"Name?" he asks.
"Hi, I'm Poppy Peters. I'm from Portland, and I'm a former ballerina." I see Cole nod out of the corner of my eye. I gulp, feeling like I am center stage in a frivolous production of Swan Lake.
"Well, Poppy." Professor Sellers frowns when he looks at my pie. He slices a piece and holds it up so the whole class can see it. A bit of filling drips onto the counter. He reluctantly takes a small bite and looks at me. "Of course the filling isn't thick enough, and it's also too sweet. Much too sweet. The crust is too thick and way too dry. Traditionally one is sometimes offered a cup of coffee or a glass of milk with their pie. Not a whole gallon." I hear sniggers from classmates behind me.
"Oh," I sigh. "Okay." My shoulders slump on their own, but I immediately regain my straight posture.
"Better luck next time," Georgina comments. She looks at me sympathetically, but I know it's an act. As soon as Professor Sellers turns his head, her smile turns to a smirk. Her eyes dart from my pie to hers as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
I am going to need some practice if I'm going to cut it here.
A lot of practice.
And maybe a pair of flats.
SOUTHERN PEACH PIE & A DEAD GUY
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Jennifer L. Hart - Southern Pasta Shop 02 - Murder À La Flambé Page 23