by A. Gardner
"Norman is my cat," she laughs. "And as for the lower level teachers, all you need to know is that Mr. Harris is an old grump with a hot temper, Mr. Sellers has been extra snide since his messy divorce, and I spend all my free time writing a baking blog."
"Really? I would never guess that you were a blogger. Do you write as well as you bake?"
"Probably not," she responds. "Oye, that sounds braggy, doesn't it? Yep. I better get going. Norman gets pissy if I'm not home by dinnertime."
She takes her time shutting the door behind her. It creaks slightly as it closes, and instantly I am left alone with my thoughts. I wander through the pantry and grab a few ingredients for my dough. I decide to start with the basics and make a classic napoleon with vanilla custard filling and cocoa dusted on top. I will perfect a pretty design later. Right now, all I care about is taste.
"Light and fluffy," I repeat out loud as I form my dough. "Light and fluffy."
I knead enough dough to make a few different flavors before setting it in the fridge to rest. I will have to leave the dough here overnight. Tomorrow I will know just how light and fluffy I made it. I take a deep breath and begin cleaning up my station.
I stop when the room becomes eerily silent. I can hear my heart pounding, and my thoughts start spinning out of control. I think back to the last time I was here after hours. I got so anxious that I almost passed out. I force myself to wipe the counter so I can leave.
As soon as I do, I hear it.
The noise.
A loud bang sounds from the kitchens across the hall. A horrified squeak forces its way out of my mouth as I jump. I swallow the lump in my throat and grab my things. I don't want to be here anymore. I don't know what's going on in this building once the sun goes down, but I don't want to stay and find out.
My legs feel like blocks of concrete as I walk out of the classroom. I have to force myself to move faster and avoid looking behind me down the dark hallway. The banging noise haunts my memories. I hear it clanging around in my brain, and I can't tell if what I am hearing is real or not anymore. My forehead starts to sweat, and my stomach is churning. I feel dizzy again like before. I focus on the front door ahead of me. All I want to do is breathe in the hot, Georgian air. If I can make it that far then everything will be fine.
"Poppy?"
The voice startles me, and I let out a scream. I turn around and see Professor Sellers with his arms folded and his lips curled. He's studying my expression with a curious look on his face. His eyes dart around the hall.
I gulp.
"Professor," I say quietly.
"What are you doing here?" he quickly asks me.
"Practicing for the contest. Napoleons." I place a hand on my pounding chest. "I wasn't using the ovens, I swear."
"Napoleons?" he repeats. "Those are pretty difficult."
"So I've heard." I shrug, digging my nails into my skin. Why is he staring at me like that? I just want to go back to my apartment and share a chocolate croissant with the psychotic cricket living in my room. Anything is better than this. I can't stomach the awkwardness anymore. "See you tomorrow." I turn and bolt for the door.
If Professor Sellers said anything else, I didn't hear it. My mind is too busy screaming get out of here!
CHAPTER EIGHT
I'm uneasy as I slip into Professor Sellers' class. I slump my shoulders and sit at my station anxious to get this class over with. Bree takes her notebook out of her book bag with a smile on her face. I wanted to tell her about last night, but she wasn't home when I burst through the door to our apartment.
"Are you going to tell me where you were last night?" I ask her quietly.
"I went out with Tessa and Jill next door to celebrate. I was chosen for a special assignment." Her face is glowing. "The student bakery is short-staffed, and Mr. Harris picked me to start my rotations early. Wonderful, isn't it?"
"If you like getting up at 3 a.m."
"Poppy," she whines. "I must be building a noteworthy reputation if he thought of me first. I mean, he could have asked Georgina, but he didn't."
"True."
"Poppy Peters," Professor Sellers announces. "You are wanted in Mr. Dixon's office."
President Dixon.
My face feels abnormally hot, and Cole stares at me as I exit the classroom. I walk outside and towards the adjacent building where the president's office is. I wipe the sweat from my cheeks when I jog down the steps and into the blaring sun. My heart rate increases as I near the president's building. What did I do this time?
