throw them in the garbage,” Cassie filled in the rest based on previous experiences.

SLAM

“Uh, so my mom wanted to help. She’s–”

“Dammit, Dee, stop slamming doors. I can hear it all the way down here!” Seamus Fallon shouted from the bottom of the basement stairs.

“I don’t think she heard you, Dad. You should probably go up there and ground her,” Bridget responded with a yell, never moving from the stove.

“Don’t start, Bee.”

SLAM

This time, the slam sounded softer.

“Bathroom cabinet,” Bridget explained, noticing the redhead’s curious expression. Then, she saw the slight head tilt. “The brat’s pissed. She heard about the new float theme and wanted in. No way in hell is that happening.”

Heavy stomping could be heard in the hallway upstairs.

“Keep it up, brat! Mom’s going to be home soon enough!” Bridget shouted.

SLAM

“Bridget!”

“Sorry, Dad!”

“Dad’s headed out soon, so I hope Mom isn’t much longer. If not, I’m sending the brat next door,” Bridget said before noticing Cassie in deep thought. “What?”

“You know…using Brandy for homecoming isn’t a bad idea.”

“See? Cass is the smart one!” a voice squawked from the doorway, causing Bridget to jump.

“Dammit, don’t eavesdrop like that!” the middle Fallon sister screamed before turning to face the bookish redhead. “And don’t encourage her.”

The sound of a person walking up the stairs could be heard.

“To be honest, Bee, it makes sense. Brandy has the cheer uniform that my mom made her last year. Also, we could broaden the theme from Today, Tomorrow to Today, Tomorrow, The Future," Cassie suggested.

“The future? I’m already a cheerleader. Everyone knows that,” Brandy declared.

“No! You are not!” Bridget exclaimed. “There is no way I’m letting you near our float.”

“I am, too! I’m a super JV cheerleader!” Brandy screamed.

“Shut up!” her older sister yelled.

“Cassandra has a point, and Brandy wants to help. Ooh, you made peanut butter first,” Seamus said, entering the kitchen.

A private detective in his mid-fifties, Seamus had lived a colorful life. Yet his middle daughter's glare caused him to pause, half the cookie in his mouth. For a moment, he had visions of his wife wearing that exact expression.

“I made those first as I knew you were leaving soon. But if I’d known you’d take the brat’s side, I wouldn’t have,” Bridget said, seething. “I am not babysitting her.”

“Who said I need a babysitter? I’m fine on my own,” the eight-year-old defended.

“Oh, and the cops just showed up for no reason?” Bridget countered.

“Hey, I had nothing to do with the cops shutting down the car wash last year,” Brandy argued. “I’m the one who hid the money!”

“I was talking about when the cop showed up here a few months ago. Or did you conveniently forget?

“I didn’t do anything really wrong. The pigs are just out to get me because they hate Dad!” Brandy proclaimed, looking at her father for help.

“Don’t look at me. Your mother dealt with that one. And, Bee, it’s either letting Brandy join your school thing now or your mother forcing you to do it eventually. Neither of us wants to deal with a week and a half of your sister breaking doors because you left her out.”

“I’m not leaving her out; she doesn’t belong in this. It’s not for grade schoolers,” Bridget replied.

“Actually, I think it should be,” Cassie suggested again. She knew she risked Bridget’s wrath but considered the bigger picture.

“Pssh, you’re not even a cheerleader, so you don’t get a say,” Bridget said with a wave of her hand.

Cassie didn’t take offense as she knew the cheer captain didn’t mean it. So, she pushed forward.

“The whole reason for changing the float theme is to generate interest from younger girls in cheerleading. Sure, using current junior high cheerleaders is a great idea, but why not also drop down to girls not yet on a cheer squad? Plus, I think girls Brandy’s age will be a cute addition that draws even more attention.”

“Well, yeah, I am a cutie,” Brandy boasted.

"I said girls your age, not you," Cassie clarified, winking at Bridget.

“I think the problem is solved. Wonderful job, Cassandra,” Seamus announced, giving the redhead a side hug.

“Wait, I never agreed–”

“Yay! I’m going to be the homecoming star!” Brandy cheered. She performed a dance that ended in a twirl.

“Hmm, Bee, have you seen my mini-binoculars?”

Angry at her dad for taking her sister’s side again, Bridget almost didn’t answer before issuing a curt no. However, they both noticed Brandy freeze.

