"Cookies! Cookies! Apple jelly beans! Panda elephants!"

     A child's scream woke me up. I rubbed the gook out of my eyes, and stared at the clock hanging on my wall. Eleven forty-five A.M. This early! I groaned and put my pillow over my ears, trying to go back to sleep. But, the sleep had been shaken out of me, so going back to slumber would be like trying not to burp after you one-shotted a bottle of Coke. I knew who that annoyingly smug scream belonged to, and I wasn't ready to meet him this early in the morning.

     More yells drifted to my room, something about Gary and a fish. The unending voice was soon muffled by cookies being shoveled in the owner's mouth. At least, I think it was cookies. Giving him cookies was the only way you could shut that chatter box up, according to last year.

     The clock's ticking sounds made my neck hairs go up. It sounded so much like a bomb, and it's hard to relax when a bomb's ready blow up in your room. I squeezed my eyes shut, and thought about what to do with Holly, and the new visitor. I could shut both of them in a room together, and leave them to beat each other up. Maybe I can convince Holly or the kid on my side, and make life noisy for the other.

Soon enough, a sharp rap on my door shook me out of my fantasies of Holly being dressed in a tutu and forced to pose for a picture. "Matt! Up and running! Your cousin's here."

Ah yes, my baby cousin Brent. Finally here for the holidays, finally figuring out that life ain't giving you sweet stuff. He's my dad's sister's kid. My aunt is pretty old, but, like, ten years younger than my dad for some reason. Still, my aunt had Brent kinda late, so Brent is five now.

I flipped myself out of my bed and combed my bed hair with my hand, limping to the bathroom. Half-asleep, I brushed my teeth and took a shower. The things I did for my relatives.

Trudging down the stairs, I nearly tripped, but made it down in one piece. Brent screamed and spewed cookie crumbs when I entered the living room, where my dad and my aunt were chatting happily, comparing baby pictures of me and Brent.

My mom ran a thorny brush in my hair, muttering that I was an adult, and that I should be ready to greet my guests when they arrive, no matter the time. I waved her off, preferring my uncombed hair than the neatly put-in-to-place strands, and said, "Hey, Aunt Maple."

She turned her gray eyes on me, and squealed. "Oh my god, is that you, Matt?" She pulled me to a giant bear hug, and pinched my cheeks. "You're so . . . Old!" Aunt Maple laughed along with me.

"No wrinkles yet, auntie." I was chill with Aunt Maple, mostly because she made killer chocolate chip pancakes, but not with her son, Brent. Brent toddled over to me and wrapped his chubby arms around my legs. His drool smeared over my sweatpants, and I flinched.

"Brent, go play with Holly, okay?" Maple said, shooing Brent off with a flick of her hand. "Be a good boy, and I'll give you more cookies." Brent happily nodded and bounced off to find Holly, who was smartly hiding from Brent in the attic, where Brent wasn't allowed in. I would've lead my cousin to Holly, but Maple had me in her arms again.

"Oh how time flies," she crooned. "What are you majoring in?"

I scrunched my face at the sound of school. "Counseling Psychology. It's a load of mumbo jumbo." Actually, it was pretty interesting, but I wouldn't admit that to an adult adult. My aunt clapped her hands in delight.

     "You think it's a good choice?" my mom asked suspiciously as she was listening to this conversation. She obviously did not want me to major in Counseling Psychology. I have a feeling she wanted me to do some sciencey-mathy stuff, and be OP at life. I failed her.

     Maple laughed and waved her hand. "No, no, I'm just glad and surprised that Matt hasn't dropped out yet," she joked, ignoring the look my mom gave her sister-in-law. "Good for you, Matty."

     "Maple! You wanna go golfing later with me and Sarah? I know a good field," my dad offered, talking from the comfy sofa he looked attached to. "Matt and Rachel can look after Brent." Like all aging parents, they enjoyed golfing on Mondays. Why Monday? I don't know. Maybe the golf balls were in good mood at the start of the week.

Auntie Maple agreed right away and ruffled my hair, something she used to do when I was twelve. Great, now I was stuck with Brent and Rachel for about five hours while my parents and my aunt played outside without little kids whining and hanging on their pants.

A yowl echoed around the house, and a delighted squeal followed it. That meant Holly and Brent was facing off. I wiped the smirk off my face as Rachel shouted at the top of her lungs, "Holly! Come here right now!"

     Everybody watched as a cat raced out of the hallway, tail between her legs. She leapt in to Rachel's lap, whimpering like a dog. Brent toddled in the room soon after, squealing and reaching for Holly.

     I lifted Brent up when my dad shot me the evil eye. "Hey, Brenty. Do you want to make cupcakes?"

     Auntie Maple sighed in relief as Brent soon forgot about Holly he was chasing, and nodded, saying, "Cupcake!"

     I seated him on a chair, and said, "Stay right here, and we'll make cupcakes, 'kay?"

     I didn't look back as I went up to my room. I dialed Paul's number, and waited. "Hello?" Paul said through the phone.

     "Oh hey. Paul, can you come over and help me bake cupcakes?" I put the phone between my ear and shoulder, leaving both hands free. I typed in 'how to make cupcakes' in google and waited for the search results to come up.

Silence. "Did I hear you right?" he asked. "You want to bake cupcakes?"

I nodded, then said as I realized he couldn't see me, "Yep. My 'lil cousin wants to make cupcakes."

"Oh. For a sec, I thought you--never mind. I'm coming," he said, with a harmony of burps in the background. I could literally hear his cringe as he added, "My aunts are eating right now. It's a good thing you called me over. I don't wanna be the one doing dishes. I'll be over in a minute." The line died, and I fist pumped the air.

