Pushing open the door into the kitchen, Lyra found herself face to face with Chef Flax.

“Lyra!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t expect to see you this evening. Shouldn’t you be with the other Whisk Whizzes, celebrating the successful end of your first week?”

“I’m heading there soon. Just looking for a place to… wait until then.” Suddenly, she noticed he was wearing an overcoat, and his chef’s hat had been replaced by a worn fedora. “Oh, Chef. Are you going out?”

“I am indeed. Annual reunion dinner with a few chef colleagues of mine. Bumble and Sprinkle are out as well.” He winked at her. “Fridays are their date nights, you see.”

She nodded glumly. “Of course.”

“They will be sad to have missed you,” he said, sounding sincerely regretful. “As am I at my inability to host you properly.”

“It’s fine.” She felt the head chef’s kind eyes peering at her and tried to force her lips into a smile. “I couldn’t stay long, anyway.”

At that moment, Boysen’s voice sounded behind her.

“Thought I’d find you here, Treble.”

“Mister Berry!” Chef Flax grinned. “Right on time. Come to whisk our Lyra away to Whisk?”

“I’m not sure,” Boysen replied. “Looks like it’s just the two of us tonight. That’s why I came to find you, Lyra.”

“Oh?” Lyra tilted her head. “I know Ginger’s having dinner at home. Where’s Mac?”

“Something about private practice,” Boysen said darkly. “Probably code for writing secret poems of unrequited love.”

She stared at him. “Really?”

“He’s a Fondant.” Boysen shrugged. “Fondants are hopeless romantics. They fall fast and hard. Your roommate’s proclivity for Self-Presentation spells didn’t help.”

Lyra’s shoulders tightened at the mention of Caramelle, then drooped. “Poor Mac.”

“I’ve got my eye on him,” Boysen assured her. “I’ll help him keep his head above water. But for tonight, it looks like you and I are the only committed Whisk Whizzes.”

“Right.” Lyra swallowed, trying to keep her tone bright. “Well, if you want an off-night, or some solitude, I can —”

“An off-night?” Chef Flax clapped a hand to his heart. “Perish the thought!”

“It is technically the weekend,” Lyra pointed out. “Last day of classes for the week. No class tomorrow or the next day.”

Chef Flax kept his hand on his heart, the picture of injured nobility. “This is the Whisk Whiz Review, Aspiring Baker Treble. From my understanding, it happens every evening during the week.”

“He’s right,” Boysen said with equal enthusiasm. “Our comrades may be lazy slackers, but someone must uphold this noble tradition.”

Lyra tried to match his energy, but her shoulders couldn’t muster the same strength. “Sure. Sounds good.”

Chef Flax studied them both for a moment. Then he waved his hand, and the candles in all four iron chandeliers burst into light, casting cozy shadows flickering over the walls.

“I suggest a change of scenery for tonight’s review,” he announced. “I had planned to make some frosted brownies for Queen Penelope tomorrow. You’ll see Bumble has already laid out all the ingredients.” He waved his hand, indicating the laden island countertop. “But I am sure she would be delighted to receive a visit from two ‘whizzes’ such as yourselves.”

“You would let us bake in your kitchen?” Lyra squeaked. “Unsupervised?”

“Why not?” The head chef’s eyes twinkled. “I trust you. And Queen Penelope really shouldn’t have to be kept waiting. You can collect the weekend eggs while you’re up there too, which will be quite a help to me and Bumble.”

Boysen’s whole face was alight with joy. “Thank you, Flax!”

“Y-yes,” Lyra stammered. “Thank you!”

The head chef waved off their gratitude. Instructing them where to put the eggs they collected, he gave them another wink and then vanished into the dining hall.

Lyra and Boysen fell into a baking rhythm with surprising speed and ease. She moved instinctively to melt chocolate with butter over a double boiler, while he went for the dry ingredients, using his Flavor instincts to add just the right amounts of salt, cocoa powder, and even a pinch of cinnamon to the flour and sugar. Lyra thought she saw a few flashes of vivid green light out of the corner of her eye, proving that Boysen Berry was far more advanced in Flavor magic than he might readily admit.

For a few minutes, they worked in peaceful silence. Lyra felt the weight on her shoulders slowly start to lift.

“Since we’re the only Whizzes present, we get to make the rules,” Boysen eventually said, cracking eggs into a mixing bowl. “If we want to make tonight a ‘review’ of non-baking matters, it shall be so.”

“Non-baking matters?” Lyra echoed, bringing the melted chocolate over to the island counter.

“Indeed. Such as… oh, off the top of my head… roommate relations?”