“Dee?”

“Uh, I think they’re in my room, Dad. I’ll go get them!” Brandy rattled the last part before scurrying off to avoid any questions about why she had the binoculars.

“I need to leave soon, honey. Do you think you could not kill your sister before your mom gets home?” Seamus questioned. “Or do I need to ask Cassandra to play peacemaker…again.”

“If she gets crazy, I’ll send her next door,” Bridget replied.

“Fair enough,” Seamus accepted. He grabbed another cookie before heading back down to his office.

---

Fifteen Minutes Later

The sound of the side door opening gave Bridget hope that her mom had returned to provide help and deal with Brandy. However, that dream quickly died as she saw a trio of grade school girls walk in, followed by a younger boy.

“What the hell?” the older blonde questioned.

“Ah, our workforce has arrived!” Brandy announced, running into the kitchen.

Cassie chuckled as a scowl formed on her co-best friend’s face. First in line was Fawn Graff, a little blonde bookworm with glasses. Next came an intelligent, dark-haired, whiny worrywart named Wrenn Whelan. Bumping into Wrenn from behind was Darla Dawkins, an easily flustered, mistake-prone, light-haired brunette. Finally, the pleasant six-year-old in the rear was Wrenn’s little brother, Webster. His face lit up upon seeing Cassandra, who opened her arms to receive a big hug.

“Hi, Webby! Guess what? I tried out my impression of Tinny yesterday. It went great. She hated it,” Cassie recounted, earning a goofy laugh from her little storytime regular.

Bridget opened her arms to get her hug next, but Webb raised a hand instead.

“I only get a high-five? Alright, I’ll take it this time,” the older blonde responded, slapping the boy’s hand. “No kitchen table today for you. We’re going to need it for the treats.”

Even with the curious slight, Bridget smiled as the boy ambled into the living room and turned on Cartoon Network before opening a small cabinet that her mom had set aside for Webster. Out came a large pad of paper and crayons.

Of course, when Bridget returned her gaze to the kitchen, she scowled at seeing Wrenn taking over the table with several spread-out notebooks. Next came a calculator from her book bag.

“Cassandra, I’ll need the list of tomorrow’s items and your total grocery store receipts. I believe the prices from the last bake sale need to be adjusted.”

“Whoa! No, no, no, you’re not coming in here and taking charge, Wrenn,” Bridget informed the girl sternly. “Rain is handling any questions about our profit margins. If you’re here, then you’re only baking. Got that?”

"We got it!" Fawn responded brightly for her friend, saluting the cheer captain.

“I-I don’t want to get in the way,” Darla murmured, moving to sit on a kitchen stool.

"Don't worry; you won't be," Cassie reassured the concerned girl. Suddenly, the redhead recalled a point she meant to make before Brandy's outburst. "Oh, I almost forgot! My mom is making her lemon bars for us."

“Really? Does she need any help?” Fawn asked, perking up.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure she’s making extra for us,” Cassie added, smiling at her fellow bookworm. “And even better, Mrs. Ridge heard from her about our dilemma. She offered to make her peanut butter bars.”

“Wow, that’s nice of her,” Bridget responded. The Ridges live across the street from the Banks. Both Ridge sons, Russell and Elliot, had often found themselves intertwined with her trio’s childhood escapades. “We better not tell Tinny until it’s too late.”

“No doubt. She’ll turn into Nancy Drew while dissecting one for any sabotage,” Cassie laughed, referring to Tinny and Elliot’s years-long prank wars.

"Did I hear peanut butter bars?" Seamus asked, returning from the basement. His excited face fell after learning they were getting made over on the next block. After greeting his youngest daughter's friends, the private detective spotted the boy sprawled out in front of his television. "Hey, buddy, what are you doing here?"

“I’m the taste-tester,” Webb announced.

“The taste-tester? Boy, that’s an important job. What do you think so far?”

“Don’t know. Haven’t tasted yet.”

“Well, we better change that!” Seamus declared, turning to grab a peanut butter cookie, but his middle daughter stopped him.

“You already tasted those twice, Dad. Have him taste the first batch of Rice Krispie Treats.”

Having walked into the kitchen at the prospect of a treat, Webb took a bite with everyone watching. Then, taking his role seriously, he took two more bites, savoring the portions in his mouth before issuing a thumbs up to his spectators' chuckles.

