Page 52 of Bite Me

He claps his hands together and chuckles. “I’ve seen nothing. Go out there and kill it.”

I think of my mom as I depart for the others and how she’d love Parker’s cheerleader spirit.

We’re using the guest lodging kitchens, which are small in comparison to our full kitchen in the culinary club. The cabins by the lake are often used for opposing teams or special guests, so they’re well kept. Not like the run-down “vacation” cabins we used to rent sometimes at the lake in Groveshire for outdoor family bonding.

Luther stands at the front, directly before the kitchen door, along with Verity and Dacre.

“Everyone, listen up. You will each be in charge of a full, three-course meal. Each team will get a section of the meal. This isn’t some laid-back barbecue. Think of this as your chance to impress us.”

Someone raises their hand and says, “Does that mean you won’t be helping?”

“Nope, we’re gonna sit on our asses and judge you. We curated a list of recipes that you will be following. You will need to keep up a good tempo. There’s about one hundred hungry people out there, all waiting to be served by the prestigious culinary club, and it’s up to you not to embarrass us.”

There’s whispering among the group and the playful chanting from the teams outside tiring themselves.

“All right, any questions?”

I try not to look at Dacre. I really do. But it’s as if we’re magnetically attracted. We’re opposite in so many ways, and no matter how hard I try, things always end the same. Our eyes meet across the room, giving me a hint of mystery I can never figure out and this cursed hollowness in my sternum when he looks away.

“All right, then, get to work.”

“Ah!” I snap my hand away from the burning baking sheet for what has to be the third time tonight.

“Behind.”

One of my teammates presses into me, and my face is nearly touching the hot door of the oven. I scurry to the sink to run cold water over my inflamed fingers.

We just got done baking the bread, and now it’s time to prep for dessert. Bread on a time crunch was a nightmare, not to mention the recipes all involved potions and special ingredients like luxe dust. Things I’ve never heard of, let alone know how to handle properly.

At least I’m not the only one freaking out. All my teammates are in equal disarray. It’s because we didn’t establish a leader, and being left to our own devices means we’re running into each other. I was assigned to measuring, which means my archnemesis, potions. The first load of loaves out of the oven didn’t rise. At all. They were flat pancakes, and I had to redo the whole batch.

This is my wheelhouse, and yet I’m struggling. The watchful gaze of the Top Three is ever present, but I’ve barely noticed them in my growing panic. I know they’re tracking points. How many were deducted for the bread?

Dessert is a crystallized sugar cake with edible pearls.

I stare at the recipe card, waiting for my brain to kick in. Crystallized sugar cakes take three different types of potions, and one of those potions is made by combining two other potions. There wasn’t wide access to them in Groveshire, and the ones we did have weren’t anything my dad was interested in me picking up.

They work a little like sauces, often meant to enhance a dish in different ways. There’s no one-size-fits-all potion that makes a dish amazing. It has to work with the ingredients. You can make potions for anything, like a concoction meant to increase the saltiness by a certain percentage. A lot of times, they’re more effective than, say, adding the salt itself because it’s enhanced from the raw form.

My hands shake as I fumble with the vials and measure.

I can do this. This night has been a struggle, but it doesn’t mean anything.

My hands slip, and the liquid drips into my bowl of flour.

“We’re behind. Emma. We need to get the cake into the molds.” I don’t recognize the voice.

I have to scrub the whole bowl. Why is this happening?

“I know I . . . I have to redo it.”

I can’t believe I have to redo it.

“What? No way.”

“I know.” I fling the bowl, batter and all, into the sink, and it flies across the back of the sink and into the air, peppering the white coats of my teammates with the glittering black batter from the cakes.

“I’m so sorry!” I say.