Groaning, Lyra covered her face with the spatula she’d been using to stir the chocolate.

Boysen pulled her arm down, forcing her to look at him. “I take it you have not yet reconciled with Aspiring Baker Meringue?”

“I mean, I guess it’s nothing. It’s fine.” Lyra shrugged. “We can get by without speaking.”

Boysen raised a single eyebrow.

“We can!” Lyra insisted. “Nothing in the rules says we have to be chummy. She certainly didn’t come to the academy to make friends.”

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“No one did, technically,” Boysen said dryly. “But friends make it easier to do what we did come here to do.”

Lyra picked up the whisk lying beside the bowl of eggs. “I don’t need her. I have you and Ginger and Mac. That’s friends enough, right?”

In response, Boysen snatched the whisk away and softly hit her with it.

“Hey!” she protested, grabbing for the tool. “Whose side are you on?”

He held the whisk out of her reach. “Hard to say, since you won’t tell me exactly what you two were fighting about.”

“It’s… we…” Lyra flushed. “It’s boy stuff.”

“Boy stuff.” Using the stolen whisk, Boysen began beating the eggs with somewhat unnecessary force. “You mean Cardamom.”

Lyra flushed brighter. “How did you know?”

“Remember my brother is in the same class with him,” Boysen replied. “I’ve heard a lot about ‘the Coulis’ over the past couple years.”

Something about his tone prickled at Lyra’s nerves. She began buttering the brownie pan, her voice decidedly sharper.

“I take it Razz doesn’t think very highly of ‘the Coulis?’”

Boysen shrugged. “Razz doesn’t think about Cardamom much at all, really. My brother’s got limited room in his brain. At the moment, it’s all being taken up by Flavor and Hyacinth. Or Hyacinth and Flavor. The order of importance depends on the day.”

“Then how can you say you’ve heard a lot from him about Cardamom?” Lyra demanded.

“It was mostly their first year.” Boysen stopped whisking, apparently realizing the eggs were quite beaten enough. “Razz brought stories home every week. He said all the girls were in love with Cardamom, but not as in love as Cardamom was with himself.”

“Sounds like he was jealous,” Lyra said. “And that was two years ago.”

“Doesn’t seem like much has changed. Remember what I told you about sparkle and substance? Cardamom strikes me as lots of the former with very little of the latter.” Boysen smiled bitterly. “Maybe he and Caramelle are perfect for each other.”

Lyra’s voice was shrill. “No one makes it to the third year of the academy on sparkle alone. And you’ve only just met him! How can you claim to know that —”

Boysen held up his hands in an ‘I surrender’ gesture. “Hey, I don’t claim to know anything. I just… I have eyes, okay? It doesn’t take a genius to see how Caramelle’s been throwing herself at the Coulis all week.” He lowered his hands, staring moodily at the thoroughly whisked eggs. “I guess I’m just surprised you got caught up in it.”

Out of nowhere, Lyra’s rising anger vanished. She slumped against the counter, her insides caving like a cake removed from the oven too soon.

“It wasn’t just Cardamom,” she said. “My fight with Caramelle, I mean. That’s how it started, but…”

She trailed off. After a few moments of silence, Boysen nodded to himself and stepped back from the counter, wiping his hands on his apron.

“Let’s start over. We have both just arrived to keep the time-honored tradition of the Whisk Whiz Review.” He held out his hand, which she shook with mock formality. “I, Aspiring Baker Berry, do hereby pronounce said review to be in session. All matters, baking or non-baking or otherwise, are up for discussion.”

“What would be counted as otherwise?” Lyra asked, smiling in spite of herself.

“I believe your word for it was ‘boy stuff.’” Boysen squared his shoulders as if bracing for a fight. “Out with it, Treble. Your argument with the Meringue, from start to finish.”

Lyra took her own deep breath. Then, while Boysen slowly stirred the melted chocolate and butter into the eggs with a dash of vanilla, she recounted the previous day’s angry conversation with Caramelle, from her own accusations about Cardamom to her roommate’s not-so-veiled threats.

“And she hasn’t spoken to me since,” Lyra finished, handing Boysen the bowl of dry ingredients. “It’s caught me off guard, to be honest. I thought we were getting along pretty well.”

“You were.” Boysen glanced sideways at her as he carefully folded the dry ingredients into the chocolate and egg mixture. “Surprisingly so. I know you’re new to the baking world, so you’re not familiar with the Meringues, but ‘friendliness’ is not one of their famous qualities.”