"Okay, I'm off to work. Tell your mother I'll probably be back late," Seamus said, grabbing his coat and small work bag. On the way out the door, he turned around to warn his two daughters, "And you two better get along."

The next half an hour went by in relative peace. Cassie mostly chatted with the younger girls, who had taken over cookie-making responsibilities. She filled them in on what treats they carried over from the previous two bake sales this school year. Fawn and a TV-watching Webb giggled at Cassie's recounting of Tinny at the grocery store. Brandy wished she'd been there to see the fun. Wrenn responded with a scandalized expression while Darla turned green at the drama.

Next, Brandy filled her friends in on her new role in the homecoming parade.

“If you’re nice to me, I’ll put in a good word for you with the boss.”

“Not happening, brat,” Bridget shot down.

“I wasn’t talking about you. Tinny is the boss,” Brandy shot back.

BRRRING-BRRRING

Fawn reached the wall phone first.

“Hello, Fallon residence. This is Fawn; how may I help you?” A short pause ensued. “Oh, hello, Mr. Ariza!”

“Here, let me talk to him,” Bridget said, grabbing a towel to wipe her hands, but her little sister beat her to it.

“Uncle Miguel! What’s going on? Is Gabby in trouble? She is? Arrested! Oh, my…and Bridget is next?”

Cassie’s initial gasp shifted to a chuckle at the last part.

“Knock it off, brat!” Bridget ordered, trying to grab the phone, but the younger girl ducked.

“Well, I’d check on her at college if I were you. And nope, Dad’s not here. He’s off to gather proof that the two-timing bastard is really porking that gutter slut.”

“Brandeee!” Fawn scolded.

“What the hell?” Bridget exclaimed, snatching the phone from her little sister.

“I’m just repeating what the client told Dad according to what he told Mom,” the younger blonde protested.

Bridget handled the rest of the call with Gabby’s dad while Brandy defended herself. Miguel, an old friend of Seamus’ who he met on a case, had called to see if his nephew was over at the Fallons, as Seamus had recently hired him as an assistant. Not having seen the new associate today, Bridget passed that along.

“Save me, Uncle Miguel! She’s beating me!” Brandy screamed as her big sister hung up the phone.

“I’m going strangle you!” Bridget vowed.

“Hey, Webb! Wanna try the next batch?” Cassie called out, hoping to distract the bickering Fallon sisters.

It worked. However, a new problem arose.

SPLAT

The chewed-up Rice Krispie Treat lay on the floor.

“Eww!”

“Yuck,” Webb sounded.

“Webster! What did Mother tell you about spitting food out at other people’s homes?” Wrenn admonished, pointing at the mess on the floor as if she were scolding a dog.

“What’s wrong?” Bridget inquired, thinking Webb might be sick.

Instead, he issued a thumbs down.

“Well, duh, Bee! Of course, you botched a batch,” Brandy mocked.

“Did I? No, no, they’re fine, right? Somebody try one.”

Nobody moved to follow her suggestion. So Bridget hesitantly picked up a Rice Krispie Treat before taking a bite. At least she spit her bite out in the garbage.

“Oh, fuck! What did I screw up?”

“Bridget! I would prefer no such foul language in front of my brother,” Wrenn reprimanded.

“Oh, shut up! Brandy swears like a truck-driving sailor in front of him,” Bridget replied, thanking Cassie for cleaning up Webb’s mess.

The kitchen quieted down again, with the only sound coming from an occasional sulking Wrenn. Webb gave his approval to the next batch of cookies while Bridget wracked her brains out over what ingredient she screwed up on the second batch of cereal treats.

CRASH

“Darla!”

"I'm sorry; I'm sorry!" the easily flustered girl responded, standing over the fresh-out-of-the-oven pan of cookies she'd just dropped onto the floor.

“Sorry isn’t going to….” Bridget trailed off as she saw the tears forming in Darla’s eyes. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry I snapped.”

“You should be!” Brandy rebuked her sister. “It’s okay, Lala. We’ll make this work.”

“I’msorry.Ididn’tseeanovenmitt,soIgrabbedthetowel. I think it waswetanditburnedmyhand,soIhadtodropit,” Darla rambled, which she often did when flustered.

Even Cassie appeared shocked by what the younger blonde did next. Brandy grabbed a plate and started scooping up the messy cookies off the food. Rather than throwing them out, she attempted to fix their shape.

