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

by A. Gardner

  "No." I laugh. "A talking to won't shake up a girl like Georgina."

  "It sure as heck would scare the crap out of me. I'm just saying." Bree stands up and heads for the kitchen.

  "No we need something…" I think back to the few times in my life when I've actually plotted and sought revenge against someone else. Those plans always backfired "No." I sigh.

  "Turn her in," Bree says again. "That's what I would do."

  "The one thing that would piss Georgina off the most would be if I actually graduated with her."

  "What are you saying? You're going to let her get away with it?"

  "I'm saying I'm going to study extra hard until I get this right," I answer. "I'm going to keep my head down and do my work. That's how I'm going to get back at her."

  Bree looks at me and rolls her eyes. She opens a cupboard and pulls out a container of flour. She's at it again. The nervous baking. But for how often she whips together a layered cake or a batch of chocolate chip cookies, she must be a nervous wreck twenty-four/seven.

  I guess everyone has issues. Even perfectionists like Bree.

  * * *

  Weeks go by and I avoid the school kitchens like a batch of burnt brownies. The only time I'm there is during the day when everyone else is practicing their piping techniques. I'm not allowed to practice anything involving the ovens after hours without a buddy. Kind of humiliating. I've been studying with Bree, but the pressure to be perfect and not screw up again eats away at me. So far I'm not doing so hot, though Bree disagrees. She says I'm doing just fine for a beginner. I never thought that frosting a layered cake or piping macaron batter into a perfect circle would be so difficult.

  How did Grandma Liz do it all?

  I scratch the side of my head and check my dough again for my cinnamon rolls. They are part of a simple lesson to teach us the proper way to use yeast. My dough still won't rise. I slump my shoulders and shake my head. I feel a hand on my arm. I turn and see Jeff studying my dough. He kneads it a little and then looks at me.

  "Your water must have been too hot," he comments.

  "Story of my life," I sigh.

  "Don't bother, Jeff," I hear Georgina say. She walks past with a perfectly positioned pan of fluffy cinnamon rolls. "This one is slowly realizing that dancers don't belong in the kitchen."

  "Oh, you—"

  "Poppy," Bree cuts in. Her cheeks are red, and she jerks me away from Georgina's pan. "Don't, honey."

  "What?" I say. "It's not like I'm going to knock the pan right out of her hands."

  That is exactly what I want to do. After the sprinkler fiasco, I did exactly what I said I was going to do. I ignored Georgina and focused on my studies. For a few days, Georgina avoided me too. I was starting to think that something inside her actually felt guilty for setting me up like that.

  That all changed a couple days ago when Jeff started dragging his stool over to my station to share my book.

  "Ignore her," Bree instructs me. She has been the ice water that drenches my fire since day one. Bree and Cole are the people I feel most comfortable with. They get me.

  "Do you know what you need?" Jeff says. I shift from side to side in my heels. Professor Sellers told me that wearing heels to class all the time wasn't the practical thing to do, but I miss them when they aren't on my feet. I noticed right away that I wasn't the only shoe addict on campus. Most girls bring another set of shoes in their tote bags. I forgot mine today, so I'm stuck wearing heels for the rest of the lesson.

  "A handheld fan?" I guess, wiping my forehead.

  "Some time off," he says.

  My stomach churns as he grins and stares at the splotches of icing on my apron. I know where this is going, and I was hoping I would have more time.

  "Oh."

  "Let me take you out," he continues. Georgina is going to flip a lid. My heart leaps, but being asked out only reminds me of the doughnut hole of an ex-boyfriend I left behind in Oregon. While I traveled across the country going on auditions, he was making his rounds, too, at Bailey Gentlemen's Club. A girl with really pink lipstick named Candi was kind enough to fill me in one Sunday morning.

  "Tonight?"

  "Yes, tonight." Jeff chuckles. "I will pick you up at seven, okay?"

  "Perfect," I lie. He has been nice to me since day one, and I am attracted to him. I don't have the guts to tell him, No, I would rather stay home and read Southern Living with my roomie.

