It didn’t take long for Lyra’s friends to detect that she was not in the mood to discuss Texture. Instead, they spent lunch telling funny stories in a remarkably unsubtle attempt to cheer her up. The greatest contribution was Mac’s account of his pet fox’s exploits. Apparently, ‘Fortescue the Foppish Fox’ was a fashion aficionado who aspired to turn Mac into a gentleman-about-town. By the time he was finished detailing Fortescue’s ever-growing collection of silk cravats, Lyra’s heart was light enough to chuckle along with the group.
Her spirits rose further with the arrival of dessert. While everyone else at the table received an elegant custard tart, Lyra’s floating plate contained a cinnamon roll, with a brief note from Chef Flax explaining that he had managed to save and magically preserve it from the last batch she helped him make. Lyra dug in gratefully, wondering again how the Chef seemed to know exactly what his guests needed. Whatever the magic was, it seemed to relay information about hearts, not just stomachs.
Every part of her strengthened, Lyra was able to hold her head high as they trooped upstairs to the fourth floor. Only one class left, and then her first day at the Royal Academy of Magical Baking would be behind her…
“Oh, my auntie’s rolling pins.” Ginger stopped in the doorway of the Presentation classroom, stifling a laugh. Turning quickly, she pretended to brush some imaginary stains from Lyra’s apron. “Behold The Meringue at work.”
Boysen whistled. “So that’s why she skipped lunch.”
Lyra peered around Ginger. Caramelle was sitting at one of the work-stations in the front row, her auburn hair shimmering in the afternoon sun that streamed through the nearby window. And there, leaning over the counter to speak to her, was Cardamom Coulis the Third. They were both smiling as they talked, clearly enjoying each other’s company.
Lyra’s stomach twisted in a way that had nothing to do with the excellent lunch she’d just consumed.
Trying to keep her voice light, she asked, “You think she’s been here the whole time?”
“Only a few minutes, I’d say.” Ginger coughed to cover another round of giggles. “Depends on how long it took her to do that spell before coming here.”
Lyra’s stomach twisted further. “What spell?”
“She’s cast a Presentation charm on herself,” Boysen explained quietly while Ginger continued coughing. “Rather unsubtly too. Can’t you see that faint shimmer in the air around her?”
Lyra stole a furtive glance at the cheerfully chatting pair as the group proceeded into the classroom. If she looked closely, she could just catch the outline of a golden glow emanating from her roommate, like an aura.
“Is that…” Lyra swallowed. She knew there was a whole magical profession dedicated to Self-Presentation Enhancement, but she had never seen one of the spells in action. “Is that allowed?”
“Sure.” Boysen shrugged. “It’s not really doing any harm. Most people don’t bother with it.”
“Because it’s pointless,” Ginger said. She plopped her bag down on one of the back row work-stations, as far from the Caramelle-and-Cardamom show as she could get. “It takes forever and then wears off fast. I would rather be practicing my Flavors.” Looking back towards the door, she sighed. “Best go fetch your roommate, Berry. He might need some smelling salts. Or a bonk on the head with a wooden spoon.”
Macaron was frozen in the doorway. He was staring at Caramelle, his eyes wide behind his glasses.
Lyra and Boysen scurried to retrieve him.
“She looks amazing,” Mac breathed.
“I know, bud,” Boysen sighed, helping Lyra guide his friend towards the other third row work-station. “I know you think that.”
Lyra looked at him curiously. “Don’t you think so?”
“Sure.” Boysen shrugged again. “But it’s all sparkle and no substance. Personally, I prefer a bit of both.”
Mac nodded. His eyes, still fixed on the back of Caramelle’s head, were glassy. “Sparkle…”
Boysen shook his head, smiling at Lyra. “He’s probably gone for the next few hours. Maybe ask your roommate to go a little lighter on the allure-factor next time?”
Before Lyra could answer, Professor Genoise swept into the room, clapping his hands once.
“Welcome, Aspiring Bakers!”
Everyone hurried into place. Aniseed was already settled at the other front row work-station, so Lyra and Boysen took the second row. Out of the corner of her eye, Lyra saw Cardamom Coulis (the Third, her brain insisted on adding) give Caramelle one more smile before strolling to join the professor on the teacher’s platform.
