Dinner that night was just sandwiches. Cheese, turkey, tomato, mayonnaise. Except Alex. She likes mustard. Weirdo.
Zach also brought down some chocolate chip cookies for desert. We have this big stash of Oreos and Nutter Butters in one of the boxes, so I don’t understand why we need more junk. But I’m not complaining. If he hears me complain, he might stop getting stuff.
Wal-Mart brand cookies in a box are okay. Their store-bought, so what do you expect? I remember my grandma’s cookies were the best. Seriously. We’d eat about 20 at a time. Unfortunately for you health freaks out there, I’m not exaggerating. The funny thing is was that it was a secret recipe, and Grandma had never told anybody the secret ingredients or anything. When she was really sick in her bed before she died, Mom held her hand with teary eyes. Asking her for the cookie recipe was the last thing she ever said to her. And Grandma muttered the cook book and her own secret ingredient. And she died.
Well I mean at least we got the recipe.
The single light bulb on the ceiling always makes the room look dimmer.
“It’s getting cold,” Alex remarked.
“Turn the air on then,” Zach replied, tilting his head towards the thermostat. “But the alarm’s right there so be careful.”
The alarm. It’s not active, but sometimes it’ll start beeping randomly. It isn’t loud, but pretty annoying after a while. We don’t know if it reaches the other alarm systems, so we try not to mess with it for our own use. And we just shut it off when it starts going off. Ironically, it’s always when we’re just chilling on our boxes. No one wants to get up and go turn it off. So we’ll just sit there until one of us gets so tired of hearing the constant beeping sound and gets their lazy self up to turn it off. I never do. It’s usually Alex, and Zach and I usually watch her get up and do it. Poor chick—she was raised in a family of girls.
Now that I think about it. This isn’t really a book. It’s more like a journal. I’m turning into Alex. Serves me right for thinking she’s weird I guess.