A. Gardner - Poppy Peters 01 - Southern Peach Pie and A Dead Guy

by A. Gardner

  "Ready for what?"

  "Day two," she responds. "We still have a full day of classes ahead of us."

  "But our first one isn't until ten this morning, right?"

  I feel relieved when Bree nods. That means I can head back to our apartment and sleep off my headache. The two of us walk back to our apartment. Bree makes another pot of coffee, and I collapse on my bed and close my eyes. Day two cannot be like day one. I have to try harder.

  I have to wear flats.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  My eyes open to the sound of chirping. I sit up quickly and glance around my room. I didn't bring an alarm clock. I check my phone. It's almost time for class. I stand up and move towards my dresser, and the chirping stops. I scratch my head and take a few steps back again.

  Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

  It sounds like a cricket, but sunlight is streaming through my window. I rub my eyes and rummage through my suitcase for something more presentable to wear to class. Something that helps me fit in instead of stand out. I own way too many yoga pants, and I know that Georgina would find a way to poke fun at me if I wore a skirt and high heels.

  I settle on my only pair of khakis and a silky, emerald green top. It kills me to slip into my only pair of ballet flats, but I force myself to do it when I hear Bree grabbing her bag in the living room. I jog to meet her before she leaves without me.

  "Do I look the part?" I ask.

  Bree looks me up and down with a wide smile. Her wavy, strawberry blonde hair is tied up in a bun, and she's wearing the same peach colored button-down that she wore this morning for our bakery tour.

  "Well, you're not wearing black for once," she replies. "But I never thought there was anything wrong with the way you dress."

  "I'm going for a fresh start."

  "On day two?" She raises her eyebrows.

  "Okay," I sigh. "Just promise me something…"

  "Anything." Bree shuts and locks our front door. We begin our walk across campus to the student kitchens.

  "If today goes like yesterday did, keep your bourbon to yourself." I straighten my top as we walk. My heart is racing and my stomach churning as I think about the look on Professor Sellers face when he sees that I've come back for more.

  "Honey, I warned you that a little taste would be plenty for you." She reaches into her bag and pulls out a double chocolate chip cookie wrapped in plastic wrap. She hands one to me. "Chocolate?"

  I smile.

  "I think we were destined to be roommates." I take the cookie and unwrap it. "Also, I think there's a cricket trapped behind my dresser. It seems to have gotten confused between night and day. It wouldn't stop chirping this morning."

  Bree laughs as we stroll towards our building. I glance at the front entrance, and it brings back flashes of hazy memories. I remember the door being propped open last night. My eyes dart to a bed of flowers next to the front windows. I spot a few rocks among the dirt.

  "Poppy?" Bree says, gazing at me suspiciously.

  I am standing in the doorway with my fists clenched together.

  "Sorry." I shake my head. "Got lost in thought for a minute there."

  "Uh-huh." Bree's eyes stay wide as she turns and casually walks into our classroom.

  When my eyes wander down the hallway, a burst of adrenaline soars through my chest. My heart starts pounding, and my palms feel sweaty. Part of me is expecting to see something lurking in the farthest corner looking back at me. I lift my chin and think of Grandma Liz. What would Grandma Liz do?

  For starters, Grandma wouldn't let a bossy little tart like Georgina make her feel like she didn't belong. I've worked just as hard as these people. It might not have been in the same subjects, but I've still come a long way to be here. Literally.

  Bree and I are not the first students to arrive. Most of my classmates are sitting at the same stations as yesterday. I reluctantly take my spot up front next to Bree and pull open my tote bag. I pull out a pen and my notebook and review my notes from yesterday.

  Don't over-sweeten.

  Don't over-salt.

  Don't call Professor Sellers Mr. Sellers or Stuart.

  I read the same notes over and over again until I hear the sound of Professor Sellers zipping up his chef's jacket. He walks to his table at the front of the class with a tray of cupcakes. In most situations, a tray of cupcakes is a good thing – a symbol of celebration or a treat on a special occasion. I remember licking the frosting off of the tres leches cupcakes Grandma Liz made for my sixth birthday party. I almost got away with it too.