  As soon as he walks away, Bree nudges me. Her face is glowing. I frown as I watch her clean up her station. I should have mastered the basics by now, but I am still struggling, and I can't figure out why. I sat down and thought about it a million times. In Oregon, I baked cakes and rolled dough without any problems. This is what I've always wanted to do, and after my first two days here I promised myself that I would never let anything like that happen again. No more epic failures.

  I don't understand what is holding me back.

  "Oh, my gosh," Bree says under her breath. "I thought he would never ask."

  "Huh?"

  Half the class leaves after finishing their assignment. As usual I am one of the last students left. Bree takes her time cleaning up her station and then starts reading one of her textbooks as I cut my rolls. I shape them on the pan and let them rise a little longer.

  As much as they can rise since I seemed to have killed my yeast.

  "You know, I stand by what I said our first day," Cole says, walking up behind me. He glances at my baking project. "If you need help, I'll tutor you."

  "I keep offering, but she's stubborn," Bree comments.

  "I know," Cole says. "I don't get it. She's so close to academic probation, and yet she lives with the buttercream queen."

  Bree smiles at the compliment and slowly shakes her head like I'm hopeless.

  "Hi," I cut in. "I'm right here, and I am trying my best to get through this semester on my own."

  "You've got to stop freezing up when you're asked to do demonstrations," Cole says.

  "I did nearly set the building on fire my second day here, remember?"

  "That wasn't your fault," Bree says.

  "No, but…day one. Remember day one? My horrific peach pie?"

  "Is she serious?" Cole says, looking at Bree. "Poppy, you need to let that go. For as long as you let that memory haunt you, it will."

  I take a deep breath and face the inevitable. Cole is right. I do need help if I'm going to pass all my basic level courses. I frown. Grandma never mentioned that this program was so hard. Maybe I just don't have the talent for it that she did?

  "Fine," I agree. "I'll meet you here tonight after dinner."

  Cole grins and straightens the collar of his light orange button-down. The color reminds me of an orange Creamsicle.

  One of those sounds really good right now.

  "Don't keep her too long, Cole." Bree smirks as she gathers her books and places them in her bag. "She's got a date."

  "With who?" Cole looks a little disappointed. "There's no time for dating at CPA. Are you crazy?"

  "Chill," I respond. "It's just dinner. I think."

  "That's how it starts anyway," Bree quietly comments. I stare at her for a moment, but decide against asking her to elaborate. We have all had boyfriend issues at one point or another. I don't care to bring mine up. Ever.

  "I'll keep that in mind," I say. I turn back to Cole. "Give me an hour."

  "You got it."

  * * *

  Cole is a genius.

  We practice for one of our upcoming tests by re-creating a few pastries that the student bakery sells. I fill my éclairs, pleased with myself for finally getting the dough right. Cole watches me to make sure I don't overfill them.

  It is getting late, and the two of us are alone in the student kitchens. I am so proud of myself for making the perfect éclairs that I forget all about the past couple of weeks, and how I was almost expelled for something I didn't do.

  "You know," I comment. "I think I can tackle that peach pie again.
I don't know what was going through my head that day."

  "I do," Cole replies. He changes his expression and attempts to mimic me using a high-pitched voice. "Is there AC in here? There better be AC in here or I'll—"

  I hit his arm.

  "What?" I take a bite of my finished éclair and lick the chocolate from my lips. There's nothing better than being able to taste your success. "It's hot here. Maybe I'm cold-blooded and just never noticed it before?"

  "My aunt makes these sometimes in casserole form," he says, taking another bite of his éclair.

  "You're kidding."

  "Nope." He takes another huge bite and nods. "She calls it éclair pie. It's basically graham crackers, French vanilla pudding, and chocolate sauce layered in a casserole dish."

  "Your aunt sounds amazing."

  "She doesn't live far from here," he says. "I think I'll be going to see her during our holiday break."

  "Nice. I'll be flying back West and, unfortunately, staying with my parents. My apartment there is being rented at the moment." I sigh and gaze around at the empty classroom. The storage room is dark like the halls outside. The only light around us is coming from the fixture right above our heads. "Should be interesting."