A cool breeze blasts across my face when I open the door to the adjacent building. The air conditioning in here works much better than in the kitchens. I count my steps as I walk to the president's office. I pass an empty reception desk and a small waiting area with a tan sofa and two leather chairs. The office door is open, and I can hear President Dixon typing on his computer. My shoes make squeaking noises as I walk closer. The typing stops.
"Poppy Peters?" Mr. Dixon asks, peeking around the corner of his desk.
"That's me."
"Come on in and have a seat," he instructs.
I sit down and place a hand on my churning stomach. I glance around his office and spot a group photo of him, a woman, and three younger women next to his screen. I assume that they are his family. His desk is made of dark oak. The wood matches a giant bookshelf behind him that spans the length of the wall. The walls that can be seen are painted a light peachy color. It contrasts with a dark green plant sitting in a pot near the door. I can't tell if it's real or just for decoration.
On his desk there is a half-eaten ham sandwich that has been cut in half very neatly. Not a single crumb is sitting on the plate and next to Mr. Dixon's hand is a perfectly folded napkin. A ham sandwich is an interesting choice of snack for the president of a cooking school.
"What is this about?" I ask, glancing down at his sandwich. He catches me looking at it and grins.
"Old habit," he comments. "In my younger years I was a train conductor. The work is harder than most people would expect. My wife always sent me off for the day with enough ham sandwiches to last me a full twelve hours or more. We didn't have the money for anything fancy back then. Just plain white bread with the generic, sale-price ham." He pushes aside the plate. "But that's beside the point."
Mr. Dixon clasps his hands together and places them on his neatly organized desk. He has a serious look on his face. He narrows his eyes when he looks at me, causing a cascade of wrinkles to appear on his forehead. I hear him take a deep breath before he opens his mouth.
My pinky finger twitches. I think about my first day here at Calle Pastry Academy, my little oven incident on day two, and the multiple run-ins I have had with the ghost of Old Man Thomas. I have no idea which of these things he's going to bring up. Maybe he will bring up all three?
"Last night," he begins. My shoulders shudder. Last night was one of those nights that is going to keep me from sleeping for a while. "A package of expensive black truffles was stolen from the student kitchens."
"Black truffles?"
"Yes," he goes on. "Essentially, they are mushrooms used in upscale, savory dishes. They are very pricey, and good quality isn't always easy to come by. I finally found a trusted source and purchased a package to use to cater the Governor's Ball. It is a V.I.P. event that this school has been involved in for years."
"Oh," I gasp. "Well, that's terrible."
"Yes, it's most terrible. The entire package cost the school $20,000. We are expecting double the guests this year now that the mayor of Birmingham has also accepted our invitation."
I nearly choke when he tells me how much the truffles cost. Never in a million years did I think this is what he was going to say to me. Stolen mushrooms. He keeps looking at me, and I immediately realize why I am here. My eyes go wide.
"You think I had something to do with it?" The worst thing I've ever stolen was a tube of lip gloss, and I was seven-years-old.
"Professor Sellers informed
me that you were in the building after hours last night," he responds. "And you were alone."
"Yeah, but—"
"So you were in the building," he says.
"I was practicing my dessert for the contest," I exclaim. "I didn't steal anything. Search my apartment. Search my book bag." I look down at my pockets and do my best to turn them inside out. "See. All empty."
"I am very sorry, Poppy." He looks down and shakes his head. "At the moment, you are the only suspect. Yesterday afternoon, after classes ended, the truffles were locked in a storage cupboard."
"What?" I gasp. "What about Professor Sellers? He was wandering the halls after hours. Why isn't he a suspect?" A sharp pain is starting to build behind my eyes like a stress migraine is beginning to take shape.
"Stuart said he was working late in his office. Besides, he's a highly esteemed staff member here. I trust the folks I hire." President Dixon takes a deep breath, and hangs his head. "This isn't easy for me, Miss Peters. The last thing I want to do is interrupt your future plans." He pauses again and sighs. The president's eyes go soft as he glances at the family photo on his desk. "I am very sorry to have to do this, but if the thief isn't caught I will have no choice but to expel you."
