It was one of those days; the type where you wake up the wrong way, a strange bitterness in your body, and everything else that follows irritates you further.

It's a chaotic feeling. Annoyed? Check. Anxious? Check, check. Nothing and no one to pinpoint it on? Triple-check. Yeah, definitely one of those days.

I usually sleep in on Saturday, but today I wake up early and clean myself up quickly and efficiently before anyone else in the house has even opened their eyes. Hurriedly, I rush to pack my mistletoe cookies in my bag and make breakfast for the rest of the Chans.

Halfway through frying eggs, I hear the door close, and someone creeps into the house— footsteps so soft that I can barely hear them over the sound of the oil crackling in the pan.

No way. Was this a break-in? I had read previously that most break-and-enters happened on weekends, but wasn't it too early to be walking into someone else's house and stealing their things?

I reach over to grab my phone, but then realize that it is still charging upstairs on my bedside table. Damn it.

Pretending not to notice his presence over the crackling of eggs, I leave the pan on the stove and go to investigate, but not before grabbing another larger frying pan from the rack beside me.

Silently, I sneak around the hallway, pan to my chest. I probably looked like a fool, if the thief was watching. Damn them, making my day worse. I tighten my grip on the handle and prepare for confrontation. Let's go.

I charge into the main hall.

"Elliot?"

"Huh!"

Startled, I swing at the person behind me and whack him twice across the face with the pan before it registers that I recognize his voice.

"Frank?"

My victim is writhing on the ground, his hands over his face in pain. "Ow! What the heck, Elliot!"

"Oh my gosh, Kyle!" I kneel down and put the pan on the ground. "What the heck?"

"That's my line." Kyle turns over and drops his hand. Oh God. Blood drips from his nose and is smeared across his face— which is already bruising. "Gah. You've got to be kidding me," he says as he lets out a sharp sigh of disbelief.

"I'm sorry," I say, handing the handkerchief in the front of his bag, which he'd dropped in our kerfuffle. "We were watching Tangled last night, and some creative inspiration just hit me."

"Elliot—" he tries to give me a reprimanding look but I don't give him the chance.

"I am so sorry, Kyle, you have no idea. I thought you were a burglar!"

"Hey, Eli—"

"— I swear, if I had known it was you I would have served you breakfast, not a pan in the face—"

"Listen to me—"

"No, accept my apology, you moose!" I stop to breathe. At this, he splutters and we start to laugh. Probably not the best idea, since Kyle's nose started to spew— no, gush blood. I grabbed his bloody hand and pulled him up. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

"I think it's fractured," he says sheepishly.

"I'll get Dad."

•  •  •

"How ing de world did you eng up thinging I was a burglar?" Kyle asks. He sits on the countertop facing me as I finish making breakfast, a bandage tightly wound across his face.

"Yeah, Eli, how did you?" my dad asks, crossly. We'd had to wake him up so that he could snap Kyle's nose back into place, which had automatically put him in a bad mood. Even though it was his duty as a doctor, Dad was annoyed and worried about Mrs. Leigh's reaction towards Kyle's injury. "I'll have to go apologize to her later at the fall gathering."

I sniff. "He had his shoes off and was creeping around the house at seven in the morning on a Saturday. Come on! Plus I am sorry."

"I hag my shoes off because you guys have a ngo-shoes house rule whech I respect," Kyle raises his gaze to meet mine evenly.

Dad nods in approval.

"Why are you here so early then?" I counter.

"Frank left his backpack yesterday after the movie, and asked me to get it for him."

"Why couldn't he get it himself?"

Kyle sighs, exasperated. "He said he'n go rudding ang meed me ad de fall gadering, okay? I don't gow, Elliot. Just because Frang ad I are sibligs doesn't mead dat we're as close as you, Ames ad Kat."

"Okay, okay. My bad," I glance up. "It's just one of those days. Sorry about your nose."

"It's fide," Kyle manages to smile and pushes himself off the counter. He sounds horrible. "Do you eed any help?"

"Don't be nose-y."

Dad yawns and trudges away from the kitchen. "I'll go wake up Katie and Amery."

"Wait, let them sleep a bit more," I whisper-hiss. "Kat doesn't have play practice 'till noon, and I don't know when Amery's leaving but I'm sure she already has plans ready."

"Oh, sure," Dad turns back. "Are you having breakfast before the gathering?"

I shake my head and set down his breakfast on the table. "I'll go to the gathering and pig out on those pies the ladies always bring."

Kyle grins, "sounds great. I'll go too."

"You sure?" I eyed him suspiciously. I knew how much Kyle hated being prodded by the neighborhood women, and considering how his face looked at the moment, he'd be interrogating to the point of crazy.

He shrugs. "Why mot?"

I look at Dad, who is too tired right now to do anything except eat. I turn back to Kyle. "Okay, let's go. Can you still bike?"

