All academy ovens worked at a magically charged high speed. Five minutes later, Lyra took the brownies out and popped them in an enchanted cooling drawer. Boysen whipped up a vanilla cream cheese frosting with a decadent raspberry swirl, and asked Lyra to promise solemnly never to breathe a word to Razz about the choice of berry.

At Boysen’s urging, Lyra performed the cake version of Madame Temper’s Chant of Precision she had used in her entrance exam. She had doubts about the spell’s efficacy with brownies, but Boysen assured her it could work as a general finishing touch. He also insisted that Queen Penelope would appreciate the extra effort.

Sure enough, as Lyra hummed the song she had written for the spell during her entrance exam prep, streams of purple light began flowing from her fingertips. The magic danced around the pan, elevating Boysen’s already tidy frosting job. Simultaneously, a sparkling, clean feeling washed over Lyra.

If only relationships could be transformed so easily, she thought.

The finished brownies were not just neat. They glowed, as if remnants of Boysen’s Flavor magic and Lyra’s Presentation spell were still lingering in every molecule. Surely, this was a dessert fit for a queen.

The giant chicken accepted their offering with all the gracious poise one would expect of royalty. Bowing her head in thanks, she clucked appreciatively about the pan’s special shimmer. She then abandoned all restraint and gobbled up every morsel of brownie in seven seconds, her feathers flecked with raspberry and chocolate.

While Queen Penelope reveled in the sweet treat, Lyra and Boysen turned to collecting the weekend’s eggs. Hyacinth had shown them how the system worked. Within a few minutes, Lyra and Boysen each had ten massive trays in their arms, all hovering in a protective floating enchantment. After the eggs were safely deposited in the kitchen and the baking mess was cleaned up, Boysen suggested returning to Whisk for hot chocolate.

“What about you, Treble?” he asked, once they were settled by the fire with their steaming mugs. “We learned earlier that I’m a Flavor nerd. Hopelessly so. But what’s the focus of your nerd-ic obsession?”

She shrugged. “Baking.”

“Yes, but which principle?” He was studying her again, his brown eyes dancing in the firelight. “I’ve been trying to figure it out all week. Are you more gut, mind, or heart? What’s your favorite part of the baking process?”

“I don’t know,” Lyra admitted.

He raised his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

“As a soufflé,” she said. “Honestly. I’ve been trying to figure it out too. I didn’t realize it was such a big deal here. I mean, I knew they picked six people and only three were left at the end of the year. I just didn’t realize it was so… specific. That they weren’t just picking the top three bakers, but one for each principle.”

“It’s not always so clear,” Boysen said. “You can’t get through the academy without being really good at all three. Most of the time, someone will demonstrate a particular strength in one of the three, but not always. Sometimes it’s a matter of preference. Which principle interests the student the most? Then they choose that principle to focus in, rather than being selected by the professor. That’s what happened with Hyacinth.”

Lyra’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Oh, sure. Hyacinth… she’s phenomenal. Once-in-a-generation baker, and I’m not just saying that because she’s probably going to be my sister-in-law someday.”

“So she could have picked anything?” Lyra asked. “She was that good in all three?”

Boysen nodded. “And she chose Texture. Razz says she likes math. A lot. Like, it’s scary.”

“Caramelle likes math,” Lyra observed.

“Which proves Caramelle is a born Texturist. And also scary.” Boysen’s intent gaze didn’t waver. “And you? Do you like math?”

“It’s all right.”

“So maybe Texture isn’t your nerd-ic focus.”

“But Texture isn’t just math,” Lyra protested. “I loved the Texture part of my final entrance exam. Master Pavlova’s Spell of Fluffening is so fun. I wrote two whole songs about it.”

Boysen’s smile widened. “So Texture is a definite maybe. What about Flavor? You enjoying Honeycomb’s class?”

“So much. I can’t wait for more FIT.”

“As I said, you’ve got great instincts.” He spoke the next words carefully, keeping his voice light. “And Presentation? Does that class have any… special appeal for you?”

She kept her own voice light, refusing to acknowledge the blush spreading across her face. “Sure. I do like the idea of style, and getting to express myself.”

“Got it. You like all three disciplines equally, and have so far shown plenty of aptitude in each.” Boysen nodded sagely. “Congratulations, Treble. You are officially an enigma.”

She gave him another shove. “Thanks for nothing, Berry.”

He laughed and rolled off the couch. “Don’t thank me. Thank the Whisk Whiz Review! If anything can sort out your magical baking woes, it can.”

“What can?” asked a voice from the door.

They both whirled around. Caramelle Meringue was standing in the doorway, her posture and auburn coils as perfect as ever.

“I apologize for my lateness,” she said, her voice surprisingly shaky. “And for my absence last night. I…” She trailed off, looking around the room. “Did I miss it?”

