by Kyle Xu
The gingerbread man jumped out of the oven and laughed.
“Hehee!” it sang. I stared, dumbstruck at the sight of my baking masterpiece hopping around my kitchen. Then I ran.
It all started when I got into an argument with my friend, Einsteinein. He was like me, 12 years old and an only child. We hung out a lot mostly because life was boring, and both of our parents seemed to be always at some business meeting or conference.
I had been staring out the window, looking for some sign that my parents were coming home. My breath painted a perfect circle on the frozen glass. It was snowing outside, and the world was pure white. I sighed dejectedly.
That’s when I saw Einsteinein. He was trudging through the snow towards my house, screaming my name like a crazy person. In his hand he held a bag bulging with some kind of powder. I quickly dashed to the door and helped him in. “Hi!” he exclaimed. “I have an idea–”
“Not again!” I groaned. Einsteinein’s ideas were always awkward and usually resulted in a chain of crazy events.
“Look, this time it’s gonna be great. How about we try to make a LIVING GINGERBREAD MAN?”
“Ha!” I laughed. “Good luck with that.”
“I know you think they don’t exist!” he exclaimed. “But I read a tutorial on youtube and…”
I shook my head. No way he was going to convince me.
Gingerbread men don’t exist,
a skeptical voice whispered from the back of my mind.
Einsteinein took a deep breath. “How about we have a bet?”
That got my attention. “What does the winner get?”
“Bragging rights.”
I smiled. “You’re on. Let’s bake a gingerbread cookie–although,
obviously
it won’t come alive.”
“Oh yeah? We’ll see about
that.
”
“Come in!”
He nodded and came inside.
We both set to work, shaping the dough made from the flour he had brought with our bare hands. We rubbed and carved the dough until it resembled a manlike creature.
“Ready?” I asked. Each holding part of the tray with the gingerbread, we slid it into the oven and switched on the knob. “Should be ready in about ten minutes.”
As the cookie cooked, we both sat on the countertop, waiting. I breathed deeply, smelling the cookie. The aroma lofted from the oven up to my nose, and I patted my belly.
“Mmhmm…” I said, partly trying to mock Einsteinein, and partly out of pleasure.
Since this will totally not become a living gingerbread man,
I thought,
it will probably end up in my belly.
I smiled.
Ding!
The oven door flipped open. I put on a pair of mitts and took out the cookie, laying on the countertop between me and Einsteinein. “There we go…” I said.
“Time to decorate!” replied Einsteinein. Together we set to work, putting peppermint candies for the eyes and a long gummy worm for the mouth. I outlined the man-shaped cookie with frosting and Einsteinein put a sour patch for the nose. We put more decorations on the cookie until it looked almost real.
Almost
.
Then, finally finished, I carefully lifted the cookie to the light. It didn’t move. Not an inch. Not a millimeter. “Well… bragging rights to ME!” I shouted. Einsteinein kept on staring.
I put my face in front of my friend, sticking out my tongue. “Ha-ha-I-won-” I sang.
Then Einsteinein gasped. “No–Carl–really… loOk!”
Then the cookie held in my hand began to twitch.
I shrieked, dropping it. “Ah!” Instead of falling flat on its face, the cookie landed on his feet in a stiff, professional fashion. We both stared at our cookie in shock.
“Heheeee!!” said the new voice. Einsteinein pointed, but I needed no reminder. The living gingerbread man opened its candied mouth and tried out its voice.
“I’m…” it hissed in a sinister voice, wiggling its arms and legs, “I’m alive!”
The gingerbread man jumped out of the oven and laughed.
“Hehee!” it sang. I stared, dumbstruck at the sight of my baking masterpiece hopping around my kitchen. Then I ran.
It all started when I got into an argument with my friend, Einsteinein. He was like me, 12 years old and an only child. We hung out a lot mostly because life was boring, and both of our parents seemed to be always at some business meeting or conference.
I had been staring out the window, looking for some sign that my parents were coming home. My breath painted a perfect circle on the frozen glass. It was snowing outside, and the world was pure white. I sighed dejectedly.
That’s when I saw Einsteinein. He was trudging through the snow towards my house, screaming my name like a crazy person. In his hand he held a bag bulging with some kind of powder. I quickly dashed to the door and helped him in. “Hi!” he exclaimed. “I have an idea–”
“Not again!” I groaned. Einsteinein’s ideas were always awkward and usually resulted in a chain of crazy events.
“Look, this time it’s gonna be great. How about we try to make a LIVING GINGERBREAD MAN?”
“Ha!” I laughed. “Good luck with that.”
“I know you think they don’t exist!” he exclaimed. “But I read a tutorial on youtube and…”
I shook my head. No way he was going to convince me.
Gingerbread men don’t exist,
a skeptical voice whispered from the back of my mind.
Einsteinein took a deep breath. “How about we have a bet?”
That got my attention. “What does the winner get?”
“Bragging rights.”
I smiled. “You’re on. Let’s bake a gingerbread cookie–although,
obviously
it won’t come alive.”
“Oh yeah? We’ll see about
that.
”
“Come in!”
He nodded and came inside.
We both set to work, shaping the dough made from the flour he had brought with our bare hands. We rubbed and carved the dough until it resembled a manlike creature.
“Ready?” I asked. Each holding part of the tray with the gingerbread, we slid it into the oven and switched on the knob. “Should be ready in about ten minutes.”
As the cookie cooked, we both sat on the countertop, waiting. I breathed deeply, smelling the cookie. The aroma lofted from the oven up to my nose, and I patted my belly.
“Mmhmm…” I said, partly trying to mock Einsteinein, and partly out of pleasure.
Since this will totally not become a living gingerbread man,
I thought,
it will probably end up in my belly.
I smiled.
Ding!
The oven door flipped open. I put on a pair of mitts and took out the cookie, laying on the countertop between me and Einsteinein. “There we go…” I said.
“Time to decorate!” replied Einsteinein. Together we set to work, putting peppermint candies for the eyes and a long gummy worm for the mouth. I outlined the man-shaped cookie with frosting and Einsteinein put a sour patch for the nose. We put more decorations on the cookie until it looked almost real.
Almost
.
Then, finally finished, I carefully lifted the cookie to the light. It didn’t move. Not an inch. Not a millimeter. “Well… bragging rights to ME!” I shouted. Einsteinein kept on staring.
I put my face in front of my friend, sticking out my tongue. “Ha-ha-I-won-” I sang.
Then Einsteinein gasped. “No–Carl–really… loOk!”
Then the cookie held in my hand began to twitch.
I shrieked, dropping it. “Ah!” Instead of falling flat on its face, the cookie landed on his feet in a stiff, professional fashion. We both stared at our cookie in shock.
“Heheeee!!” said the new voice. Einsteinein pointed, but I needed no reminder. The living gingerbread man opened its candied mouth and tried out its voice.
“I’m…” it hissed in a sinister voice, wiggling its arms and legs, “I’m alive!”