  "Three days is my max when I go see my mom. Once that line is crossed she goes back to hollering at me for leaving my socks on the floor."

  "I'm sure you're incredibly messy, Cole. I don't blame her."

  "Oh, I see," he jokes. "Take her side."

  I laugh and lick a bit of chocolate from my pastry. Why can't every class feel like this? Calm. Comfortable. Easy. Or maybe it's having Cole around that helps me relax?

  "Well, at least all that time back in my old room will give me some time to do some serious thinking," I say quietly.

  "Quit second guessing yourself." Cole notices my frustration and shakes his head. "You deserve to be here just as much as anyone else."

  "If only I was good enough to come up with my own line of gourmet cake mixes," I joke.

  Cole chuckles and tosses some flour at me. It lands in my lap. I laugh and wipe the flour stain from my jeans, catching a glimpse at the time. I quickly realize that I'm late for my date with Jeff.

  "What's the matter?"

  "I've got to go," I say. "I have a date with Jeff, remember?"

  "You don't sound too excited."

  "Oh," I huff. "You were probably right when you said I don't have time to date. Honestly, I suck in the relationship department anyway. Oh, well. What harm can one date do?"

  Cole looks down at some flour that spilled on the floor. He kneels to wipe it up when a loud crash makes him jerk back to his feet. He glares at me as if hoping I had made the mysterious noise. I shake my head. My torso is frozen. I start having flashbacks of the night I was here all alone and kind of drunk.

  Okay, I was completely drunk. But it had been a really tough first day.

  "It's happening again," I mutter, covering my ears.

  "What was that?" Cole stands up. His eyes are wide, and his fists are clenched. "I didn't hear anyone else come in. Did you?" He inches towards the hall.

  "Stop," I blurt out. "You don't go searching for the thing making the freaky sounds." I point my finger at him. "Don't you watch horror films?"

  "This isn't a horror movie, Poppy. It's a cooking school in a quiet town in Georgia. Nothing like that ever happens here."

  "You don't know that," I whisper.

  Another bang makes us both jump, but Cole opens the door leading into the hallway and begins looking for the source. My chest is pounding so hard that I feel like everyone on campus can hear it. I follow Cole with a worried look on my face. My gut tells me that this isn't a good idea.

  "Shhh," he says, stopping outside one of the student kitchens. "I think it came from in there."

  Through the tiny window on the door, I can't see a thing. The kitchen is pitch black.

  "No one is in there," I point out.

  "Someone has to be."

  "Yeah," I gulp. "The ghost of pastries past." I grab his hand, hoping it will force him to leave before I have a panic attack and faint.

  "But—"

  "You heard what that guy Steve said when we first started," I mutter. "It's the ghost of Old Man Thomas." I glance around at the darkened hallway. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up when I mention the ghost story out loud.

  "There's no such thing as ghosts." Cole says.

  "Oh, yeah?" I retort. "Are you sure about that, because I've heard him banging around in there before. Now let's—"

  "You've heard this noise before?" Cole asks. "When?"

  "Yeah." I pull his hand again, but he's as solid as a rock. "I told you about it, remember? Our first night here?"

  "That doesn't count," he argues. "You were tipsy."

  My eyes go wide.

  "Really? You want to debate this now?" I try dragging him towards the exit, but he won't budge. "Come on."

  "Hold on," he argues. "Just let me—" The two of us hear the noise again. This time it's closer, and it startles me so much that I accidentally let out a yelp. The noise stops. All I hear is the sound of Cole breathing.

  Cole glances at me before he carefully looks through the small window on the door again. I curiously take another peek too. I still don't see any light. Inside the room there's nothing but shadows.

  One of the shadows looks as if it is moving. It creeps slowly towards us like a snake slithering to its prey. I gulp and jump back eyeing the door knob. If it starts turning on its own, that's it. I'll drive all the way back to Oregon screaming like a lunatic.