“Not at all.” Boysen stood, ushering her to sit in his spot on the couch. “Lyra and I were holding down the fort. I’ll get you some hot chocolate. Treble, how about a refill?”

Without waiting for a reply, he took her still mostly full mug and walked quickly to the kitchen portion of the room, leaving the two roommates in relative privacy.

Caramelle perched primly at the edge of the couch. Lyra curled further into her corner, gazing determinedly at the fire. They sat in awkward silence for a few moments.

Inwardly, Lyra was spiraling. She had spent the past twenty-four hours thinking of all she wanted to say to Caramelle. She lost track of the number of conversations they’d had in her head. Now, she couldn’t remember a single one of the biting, witty remarks she’d imagined herself delivering.

Before she could concoct a new one, Caramelle took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, Lyra.”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Lyra blinked. “Beg your pardon?”

“I’m sorry,” Caramelle repeated. “I snapped at you yesterday. I shouldn’t have said… what I said.”

The spiral inside Lyra continued, just in reverse. She wrapped her arms around a pillow for support. “Do you still think I’m hiding something?”

“I was just stressed.” This wasn’t really an answer, but Caramelle did look incredibly harried, so Lyra let her continue. “I’ve been under a lot of pressure, this first week. I know we all have, but I don’t respond to pressure well. It’s not an excuse. I just wanted you to know… I’m sorry.”

She looked up at Lyra. With a start, Lyra saw her roommate’s eyes were filled with tears.

“Being a Meringue is not easy,” Caramelle said, keeping the tears in check with admirable self-control. “Every advantage it brings has an expectation attached. There must always be precision. Perfection. I have a legacy of excellence to uphold, and centuries of tradition from which I can never deviate. It’s… so heavy, Lyra. Sometimes I can actually feel it. Right here.”

She pressed one hand delicately to her chest. Lyra noted the perfectly manicured fingers were trembling.

“It’s like this bag of wet flour,” Caramelle continued. “Pressing down on my heart. Sometimes it’s so heavy, I can hardly breathe.”

Lyra could feel her own heart softening. It was impossible to see the perfect Meringue in this state and maintain the sense of bewildered outrage that had dominated her thoughts for the past twenty-four hours. Still, she tried to steel herself.

“You said I bewitched the professors. You basically accused me of cheating,” she said, as coldly as she could manage in the face of Caramelle’s fragility.

“I don’t want to fall back into old habits,” Caramelle said, her voice rising to a quietly hysterical pitch. “I want us to be there for each other this term. Help each other, like I said that first day. Can you help me, Lyra? Can you forgive me?”

For a moment, Lyra hesitated. Caramelle hadn’t taken back anything she’d said yesterday. She hadn’t owned up to her deceit in Presentation class. She hadn’t mentioned Cardamom at all.

The memory of Ginger’s warnings from their first day echoed in Lyra’s head:

“The Meringue must always be first and best.”

“The Meringue is not a person. The Meringue is a force of nature, and as such, ought to be treated with the same reasonable fear.”

“Tangle with The Meringue, and you end up with egg on your face. And all over your clothes, and in your hair, most likely.”

But then another memory broke in, much more recent, tinged with the delicious smell of baking brownies and the warmth of genuine concern:

“The more Stellar Enchantment Pins attached to your hat, the heavier it gets,” said Boysen’s voice in Lyra’s mind. “Same with legacy. I’m surprised Caramelle can even walk around upright.”

Lyra studied the girl sitting beside her on the couch. Her roommate did, indeed, look exhausted, like it took all her strength to keep that perfect posture under the burden of her family name.

Boysen’s voice continued:

“I do think she’s under a lot of pressure. Just… don’t let her get to you, and maybe cut her a break.”

Lyra sighed. “I forgive you.”

Caramelle’s eyes widened. Then she threw her arms around Lyra, burying her face in her startled roommate’s shoulder.

“Thank you!” she squeaked into Lyra’s hair. “Just… thank you.”

Lyra pulled back, holding her roommate’s shoulders. “On one condition. No more games. Do you actually want to experiment with spells in Presentation?”

Caramelle’s shoulders tensed for a moment, but then slumped. She shook her head slowly. “I don’t know what came over me. My parents would be horrified. If they hear I was innovating…”

She shuddered.

“Then don’t,” Lyra said simply, forcing her lips into an encouraging smile. “Let’s just both focus on doing the best we can in class. Deal?”

Caramelle mustered her own shaky smile. “Deal.”

“All well?” Boysen asked gaily, arriving from the kitchen with three mugs at just the right time. Caramelle sat back, wiping her eyes, and accepted the drink he handed her.

“Better,” she said, beaming at Lyra. “I hope.”

Lyra nodded, ignoring the broad wink Boysen was trying to give her. All wasn’t quite well just yet. She wasn’t sure, at least. But compared to the past twenty-four hours, her internal ‘texture’ had definitely improved.