     Then of course, the internet had to die.

     I blinked at the blank white screen. Well this sucks. I doubt my abilities to make cupcakes, and I don't think Paul knows the recipe. I was too lazy to ask him for the recipe, and my phone's data was used up, sadly.

"Cupcakes!" A scream made me tear down the stairs to shush that foghorn up. Brent wasn't getting his promised cupcakes, and was getting impatient. I covered his mouth as he drew a big breath to shriek again.

"Shut up, Brent," I hissed through my teeth, squeezing his wrists. "I promised you cupcakes, and cupcakes you will get." I doubt he understood that, but he calmed down after hearing the word, 'cupcake'.

"Matt! Paul's here," my dad yelled from the living room. "And why in the world is he carrying that?"

I heard Paul explain some things, and enter the house. He came in the kitchen with a box. He set it down on the table, and grinned. "Cupcakes." Brent ordered.

"Yeesh, that kid's a natural leader," Paul commented, swiping his gloves and hat off. "Calm down, cupcakes comin' yer way."

I peered in the box. It was full to the brim with--

"Baking supplies. I doubted you had any," Paul explained, setting his jacket on a chair. "Alrighty. Let's get down to business."

We both stared at the ingredients and supplies he brought. I looked up at Paul and said, "Uh, do you know how to make a cupcake?"

He shrugged. "I thought you can print it out or something."

I swallowed. "You're kidding me. Our wifi is down, and I have no data left."

"Well, I think I can remember. Maybe if we just experiment?"

We cracked two eggs and put it in a plastic mixing bowl. We were stumped here. Paul poured in a random amount of sugar, and a pinch of salt. I measured a tablespoon of baking soda and dumped it in, hoping it was right. "When do we put the flour in?"

Paul shook a whole buttload of flour in the mixing bowl, and started mixing. "Wait! Matt, can you get the milk?" he asked, stopping the stirring.

I snatched the milk out of the fridge and poured it in, stopping when Paul said so. I screwed the cap back on while Paul returned to mixing the mixture we made. Brent watched us do this, and clapped his hands in delight. Obviously, 'making cupcakes' was dumping all the work on me, and eating the delicious cupcakes later on.

After a surprisingly short amount of time, the cupcake batter looked somewhat acceptable. I high-fived Paul, and preheated the oven.

     When I turned back to see how Brent was doing, Paul and Brent were cheerfully pouring the batter in to cupcake molds. Without me! How rude!

     I joined the party and put in three cupcakes. Brent had now calmed down and was anticipating the bakery good that would come out of the oven in a few minutes.

     Paul and I collapsed on the sofa, wiping our sweat off. "Nice job," I congratulated Paul. "We calmed down Brent for once." He grinned.

     I nodded off at once, the warm air lulling me to sleep. After what seemed like a second, Paul shook me awake, saying, "How do you turn the oven off?"

I blinked against the bright kitchen light, and mumbled, "It's voice command."

"Really," Paul demanded. "I'm not gonna try that." I gave in to his wishes and stumbled to the oven, turning the oven off while sniffing the air.

"Don't you think the smell's a little bit . . . off?" I muttered, wiping my eyes. "Look in that cabinet. It has those gloves you need. Take it out and put the mold on the table." I filled a cup with water and one-shotted it.

Brent had been asleep, like me, but when the oven made a creaking sound, he snapped awake. He was now wriggling for cupcakes. I sat down tiredly on a chair next to him as Paul placed the mold on the table, expression somewhat disgusted.

My eyes bugged forward as I saw what was on the tray. "You're kidding," I said, gaping at it. "We made that?"

The 'cupcake' looked like a flat bread that was forced in to a cupcake mold. Clumps of something could be seen at the side. Some cupcakes had burn marks in patches. Paul peeled one, and took a small bite. He gagged and spit the bite out in to the trashcan.

His face was scrunched up, expression sour. "I took a bite out of a baking soda clump."

I took his cupcake. It was hard. Perhaps the word 'cracker' would have better defined it. Brent whimpered and reached for the cupcake. I nibbled it, not sure of what I'll taste.

The bread crumpled in to dust that tasted suspiciously like flour with a sweet tang. It soaked all the moisture in my mouth. Soon my mouth was the Sahara Desert. I spit the clump out.

A wail made me turn to Brent, and get surprised for the thousandth time in a row. Brent's fingertips were just about touching the cupcakes, and the emotion in his eyes was so strong that I had to give him one. He demolished the cupcake in one bite.

"Get the trashcan," I nervously muttered to Paul as Brent's chewing slowed to one chew per three seconds. The trashcan was deposited near Brent's feet. However, Brent swallowed the disgusting bread and reached for more. Stunned, I looked at Paul, and saw that he wore a similar expression.

Then the bell rang, and I walked over to the door, still a little amazed at how Brent loved the failed flour clumps. I opened the door, and a party of pink blinded me.

When I recovered from the temporary flash attack, the pink-clad people were trudging in our house, stomping their snow covered boots on the mat.

"Wilma!" My mom maturely strutted over to her sister-in-law, or my dad's sister and her husband. "How nice to see you!"

My ten year old cousin, Alexa, aka the girliest girl I've ever seen, delicately removed her pink, fluffy jacket and stuck her nose in the air. I have always wondered, why in the world to my parent's siblings marry so late? I had only two cousins who were twenty and eighteen.

Alexa fixed the tiara on her hair--yes, she actually has one--and said, "Please take me to my room."

Should I have known that my life wasn't going uphill any time soon? It was the first time Alexa had come to our house, and I swear we were fine without her.