Bananacake

Corey and Doug make a bananacake...except in this chapter they don't actually get around to putting it in the oven.

I think banana cake are two words that really just need to be said as one. Why? Because bananacake is about as fun a word as it's possible to say, but Doug thinks I'm crazy. That's just because he hasn't tried saying it. Doug can be a real grouch sometimes. Also, he acts like he never worries, or that worrying is a bad thing. And that's crazier than bananacake, because he worries all the time.

“Jesus, Corey, don't worry so much. I know how to make a cake.”

“But we're adding bananas!” I protest, “What if that messes it up!” I really don't want this bananacake to go wrong because for one thing then it won't be so much fun to say, plus we'll have wasted a whole cake and"

“Corey.” Doug sighs, “I've been cooking since before you were born. Relax.”

Doug is twelve years older than me, which means that in July he'll be twice my age. July is when I turn twelve. I bet that when Doug says he's been cooking since before I was born he just means in Home Ec class. We're actually supposed to call it FACE, which stands for Family And Consumer Economics, but people not at Booker T. always get confused when I call it that. I don't actually have the class til third quarter, but I'm not even looking forward to it, since Dave said all you get to cook is sandwiches. That's not even cooking. I can make sandwiches. And lots of other non-sandwich stuff like smoothies and hot dogs and toast and bananacakes. Well, if Doug helps me with the bananacake I can. I bet I could make a regular cake on my own, though.

I can see more problems with the bananacake, since Jake might not like it. Last time I checked, when people turn twenty-one they go out and drink a lot, not eat bananacakes. I tell Doug this and he gives me his special Corey-You're -Looney-Toons look. That's just not fair.

“So you want Jake to drink twenty-one shots?” Doug asks me.

“I'm just wondrin'” I say back.

Doug sighs. He does that a lot, especially around me. “If Jake wanted to get drunk he'd go out and do that.” He checks the oven and nods to himself. “But he just wants a small party. Actually, I think the direct quote was 'Enough of a party that I'll feel sociable, but not enough people for me to want to run away screaming.'”

Doug says this all with a note of approval in his voice. Doug is what Mrs. Evans-DuBois would call anti-social. According to her, if you're anti-social, you can't make friends, get a job, steal stuff, don't know right and wrong (which is why you steal stuff), and are only friends with technology. We don't even have a TV, since Doug says reading books is better for your mind. I guess that makes sense, since Dave and Annemarie both read all the time. Also, Doug can't be Mrs. Evans-DuBois's anti-social, because he's got a job and friends and knows way more about right and wrong than I do. Mrs. Evans-DuBois probably doesn't read too many books, because I get the idea she isn't actually all that bright. The right word for Doug is semi-social. The way I figure it, social means you like talking to people and hanging out with them. Anti- means your against doing something. Doug isn't against socializing, he just doesn't do it all that often.

“Corey?” Doug says, jerking me out of my thinking. “Are you okay? I didn't mean to sound like such a grouch.”

“That's okay.” I say, “I've decided your semi-social.”

“Okay, then.” he replies, wrinkling his brow. “D'you wanna stir for a while?”

I peer into the bowl of bananacake mix. It looks something I might consider considering eating on a desert island. But definitely not a dessert island, cause the food there'd be delicious. Maybe it's actually alive, like my school's Nachos Grande.

The bananacakemix (mix should be part of the word) is probably just waiting for us to turn our backs, so that it can hop out of the bowl and make its slimy way to freedom. Except, it probably doesn't want to live on the streets, because all sorts of junk would get stuck in it. So, it'll use its super bananacakemix powers to locate Jake, because it'll know that that's who its supposed to be for. It'll give him a big bananacakemix-y hug. (It'll be able to do that because it's gelatinous, so it can make arms for itself.) Jake won't know what hit him and he definitely won't know it's his birthday present.

“Bananacake, bananacake, bananacake.” I say into the bowl, “You now, Doug.”

“Banana cake, banana cake, banana cake.” he says, raising an eyebrow, which means he doesn't get the wonderfulness of bananacake.

I try to sigh like Doug does when he thinks I'm being exasperating. “You said it wrong. It's just one word. Bananacake, not banana, cake."

“What goes on in that head of yours, I always wonder.” Doug says, grinning a bit, “Bananacake.” he adds.

“Bananacake.” I say.

“Bananacake.” he replies.

“Bananacake.”

“Bananacake.”

“Bananacake!” I throw my hands into the air when I say this, except my left hand hits the fridge, and it turns more into, “Bananaca"ow, ow, ow!”

“Careful, there.” Doug says, which really isn't the most helpful thing he could do. I shake my hand to shake the hurt out.

“Bananacake,” I reply.

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[Green-haired-fae]

BANNANACAKE!
sorry I'm better now.