She took the mug Boysen offered her and flashed him a tiny, quick, private smile.

“Better,” she agreed.

“Thank the seasonings for that,” he said cheerily. “The magic of the Whisk Whiz Review strikes again.” He raised his mug. “To the Whisk Whiz Review!”

The girls raised their mugs.

“The Whisk Whiz Review!”

—

Over the next several weeks, Lyra began to wonder if the Whisk Whiz Review was magic. Either that, or Boysen had performed some sneaky wizardry on their hot chocolate, spiking them with an enchantment to promote goodwill.

Regardless, after that evening with Boysen and the following reconciliation with Caramelle, the term really did get… better. The first-years settled swiftly into the rhythm of the Royal Academy of Magical Baking and of their communal life. Each week rolled thrillingly into the next, more difficult and yet equally more fulfilling than all its predecessors.

Professor Honeycomb sharpened their instincts. Professor Puff demanded exactitude that was, somehow, as comforting as it was rigorous. Professor Genoise encouraged each of them to embrace their unique style. And always, in the evening, every first-year except Aniseed gathered around the fire in Whisk, challenging and encouraging each other through that day’s trials. Lyra fell into her bed in Pestle every night, exhausted and yet happier than she had ever been.

A big part of this happiness was due to Boysen. He was, without question, the soul of their group, holding them all together with hot chocolate and smiling wisdom. Ginger was practical and refreshingly no-nonsense. Mac was whimsical and funny, often brightening a dull moment with a sneak-attack morsel of wit. Lyra tried to contribute, sharing her music and the joy of someone from outside the baking world.

Still, Boysen was the anchor. He always seemed to know when Lyra was spiraling, and had a special smile seemingly designed to pull her back from the brink, every time. Lyra didn’t know where she… where any of them would be without him. She didn’t want to know.

The other primary happiness-factor, for Lyra, was Caramelle. Being on good terms with one’s roommate really did make a difference. Lyra had suspected that from the beginning, especially when she saw the size of Pestle.

But this happiness was more than just ‘lack of tension in small living quarters.’ Caramelle’s presence enhanced Lyra’s experience at the academy. For one thing, she was an incredible student, both conscientious and creative. No one worked harder than Caramelle. She made it clear every day that she was not interested in coasting on her family name. She had earned her place at the academy, and she was going to earn the right to keep it, no matter what.

It was stimulating to be around someone who cared so much, all the time. Lyra felt herself growing by sheer proximity. In fact, as the weeks went by, Lyra found herself singled out by the professors nearly as much as Caramelle. Even Professor Puff called Lyra up once or twice for public praise.

Caramelle extended this same determination to her relationships with her peers. She seemed to take Professor Honeycomb’s ‘personality powders’ lesson as an educational mandate. The professors worked together well, and clearly expected their students to do the same. So Caramelle Meringue was going to be the best team player anyone at the academy had ever seen.

Lyra was the primary target of Caramelle’s camaraderie-efforts. Caramelle took the ‘roomie’ title as seriously as she took every aspect of academy life. Just as she had promised Lyra on their first day, and reaffirmed by the fire in Whisk at the end of the first week, the girls of Pestle had each other’s back. Caramelle was the most faithful study buddy, meal companion, and accountability partner anyone could ask for.

There were downsides to the Caramelle Experience, of course. She spent longer in the bathroom every morning than the other three girls combined, layering herself in Self-Presentation spells. True to her word, she eased off her innovation craze in Professor Genoise’s class, but she still took every opportunity to ask for Cardamom’s help, calling him over to her work-station and flirting so shamelessly that Lyra blushed on her behalf.

Even Caramelle’s single-minded devotion to excellence could be a trial. Lyra had to argue her into sleeping sometimes, or remind her that things like ‘breaks’ existed. As the term drew to a close, and the professors made no mention of what their final exam would be, Lyra had to talk Caramelle down from many a stress-induced ledge. There were also times when Caramelle’s smiles at the Whisk Whiz Review felt a little forced, as if ‘cooperation with colleagues’ was just another assignment she was checking off her Perfect Aspiring Baker list.

But in the grand scheme of things, Lyra couldn’t complain. In fact, she was grateful to whatever academy official or twist of fate had put her in Pestle with Caramelle. She chuckled to herself sometimes whenever Ginger’s dire warnings floated back up to the surface of her memory.

Sure, a bad meringue can make a mess, Lyra thought as she and Caramelle headed towards the Flavor classroom at the start of the term’s final week. But a good meringue? A good meringue lifts up everything around it.

Hopefully ‘The Caramelle Experience’ would be enough to get Lyra through the dreaded first term exam. Surely, the professors would be sharing details about it soon.

Just thinking about it sent jitters coursing through Lyra’s veins. The academy already felt like home. If she could just get through to the second term…

Professor Honeycomb clapped her hands as they walked through the door.

“Welcome, Aspiring Bakers!”