Sighing again, Lyra burrowed further into her pillow. She wished she could block out the events of the day before in the Presentation lab, but it was no use. The memories had been simmering for over twenty-four hours. Her mind felt like a mixing bowl left unwashed, with bits of dough hardening around the edges.

At least she’d managed to arrive at Professor Genoise’s classroom at the same time as Caramelle on Thursday. Her roommate had tried to shake her the whole morning and get there first, but Lyra had stuck to her like… well, caramel. She was not about to give up the chance of some private conversation with Cardamom before lab day.

It turned out they needn’t have been in such a rush. Apprentice Baker Coulis didn’t appear until the magical chime rang, and then there was no time for even an exchange of greetings. Professor Genoise began the class with exact punctuality.

“Welcome, Aspiring Bakers,” the Presentation professor said graciously. “As we shared with you on Monday, the tone of this first week is foundational. We must master the basics so we can build upon them. Aspiring Baker Treble, will you come up here, please?”

Startled, Lyra hopped down from her stool and joined Professor Genoise at the front of the room.

“Would you be so kind as to share with your classmates what Presentation spell you used for your final entrance exam cake?” the professor asked.

“A — a cleanliness spell,” Lyra stammered. “Madame Temper’s Chant of Precision.”

Professor Genoise clapped his hands. “Exactly! I remember asking you on the day why you chose that particular spell. Do you recall what you said to me?”

Lyra glanced at Cardamom, standing inches away on the teacher’s platform. He smiled encouragingly.

She took a deep breath, inhaling the exotic scent of cinnamon and honey. “I’m a messy baker,” she confessed. “It was an important cake, so… I wanted it to be neat.”

“Indeed.” Professor Genoise dismissed her with a wave, and she scrambled back to her second row work-station in relief as the professor went on, “Neatness is a virtue oft overlooked by Presentation specialists, to their detriment. Would you agree, Apprentice Baker Coulis?”

“Absolutely. The principle of Presentation lives in the baker’s heart.” Cardamom’s eyes caught Lyra’s again, and he gave her another smile that seemed to be just for her. “But if your final result is messy, how can your heart’s intent shine through? Style cannot disguise sloppiness.”

Lyra was aware of Caramelle glaring at her from the front row. Her roommate was tracking every look exchanged between Lyra and Cardamom. The air around the auburn-haired girl was practically vibrating with displeasure.

Oblivious, Professor Genoise beamed at Lyra. “Today, we shall be taking a page from Aspiring Baker Treble’s book. Over the next hour, I wish you to bake a batch of shortbread —”

The entire class groaned.

“— using Madame Temper’s Chant of Precision.” The professor chuckled. “Such woeful expressions! Embrace repetition. Bake as many batches as necessary to give me the neatest, cleanest shortbread you can in one hour.”

He reviewed the chant while a delicate piece of chalk moved rapidly through the air on its own, writing the spell on the board in neat, flowing script. Then, holding his pocket watch in one hand, Professor Genoise instructed them to begin.

Lyra found the next hour more pleasant than tedious. She had spent so much time with this particular spell in preparation for the entrance exam that it felt a bit like coming home. There was also something relaxing about the now familiar ritual of shortbread. Butter, sugar, flour… mix the dough… wait thirty seconds while the dough chilled in the enchanted proofing drawer… cut and bake the cookies… especially when combined with Madame Temper’s simple chant, the whole process became like an exercise in meditation.

It helped that Cardamom kept stopping by her work-station. He rarely said more than a few encouraging words, but they did share a laugh over Lyra’s returning enjoyment of shortbread. Even better, she couldn’t help thinking that he did visit her more than any other student, a suspicion confirmed by the number of times she caught Caramelle turn and glance at her from the row ahead.

All in all, Lyra felt thoroughly refreshed when the hour was up. Twelve pieces of pale gold shortbread sat on a plate in front of her. Each one measured two and half inches long, one and a half inches wide, and a quarter inch tall, with a tiny ridged border surrounding the top. The same pattern of three dots adorned the smooth, buttery surface of each cookie.

Lyra’s fingers were still tingling from the purple light that had swirled around them with each of the four batches, trimming the shortbread to be precise and identical. The magic seemed to have been at work inside her also, smoothing the rough spots leftover from the week, leaving her heart clean and neat.

These happy feelings vanished as soon as Professor Genoise began his evaluation rounds.

