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Max and if he knew that I said that he’s my friend.
    Max throws a bag of jelly beans into the cart. “Two points.”
    By the time we get to the checkout counter, we have a tie score.
    No one wins.
    No one loses.

Chapter
Fourteen

    It’s Brownie Baking Day, and Max is back again.
    The ingredients that I put in the refrigerator yesterday are on the table, and I’m emptying the rest of the stuff out of the bag.
    “I don’t believe you two.” My mother shakes her head.
    “Believe us.” Max comes up behind her and puts his arms around her waist.
    She doesn’t move away or anything.
    I continue to put the ingredients on the table.
    “When you two came back last night, Ishould have looked through the shopping bags.” She shakes her head again.
    Sprinkles . . . . M&M’s . . . . Reese’s Pieces . . . . . marshmallows . . . . gumdrops . . . . slivered almonds . . . walnuts . . . a can of tuna fish . . . a Mars bar . . . a bag of potato chips . . . . . Cheez Doodles . . . Gummi worms, a bar of white chocolate . . . Good & Plenty . . . . candy false teeth . . . . . candy corn . . . strawberry Twizzlers . . . . . . . Cheerios . . . peanut butter . . . . . grape jelly . . . . plus all of the regular stuff that goes into plain brownies . . . . . . .

    “This is disgusting.” My mother shakes her head . . . again.
    “I know.” I grin. “It’s great.”
    “I’m never sending the two of you out shopping together, never again.” My mother just keeps shaking her head.
    She’s beginning to look like one of those bobbing dolls that some people have in the back window of their cars.
    Her head would probably be falling off if she knew
how
Max and I shopped.
    Max.
    He’s put one hand over my mother’s eyes and is feeding her some of the ingredients and making her guess what they are.
    Marshmallows are easy for her.
    So are the nuts, candy corn, and Twizzlers.
    Max puts an M&M in my mother’s mouth.
    “This one’s a piece of cake,” my mother says.
    “No. Wrong. It’s an M&M.” Max takes his hand away from my mother’s eyes and gives her a kiss.
    I, Amber Brown, could have told him that “a piece of cake” in my mother’s language means that it’s super easy . . . but something tells me that Max already knows that.
    I, Amber Brown, can also tell him that I’m not too sure about how I feel about him kissing my mom.
    My mother starts to laugh, and then she looks over at me.
    She looks a little guilty, sort of like she knows that I am not crazy about them kissing each other.
    I clap my hands. “Come on, everyone, let’s turn on the oven and do some preheating.”
    My mother and Max both laugh.
    I don’t get it.
    “What’s so funny?” I want to know.
    “Nothing.” My mother moves away from Max and puts the oven on.
    Max puts out the cupcake papers, which we’re using instead of baking pans so that we can make individual brownies with different stuff in them.
    “What’s so funny?” I repeat.
    “Nothing,” my mother repeats.
    I make a face.
    “It was a private joke,” my mother tells me.
    I don’t think that Max and my mother should be having private jokes, not so soon.
    I hate it when adults laugh in front of you and then say that it’s a private joke.
    It’s kind of like when you’re real little andgrown-ups spell in front of you.
    And it’s not fair.
    Parents always make kids tell when the kids have a private joke.
    And teachers always say things like, “Amber, would you like to share that with the rest of the class?”
    And then if you say, “No, I really wouldn’t,” they make you do it anyway or they give you detention.
    “The oven’s heating up.” My mother smiles. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
    We get started.
    Max pretends to be a French chef . . . “And now for zee eggs. . . .”
    My mother starts singing, “Hi-ho, hi-ho . . . . . it’s off to work we