"No," I protest. "You can't do this." I feel tears forming. They run down my cheeks as I stand up to leave.
"Now, wait. I have a team of investigators looking into it. If you have nothing to hide, your name should be cleared in no time."
"Okay," I say quietly. I don't know what else to do but run back to Professor Sellers' class and give him an earful. "What am I supposed to do until then?"
Mr. Dixon scratches the side of his cleanly shaven chin, and looks again at his prized picture on his desk. He lightly touches it and then looks back at me.
"Look, Poppy, you seem like a nice, reasonable young lady but rules are rules."
"Please," I exclaim. "You can't pull me out of classes now. Not when I've come so far. Please, sir!"
"Okay," he exhales, tapping his fingers on the desk. "I suppose if it were one of my daughters, I would hope that they would be given a fair chance to succeed. I will allow you to stay in your classes, but only if you promise to stay out of trouble."
"Yes, President Dixon."
"I sure do hope you aren't fibbing, Miss Peters. I would hate to see my students behave this way."
"I promise," I assure him. "My name will be cleared. I didn't steal anything."
"Good." He clears his throat. "Because aside from jail time, you would owe the school $20,000 plus damages."
His words make my blood go cold. I don't have that kind of money, and I doubt that I could get that kind of money anytime soon. I don't even have a job at the moment. I wipe away more tears as I exit the building and head back to class. I can't bring myself to step back inside. I would rather jump into my car and start driving until the sun goes down. I can't believe Professor Sellers ratted me out for something that he probably did.
I'm calling him Stuart from now on.
I lean against the wall outside the classroom and try to calm myself down. I fold my arms and think back to last night. There must be some way that I can clear my name. I look up when the door creaks open. Cole steps out. His feet move towards the restrooms until he sees me half crying in the hallway.
"Poppy," he says. "What happened?"
"That dirty little rat," I mutter. "Remember those noises we heard when we stayed late to—"
"I thought we agreed never to bring that up." He looks up and down the hallway like someone might be listening to our conversation.
"Last night I stayed late and made a few overnight batters for my dessert entry." I pause and sniffle. "I heard those noises again."
"Poppy," he says, taking my hand. "Please tell me you didn't roam the halls by yourself."
"Of course not," I protest. "I bolted. But I ran into Professor Sellers."
"Professor Sellers?" He speaks softly as if talking at a normal volume might hurt my feelings.
"Yes, Professor Sellers." I smack his arm.
"Then what did the president want?"
"Also last night," I gulp. "Something was stolen—a $20,000 package of black truffles, and guess who the only suspect is right now?"
"No way," Cole responds. "What about—"
"He has an alibi, I guess." I interrupt him because I am tired of hearing that man's name. He should be the one being investigated, not me. "Cole, if the police don't figure out who the thief is, I will be expelled."
Cole's eyes widen. He shakes his head and clenches his jaw.
"No," he disagrees. "I won't let that happen."
"It's not for you to decide," I mutter.
"Then we'll prove that you're not the thief." He takes a step back and looks at me until I stop frowning. "Now, go home and take a nap. I'll catch you up on today's class later."
I sigh and wipe my runny nose on my sleeve.
"Fine. I doubt that Mr. Sellers is expecting me back anyways. At all."
"Meet me here after dark," Cole says.
"Are you crazy?" My heart starts racing just thinking about what goes on in this building when the sun goes down.
"Maybe?" He chuckles. "But do you know a better way to clear you name?"
* * *
I hear the front door slam, and it rouses me from a deep sleep. I came back to my apartment and took a nap, letting the subtle chirps of the cricket in my room lull me to sleep. I hear Bree in the kitchen shuffling pots and pans before she heads towards my room.
"Poppy?" She says. "Poppy, are you here?"
"I'm in my room," I shout. I sit up and see her standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips.