  Professor Sellers is the only man I've met that can make a sweet thing like a petite, vanilla cupcake look like a punishment.

  He sets the tray down and arranges the cakes in a straight line so we can see them all. He pulls out a knife and sets it down on the table. I gulp when he looks around the room, afraid that he might scowl when he sees my face. I didn't exactly make a good first impression with any of my teachers.

  "Today we are going to start with the basics," he announces. His eyes briefly look in my direction. "The very basics." He pauses and clears his throat. "Here we have a dozen cupcakes, but they aren't just ordinary cupcakes. I've prepared the cakes and frostings using different consistencies to show you how to manipulate your batter."

  He stops and chooses a cupcake. He gently takes his knife and slices it in half, showing us the inside. The frosting looks a little flat compared to the others, and the cake is smaller. I take a deep breath. I can do this. I can bake cupcakes from scratch. I've done it before, and I can do it again. Why didn't we start with this yesterday?

  "This is not an ideal cake," he continues. "Who can tell me why just by looking at it?"

  Bree is the first one to raise her hand.

  "The frosting looks too thin," she answers. "And the cake looks really dense. Almost like a bread. Most people assume that dense cake is caused by using too much flour, but it actually happens when you use too much of your wet ingredients. We definitely wouldn't sell that in the cupcake shop where I worked back home."

  "Exactly right," Professor Sellers agrees.

  "And it looks like the cake was still warm when it was frosted," Bree adds. "I've made that mistake myself before."

  "You are correct." The professor moves on to another cake. He cuts it in half and holds it up for everyone to observe. "As you can see, the texture of this cake is more like a sponge. The frosting however is too stiff." He moves a piece of frosting with his finger. "See how it creates more and more crumbs when I try to smooth it down? The frosting needs more liquid."

  He sets the cupcake down and holds up another one.

  "See this one." He peels back the wrapper. "This one has the perfect ratio of frosting to cake. The frosting isn't too sweet, and it's a medium consistency. The cake is also light and airy." He takes a bite of the vanilla cupcake and smirks. "Perfect." He licks his lips and swallows before speaking again. "By the end of the day I expect a dozen cupcakes that look just like this. Turn to page ten in your booklets. You may use any cake recipe you like. Remember that cocoa powder can dry out a cake faster."

  "I'll make chocolate and you make vanilla," Bree mutters. "That way we have two flavors when we take the leftovers home."

  "Vanilla." I nod. "Okay, I can do vanilla."

  "For those of you who did the assigned reading, this shouldn't be too hard." Professor Sellers gives us the okay to start baking. "We will discuss our batters in more detail later. You have one hour to get your batters ready for the ovens. That should be plenty of time." He glances at me as he walks around the classroom.

  I open my recipe booklet containing a bunch of basic recipes that we will be using over the course of the program. We all received them yesterday, and I was overwhelmed when I flipped through mine and saw things like crème filled éclairs with a salted caramel drizzle and pistachio encrusted cherry cheesecake.

  "Vanilla, huh?" a voice says over my shoulder. I turn and see Jeff grinning behind me. His blond hair is combed back, and
his icy blue eyes gleam more than ever in the morning sunlight that is coming in through the blinds.

  "Yeah," I reply. "Thought I'd stick to the basics. You know."

  Georgina brushes past me and glances at Jeff as he leans on the counter. Her gaze turns sour when it moves to me. She brushes her hair over shoulder and keeps walking.

  "I'm sure you'll be fine," Jeff responds, barely noticing Georgina's little once-over. "They're only cupcakes. I'm sure you could do this in your sleep, am I right?"

  Jeff's attempt to make me feel better is only making it worse. I have baked cupcakes before but not as often as he has, I'm sure. Cupcakes weren't really something on the menu for me until I left the world of ballet. I bite the corner of my lip.

  "I've got this," I say. Whether or not it's true, I choose to believe that it is.