“What are…you can’t be serious, even for you!” Bridget sputtered.

The youngest Fallon sister continued to re-shape the cookies into their round state.

“Brandeee! That’s the spot where Webb’s treat landed,” Fawn pointed out.

“It’s the five-second rule!” her best friend defended.

“It’s been longer than five seconds,” Wrenn said, pointing at the wall clock.

“Alright, it’s been fifteen…thirty seconds,” Brandy admitted, shrugging.

“Dee, we can’t sell those,” Cassie stated calmly.

“Are you insane? I’m not selling those. Throw them out!” Bridget ordered, not calmly.

“Seriously? Did you lose brain cells when those grew?” Brandy questioned, pointing at her sister’s large breasts. “We don’t sell them to regular customers; we sell them to people we hate.”

“That’s…that’s plain wrong,” Fawn responded.

“And just up her alley,” Bridget said, wagging her finger at her sister.

“It’s a win-win. We don’t lose money while getting **** on people like Gemma, Didi, that Morgan guy, and Mrs. Framwam,” the impish eight-year-old girl outlined.

“We are not selling those to Mrs. Framwam. Bridget deserved that grade,” Cassie insisted.

“We’ll talk about that later,” the blonde cheerleader captain told her friend before addressing her sister. “Morgan Barrow is away at college, dummy,”

“But won’t he come back for homecoming?” Fawn inquired.

“That might be possible,” Wrenn stated, attempting to estimate the odds.

“We’re not doing this. Throw those out!” Bridget ordered. However, her sister grabbed the plate and headed for the door. “Where are you going?”

“Next door. Tinny’s going to love my idea.”

“Sadly, she’s probably right,” Cassie admitted as the door closed.

“I swear that girl is more Tin’s sister than mine,” Bridget huffed before turning to face Brandy’s friends. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get back to work.”

Another twenty minutes passed. Cassie spent most of that time calling around to check on the progress of the other cheerleaders. Only two issues popped up. First, Kimberly never answered her phone. Second, Zita and Haley admitted they’d gotten carried away with taste-testing their assigned brownies and had to buy more. However, Zita quickly assured Bridget that Luigi’s would cover the extra cost as a donation to the cheer squad.

Finally, the door opened to reveal an exhausted Pepper Fallon. A striking blonde (albeit with a few gray hairs) in her early fifties, the surgical nurse paused when she saw the mess and people in her kitchen.

“Another bake sale?” she asked wearily.

“Um, sorry, Mom. We had a bit of an issue with our homecoming float,” Bridget apologized. “Dad has a plate of leftovers in the fridge. Why don’t you get changed while I heat it up!”

“Alright. Thanks, honey,” Pepper responded, dropping her purse on the tiny free spot on the countertop. Walking toward her bedroom, Pepper’s tired face perked up when she noticed the extra guest in the living room. “Webster! How’s my favorite artist?”

“I think Mrs. Fallon likes my brother more than me,” Wrenn grumbled, watching the two hug.

“Brandy says it’s because you’re neurotic,” Darla said.

"Neurotic? I am not neurotic; you're the neurotic one!" Wrenn called Darla. "Wait a second; Brandy doesn't even know what that word means. Who really called me that? Bridget?!"

Fawn covered her face at the guilty expression on the older blonde's face. Then, to hide her laughter further, the bespectacled blonde walked over to get the leftover plate from the refrigerator. Darla hopped off the stool to help.

“Me? I’d never say that,” Bridget lied. “You know what? That sounds like something Bev would say.”

“Hmm,” Wrenn mused, studying her friend’s sister before agreeing to the speculation about the oldest Fallon daughter. “Yes, Beverly does seem threatened by my intellect. I shall have a word with her about this insult on her next return from college.”

Pepper returned to find a spot cleared on the kitchen table for her. As Fawn carried over the warmed-up food, Darla laid out the silverware, napkin, and drink for her friend's mother.

"Um, Mom, can you try a Rice Krispie Treat before you start? My first batch came out right, but I screwed something up with the second one," Bridget asked, hoping her mother could tell what mistake she had made.

“Yuck!” Webb yelled from the living room.

“You screw up food? No!” Pepper teased her daughter. Her eldest, Beverly, was the far better cook in the family. Taking the offered screwup, the mother of three paused. “It’s too quiet around here. Where’s Brandy?”