“Aspiring Baker Meringue!” The professor’s smooth, polished demeanor nearly cracked. He stood by Caramelle’s work-station, mouth hanging open in disbelief at the dizzying array of shortbread in varying states of neatness. “You have certainly exceeded the requirements of this morning’s assignment. I take it Madame Temper’s spell was not… sufficiently challenging for you?”

Caramelle smiled radiantly, raising her voice ever so slightly to be heard across the classroom. “Not at all, Professor. I found it quite challenging. But once I had completed it to my satisfaction, I began thinking… how might this spell be improved?”

Professor Genoise’s eyes widened even further. “Improved?”

“Innovated upon,” Caramelle amended. “As you so rightly said, we are laying a foundation this week. Madame Temper’s work is an important part of baking history, so of course it should be included in that foundation. But isn’t baking also about the future? Breaking new ground, to lay an even stronger foundation? Then anything built upon it would necessarily be improved.”

“Your… passion is to be commended, my dear.” Professor Genoise pulled out a monocle and leaned in to give one particularly exact plate of shortbread a closer inspection. “I take it you indulged in some experimentation with Madame Temper’s spell?”

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“I did indeed. Only after completing the original assignment, and meaning no disrespect to Madame Temper, of course. Or to you.” She waited for Professor Genoise’s nod of acknowledgement, then went on. “I found the exercise increased my understanding of the spell’s fundamental nature. I would like to continue these experiments, if I may.”

Professor Genoise tapped his monocle against the counter thoughtfully. “I have no doubt of your baseline abilities, Aspiring Baker Meringue. And I do wish your class time to prove both beneficial and stimulating.” He hesitated. “But I would prefer such experiments to be supervised, and I do have a room full of other students to attend to.”

Cardamom broke in. “Professor, haven’t you often said that the most advanced bakers are those who dare to think outside the box? Clearly, Miss Meringue is quite advanced for an Aspiring Baker. I can work with her today.”

Professor Genoise considered for a moment, then nodded. “Please do, Coulis. The rest of the day, if you please. We will be moving on to rough puff pastry next, so see how you can ‘innovate upon’ Madame Temper’s Chant of Precision in that medium. After a few run-throughs with the original spell.” He turned back to Caramelle. “Never you fear, Aspiring Baker Meringue. You are in excellent hands with Coulis.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Caramelle’s eyes shone as she returned Cardamom’s smile. “I’m sure I am.”

The rest of the morning was a blur to Lyra. For reasons she couldn’t explain fully, even to herself, she found it difficult to focus. She kept stealing glances at the work-station in front of her, where Cardamom and Caramelle were hard at work.

They seemed to be having a splendid time. Caramelle was certainly laughing a good deal. The sound grated on Lyra’s nerves, drawing her gaze again and again from her own bowl of ingredients to the sight of the two heads, one auburn and one dark, bent over pieces of parchment.

Thankfully, the cleanliness spell was ingrained enough in Lyra’s muscles that she still managed to complete the required batch of pastry. But this time, the wave of purple light that rippled out when the spell took effect was faint and flickering. Not only did it fail to smooth her own rough edges, but it left the pastry uneven and lopsided.

Even then, Lyra couldn’t concentrate. She barely registered Professor Genoise’s disappointed sigh. His constructive criticism and encouragement did lodge vaguely in her subconscious, and she heard herself assuring him she would do better after lunch.

But the afternoon was no better. Cardamom spent the whole day at Caramelle’s work-station, scribbling spell variations on parchment and whipping up batch after batch of full-puff pastry. Lyra, meanwhile, could barely produce the minimum requirement. Her thoughts were wandering as much as her gaze, and all in the same Coulis-ish direction. Try as she might, she could not force them into the soothing cadence of Madame Temper’s Chant.

Professor Genoise was gracious in his assessment. He seemed to attribute Lyra’s poor performance to ‘first full lab day jitters’, and was confident she would find her stride soon. Assigning her a redo of the full puff pastry as homework, he dismissed the class with a smile and elegant bow.

The first-years returned to the dorm to freshen up before dinner. Caramelle was practically floating.

“Wasn’t that a wonderful day?” she sighed. Standing in the middle of Pestle, she spun around twice and landed gracefully on her bed with a happy giggle. “Texture will always be my first love, but Presentation. What an invigorating discipline!”

Lyra sat on the edge of her own bed, her posture as rigid as Caramelle’s usually was. “I had no idea you were so passionate about… innovation.”

