“I’m in the Pillsbury Bake-Off, I’m invited to New York!” Pete swung her so high her saddle shoes practically scraped the ceiling, Grace got the next hug, Bea leaped around whooping, and Mrs. Nilsson came out to see what all the ruckus was about. “The Pillsbury Bake-Off?” Crossly. “Don’t be ridiculous, Lina, you’re not going to New York, it’s completely out of the question.” Pete went red as a fire truck, clearly about to detonate like the shells Grace had watched German Junkers drop down the center of the Nevsky Prospect like a string of exploding pearls. She touched his arm and cut in
...more
