“Hear ye, hear ye!” Boysen clapped imperiously in a perfect imitation of Professor Genoise. “I hereby call this first meeting of the Whisk Whiz Review to order!”

“Whisk Whiz?” Ginger echoed, snuggling further into the corner of the couch she was sharing with Lyra and Caramelle.

Boysen winked from his position on the floor by the fire pit. “Host room gets to pick the name. Right, Mac?”

“What?” Mac, sitting on the edge of the cushy armchair, was staring at Caramelle. He snapped back to attention when Boysen clapped him on the shoulder. “Oh, right. Whisk Room. We’re the hosts. Whisk Wizard Review.”

“Whisk Whiz,” Boysen corrected. “If the group takes issue with this title, we can always rotate hosting duties and rooms.”

“Or use the common area,” Lyra pointed out. “There’s more space.”

Boysen placed a hand on his heart. “You cut me to the quick, Treble. Are you saying you prefer that soulless, exposed laboratory setting to the cozy cheer of Whisk?”

“Cozy is one word for it.” Caramelle shifted uncomfortably at her end of the couch. “Lyra is right. I don’t know why we’re not in the common room.”

“Privacy,” Boysen replied. “Think about it, Meringue. In the common area, the second- and third-years could waltz in at any moment, or just eavesdrop from the foyer.” He spread his arms, indicating the ‘cozy’ living area they were crowded into. “Only in the safety of our own rooms can we speak freely about the day’s events. Starting with the beginning and move through the day. That means Flavor class. Any thoughts on the ‘powders of personality’?”

Mac groaned. “How about ‘forget it ever happened’?”

“Don’t be a stodge, Macaron.” Ginger tugged the cushion from behind Lyra’s back and threw it at him. “We’ve got to mess up in order to learn. That’s the whole point of being here.”

Caramelle sniffed. “I thought it was a bit heavy-handed, honestly. An object lesson too obvious to be effective.”

“It can’t have been too obvious,” Ginger said innocently. “Since you failed and all.”

Caramelle opened her mouth, but Boysen held up his hands. “I call foul, Crumble. Rule number two of the Whisk Whiz Review: no snark-bombs against fellow Whisk Whizzes.”

“And you didn’t fail,” Mac said, gazing at Caramelle. “Your cookies were amazing.”

“If you like caramel.” Ginger’s voice was sweet, but Lyra elbowed her anyway.

“If anyone failed, I did.” Mac hung his head. “‘More like a battleground…’”

“At least you completed the assignment,” Ginger pointed out. “Unlike my roommate.”

“Speaking of, where is Aniseed?” Boysen looked at the door as if expecting her to walk in. “I’m happy to help her with that homework batch for the Honeycomb.”

Ginger sighed. “She’s not doing it.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Not doing the homework?” Caramelle squeaked.

“Nope.” Ginger rolled her eyes. “Says it was not a legitimate assignment, and they can’t force her to waste her time.”

Caramelle’s voice was tight with anger. “If she thinks baking is a waste of time, then why is she here?”

Ginger shrugged. “Maybe she assumed her ancestry would put her on some kind of ‘elevated’ track.”

“Elevated.” Boysen shook his head. “That’s the word Professor Genoise used for her style, right?”

“He’s quite the diplomat,” Lyra said, smiling.

Boysen returned her smile. “Or full of spun sugar. But that’s Presentation, at the end of the day. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He glanced at Ginger. “I take it Aspiring Baker Mint will not be joining us Whisk Whizzes?”

“She’d rather be baked into a failed soufflé,” Ginger said. “That’s a direct quote.”

“How poetic.” Boysen turned his attention to Mac. “We’ll work on the Flavor stuff later,” he promised. “Professor Honeycomb let me take a set of personality powders. That’ll be the lab portion of tonight’s Whisk Whiz Review, for anyone who wants to join. Sound good?”

He looked around, including the group in the question.

“Sounds great,” Lyra replied. “Thanks, Boysen.”

“Don’t mention it. Any other thoughts on Flavor?”

“I have a question,” Caramelle said. “Lyra, how did you do it?”

“Do what?” Lyra asked, startled.

“I was wondering the same thing,” Ginger confessed. “It’s like Professor Honeycomb said. Your shortbread wasn’t balanced, flavor-wise, but it was good. Just good. I enjoyed eating it.”