  I don't have to plead with Cole to leave this time. His eyes are as wide as mine. He tightly grabs my arm and pulls me with him down the hall. Both of us almost trip over each other as we do. I feel the overwhelming urge to look behind me, but I stop myself. If I see a ghost glaring at me I won't be able to remove the image from my brain. I'll need meds to get a good night's sleep.

  When we reach the night air, I take a huge breath. Cole paces the sidewalk with his hands on his hips. He scratches his brow and looks at me. I turn and start walking towards my apartment, hoping that a night with Jeff will help me forget all this.

  "Stop," Cole instructs me. "Where are you going? We should report this."

  "Report what?" I ask. "You sound just like Bree. We didn't see anything, unless you are counting Old Man Thomas who has returned from beyond the grave."

  "That's a stupid story some student made up a long time ago," he states. He takes a few deep breaths. His expression looks sour like he's having an inner debate with himself. Probably the same one I had my first night here. This proves that I'm not crazy. "I heard someone. I know I did." Cole looks back at the building before he jogs up the steps again. He pulls on the door handles, but after dinner they all lock from the inside, so students can leave but no one can go back in.

  "This never happened," I respond as he pulls the handles a second time. "Got it? I won't mention it if you won't mention it."

  "Fine." He sighs and follows me across the quad. "If it makes you happy, I will believe in ghosts just this once."

  CHAPTER SIX

  The smell of oatmeal raisin fills my nose when I open the front door to my apartment. I see Bree sitting on the couch with a hot mug of tea. A tiny dessert plate is on the coffee table displaying a few of her homemade cookies. Jeff is sitting across from her with his hands on his knees. His legs are long enough that they look a little squished between the sofa and the table.

  "Look who decided to show," Bree says, smiling. If I could read minds I am almost positive she'd be shouting at me for setting her up for an awkward moment with Jeff.

  "Sorry," I apologize. "How long have you been waiting?"

  "Twenty minutes," Bree chimes in. "I told Jeff you were practicing batters on campus and probably lost track of time."

  "Yes." I take a minute to catch my breath. "That's exactly what happened."

  Bree studies my expression as she stands up with her mug and
eagerly escapes to the kitchen. I smile at Jeff. He looks at my outfit and grins.

  "You might want to change clothes for where we're going." He's wearing a simple pair of jeans and a blue T-shirt that brings out the color of his eyes.

  "Why, where are we going?"

  "You'll see." He shrugs, refusing to give anything else away.

  "Right." I nod. "Give me a couple minutes." I head to my room and dig through my suitcase, grabbing a pair of slim jeans and a gray-striped tank top. I look in the mirror as I put on my diamond studs and let me hair fall past my shoulders in long, chocolate brown waves. I grab some high heels.

  I feel more like myself wearing this.

  "Okay," I say, entering the living area and grabbing Jeff's arm. "Let's go. Bye, Bree!"

  "I won't wait up." She laughs from the kitchen.

  "You look nice," Jeff responds as we walk to his car.

  "Thanks."

  He opens my door and quickly gets into the driver's seat. When he turns on the car, a CD begins playing death metal. Jeff blushes and turns the stereo off. I smile, mostly because I knew exactly what band he was listening to.

  "So," I say, breaking the silence. "Not a huge fan of country music, huh?"

  "If I were, I would definitely be in the right place," he replies.

  "Yep." I glance out the window as he turns a corner, taking us into the little town square that I've only driven through once since I've been here. I usually spend the weekend grocery shopping and studying. I don't have time to do much else. I've even put off finding a few pieces of home décor to hang in my bedroom for a pop of color.

  "So you're from Portland?"

  "Yes," I answer. "And you?"

  "Seattle."

  "Right." I wrinkle my nose as we pull up to a gas station. There is a smirk on Jeff's face as he drives past the convenience store with a light bulb missing on the sign towards a bar surrounded by cars and motorbikes. My window is closed, but I can hear country music blasting inside.

  "Told you that you were in the right place for some good ole country music," he jokes.

  "What is this place?" I can hardly see through the windows because of all the neon beer signs.