28
Peyton
The next morning, we baked cookies, as promised.
“I think you have a little flour on your nose,” I said, bopping Aly on the nose.
She gasped. “You just put flour on my nose!”
She grabbed some flour off of the counter and flung it at me, coating my shirt.
“Oh my God!” I cried, flinging more flour in her direction.
Until there was more flour on ourselves and the counters and the floor than in the cookies.
Isaac came in, freshly showered, with wide eyes. “What is happening here?”
Aly froze with a giggle.
“Flour fight,” I offered, stepping toward him.
“Don’t you dare,” he said, using his dad voice as he backed up.
“What do you think, Aly? Does he look too clean?”
She grinned. “Definitely.”
And then we rushed him. He jumped and tried to evade us, but soon, we cornered hi