"Please tell me it's not true." She folds her arms and plays with the charm on her silver necklace. "They can't expel you. It's…outrageous!"
"Bree, I'm not expelled."
"Then why was Georgina saying that you were going to be expelled after class today?"
"Georgina said that?" Clearly, I was not the first to know about the missing truffles. "Well, maybe she's assuming that because I was called into the president's office."
"Yes," Bree replies. "Why were you called into the office? You didn't do anything wrong."
"The president of our school disagrees." I rub my eyes, trying to fully wake myself up before I get into more details. On my short walk home I debated whether or not to tell her the truth about the truffles. She nearly had a meltdown after Georgina sabotaged my oven. "The bottom line is that I haven't been expelled, and Cole has a plan to clear my name. At least, I hope he does."
"What?" Her cheeks start turning red, and her lips purse together like she's forcing herself not to shout what she really thinks.
"Sorry." I change the tone of my voice so it sounds more upbeat. "It was nothing to get excited about. Just a misunderstanding—that's all." She nods and makes eye contact until I nod reassuringly.
"Uh-huh." She tucks a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. "Well, I'll be in the kitchen if you want to talk about it. Oh, and Miss Chester cancelled our afternoon classes to give us time to practice our dessert entries. I guess a lot of students are really freaking out about it."
"It's Paris." I take a deep breath. "That's a huge prize to win."
"Or to lose," she adds.
As soon as I hear her back in the kitchen I collapse back onto my pillow. I feel like I'm back where I started on day one. Cole better have a solid plan, because he's my only hope. It's like I'm in the middle of a reality baking show, and I keep getting sent to the chopping block. By myself.
* * *
The sky is dark, and the air is crisp. I have goose bumps on my arms as I wait for Cole to show up. I have no idea how he plans on breaking into our school building, and I'm not sure if I want to find out. My heart is pounding from all the espressos I drank when I finally got up from my nap. I couldn't stop thinking long enough to let myself sleep any longer.
I stand next to a tree, hoping its shadow will be enough to
keep me hidden from any psychopaths that might be roaming around campus. There is an eerie, absolute silence and dark shapes that move along the sidewalks as the wind blows. It's only the waving tree branches, but it still gives me the creeps.
The door to the building slowly opens. I stand stiff in my hiding spot until a familiar face peeks outside. It's Cole, and he is already inside the building waiting. I step into the moonlight so he can see me. As soon as he does, he waves his hand. I run to the doors as if something might snatch my leg if I don't move fast enough. Cole pulls me inside the building and quickly shuts the door. It makes a clicking noise when it closes. He hands me my own flashlight and nudges me forward.
"How did you get inside?" I whisper.
"I came just before they lock the doors," he responds. "I read ahead for our kitchen management class and hid in the bathrooms when security came and did a sweep a while ago."
"Dang." I gulp. "So what's the plan?"
"Break into Professor Sellers' office," he says casually. I roll my eyes, but I suppose deep down I know it's the only lead we have. That man has to be the thief. And if he isn't the truffle thief, he's hiding something.
"You make it sound so simple."
"I don't know how to pick a lock, but how hard can it be?" Cole whispers back. "Do you?" He chuckles to himself, expecting me to say no. I grin and begin walking down the main level hallway.
"It depends on the lock," I say quietly. I shine my light close to Cole and see that he looks surprised. "What? You think every girl that goes to ballet school wears pink and watches dance movies?"
"I'm not even going to ask." He walks next to me pointing his flashlight down at the floor. We pass our usual classroom. I cringe as I think about all the times I've heard those freakish noises. If it happens tonight, I don't know if I will be able to compose myself.
The professor's office isn't far from the kitchens. As we pass the locked kitchen where Cole and I had attempted to investigate the source of the mysterious sounds, my stomach churns. My gut tells me that we shouldn't be here. I remind myself that there's no other way to make sure my name is cleared. I don't want to be labeled a thief and kicked out of the one place I thought could change everything for me.