“I trust your first day has been stimulating thus far.” Professor Genoise’s piercing gaze landed briefly on each student, as if he could read the tale of their morning in their faces. Lyra thought she saw a slight quirk in one of his manicured eyebrows when he got to Caramelle, but she couldn’t be sure.
“As my colleagues and I explained this morning,” the professor went on, “the goal for this week is to set a baseline. With that in mind, over the next hour and a half, I would like you to produce a batch of your best shortbread.”
An audible groan rippled around the room. Professor Genoise ignored it.
“Remember that Presentation is a matter of heart. Of personality. As such, this afternoon, I do not just want to see your best shortbread. I want to see your best decorated shortbread. At your work-stations, you each have the ingredients to make various kinds of frosting. Coloring has also been provided. Bake, shape, and decorate your shortbread however you desire.”
Caramelle raised her hand.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Professor Genoise nodded. “Yes, Aspiring Baker Meringue?”
“How many spells are we allowed to use, Professor?” Caramelle asked, her voice as sweet as her namesake.
“Excellent question, Meringue. The answer is none.”
“None?” she repeated.
“No magic today, please,” Professor Genoise said firmly. “Remember, we are setting a baseline. Presentation is a chance to display your style. ‘Make your mark’, to quote Apprentice Baker Coulis. I wish to see your individual style shine through, before we begin layering spells on top of it. Coulis and I will be circulating and observing. Feel free to talk amongst yourselves or to us.”
After a moment of stunned silence, the professor chuckled. “Look at these faces, Coulis. You would think I just announced a ban on chocolate instead of giving them all free rein to express themselves. This is the best part of baking! Enjoy it. That is an order. Starting…” He held up his pocket watch. “…now.”
Lyra sighed. The no-magic rule was actually a relief, but she was not at all confident in her ‘style.’ What does that even mean? she thought, automatically pulling out the shortbread ingredients. And how am I supposed to ‘let it shine through?’
“And to think,” Lyra muttered under her breath as she measured sugar into a bowl, “I used to like shortbread.”
“Oh, don’t worry. You will again.”
Cardamom Coulis (the Third!) was standing by her counter. Lyra dropped the measuring cup into the bowl, sending up a cloud of sugar directly into his perfect olive-skinned face. He sneezed.
“I’m so sorry!” she squeaked.
“Not at all.” He sneezed again, then gave her a rueful smile. “It is I who should apologize. I broke a terribly important rule: never startle a baker during the measuring process. Do you forgive me?”
“Of course!” Her voice was an octave higher than usual. She coughed, then tried again. “I mean, no worries.”
He bowed with mock formality. “Many thanks, Aspiring Baker Treble. As I was saying, don’t despair. I swore off shortbread after my first day too, but it didn’t last long. That’s the first important lesson of the Royal Academy of Magical Baking.”
“Which is?” she asked. Sharps and flats, he smelled good. It was hard to think straight with him standing right there, his dark eyes were resting on her, but she gripped the edge of the counter and tried to listen.
“We’re all here to become better bakers,” he said. “Correct?”
She nodded.
“But that comes with rules, as well as pressure to follow those rules. If you focus on the pressure, you stop trying to break new ground. And that way, Aspiring Baker Treble, lies defeat. In baking, as in life, the ones who forge their own path are the ones who win. Understand?”
She nodded again. That was all she could do, considering her heart and stomach were flopping around in their own bizarre dance. Forming coherent sentences was out of the question.
“Excellent.” He smiled. “I’ll let you get back to it. But first, let me say what I came over here to say: thank you.”
“Thank you?” she heard herself echoing.
“Yes. Thank you for that exquisite cake you made for your final entrance exam.” Cardamon raised his eyes to the ceiling, as if searching for some elusive thought. “It was… I have no words.”
She stammered, “I thought — just vanilla. Too simple, really. Not —”
He held up one long, delicate hand to silence her. “Simplicity can be perfection when done well. And that cake was perfect.” He leaned in, dropping his voice to a whisper. “You’ll have to teach me your secret, Treble.”
Then, he was gone, leaving her with a wink and the lingering scent of cinnamon and honey.
Afterward, Lyra had trouble remembering the rest of class. She was dimly aware of the shortbread coming together with shocking speed. She had vague memories of whipping up a chocolate frosting as delicious as it was effortless. When Boysen told her later that she was singing softly to herself for the entire hour and a half, she wasn’t surprised, but she couldn’t tell him the name of the song.
