by A. Gardner
I bite the nail of my index finger, wondering if this is a stupid idea. It's a better idea than most and it's one that won't get me into trouble. The worst that could happen is that this Brooke woman hangs up on me. I don't have much more time before class, so I anxiously dial the phone number on my cell phone. It starts to ring, and immediately my chest begins thumping like a hearty loaf of sourdough being tossed on a counter.
"Hello?" It's the voice of a woman, and she sounds as if she's just waking up. She clears her throat. "Hello, who is this?"
"Hi," I answer. "I'm calling for someone named Brooke."
"I'm Brooke." She pauses and waits for me to state my business.
"Oh, hi," I say again.
"Hi," she answers a second time. "Can I help you?"
"Yes, I'm calling because I saw your name on a poster at my school. It was for a missing student? Tom Fox?"
The line becomes eerily silent. I hear a few voices in the background and the sound of a bell chiming before I hear the distinct sound of a door slamming shut. "Hello?"
"You know Tom?" she whispers. She breathes heavily as I shake my head, disappointed that I don't have some actual information for her.
"No, but I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about him."
"I need to take that damn poster down," she replies. "I get prank calls, misdials, and booty calls up the yin-yang."
"Please," I blurt out before she hangs up. "I'm…writing a story about it." The lie slipped from my tongue out of desperation. "About the pressures of CPA…Calle Pastry Academy."
"It's about time someone did." She speaks a little louder. I hear the sound of a car pass by as if she is standing on a street corner. "But you've been misinformed. I can't help you."
"Oh," I respond. "You didn't know him that well?"
"I'm his girlfriend," she says proudly. "We met last semester when he came into the diner for drinks with some of his friends from the academy."
"So you of all people know how much pressure he was under to do well." I urge her in the right direction, hoping she'll spill something about how Tom saw something he shouldn't have or how he was accused of truffle thievery or something that I can relate to.
"Yes," she agrees. "He was usually pretty busy, but he wasn't stressed all the time. He told me he was one of the top students in his class. I believed him too. He made a killer grilled cheese with tomato."
"Then what happened last semester?" I ask.
Brooke takes a deep breath.
"The week before he disappeared he seemed tense about something," she admits. "I asked him about it once, but he kind of blew up in my face about it so I dropped it."
"I'm sorry."
"When I hadn't heard from him for a few days, I went to his apartment. He wasn't there."
"His roommate must have had some idea where he went," I add.
"He didn't have a roommate." I hear her sniffle. "I called him hundreds of times, but his number had been disconnected. I even tried calling his parents in Chicago. That number was disconnected too. No phone. Deleted social media accounts. It was like he vanished into thin air."
"Did you call the police?"
"They were no help," she sighs. "They said they couldn't do anything except make a few calls, since there was no evidence of foul play."
"So there was an investigation," I continue. I lean against the wall of my apartment building and pray that Brooke will give me something I can work with. My stomach churns as I wait for her reply.
"Yes. They questioned a few people, but that was about it. He was last seen leaving the student bakery still wearing his floury apron." Another sniffle. "Look, I don't want to talk about this anymore."
"I understand," I respond. "Sorry for bringing it up."
"I keep trying to move on, but—" She begins sobbing on the other end, and I stare down at my bare feet feeling guilty.
"I'm sure it had nothing to do with you." I try to sympathize with her, but I'm a wreck myself when it comes to relationships. I always feel like a hypocrite when I offer advice.
"Yeah, well." Another sniffle and a light cough. "I know you're only calling as part of your research, but a little tip?"
"Of course."
"Don't call someone you've never met before 9 a.m."
The moment she finishes her sentence, the line goes dead. I look at my cell phone, and walk slowly back into the apartment to get ready for my first class. Brooke must hate me for asking her for the dirty details of her boyfriend's disappearance. Good thing she doesn't know me.