Lyra rubbed her eyes. “Ginger told me. Our first day. But Caramelle’s been so nice. I thought…”

She trailed off again, letting her gaze drift to the finished brownie batter.

“I thought so too,” Boysen said. She could feel his gaze on her, radiating concern as warm and comforting as the preheated oven behind them. “But that’s not what’s really bothering you, is it?”

“How did you know?” she sighed.

“I have eyes.” Suddenly, he clapped her on the back, snapping her out of her gloomy trance. “You can’t let all that nonsense about ‘hiding something’ get to you. You’re not hiding anything.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I don’t know how I got into the royal academy. I really don’t. What if it’s so bad, I’m hiding it even from myself?”

“Then I’d say you deserve a Stellar Enchantment Pin for all those psychological layers.”

“I’m serious!” She buried her face in her hands. “Maybe she’s right. I don’t belong here, and it’s only a matter of time before everyone knows it.”

“You can’t spout nonsense like that,” Boysen chided her. “I’ll have to take that pin back.”

“Boysen —”

“Listen, Lyra.” He pulled her hands down from her face and held them. “The professors know what they’re doing. They say you belong here. Are you saying you know more than Professor Honeycomb?”

“No,” she said immediately.

“Are you saying Professor Puff doesn’t know what she’s talking about?”

“Of course not.”

“And do you think Caramelle Meringue is a better judge of baking talent than Professor Genoise?”

“No, but —”

He held up one hand. “No. Full stop. The authorities of the Royal Academy of Magical Baking chose you, Lyra Treble. That’s all that matters.”

“I wish I knew why,” she said in a small voice.

“Don’t we all?”

She actually snorted. “You’re a Berry! I may be new to the baking world, but even I know why you got in, Flavor King.”

“Exactly.” He stared at her hands, seemingly unaware that he was still holding them. “How do I know they didn’t pick me just because I’m a Berry?”

“No one who has tasted anything you’ve baked would think that,” she said flatly. “You’ve got the best Flavor instincts of anyone in our class. Period.”

He shook his head. “I’m just saying… you don’t have the market cornered on insecurity, Treble. It’s practically an admissions requirement for an academy like the Royal Academy of Magical Baking. Everyone here has a reason to doubt themselves.”

“Even ‘The Meringue’?”

“Especially ‘The Meringue’.” He finally let go of her hands and began pouring the brownie batter into the prepared pan. “The more Stellar Enchantment Pins attached to your hat, the heavier it gets. Same with legacy. I’m surprised Caramelle can even walk around upright.”

Her eyebrows raised. “Are you defending her?”

“It doesn’t excuse what she said to you,” he said wearily, transferring the pan to the oven. “But I do think she’s under a lot of pressure. Just… don’t let her get to you, and maybe cut her a break.”

Anger flashed in Lyra’s gut again, but it was drowned out by a sneak-attack wave of concern.

“What about you?” she asked in a much softer tone. “What’s the Berry pressure like?”

Boysen was silent for a while, his gaze now firmly fixed on the oven timer.

“Manageable,” he replied after a few moments. “More of an annoyance than anything, most of the time. Nothing like a Meringue.” He shuddered. “Or a Mint. I’m afraid Aniseed’s headed for a rough awakening.”

He was trying to deflect. She wasn’t going to let him.

“We’re not talking about Aniseed. Or Caramelle. Do you…” She hesitated, then pressed on. “Do you even want to be here? I mean, do you actually like baking?”

“I do, alas.” He finally looked at her, grinning ruefully. “I wish I could tell you I’m the family black sheep and have a deep longing to run away and be a shoemaker or something. It’d make me much more interesting, I’m sure.”

She gave him her own rueful grin. “Being the black sheep isn’t nearly so fun as it’s cracked up to be. Trust me.”

“But it does make you more interesting.”

“Thank you,” she said, not entirely sure why she was blushing. She shook her head and got back to the point doggedly. “So you do want to be here? You’d want to even if you weren’t a Berry?”

“Absolutely.” He spoke in the solemn air of someone making a great confession. “I love Flavor. I nearly failed math three years in a row because I kept doing Flavor experiments when I was supposed to be doing my homework.”

“Seriously?”

“Serious as a soufflé.” He spread his hands helplessly. “I’m a total baking nerd, and Flavor is the focus of my nerd-ic obsession. I’m everything a Berry should be, in the most boringly Berry of ways. You still want to be my friend?”

“Nope. I’m only friends with interesting people. Non-nerds.”

He sighed. “Yeah. That’s a good call.”

“But…” She smiled. “I guess, since there are no interesting non-nerds around, you’ll have to do. For now.”