Chapter 1: The Great Snack Showdown That Started It All

The chocolate chip crumb dusting her fingertips suddenly felt like tiny, hot pebbles. Lila’s mouth hung open half an inch, the cookie hovering right between her tongue and the cool kitchen air, and for three whole seconds, nobody said a word. Grandma’s smile was still there, but the corners of it had drooped just a little, like a sunflower that’s just realized the sun went behind a cloud. Mom’s shoulders were tight, the way they got when she’d just finished a long day at the pediatric clinic where she worked—she was a pediatric nutritionist, which meant she spent all day helping kids eat healthy foods so they wouldn’t get sick or have cavities. The little broccoli embroidery on her apron was a gift Lila had made her for Mother’s Day last year, stitched with wobbly green thread that Lila had spent three whole afternoons working on, and the way Mom’s fingers were twisting the edge of the apron string told Lila she was trying hard not to sound grumpy.

Lila’s brain felt like it was full of fluff, the way it did when she’d just woken up from a nap and couldn’t remember if she’d brushed her teeth. Two tiny voices were yelling at each other inside her head, so loud she was sure Grandma and Mom could hear them too. The first voice, which sounded just like Grandma’s warm, crinkly voice, said, *Take the cookie! Grandma baked them just for you, and she said you can have two! Remember last week when you got an A on your spelling test, she baked you a whole tray of these and let you eat three before dinner? You’ll make her sad if you say no.* The second voice, which sounded exactly like Mom’s calm but firm voice, said, *No way! You promised you wouldn’t eat sweets before dinner, remember? Last month you ate three lollipops after school and your tooth hurt so bad you cried for an hour, and the dentist’s drill sounded like a mosquito stuck in your ear. If you eat that cookie, you can’t go to the zoo this weekend like we planned.*

Her hand was shaking a little, the cookie slipping just a tiny bit, and a chunk of chocolate fell off onto the counter with a soft *plink*. Grandma’s hand twitched like she wanted to grab the cookie before Mom could say anything else, but she stopped herself, her fingers curling into her flour-dusted apron. Mom took a small step forward, like she was getting ready to grab Lila’s wrist if she reached for the jar.

For a second, Lila hated the cookie. She hated the chocolate chips, hated the sweet smell that filled the whole kitchen, hated that it was the cause of the weird, tight feeling in her chest that felt like she’d swallowed a whole rock. She thought about hiding the cookie in her pocket, sneaking it outside to eat when no one was looking, but she knew Grandma would see the chocolate on her mouth, and Mom would smell the sugar on her breath, and then both of them would be upset, and it would be even worse.

So she did the only thing she could think of. She set the cookie down on the counter, right next to the jar, so gently the chocolate chips didn’t even rattle. “I’ll wait until after dinner to eat it,” she said, her voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. “Okay?”

Grandma’s face lit up again, like a switch had been flipped, and she rushed over to hug Lila, her apron smelling like vanilla and flour. “Of course that’s okay, baby girl!” she said, pressing a kiss to the top of Lila’s head. “We’ll save the biggest one for you, the one with the extra chocolate chunk, I promise. You’re always such a good girl.”

Mom smiled too, the tightness leaving her shoulders, and she knelt down to hug Lila from the other side, her hair smelling like mint toothpaste and the lavender hand lotion she always used after washing her hands at the clinic. “That’s my smart girl,” she said, her voice soft. “I’m so proud of you for waiting. After dinner, we can eat the cookie, and then we can watch that new *Bluey* episode you wanted, okay? And we don’t have to talk about the zoo right now, we can still go this weekend, I promise.”

Lila nodded, but the rock in her chest didn’t go away. It just got a little smaller, and a little softer, but it was still there, sitting right behind her ribs, making it hard to take a deep breath. She ate dinner that night, she ate her broccoli, she even ate the chicken her mom made, and after dinner she got her cookie, the one with the extra chocolate chunk, and she ate it while watching *Bluey*, and Grandma sat next to her on the couch and gave her a extra big piece of the shortbread she’d baked that morning. But when she went to bed that night, and pulled her cotton sheets up to her chin, and hugged her stuffed rabbit Mr. Fluff tight against her chest, the rock was still there.

She thought about the time last month, when Grandma had picked her up from school, and had given her a little pack of sour candy she’d bought at the corner store, and had whispered, “Don’t tell your mom, okay? She used to steal these from my purse when she was your age, and I never told your grandma, so this is our secret.” Lila had promised, of course, and she’d eaten the candy after school that day, and then that night, when Mom was cleaning her room, she’d found the empty candy wrapper in Lila’s backpack. Mom hadn’t yelled, but she’d sat Lila down and said, “Grandma gives you candy because she loves you, but too much sugar is bad for your teeth and your tummy. Next time Grandma gives you candy, can you tell her we can have one piece after dinner, okay? We don’t have to keep secrets.” Lila had nodded, but she’d felt bad, like she’d told on Grandma, like she’d broken a promise.

Why did Grandma and Mom have to have different rules? Why couldn’t they just agree on one rule for everything? If they agreed, Lila wouldn’t have to keep secrets, wouldn’t have to make anyone sad, wouldn’t have to feel like she was stuck in the middle of a tug-of-war, with Grandma pulling one way and Mom pulling the other, and she was the rope that was about to snap in half.

She flipped her pillow over, the cool side feeling nice against