CHAPTER TEN
Bree and I look straight ahead as we sit in Professor Sellers' class. We both noticed a few cops strolling around the grounds on our walk this morning, and one of the student kitchens is completely closed with a sign on the door referring students to another kitchen across campus. I can hear my chest pounding. Our classroom door opens, and part of me prepares to see his ghost waltz up front to tell me what a disgrace I am. I feel Bree squeeze my arm.
Miss Chester walks to the front of class and starts by opening her book. She glances at each student and quickly takes attendance. She doesn't look like she's been up all night crying, but she doesn't have the usual smile on her face. Of course, Georgina raises her hand.
"Where is Professor Sellers?" she asks.
"Unfortunately, Professor Sellers won't be teaching this class anymore." She glances down at the floor. "I am sorry to say this, but Stuart is no longer with us."
"What do you mean?" Georgina insists. I roll my eyes. "Is he sick?"
"I don't know much at the moment, Georgina." Miss Chester avoids making eye contact with her. "I will let you know when I hear more, okay?"
"He better not have quit," I hear Georgina mutter. "He said he was going to get me a list of the people judging the dessert contest."
"Okay," Miss Chester announces. "We're moving on to breads. Honey wheat people. Let's get going."
Bree heads to the storage room to grab our ingredients.
"Business as usual," I sigh.
"Poppy." The voice blasts through my ear and makes me jump.
"Jeff," I respond. "Hey."
"Hey," he replies, leaning against my station. "So, have you decided what you're entering in the contest yet?"
I swallow the lump in my throat and unclench my fists. I am expecting him to start asking questions about Professor Sellers, but I suppose I am just being paranoid. I sit up straighter on my stool and try to relax my shoulders. I have been feeling extremely tense all morning. Every door creaking and every person shouting makes me stop dead in my tracks. I expect the cops to burst through the doors any second to arrest me. I keep reminding myself to act normal.
Business as usual. Business as usual.
"No," I answer. At this point I am just hoping to survive the holidays.
"Do you need any help deciding?" He grins and casually runs his fingers through his blond hair.
"I would if I knew what to choose from," I respond.
"I hear you." He chuckles. "It needs to be something simple yet still professional. I've been thinking about making my famous biscotti." He leans in a little closer. "Don't go stealing my idea now."
"Oh, trust me," I respond. I force out a fake giggle to humor him. "That's the last thing on my mind."
"Yeah." He chuckles. "So, uh, what do say you come over tonight and give it a try?"
"You, me, and a biscotti?"
"Is it a date?" he asks.
I want to say no. I mean, I could barely swallow a mouthful of coffee this morning, and that is saying something. I don't think I can stomach Jeff and his charm too. My mind wouldn't even be in the room with us. I would much rather sit in my apartment while Bree bakes apple tartlets and reassures me that I am not going to jail.
"Is what a date?" Bree asks, returning from the pantry. She sets our ingredients on the table and begins getting ready to make sourdough bread.
"I am trying to convince Poppy here to come over to my place tonight," Jeff res
ponds slyly.
"Oh really." Bree glares at me and nods. I shrug.
"What?" I say through my teeth.
"That sounds like a fabulous idea," Bree insists.
"It does?" I look at her like she's crazy, but Bree refuses to make eye contact.
"Yes," Bree insists. "She will be there."
"Great," Jeff says, looking at me as if I am the one who answered his question. "Whenever you're ready, you know where my place is."
"Yep." I bite the inside of my cheek and wait until Jeff is out of ear shot. I turn and slap Bree's arm.
"Owww," she mutters.
"She'll be there," I say, mimicking her. "What was that about?"
"Business as usual, remember?" Bree hands me a large bowl so I can get started on my dough.
"That doesn't mean I have to go on a date with Jeff."
"What is the matter with Jeff?" Bree whispers. "He's a good-looking guy."
"Then why don't you date him?"
Bree blushes.
"No," she answers quietly. "He's not my type. I don't date chefs."
"Silly me," I say sarcastically. "Of course you don't."