•  •  •

After a couple minutes of ice and gauze, Kyle's nose has stopped swelling and he's back to normal. Unruffled, we coast down our street with godlike speed, with Kyle pedaling furiously and me perched on the custom rack above the hind wheel.

"You know, you're a really awful person for hitting my face with a pan, and then making me bike you."

            "Hey, stop rubbing it in. I said I'm sorry," I hit him lightly on the shoulder, and the bike lurches to a side.

"Whoops, sorry."

I lean in a bit more and tighten my grip on his waist. "So did Frank say he would meet us there?"

"Yeah why?" Kyle dutifully keeps his eyes on the road and doesn't turn around to look at me. It's different riding with Kyle than it is with Frank; I once broke a leg when Frank biked me to school. The two brothers look so similar though that sometimes I have difficulty telling them apart.

"Just wondering." We narrowly miss a parked car and I decide that maybe Frank and Kyle weren't so different after all. "I don't want to have to volunteer alone with Dad."

Kyle chuckles. "Your dad's great, and either way you won't be alone. I'll be there."

"It's different."

"Well then, Frank's not one to say he'll come but then not show up. Don't worry." He continues pedaling steadily, undeterred.

"I'm not worried, but then again, Frank's not one to go running in the morning."

Kyle's pedaling slows slightly, and for a moment we just glide over concrete— until he picks up speed again and we resume our flight. "What are you trying to say?"

"Nothing, but it just feels a bit... off."

"It's all in your head. Relax."

"Let's head off."

Kyle shrugs, but doesn't answer, and continues to pedal briskly. The houses whiz by and soon we reach our destination: Jack Prince Park. We are greeted by a vacant parking lot, a collection of empty stalls, and a cold breeze rustling between fallen leaves.

"Desolate much?"

I roll my eyes. "C'mon, let's set up the booths."

Nodding, Kyle throws my backpack off his shoulder and heads over to the apple pie booth. Together, we double-handedly set up all the tables, benches, banners, cartons, and boxes before Ms. Gartner, the head of the neighborhood committee even arrived.

"Looks, good, Leigh, Elliot," she looks around and she plants herself onto the grass, hands on her hips. Ms. Gartner is responsible woman with a stern face, but kind eyes. I've always liked her; she's a reasonable person.

"Thanks. If there's anything you'd like to be changed, just give us a holler and we can change it, right?" I grin and elbow Kyle in the stomach lightly.

"Sure, sounds great." She gives us the faintest of smiles and walks away, probably to check that Kyle hasn't stolen anything from the cash case.

In time, a couple more ladies have arrived with their kids and families, and soon the park is filled with bustling, laughing parents and active children. Dad pulls up in his special van and delivers ice cream to the "good kids." I notice that he gave Phillip Wang, Andrew Kim and Sarah Zhao an extra scoop.

The annual fall gathering is meant to raise money for the community, by selling goods that our neighbors donate or make, but secretly, everyone just comes for Willow's apple pies. Mr. Pettington is vigorously trying to promote a signed petition of raising the maximum limit of pets; he currently owns six Airedale terriers. Out of pity, I gave him my signature when he came up to the Chan-Leigh cookie stall.

"Where's Frank?" I ask Kyle as he bends down underneath the booth to bring out yet another box of my mistletoe cookies. So far, we had sold three whole tubs in less than an hour. Hah, in your face Katie.

"I don't know, stop asking," he rolls his eyes and pretends to be annoyed, which doesn't work very well for him. My gaze gets caught on his bruised nose and I can't help by choke back on an incoming laugh.

"Stop," he complains. "I know why you're laughing. I'm gonna bean you over the head with this full tub of cookies if you don't stop," Kyle raises the bucket above his head threateningly.

I manage to blurt out a I'm sorry before succumbing to the devil and laugh, running away before he can react.

"Elliot Chan!"

I pivot my body and look over my shoulder to see Kyle run a couple steps but then give up and return to his spot behind the stall. I am just about to shoot him a victorious face when I crash into another person.

The force of my run catches me off guard and one of my legs smacks into the other, throwing me into whoever I ran into. Together, we tumble to the ground; a cascade of confused and tangled limbs.

I'm okay. Just a jolt, nothing broken. But what about the person I landed on?

I exhale a frightened breath and I realize that I might have just killed one of our elderly neighbors. Petrified, I raise my head and scramble to my feet, hands outstretched. "Excuse me. I am sincerely sorry—"

"Are you serious?" The person grabs my hands and yanks himself up. "I leigh-ve and take my eyes off of you for one sec. Come on, Elliot."

I breathe a sigh of relief and wrap my arms around Frank's neck in a bear hug. "I am so glad it was you! Imagine how much trouble I'd be in if I'd tackled Ms. Gartener instead."

He sighs, "yeah, yeah, glad it was me too." I feel him stiffen a bit before patting me on the back.

I let go and smile, "aight, aight. I'm glad you're okay though."

"Are you okay? Any bruises?" he asks me, genuinely concerned.

