The Last Great Adventure of the PB & J Society by Johnson Janet Sumner

Author:Johnson, Janet Sumner [Johnson, Janet Sumner]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: butter, middle grade, middle school, The Last Great Adventure of the PB&J Society, Peanut, janet johnson, jelly, moving, Capstone, 978-1-62370-636-4, friendship
Publisher: Capstone Young Readers
Published: 2016-03-01T05:00:00+00:00

15

“You’re doing it wrong!” I hovered next to Dad while he slathered peanut butter on a slice of bread. “You have to spread it evenly. See? That bite right there won’t have any flavor, and this one will glue my mouth shut.”

After a week of eating his sorry excuse for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I decided to offer pointers. Hadn’t Mom told me I needed to pitch in more?

Dad slapped the jelly side onto the peanut butter side. Crooked. “It all goes to the same place, Annie. If you’re so particular, perhaps you should make your own from now on.” He stuck the sandwich in a bag with the already-made PB&J disaster and handed me my lunch.

“Mom always made it right.” I spun around and stomped out of the kitchen.

“You’re welcome!” Dad called.

I stuffed my lunch in my backpack, then marched to the door.

Dad had been doing everything wrong from the beginning. And trying to correct him didn’t help, either. He just kept saying, “Well I’m not your mother.” Duh, as if that wasn’t painfully obvious.

“I’m going to Mrs. Schuster’s,” I announced.

Maybe Mrs. Schuster could do damage control on the sandwiches. After all, her secret rations had saved me more than once from being poisoned by Dad’s awful cooking.

“Have a good day!” Dad yelled from the kitchen.

I waited a moment longer, but he didn’t rush to the door like Mom did to insist on a hug and kiss. Again. Not that I liked that stuff. But routine was routine.

Another minute and I slipped out, swallowing back the lump in my throat that formed all too often these days.

Sloppy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, burned dinners, and none of the little extras like a note in my lunch. And every day at lunch, Jessica and Jenny still asked me if I had a cookie or a hockey puck for dessert. Big mouth Lila.

I just wanted things back to the way they were.

At Mrs. Schuster’s, I let myself in. The last time I knocked, I got a lecture. “Friends don’t stand on formalities at my house. You know how to open a door, don’t you?”

I pulled out the offending sandwiches and left my backpack in the entry. In the kitchen, Mrs. Schuster was frying eggs. I held up the baggies.

“We need some emergency medical attention here.”

“Oh?”

“My dad just glops the peanut butter on and leaves the jelly in clumps.” I’d never discussed the art of making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with Mrs. Schuster, but it all seemed so obviously wrong, someone like Mrs. Schuster would surely understand.

Mrs. Schuster shook her head. “Amateur. Didn’t spread it all the way to the edges, did he?”

I crossed my arms. “Not even close.”

A quick spatula flick, and the eggs were on plates. Mrs. Schuster pulled a clean knife from the drawer. “It might not be too late if we hurry.”

I put the sandwiches on the counter and held my breath as Mrs. Schuster performed sandwich surgery.

She pried the bread apart on the first and spread the peanut butter into an even layer that covered the whole slice.

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