Page 13 of Bite Me

I have a radar for bullshit and sarcasm. He never thought I’d say yes. But then, why ask? How does he benefit from keeping me out of the culinary club? What have I done that’s so terrible that he can’t stand the thought of me being there? Why does he care?

Without the prestige of the club, I’ll still get to study in the culinary specialty. It’s not as if I don’t care about the basic curriculum classes, like Interspecies Reproduction 101 or Potions for the Curious; I even started taking extra classes on the weekend because I find them so fascinating. But those things won’t get me a position as an executive pastry chef in the city.

The culinary club gets access to legacy recipes, a huge kitchen and lounge, and the top chefs all over Vviveren. You have to be in the culinary club if you want to be anybody in the culinary world. The biggest restaurant owners in the city are all Doxlothia alumni and former members of the culinary club.

My pity party is interrupted by the time on my nightstand clock. I dash from Luxxia House to the castle, nearly dropping the plate full of crepes decorated with little star sprinkles in my hand. I woke up early to make my dad breakfast so we could eat in his office before classes started. I learned to bake with my mom . . . Then, when she wasn’t there anymore, I studied as much as I could and cooked for the house. Tweaked recipes. Worked through any recipe books Dad would bring me. Practiced and dreamed. That’s when I started to decorate all my dad’s favorite foods with little star sprinkles as my signature. He loves it.

Edwin Osborne has never been into anything mystical his whole life—that was Mom. She was the dreamer and believer in everything childlike and awe-inspiring. But now, one of my dad’s and my favorite things to do together is to stargaze and talk about the good days before Mom disappeared and took all that whimsy and life with her.

Now it’s up to me to keep it alive.

Dad’s sitting at his desk with his head in a book when I enter, his golden eyes rimmed with dark circles. He’s been extra anxious since Olivia’s hospitalization and likes to spend any time he can close to us. My sisters don’t always agree to spending time with him, but I do.

I’m the only one who visits him in his office, I think. He has staff housing on campus, but he’s often working late, as if he’s afraid it’s going to get up and walk away from him at any second. After Mom died, he stopped working, so he’s been away for a long time. It’s nice to see him working on his passions again. It’s what Mom would have wanted.

“Honey, I heard the news about the culinary club. I’m sorry.”

It’s been days since Dacre’s proposal, and as the week stretches on, I get more restless. Every day is another day I don’t get to be in the club, and when our eyes meet in the hall, he smirks as if he knows something funny that I don’t.

“It’s almost as if they don’t want me to join.”

“Nonsense. I talked to Dacre’s grandfather this morning at the board meeting. He asked about you.”

“Me? You’re joking. Don’t get my hopes up. I’m not in the mood for blind optimism.”

“Never, honey. They’ve barred new entries this year based on the board members’ wishes.”

“What did he say about me, though? He wants me to join? He’s willing to back my nomination?”

“No, it was a brief conversation, but he doesn’t normally say more than two words to me, so it was noteworthy. He just asked about you and how you were in passing.”

“That’s it?”

He nods and pops a crepe into his mouth. His plump cheeks round into a wide smile. “New recipe?”

“I tweaked it a little.”

So it’s not Dacre barring me from the culinary club . . . Unless he’s doing it all behind closed doors, giving everyone in charge reasons not to accept new students explicitly so I won’t be able to get in. But that’s crazy, because why would someone go to such great lengths to keep me out? What does he think I’m going to do? Besmirch the prestige of the culinary club by poisoning everyone in a fit of revenge for not letting me in sooner?

“What do you know about the Everhart family?” I say, plopping down on the beanbag chair (I personally requested it for his office) and fixing my lip gloss in the little plaque on his desk.

“Dacre’s grandfather, Clyde, holds the oldest standing seat on the board of directors. A proud man. He doesn’t smile much, but many of them don’t. I’ve had some run-ins with him from time to time but haven’t spoken to him since I got back.”

“What kind of run-ins?”

“Just some rumors about his dealings with students. He was investigated by the dean and was proven to be innocent.”

“Dealings? . . . As in . . .”

I’m sure there are things he’s not supposed to tell me, but he knows I’m not one to keep questions lingering in the air. Someone has to pick them up and make a fuss, or nothing will ever be solved.

“He was allegedly caught bribing a student, but there was never any evidence.”

So his family is rich and cuts deals. That checks. Dacre is toying with me . . . but why?

Telling my dad isn’t an option. He’s too close to everything, and it will make a mess. I’ll need to think about it before I bring it up.

“Well, what does the dean think?” I ask.