"Nope, but Kyle might have some..." I divert my gaze as Frank looks over to his brother and raises both eyebrows in bewilderment. He turns back to me, "did you do that?"

"I'll tell you later. Come on, go back to the stall. You have to take over Kyle's shift remember? You're already late, you blind man of clocks."

He groans but complies anyways, and I don't even have to put in effort to drag him to the cookie stall. He puts on the apron and hat that Amery made for us and begins to work: organizing cash, stealing a couple cookies, and calling out to customers. The ladies love Frank, and all wish that he was their own son. No more than two minutes after he's set up, women from all over Jack Prince Park start to swarm in front of our stall.

"Great job! Keep it up," I smile, before leaving to talk about a stall expansion with Ms. Gartener for next year's gathering.

She's standing outside the apple pie stand, no doubt enjoying herself. Hesitantly, I walk up behind her and tap her on the shoulder lightly.

"Hi, Ms. Gartener."

She jumps slightly before turning around. "Oh goodness, you gave me a fright, Elliot, dear child. Yes, what is it?"

I smile and clasp my hands together, just to draw attention to the lovely apron I'm wearing. "I was just wondering if it would be possible for Chan-Leigh cookies to have a larger stall for next year's gathering," I gesture to the line of people in front of our stand.

"Oh yes, yes. Of course, why not?" she exclaims absentmindedly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, dear, I think I have to talk to Ms. Pettington about her husband's frivolous petition," she strides away authoritatively before I have the chance to mention a budget expansion, or comment on the unintentional pun (pet-ition for pets, haha, very funny, Elliot).

Shrugging and half-contented, I head back to the stall, only to find that Frank has disappeared and Kyle is the only one standing behind the stall, furiously making calculations for change and boxing up cookies. "Elliot, get back here and work," he shoots me a stare as harsh as he can make.

"Okay, roger that! Sorry," I mutter and step in to do the calculations. In no time, we've cleared the line and everyone is remarking at how fast I mentally calculated their bills.

With the last box of cookies sold, we close up shop and head off to find Frank, leaving Kyle behind to dismantle the stall. I started off the day bad with hitting Kyle in the face with a frying pan, and Frank's sudden disappearances aren't helping elevate my mood either.

After a moment of aimless walking, I spot him sitting next to Katie on the curb.

"What are you guys doing?"

Katie looks up at me and hands me a book. "We're selling Mystic Cookbooks," she says proudly. "That's Mystic Cookbook Number Two."

I raise a brow, impressed. "And what do the proceeds earned go to?"

She pauses, huge eyes lolling back and forth. "The Kit-Kat foundation?"

I snort. "You can't do that, Kat. The money you raise has to go towards helping the community." I wave the book in her direction.

Frank pipes up. "If Mystic Cookbook number two doesn't suit your taste, you can take a look at Cookbook Number Four."

"Do you want to be hit with Mystic Cookbook Number Two?" I jerk the book back suddenly just to make him flinch a bit. "Don't encourage her, Leigh."

"Trust me, Frank, you don't want to be hit by her," Kyle arrives just in time to point at his nose and nod in my direction.

Katie snatches Mystic Cookbook Number Two back from out of my hands and cradles it to her chest. "Don't hit, Frank," she tells severely.

"I won't, I'm just playing." I scowl back.

"I'd like to buy a cookbook please?" A female voice says from behind the four of us and we all jump.

"Yes, of course!" Katie grins and displays her collection of Mystic Cookbooks one through five.

Jen Park steps forwards, five dollars in hand. "I'll take Cookbook Five please."

"Jen?" I blurt out. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey, Elliot," she says pleasantly. "Frank invited me, so I decided I'd step out of my neighborhood and into yours for a couple of hours."

I shoot Frank and accusatory glare, and he pretends not to see.

"Anyways, where's Amery?" she asks innocently while handing Katie her money. Eagerly, Kat hands her a Mystic Cookbook.

I give her a doubtful smile. "Is that any of your business?"

She takes a step back, the smile on her face still permanently frozen. "There's no need to be so hostile, Eli, I'm just asking. Didn't see her here."

"Yeah, and I bet you're glad—"

Frank jumps in and taps me on the head with Mystic Cookbook Two— or was it Four? He grabs my shoulders and attempts to turn me around. "Okay, let's not get too hyped up. C'mon let's leave—"

"No, it's perfectly fine, Frank. Elliot's just worried about her sister, right?" Jen shoots him a flirty smile, and Frank lets go of me.

"Yeah, that's exactly it," I force myself to grin. "Sorry about that. I'm going to leave." I grab my backpack from Kyle and swing it over my shoulder nonchalantly. "See you all tomorrow at school."

"See you," Kyle calls before turning back to Katie.

Jen begins a conversation with my little sister about her cookbooks, and Frank turns away without saying a word.

Author's Note // Wasn't sure what I was thinking, but I'm kinda stuck with writer's block right now. Hope you'll stick with me and Elliot/Frank/Kyle and crew! :)