It was only when Professor Genoise clapped his hands, signaling their time was up, that she rejoined the land of the living in earnest.
“Admirable effort today, Aspiring Bakers,” Professor Genoise said. “Coulis and I agree that it is already a privilege and an inspiration to witness your styles at work. In the time remaining, you will inspire each other by sharing the results of your labor. We will also take this opportunity to make an initial assessment of your baseline style.”
He then began calling them up, one at a time, to present their decorated shortbread to the class.
After the two classes that morning, Lyra felt she had a good grasp of her classmates’ abilities. Nothing about the first few ‘presentations’ surprised her. Professor Genoise and Cardamom assessed Aniseed’s style as ‘elevated,’ while Caramelle’s was ‘virtuosic.’
Cardamom gave Lyra another wink as they labeled her style ‘joyful.’ Her head was spinning so much that she almost missed Boysen’s evaluation as ‘welcoming.’ She did manage to pull herself together enough to give the Flavor King a warm smile as he returned to his seat.
Ginger provided the first real hiccup. Both Professor Genoise and Cardamom were noticeably unenthusiastic about her bold geometric design. Still, she seemed pleased with her assessment of ‘daring.’
Lyra gave her a thumb’s up, then let her eyes drift towards the window, her mind already elsewhere. The first day was almost over. Sure, Texture had been abysmal, but… Cardamom Coulis (the Third!) adored her entrance exam cake. He wanted her to teach him the secret.
She needed a few moments alone to process all of this. Or a few hours. That conversation with Cardamom kept replaying in her head, demanding reflection and analysis. Maybe if she beat Caramelle back to the room, she could pretend to be napping and just think until dinner…
Behind her, Ginger drew in a sharp breath.
“Sweet and savory, Mac!”
Lyra’s eyes and attention snapped back to the present. Mac was standing at the front of the room, placing his decorated shortbread on the professor’s counter for inspection.
It was a crown.
Lyra felt herself echoing Ginger’s gasp. Even from several feet away, Mac’s creation was resplendent. Dozens of tiny shortbread cookies, cut and colored like jewels, were shaped into a tiara. It was all held together by the fluffiest, silkiest buttercream frosting Lyra had ever seen. Mac managed to position his masterpiece on the counter directly in a shaft of golden sunlight, so the whole thing actually shone.
“Well done, Mac!” Boysen called. He began a class-wide round of applause, which Professor Genoise joined in enthusiastically. Even Aniseed gave a few soundless claps, not daring to turn up her nose at something the headmaster of Presentation so obviously approved.
“I echo Aspiring Baker Berry,” Professor Genoise said. “Well done, Fondant!”
“And without magic.” Cardamom’s voice was surprisingly cool. “You didn’t manage to sneak in a spell, did you, Aspiring Baker Fondant?”
Professor Genoise shook his head before Mac could answer. “He did not. I would know in an instant if he did.”
“All the more impressive then.” Cardamom smiled tightly. “Please do share your wisdom with us, Fondant.”
“It’s the buttercream,” Mac said immediately. “My special meringue buttercream. It brings everything together, and makes it… sparkle.”
His eyes landed on Caramelle.
“Indeed it does.” Professor Genoise gave Mac a deep bow. “I am sure Coulis would agree with my assessment of your style, Fondant: ‘majestic.’”
Mac’s whole being glowed, as if he had performed a top-tier Presentation spell on himself. He returned the professor’s bow, then stumbled back to his seat, stealing several glances at Caramelle along the way.
Professor Genoise spread his hands. “An auspicious first day, Aspiring Bakers. I affirm my words from yesterday’s welcome feast. This will be a year of special excellence at the academy.” He turned to Cardamom. “Any parting thoughts, Coulis, before we dismiss them to their well-earned rest?”
“I agree with you, Professor, as always. This is a most… stylish group of personalities.” Cardamom’s gaze swept over the room, catching and holding onto Lyra’s for two definite beats. “I encourage them all to remember: Presentation is a living discipline. Forge your own path.”
“Forge your own path.” Professor Genoise nodded sagely. “With that, I bid you all adieu. I look forward to our full lab day together, two days’ hence. Now that we have identified your baseline style, come prepared to challenge that style, stretch it, and build upon it. Class dismissed.”