Olive wasn't even feeling especially social or creative. But ever since her class that morning, she'd wanted cookies. And no, she was so not like, a gourmet cook at all, but she could buy refrigerated cookie dough with the best of them.

Shhh. She threw the packaging away and tossed the raw dough into a bowl so no one would know. She was sneaky. There was a batch of cooling chocolate-chip cookies resting on the counter already as she stared at the oven like it might produce state secrets or something. She'd turned on the television, for those who might not be super-into watching cookie dough rise, but she wasn't especially paying attention.

And no, she was not making these cookies for anyone but herself, regardless what certain parties might try to argue. But she'd share, probably. Unless you were obnoxious.

[open, la.]