I carefully rub my eyes, trying not to smudge my eyeliner. I put on extra this morning to try and hide the bags under my eyes. It didn't work. I still look like a zombie every time I catch a glimpse of my reflection in my metal mixing bowl. I have cut back on all my black clothing since I have been here. Mostly because of how hot it is. But I love my mascara and eyeliner. I won't give up my smoky eyes.
I focus on my assignment. Thinking back to day one of classes, I can't believe I have gotten this far. I already feel like I know everything there is to know about pastries. After breads we will be doing a short section on confections. I am looking forward to setting the yeast aside for a while. Bree keeps reminding me that CPA offers a special wedding cake course for senior students who have already moved on to their internships and student bakery shifts. She wants me to take the class with her.
Cole on the other hand is crazy about the logistics of running a business. He is more concerned with the cost of goods sold than the actual taste of the goods, but he's still an excellent baker. He has been baking pies since he was twelve and had no problem making the school's famous southern peach pie on day one.
I am disappointed that we won't be spending a whole lot of time on the one dessert I am kind of obsessed with. Cupcakes. Maybe that is what I should make for the contest? That is, if I am not incarcerated by then.
I keep my mind on cupcakes as I finish making my bread dough. I remember walking past a cupcakery to and from rehearsals in NYC. The smell that wafted through the doors of that place was entrancing. If you closed your eyes it made you think you were at the top of a castle made of diamonds, surveying your cake-laden gardens. Every time I passed that cupcakery I told myself I would go in and buy one tomorrow, but I never did. I wasted all my chances, and now I might never know just how scrumptious those tiny morsels taste.
"Hey," Bree nudges me. "Cheer up."
"Huh?"
"You look like you are in a trance," she whispers. "You did nothing wrong, Poppy. You have nothing to hide. We will figure all this out."
I nod.
"I'm glad we ended up being roomies, Bree."
"Me, too."
"I am trying to stay positive, but…" Like Cole said, it's easier said than done.
"If it helps," she responds. "Bree isn't actually my name. I started calling myself that in middle school."
"Is it short for Breanna or something?"
"Beatrice," she mutters.
"Ewww," I tease. I smile for real. "Thanks, I do feel a little better now."
* * *
Jeff's dorm smells like he took an aerosol can of Old Spice and sprayed it on everything.
I mean everything.
The couch.
The carpet.
The drapes.
The kitchen towels.
His face.
I can't stop wrinkling my nose.
"Try this," Jeff says, handing me a cookie.
"This is a sugar cookie. What happed to your famous biscotti?" I am impressed to see that it's in the shape of a perfect circle, and the blue royal icing on top looks like a frozen pond. I lightly touch it. It dried perfectly.
"Yeah well, I'm trying out a few recipes before I make up my mind," he replies.
"Okay." I take a bite of the cookie, wishing I could smell it too. The top has a crunch to it and the inside of the cookie is soft. It tastes sweet and doughy with a lemony kick. "Do I detect a bit of lemon?"
"Is it too much?" he asks.
"No." I nod and take another bite. Jeff looks pleased with himself. He takes a seat next to me at the kitchen table. This date might have gone pretty well, if we were sitting outside away from the overpowering smell of cologne. I keep chewing to keep myself from wrinkling my nose.
"Oh," Jeff says, noticing how uncomfortable I am. "Sorry about the smell. It's my roommate."
"Thank heavens," I blurt out.
"I know," he comments. "It's a little much."
"Just a little." I plug my nose. Jeff laughs like I'm joking, but it's a relief to smell nothing for a few seconds. "Um, why don't we—"
"Take a walk?" he finishes. "I agree."
"Yeah." I stand up, taking my unfinished sugar cookie with me.
The two of us step into the humid afternoon. The sky is cloudy, but the heat still soaks into my bones. I am used to feeling sweaty all the time. I toss my dark hair over my shoulder and take another bite of the cookie.