  I read over the list of ingredients that I'll need for vanilla cupcakes and gather the things I'll need from the pantry. Bree is already preparing her bowl of dry ingredients. She gently spoons in her cocoa powder, careful not to use too much.

  "Hey, Jeff," Georgina says from across the room. Her expression is perkier than usual, and she's sticking her chest out as she waits for him to look up and notice her. "You're a tall guy. Will you grab that mixer for me on the top shelf?"

  "Sure." Jeff lightly taps my counter before he walks away to help Georgina.

  "Is it just me, or does everyone on our group seem to be single?" Bree whispers. I had no idea that she had been watching Jeff and me the whole time.

  "Well, someone is definitely on the prowl," I mutter, glancing up as Georgina touches Jeff's arm while she says thank you. "My parents would be ecstatic if I told them I've met someone here. All my mom talks about these days is how she'll never be a grandma."

  "My mom is the opposite," Bree says quietly. "She says all men are scum. Of course, she is always referring to my father when she says it."

  "Since when did it become a crime to enter your thirties without a husband or boyfriend?"

  "I guess that makes me a criminal." Bree shrugs.

  I concentrate on my batter. I mix my dry ingredients and my wet ingredients in separate bowls before blending them together. I read through my recipe again to make sure I have everything right. I watch Bree scoop her batter into muffin tins. Each tin has the same amount of chocolate batter. I copy her exact movements until I'm looking at the perfect specimen. I show my cupcakes to Bree, and she nods approvingly.

  "All you have to do now is make sure they aren't undercooked," Bree comments. "Or overcooked."

  "You really think they look good?"

  "See." Bree follows me to an open oven. "Yesterday was a total fluke."

  I preheat my oven, and Bree finds another one because her chocolate cakes bake at a different temperature. I wait until my oven beeps before sliding my cupcake pan onto the baking rack. I shut the oven door and carefully set my timer.

  Georgina snags an oven next to mine. She glances down into my oven and raises her eyebrows. I open my mouth to say something to her – something that might get me kicked out of class, but I decide not to. Over the years, I've learned the hard way that it's better to hold your tongue than lay it all out on the table. Maybe the more I observe Georgina and what makes her tick, the less upset she will make me.

  Nah.

  Something that makes Georgina tick at the moment is Jeff. Georgina spends a little too much time bending over as she places her pan of batter into her oven. When she stands up straight again she discreetly looks over her shoulder to where Jeff is sitting. He didn't take the bait.

  I cover my mouth and hold in a giggle, but it comes out anyway. Georgina's head jerks in my direction and for a split second, her cheeks turn rosy. She glares at me the way she has since the first moment she laid eyes on me.

  "Is something funny?" she asks. Her long, blonde ponytail bounces from side to side when she tilts her head.

  "Oh, it's nothing."

  "A little advice," she continues. Her eyes dart to my oven. "Spend less time flirting and more time studying, and maybe you'll actually have a shot at passing this course."

  "Good advice," I reply, walking past her to wait at my station. "But lucky for me, I'm really, really good at multi-tasking."

  I hurry back to my station before Georgina has the chance to come up with another snotty remark about my famous pie failure yesterday. Bree washes her hands and sits next to me. I open my notebook and begin doodling a picture of a blooming flower.

  "Uh, why does Georgina look like she just walked past an outhouse?" Bree whispers.

  "I'll tell you later."

  I read through my textbook and get caught up on the chemistry behind yeast. Bree reads alongside me, eagerly waiting for her oven timer to go off. As timers chirp, Bree or Georgina jump up and yell the oven number. When Bree's chocolate cupcakes are done I hear her giggle with delight as she pulls them out to cool. I put my head down and read a few more pages before another sound fills the classroom.

  But it's not chirping.

  "Oh, great!" Professor Sellers runs to the oven where the fire alarm is going off. I see smoke emerging from an oven, and the professor is shouting for someone to grab a fire extinguisher. Jeff and Cole leap out their chairs and run to fetch it.

