Darry was chewing the end of his pencil when I walked into the kitchen, and I immediately got alarmed. We never let Darry have pencils, because when Darry had a pencil, it meant he was thinking. And when Darry was thinking, it usually meant he was scheming up some plan to save money (not one of my strong points). And when Darry was scheming a way to save money, it usually meant going without chocolate and/or other necessities for a while. So you can see why Soda and I never let Darry have pencils. How he'd gotten his hands on this one, I'll never know.
I heard him mutter, "If they stop eating chocolate cake–"
"No." I snatched the pencil out of his hands and snapped it in half. "No, no, no nononono." I stomped on the pencil, breaking it into small pieces. "No. Nada Non. Zip. Zilch." I threw the pencil pieces into the blender and turned it on high. "No way. No how. No sir." I took the pencil dust out of the blender and tossed in out the window to fly free in the wind.
I shut the window and looked at Darry with my most sour expression. "That's what Soda and I think of your plan, Darry." I brushed off my hands and walked briskly outside. "It's what we think of you, too!" I called back inside before I shut the door and stepped onto the porch.
And was promptly almost suffocated by a cloud of pencil dust floating in the wind.