Elder and Sister
The story begins with 
To Elder, Sister always seemed to have dirt on her face. Others thought Sister was peachy keen, top of the heap, something to admire, to cherish, to laugh with, and to love. But Elder knew Sister was dirty dirty dirty, in the way only an older sister could know such things. A sister who had been stabbed in the back, time and again, from the moment Sister was born.
Of course, Elder wasn’t without her own unsavory identities. She was pretty sure that SHE was the peachy keen one of the two. So she devoted her life, from the moment Sister was born, to showing up Sister. This was easy in the intellectual department, because Sister’s aim was only moderately good when she shot from the heart. Elder’s aim was unerring when she shot from the head.
“What's that got to do with the price of eggs?” Elder asked, that time Sister was having a hissy fit about the ice skate.
“We’re not talking about the price of eggs!!” Sister stamped her foot, turned purple and cried.
Elder had perfected her smirk by this time, and smirk she did.
When mother came in, she could still see it and immediately the meaning of the scene became clear to her. Already Sister piped up to complain loudly, panting, showing off a skate with the egg white still dripping from its sharp blade. "Look what she did!" she sobbed.
The mother had to turn away slightly, she could hardly hide her amusement at what had become of her order to her children to make the cake batter.
You had to hand it to them! Only kids could come up with the idea of beating the eggs on a skid.
"How many more eggs do you think should go in?" she asked, not responding further to the girl's crying, but gently stroking her neck and leading her back to the table. "Two", she replied, and while Elder watched in surprise as her mother took the skate from Sister's hand, cracked an egg on its skid as if it were quite natural, and placed it in the bowl, the young one was already becoming quiet and asked in wonder, "You're not angry at all?"
"Not today," the mother finally did smile, including the gaze of Elder, who was now standing there with her mouth open, not understanding the world. "We won't tell anyone which way you girls baked the cake, what do you think?" winked the mother, who sometimes seemed so unpredictable to her daughters that no comparison could be made.
Thanks for the challenge! I had fun with bringing this up.
Also thanks for the prompts from 
Title picture: my own
It is a lemon cake which I baked in the summer and picked the edible decorative blossoms from the garden, which we had previously planted with a wide variety of flowers (at my brothers house).