  "We've got to kill this smoke before—" The professor's sentence is cut off by the sound of Georgina squealing. The smoke persists long enough to set off the safety sprinklers. Water pours from the ceiling, forcing everyone to flee from the classroom.

  "Ugh! My hair!" Georgina is the first person to roll her eyes and leave. I grab my bag and follow Bree outside. The rest of the classrooms empty, and the quad fills up with bewildered students. I squeeze the water from my long, damp hair and hope that my makeup isn't so smudged that I have raccoon eyes.

  Professor Sellers emerges from the building with the other professors. He mutters a few things to them and then nods. He faces our class and folds his arms, disappointed. A siren blasts from down the street, and another professor runs to meet it.

  "Okay," Professor Sellers says so that everyone can hear him. "Who had oven number three? The temperature was turned on much too high, and the oven timer wasn't even on."

  My throat tightens, and I feel as if I might choke. My toes curl up inside my shoes as I hang my head and take a deep breath. I had oven number three, but I set it to the correct temperature, and I distinctly remember setting my timer. With damp hair and wet clothes, I step forward and discreetly hold up my hand.

  "Ah, yes," he responds. "Come with me, Ms. Peters."

  The quad falls silent as I follow him past a parked fire engine and around the corner where none of the other students can see us. I brace myself for what might happen next. At least he doesn't have the authority to expel me.

  At least, I don't think he does.

  "Ms. Peters," he says quietly.

  "Poppy," I correct him.

  "Poppy." He clasps his hands together. "Why on earth did you set your oven so high?"

  "But I didn't—"

  "If you can't even set an oven, I'm astounded that you got into this school at all," he continues.

  "But, Professor—"

  "Let me finish," he snaps. "You are on very thin ice right now. I am going to be paying close attention to you from now on just to make sure nothing like this happens again, and I suggest you spend every night practicing the basics in your apartment, understand?"

  "Yes," I answer.

  "Good." He leaves me and heads towards the fire engine parked alongside the building.

  Professor Sellers just gave me a second chance, but I feel as defeated as ever. I had everything down this time. Everything. My batter was perfect. The way I filled my cupcake pan was perfect. My oven settings were perfect. In fact, I followed every rule to the letter so that the only way this could have happened was if someone changed something.

  She wouldn't, would she?

  I think of the one person who has a reason to hate me right now. The same person who had a
moment alone with my cupcakes. Georgina.

  I'm not sure why Georgina would stoop so low that she would risk sending the entire building up in flames. I would never do a thing like that. I walk slowly back towards the crowd of people outside the building, and when I do most of them quiet down. I hate that feeling you get when you know someone is whispering about you. I concentrate on my steps, trying hard not to blush. I avoid eye contact with Georgina.

  "So," Bree gulps. "What did he say?"

  "He gave me a warning."

  "Thank heavens," she mutters.

  "But that isn't the worst of our problems." I glance around and see Cole staring in my direction. I smile at him, letting him know that things are okay.

  "You did everything right." Bree shakes her head looking confused. "I know you did. I saw you."

  "Someone turned up the heat," I respond.

  "Who?" she gasps.

  "Who do you think?"

  "Why that crazy little—"

  "Not here," I cut Bree off before she starts cussing Georgina out in front of everyone. Though Bree shouting profanities in one of her sundresses is something I hope to see one day.

  "Poppy, you've got to get her back."

  "I will," I reassure her. "I will in time."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I pace our living room thinking of what to do next. All the times in my life that I've confronted people it never went down so well. The last time I did that was with my ex-boyfriend. My chest is pounding, and I can't stop thinking about what happened today. My cupcake failure will be the talk of the school for years and years to come.

  "I'm relieved that you weren't expelled," Bree sighs. She is flipping through a magazine looking for a good recipe for dinner. Comfort food. "I insist that we eat our feelings tonight."

  "Well, if you insist," I respond.

  "Macaroni and cheese?" she suggests.

  "Maybe we should go out?"

  "First you need to figure out what to do about Georgina," Bree comments. She sets her magazine down on the coffee table and frowns. "I say you turn her in. That little brat could use a good slap on the wrist."