I can’t believe I just said that out loud, but Sierra just says, “Cool.”

“Yeah. Cool.”

When the cookies are laid out on the baking sheets, I explain about preheating the oven and cooking time. Then, because I am aiming for a big finish, I pull out the Tupperware filled with the snowballs I made yesterday and pass it around. Everybody cheers and Sierra takes two, because as I said, we are only minutes away from lunch and the whole class is starving.

I get more claps than Keith. All that’s left when the container gets back to me is a little pile of powdered sugar.

Dear Editors and Bakers at Southern Living,

I found your recipe for Almond Snowballs in my grandma’s 1989 holiday baking issue. I liked the picture, and it seemed like just the thing to make when you’re tired of real snow but still stuck in winter.

It was also for a grade in class. It went well. At least, I think it did, because I didn’t have any left afterward and everybody clapped. Luckily, I didn’t actually have to bake them in front of everybody, because that would have taken fifteen minutes of us staring at one another with nothing to do, and also, we don’t have an oven in class. I brought in my most perfect batch. But man, are they messy! I think all the powdered sugar stressed out my teacher, but she still ate three.

So, thank you for helping me to get a good grade and for thinking up a recipe from so many years before I was born that people still like. I get why people want them at their weddings.

Many thanks and wishes for warm weather your way,

Ellie Cowan

“Ellie was amazing,” Bert says at lunch after my speech.

“Ugh, I wish I could have been there. I tried to get Susie to write me a pass, but she said I had to take my history test or I couldn’t go to the pageant.” Coralee shoves her spoon around her banana pudding. She only gets it for the Nilla wafers. “I like her and all, but sometimes I wish it were just me and Dane and the cockatoos.”

I tear my sandwich into little pieces and then roll them into balls. It’s hot in the cafeteria, and the two snowballs I ate in class are making me feel funny. I wish I’d bought a water instead of Coke. But I’m so happy that my speech is over and that it went well that I don’t even care.

“You guys, they looked at me and it wasn’t just to laugh or check out my chair.”

“Who?” Coralee asked.

“Everybody. The townies, Mrs. Roman, the whole class.” I spread my arms wide.

“Like I said.” Bert nods. “She was amazing.”

“Well, don’t get used to it,” Coralee says, pointing her spoon at me.