“Exactly.” Caramelle sounded wistful. “How did you do it?”

“I… um…” Lyra looked at Boysen, but he just grinned. “I — I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Caramelle repeated shrilly.

Lyra shrank back into the couch. “Boysen told me to make something I’d enjoy eating. So… I did.”

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“You did,” Boysen affirmed. Then, as if sensing Lyra’s discomfort, he turned briskly to Caramelle. “Speaking of a how-to, Meringue, care to let us in on how you managed that bit of Texture wizardry?”

“You had Puff in your pocket before class even started,” Ginger marveled. “How many years have you been practicing that aeration charm?”

Caramelle smoothed her apron, which was somehow still spotless after the day’s labors. “A fair few.”

“Can you help me?” Lyra asked. “I have to bring another batch to Texture lab the day after tomorrow. She’s expecting to see progress.”

Caramelle nodded graciously.

Ginger patted Lyra’s hand. “I’m sure you weren’t that bad.”

“Oh, but I was. I don’t know what it is about that spell.” Lyra shut her eyes, trying to block out the memory of Professor Puff’s look of surprised concern. “I just couldn’t get the words straight.”

“Was that it?” Boysen’s surprise was almost as bad. Lyra might have made a run for it if she wasn’t trapped between two girls on a very squishy couch.

“Yes,” she said defensively. “I mean, I hope so. Either that or I’m just fundamentally hopeless at Texture.”

Boysen shook his head. “Not possible. I just thought… didn’t you have to do a lot of memorizing for shows? With the Any Weather Bards?”

“That’s different,” Lyra said. “Everything’s easier to remember when you set it to music.”

“You’ll be fine,” he assured her. “Your brain’s already trained for memorization. You just need practice. We all do.”

“Not Caramelle.” Lyra smiled at her roommate. “Not for this charm. Seriously, Caramelle. You’re really, really good.”

Caramelle returned Lyra’s smile with elegant modesty. “Master Chiffon is an excellent tutor.”

“Mac was great with it too,” Ginger pointed out. “Didn’t Puff tell you to work on the florentine version of the spell, Fondant?”

Caramelle’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Mac said softly. “Professor Puff said my shortbread was —”

“Smashing,” Boysen finished. “That’s what you told me. And Hyacinth said the same. Yes, with Fondant and Meringue here, I’d say we’re well set for Texture.”

“And Presentation.” Lyra looked from Mac to Caramelle and back. “‘Virtuosic’ and ‘majestic’ are pretty great for baseline style assessments.”

Caramelle blushed. “Cardamom was too kind, really. He’s such a generous baker.”

“He was generously chummy with you, for sure,” Boysen said. His smile went a little rigid as he turned to Lyra. “And with you, Treble. Whatever he said to you at the start of class certainly put you in a great mood.”

Lyra felt a flush spreading over her own cheeks. “He liked my entrance cake.”

“As would anyone with a brain.” Boysen’s eyes bored into her. “Anything else?”

“Only what he said to everyone at the end of class,” she said quickly. “Forge your own path. Don’t let the pressure get to you.”

“Is that all?” Caramelle’s gaze was even more intense than Boysen’s. “You did keep him at your work-station longer than he spent at anyone else’s. It felt a bit… unprofessional to me.”

Ginger huffed. “Listen to the salt calling the sugar white.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Caramelle demanded.

“You certainly commandeered plenty of his time,” Ginger said. “Just how early did you get there?”

Caramelle half-rose from her seat, but Boysen held up his hands.

“Rule two,” he said sharply. “No snark-bombs against fellow Whizzes. Second offense, Crumble.”

“I would like an apology,” Caramelle said between gritted teeth.

Ginger’s dark eyes narrowed. “Are you serious?”

“I was on the fence about this ‘study group’ anyway.” Caramelle tossed her head, but her auburn curls stayed perfectly in place. “Lyra and I can do quite well on our own, if we’re not welcome here.”

“Of course you’re welcome,” Mac said hastily.

Boysen nodded. “Absolutely. All Whizzes welcome in Whisk.” He looked sternly at Ginger. “Right, Crumble?”

Ginger opened her mouth as if to protest, then glanced at Lyra.

Lyra mouthed, “Please.”