“Apprentice Baker Coulis is very inspiring,” Caramelle said, sitting up. “And so gallant! Besides, we understand each other. He knows what it’s like to advance so far that you get bored with the old way of doing things.”

“But you didn’t get bored,” Lyra said, fighting down the urge to yell. “I thought you love ‘the old way of doing things.’ You don’t even want me to sing the spells mentally because that’s ‘not how it’s always been done.’”

Caramelle tossed her head. The auburn coils remained firmly in place. “That’s different. This is sanctioned experimentation. Professor Genoise allowed it.”

“Professor Puff sanctioned my singing,” Lyra pointed out.

“Not fully,” Caramelle shot back. “I was there, Lyra. Anyone could see she was uncomfortable with the idea.”

“But she still allowed it,” Lyra persisted. “She said it was okay.”

“Which surprised me.” Caramelle folded her hands, her spine and shoulders back to their customary rigid position. “Honestly, I didn’t expect the academy to be so lax. I guess she feels sorry for you.”

Lyra felt her face turning as red as Caramelle’s perfectly styled hair. “Sorry for me?”

“That’s one explanation for her indulgence of your deceitful behavior.”

“Deceitful?” Lyra echoed, her hands shaking. “You’re the one being deceitful.”

Caramelle’s voice was as brittle as her posture. “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s Cardamom, isn’t it?” Lyra demanded. “It’s not enough to put Presentation spells on yourself — and you just can’t hog the bathroom like that in the morning, by the way — but now you have to pretend to be some kind of innovator? You lie about wanting to ‘break new ground’, just so he’ll notice you?”

“You’re just jealous,” Caramelle sneered. “Did you really think you could monopolize him all day? Cardamom is far too advanced a baker to find you interesting for very long, Treble.”

Lyra clasped her hands together, tensing every muscle to keep her voice steady. “It’s not… that. It’s not just that. I care about baking, Caramelle. And honesty. I thought you did too.”

“Honesty? You?” Caramelle voice rose shrilly. “Don’t make me laugh. You claim to have no training, but you’re here. You passed every entrance trial. Maybe Professor Puff’s not sorry for you. Maybe she’s bewitched.”

“Bewitched?” Lyra echoed weakly.

Caramelle pressed on, each word as heavy and hard as a blow from a rolling pin. “You can’t even perform the most basic Texture spell, but you got into the Royal Academy of Magical Baking. That’s just… not possible.” She narrowed her eyes, studying Lyra. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing!” Lyra felt like a ball of risen dough someone had just punched down. “I studied and practiced on my own. I worked hard.”

“Oh, please,” Caramelle scoffed. “You expect me to believe that a bard, with no baking genes and no formal education, got into the most exclusive magical baking academy in the kingdom just on sheer grit?”

Lyra stared at her, unable to speak.

After a heavy moment of silence, Caramelle stood and stormed to the bathroom door. Wrenching it open, she turned, hissing over her shoulder. “I’m watching you, Treble. Maybe you really are a prodigy, or maybe there’s something else going on. Either way, I’m going to find out.”

Then she flounced into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Lyra had wandered through the evening in a daze. She couldn’t remember what Boysen, Ginger, and Mac talked about at dinner. Caramelle was conspicuously absent from the Whisk Whiz Review that night. When Lyra returned to the room afterwards, ‘The Meringue’ was already in bed. She had also managed to avoid Lyra all throughout Friday, taking her meals early and slipping out of every class as soon as the chime rang.

Now Lyra lay curled up on her bed, trying to block out the sounds of bottles being banged around in the bathroom.

I just need a nap, she thought dully. Fifteen minutes, and I’ll feel better…

But she knew no nap would be enough. Caramelle’s words kept bouncing around in her head, jarring her nerves as roughly as the angry noises from the bathroom.

“Maybe you really are a prodigy, or maybe there’s something else going on. Either way, I’m going to find out.”

“When you do figure it out,” Lyra whispered to the empty room, “maybe you could clue me in?”

Sitting up, she began gathering her books. She could wait somewhere else until Whisk Whiz Review started… in fact, maybe it was time to pay Chef Flax and Bumble another visit. Caramelle might emerge from the bathroom any minute, and Lyra was in no mood for another confrontation.

She tiptoed to the door, slipping out just as a particularly loud BANG sounded from the bathroom and sent her scurrying across the first floor common area.