Professor Honeycomb’s cheery greeting never got old to Lyra. The plump teacher’s curly gray hair, always tied back carefully in a green scarf, shone in the morning light as she nodded at each student in turn.

“Come in, come in. Meringue and Treble, it does me good to see you arm and arm. That’s the congenial royal academy spirit! Looking particularly sharp this morning, Fondant. Crumble, congratulations again on that inspired use of chili pepper last week. I look forward to your next icing endeavor with great anticipation. My my, Aspiring Baker Mint, how do you keep your apron so clean?”

Boysen tried to slip past with a friendly wave, but she snagged his apron strings and pulled him to the front.

“Not so fast, Berry. Your brother tells me you have a flair for the experimental. Is this, indeed, the case?”

“I — I like to play around with new combinations sometimes,” he admitted, trying to extricate himself politely from her grasp. “But I wouldn’t call that flair.”

“Don’t be modest, Poison.” Razz placed a heavy hand on each of his little brother’s shoulders, trapping him firmly in place. “Regular mad scientist, this one. Has his own private laboratory at home and everything.”

“It’s a shed out back,” Boysen protested weakly.

“Which you spent hours in every day after school.” Razz was obviously enjoying his brother’s discomfort, and just as obviously proud of his accomplishments. “Hours and hours, Professor Honeycomb. We had to drag him in for dinner. And he’s kept it up here at the academy.”

“Oh?” Professor Honeycomb raised her eyebrows.

Mac nodded. “It’s true. You should see the state of the Whisk kitchen on the weekends.”

“Traitor,” Boysen muttered softly.

“Can confirm,” Razz said. “I get samples sometimes when I’m on dorm duty. You should taste some of the combinations he dreams up!”

“I should, indeed.” Professor Honeycomb’s blue eyes twinkled as she pointed a finger in Boysen’s face. “No more holding out on me, Berry. Do you hear? I want your favorite recent experiment on my counter when you come in for Flavor lab tomorrow. Is that understood?”

Boysen’s face was as red as his namesake, but he managed his genuine good-natured grin. “Yes, Professor.”

“Excellent. Now, off with you.”

Boysen scurried to his work-station just as Professor Genoise swept grandly into the room, followed by Professor Puff at a more demure pace. The three teachers stood together on the platform and surveyed the first-years.

“As I am sure you know,” Professor Genoise began, “this is the final week of our first term. Your first term evaluation will take place this Saturday morning in the exam hall.”

“For this evaluation, we ask that you repeat your final entrance exam cake, with a few key differences,” Professor Honeycomb said.

Professor Puff took up the thread. “This exam should be a showcase of your growth in this first term. As such, you may only use techniques or spells you have learned in class.”

A murmur ran through the room, but the Texture headmistress continued unperturbed. “The same rules from the final entrance exam apply. You may choose only one spell each for Texture and Presentation, and it must be a spell from the first term curriculum.”

“For Flavor, of course, we haven’t been using magic this term.” Professor Honeycomb smiled. “So you are not permitted to use any Flavor spells. But I ask that you include one additional ingredient in your exam cake as a Flavor combination. Review the many flavors we have covered this term, and choose one that will harmonize well with the taste of your original recipe. This will demonstrate the development of your Flavor instinct… or lack thereof.”

Professor Genoise stroked his neat gray beard with delicately manicured fingers. “I am sure we do not need to explain to you the importance of this exam. Only five of you can advance to the second term. At the end of this exam, we will announce who will be leaving us. We will also award the year’s first Stellar Enchantment Pin to the Aspiring Baker who most distinguishes themselves with their cake.”

“Then we all gather that night for our annual winter holiday feast, before you leave for break.” Professor Honeycomb beamed at the class. “We look forward to celebrating your growth!”

“And to tailoring your instruction for the second term,” Professor Puff added. “The first exam allows us to identify the strengths and weaknesses of the foundation you have laid thus far, that we may build upon it efficiently for the rest of the year.”