"So do you miss being back home?" Jeff asks.
"Sometimes," I admit. "I miss being able to breathe."
He chuckles.
"Ballet, huh?" he continues. I catch him eyeing the length of my legs.
"It was my whole life until recently." I eye an open bench near the quad. I don't want to go walking past the student kitchens if I don't have to. I am sure the halls are filled with police officers by now.
"Sorry about that."
"It's okay," I reply. "Performing at a professional level for so long was grueling. I'm amazed that my body lasted as long as it did."
"I bet you were good."
"Compared to everyone else?" I respond. "I was average. Not terrible, but nothing show-stopping."
"Becoming a pastry chef is quite a career change," he comments. I glance at the color of his baby blue shirt. It matches his eyes. I wonder if he did that on purpose. My eyes dart to a tiny piece of royal frosting that dried on his sleeve.
"I grew up baking with my grandma." I pop the rest of my sugar cookie in my mouth, wishing I would have grabbed another one. "She came to school here and even opened up her own bakery."
"Then why didn't you jump right into pastry? Why spend all that time pursuing ballet?"
"That is an excellent question, Jeff." I sit on a bench next to a giant pot of purple flowers. I nudge his knee as he sits next to me. "I guess I felt like it was expected of me. My brother is an overachiever, and I guess I didn't want my parents to think that I wasn't as talented as him. They paid for me to go to a special school. When I turned eighteen I think I already knew that ballet wouldn't make me happy forever, but I didn't want to let them down. It's stupid, I know."
"No," he responds. "We all have moments like that." He sighs and glances up at the bright sky. "My parents almost had a meltdown when I told them I wanted to invent the world's first ever dessert bagel and sell them by the thousands. A toasted bagel with ice cream and sprinkles on top. You know, like the new banana split?"
"An up-and-coming fad," I chuckle. "Yes, that is a ridiculous dream."
"Sorry, I'm just kidding around. But it does sound rather original, doesn't it? Like dessert contest worthy?"
"Try it out," I encourage him, imaging the grotesque look on the judges' faces when they slice into a plain bagel with a scoop of vanilla ice cream in the center.
"Now you're trying to sabotage me." Jeff discreetly lifts his arms and place
s it on the back of the bench behind me. A patch of his skin brushes across my shoulder.
I feel my cell phone ringing. I hold up a finger and quickly answer it when I see Bree's name. My heart pounds as I say hello and wait to hear what she has to say. I keep a smile on my face so Jeff doesn't suspect anything.
"I figured something out," Bree says. "I asked Cole to come over."
"I hear you loud and clear." I don't even wait for her to say bye before I hang up. "Jeff, I'm sorry, but I've got to go."
"Oh."
"Girl stuff," I improvise. Jeff nods as if he would rather I not elaborate.
"You better go," he says. "I need to get to bed early anyway. My first shift at the student bakery is early tomorrow morning. Well, it's more of a half shift. Half of it is in the morning and half of it is in the evening."
"I thought our rotations don't start until next year?"
"I was picked to start them early," he responds. "Sweet, huh?"
"I guess." I stand up and take a deep breath. "Well, good luck tomorrow."
I begin walking back to my apartment when I hear Jeff shout something else. I turn around and see Jeff leaning back in his seat with a grin on his face. "Remember," he shouts, "we are even now."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I don't have the heart to tell Bree that she isn't the only one who was picked by Mr. Harris to start working at the student bakery early. I walk through the door and find her beaming as she serves Cole a plate of warm doughnut holes. He grins as he takes a handful.
"Is she always like this?" he asks me.
"Nervous baker," I respond. Bree hears me from the kitchen and shrugs at my comment. "Okay spill, sister." I take a seat next to Cole and watch him inhale the doughnuts. He chews a little slower when he sees me staring.
"Okay." Bree takes a breath and opens her notebook. "I was able to take a look at the student kitchen where you found the professor. I had to duck under the yellow tape, but I did it."