Ginger sighed. “Sorry, Meringue. Twice.”

Caramelle glared at her, then sat back, crossing her arms. “Fine.”

“Excellent,” Boysen said. He drew in a deep breath. “So, that’s the day. Flavor, Texture, Presentation. We’ve all got our strengths, and things to work on.”

“What do you have to work on, Boysen?” Lyra asked.

He hesitated. “Presentation. Professor Genoise was being generous when he said my style is welcoming. ‘Homey’ would be a better word. That charm I used for the entrance exam is the only Presentation spell I really know. I’m halfway decent at it, only because I’ve just kept using it, over and over. That’s not going to fly with Professor Genoise.”

Lyra leaned forward so she could place a hand lightly on his shoulder. “You’re better than you think,” she said. “At all of it.”

He looked up at her, his brown eyes flickering with gold in the firelight. “So are you.”

Out of nowhere, a wave of anxiety rose up in Lyra’s chest. It wasn’t just from Texture class, or from her parents’ sneak-attack doubt fest when they said goodbye. It was the culmination of the whole past year, since the first Royal Academy of Magical Baking entrance trial she had somehow passed. That was when the question popped up first.

What am I doing here?

Lyra had no formal training. No connections in the magical baking community. Why was she, a Treble from the Any Weather Bards, moving forward when more experienced bakers were not?

She could give herself no answer. Every subsequent trial, she expected to fail. But every shocking success only added questions to the list.

How am I still here?

But she was. She made the cut at every trial. She was an ‘Aspiring Baker.’ She had just finished her first day of classes at the Royal Academy of Magical Baking.

Still, the questions kept coming.

What if it’s all a mistake?

And then, even more terrifying:

How long until they all find out?

Suddenly, sitting on the couch in the Whisk room with four incredibly talented bakers, Lyra wanted to open her mouth and let it all pour out. She wanted to tell them that she was a fraud, that the professors had made a mistake, that she didn’t belong and couldn’t do it and what sort of twisted cosmic joke WAS this and —

Boysen’s golden brown eyes flashed dark with concern.

“Lyra? You all right?”

She was still leaning forward, her hand on his shoulder. The room had gone very quiet.

“I —” She took a shaky breath. “Um, I —”

“It’s been a long day.” Boysen smiled, taking Lyra’s hand from his shoulder and holding it lightly. “I think we could all use a break before we dig into the practice sessions. How about some music, Treble?”

“Music?” she repeated.

Ginger clasped her hands together. “Oh, yes please. Never fails to calm my nerves.”

“I thought we were here to study,” Caramelle said, her ramrod posture somehow becoming even stiffer.

“A quick break would be helpful for all of us,” Boysen insisted. “Cleanse the palate, so to speak.”

Lyra hesitated. “I — I do have my guitar. In my room.”

“Perfect!” Boysen stood, helping her up with him. “Make haste to Pestle, Aspiring Baker Treble, and return with your lyre. Ha!” He grinned. “Lyra. Lyre. I get it.”

“Ha ha.” She rolled her eyes, but the smile spreading across her face was genuine. The wave was retreating, pushed back by the warmth of the fire and the genuine enthusiasm in Ginger’s voice and the gentle pressure of Boysen’s hand, still holding hers.

Lyra squeezed his fingers, then let go.

“One song,” she said. “Then we do some serious studying.”

Boysen looked at the group. “What say you, Whizzes of the Whisk Whiz Review?”

Ginger snorted. “We get a vote? So this is a democracy now?”

“The Whisk hosts are generous tyrants,” Mac said softly, but with an unmistakable twinkle behind his glasses.

“What did I tell you?” Boysen crowed. “Life of the party is our Macaron Fondant.”

Lyra turned to her roommate, raising her eyebrows in a silent question.

“Fine.” Caramelle pursed her lips. “Quick break for singing. Then let’s get to the real work, please? Some of us are here to learn.”

“All of us,” Boysen corrected. He winked at Lyra. “You heard the council. Off with you.”

“Be right back,” Lyra promised, then practically skipped to the door. It was hard to feel weighed down in this room, with this particular collection of ‘personality powders.’ The wave of questions could wait a little longer.

If only she could push aside Professor Puff’s homework assignment so easily…

Lyra sighed.

One day at a time, Treble. One day at a time.