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High school students, generally speaking, were not typically among the most notable of GYAXA's financial donors due to their lack of both funds and motivation. That unfortunate statistic had not stopped Clay Terran, who was now choosing to take his self-appointed duty very seriously.
“We can't just USE a box mix in a bake sale, Apollo. What would Mr. Starbuck say?”
Apollo continued to brandish his mix defiantly. “Uh, nothing. I don't think he would notice at all.”
“Well, maybe not, but he'd know we didn't try our best! When we take these cookies over there, they need to be totally perfect.”
“We're supposed to be selling these cookies, Clay. Giving them to Mr. Starbuck is against the entire point. He can't have any unless he pays.”
Clay sighed. “Yeah, I guess. But it just wigs me out. I don't wanna cheat like that.”
It really wasn't cheating, just taking the easy way out. Clay, he knew, couldn't cook his way out of a paper bag. This was why he had initially chosen the mix, but Apollo was not unwilling to compromise.
“Okay. I don't get why you're so set on it, but say we do do this the right way. You promise you won't burn down the house?” They'd come close enough before for it to be a legitimate possibility.
“I swear! I even brought oven mitts this time!” Clay raised a mitt-clad hand. They had the GYAXA logo on them, of course.
“Let's get to it, then.”
Since these were for a bake sale, they had decided to cook an array of three cookie types, starting with the obligatory chocolate chip and working their way towards the more complicated flavors of snickerdoodle and peanut butter.
“So, like, how many chocolate chips are we supposed to put in again?”
Apollo consulted the recipe on his phone. “One to two cups, apparently.”
“Oh.” He heard the sound of chips being poured back into a bag. How big of a container had he filled up? His question was answered as he saw Clay approach bearing a huge mug (bearing the GYAXA logo) of chocolate chips.
“I think you're supposed to use a cup measure. Not an actual cup.”
“Right, right, I know, but I figured this would be like the same thing. It's around the same circumference as a normal cup, but just with like three times the height. Y'know?” It was a constant source of amazement to Apollo how Clay could be a ditz about the simplest things and then know the exact measurements of any average household object simply by eyeballing it. But that was what made him a good future astronaut.
Apollo sighed, giving the batter one last stir. There were still some lumpy bits in there, but the average patron of a bake sale probably didn't care that much about the consistency of their cookies. “Put 'em in, then.”
Clay obliged; taking care, of course, to pick a chip off the top and eat it before dumping the mug.
Apollo put a hand between the chips and the batter. “No, no, do it slower, I think you're supposed to stir them in. Gradually.”
“Wait, but how can the cookies tell the difference between adding the chips now or later? That doesn't make sense. They're all going to the same place.”
“I dunno, it just says that in the recipe. We're supposed to follow the instructions.” Clay grabbed Apollo's phone from the counter, knowing his best friend's passcode well enough to be able to quickly access the recipe.
“Lemme see, it can't really say that.”
“No, look, see, 'fold them in gradually'. That means not all at once.”
Clay frowned. “Is that really what fold means? I thought it meant that you, like, make a pit in the batter and fill it with chips.” It was a very good thing that astronaut school didn't test you on baking.
“No, Clay, that's not what it means.”
“Oh, well, it's just a rule, and rules are meant to be broken, right?”
“They're really not.” Even so, Clay took his mug of chips and went back to dumping it into the batter. Knowing that resistance was futile at this point, Apollo took up his mixing spoon and tried to make the best of it. Internally, however, he grimaced. You couldn't just do that.
As they finished the chocolate chip batch, next came the dilemma of figuring out how snickerdoodles were actually made.
“I think you just, like, add cinnamon to the batter.”
“Are you sure? I could google another recipe.”
Clay held up a bottle of cinnamon and poured the entire thing into the batter without ado. “Yeah.” Well then, that settled that.
They followed a similar theory with making peanut butter cookies; their methodology mostly involving emptying an entire jar of peanut butter into the mixing bowl and occasionally both of their mouths.
Because Clay seemed to have an internal sense of when all the cookies were at the precise point of cool enough to eat yet still gooey on the inside (“Well, actually, it's just according to the law of thermodynamics...”), they were able to sample their work when it was at its best. Unfortunately, its best was not particularly good. Though Clay was known for being able to eat just about anything, even he could barely choke down a snickerdoodle without looking like he'd swallowed the entire bottle of cinnamon that had, in fact, gone into them. After seeing that, Apollo decided to take his chances only with the chocolate chip ones; which were mostly edible if a little dense with the chips. Technically, if you didn't mind eating solidified nut discs, the peanut butter cookies were edible as well.
Deciding to cut their losses, the two packed as many cookies as they could onto (space-themed) paper plates, preparing for the next day's sale.
“You think Mr. Starbuck will like these?” As if that was still their main issue.
“Sure. I think he likes anything that isn't freeze-dried astronaut food, really.” Apollo crossed his arms. “I'm just more worried about how we're going to sell all fifty of these.”
“Oh, we can do it! You're Apollo Justice, and I'm Clay Terran, we're the best team of best friends in the whole world! Everything's going to be fine.” There it was. Their saying.
“You know what? You're right. This is fine.” As the words left Apollo's mouth, he began to believe them—such was their power. “GYAXA had better get ready for the hundreds of dollars we're going to be handing them tomorrow.” Apollo wasn't sure if that was the exact highest amount of money that they could possibly make, but he figured it was around that much.
“Well, actually, the most we could make if we charge $2.50 for each cookie is $125. That's not really hundreds. And even $2.50's kinda high.” How did he always do all that in his head?
“Then we'll give them $125.”
“We should really be charging, like, a dollar less, so that's only, like, $75. And that's assuming everyone buys one, 'cause I don't think anyone'll be coming back for seconds.”
“Well, if I can't get fifty people to buy a cookie, then I wouldn't be a very good future lawyer, now, would I?”
“Absolutely true.” Clay paused, his eyes sliding down to the cookies. “Hey, if I find the frosting and edible glitter we have left over from my birthday, can we draw little spaceships on the cookies?”
“Yes, Clay. Yes we can.”
It was going to be fine.