“We shall be spending this week in review, to ensure that you may approach Saturday’s task with confidence.” Professor Genoise surveyed the first-years. “Any questions? Yes, Aspiring Baker Meringue?”

Caramelle’s hand stayed frozen in the air after she was called on, as if she’d forgotten she had raised it. “Professor, may I ask why we are only hearing about this now, with not even a full week to prepare? Why the secrecy?”

“Secrecy is a strong word,” Professor Genoise chuckled. “We are not setting you up to fail, Aspiring Baker Meringue. We simply want the most accurate assessment possible of what you have learned this term. If you have been applying yourself each day in class, you have nothing to fear.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

He smiled graciously, and Caramelle slowly lowered her hand.

“Any other questions? No?” Professor Genoise turned to the Flavor headmistress, giving her a deep bow. “As always, thank you for hosting, Professor Honeycomb.”

“Of course, Professor Genoise. Professor Puff.”

The Texture and Presentation teachers nodded formally to the class, then departed.

Professor Honeycomb rubbed her hands together briskly. “Time for some Flavor Identification Training! Razz, distribute the powders, if you please.”

This kicked off a whirlwind week for the first-years. Each day, they pushed themselves in class, straining every nerve to absorb as much foundation-building ‘growth’ as possible. Each night, all but Aniseed gathered in Whisk, pooling their resources from the day and comparing strategies. They then spilled out into the dorm’s first floor common area, making full use of the larger kitchen as they each baked practice cake after practice cake.

Despite the stress of the looming exam, it was one of the happiest weeks of Lyra’s life. She received a personalized compliment from each professor on their respective lab days, which was better than even her roommate. Though Caramelle was singled out once by Professor Genoise and several times by Professor Puff, only Lyra and Boysen were called up by Professor Honeycomb for public praise.

The one small lump in Lyra’s batter that week was, in fact, Caramelle’s behavior in Presentation. The auburn-haired girl was positively frantic for help in preparing for the exam. And since, of course, Professor Genoise had to divide his attention equally among all six students, the task of assuaging Caramelle’s anxiety fell entirely to Apprentice Baker Coulis. She kept Cardamom at her work-station all through class on Monday and Friday, and for most of Thursday’s lab.

Lyra tried not to let it bother her. It helped that she knew Caramelle well enough by now to understand that this was not a game… at least, not entirely. The Meringue’s exam-induced panic was all too real. Lyra kept reminding herself of that all through the hours spent in Professor Genoise’s classroom that week, keeping her eyes determinedly focused on her own work and making a valiant effort to ignore the faint scent of cinnamon and honey wafting towards her from Caramelle’s work-station.

Still, on the whole, Lyra reveled in the sense of fulfillment and accomplishment simmering in her chest through every long day. When the roommates arrived back in Pestle Friday night after the final Whisk Whiz Review of the term, Lyra felt tired, but as ready as she would ever be.

“Time for a good night’s sleep.” Lyra yawned as she took off her apron and surveyed it ruefully. It was covered in stains from the week’s practice sessions. “Thanks again for recommending that I get the extra apron,” she said to Caramelle. “It makes a difference to head into a big event with a clean outfit, and I’m not up for laundry tonight.”

Caramelle didn’t seem to hear her. She was leaning against the door, staring off into the middle distance.

“Caramelle?” Lyra threw the apron at her roommate, who caught it reflexively. “You all right?”

Caramelle looked down at the apron in her hands. “I’m just… nervous. About tomorrow.”

“You don’t say.” Lyra crossed the room, wrapping the auburn-haired girl in a hug. “I know you probably won’t agree with me here, but if anyone has reason NOT to be nervous, it’s you.”

“It’s dangerous to think that way.” Caramelle pushed the apron into Lyra’s hands and moved away, perching on the edge of her bed. “My mother always warned me that if I don’t take baking seriously, I’ll get complacent. That’s… not an option, in my house. Nothing less than the absolute best. Ever.”

“You do take it seriously,” Lyra insisted. “And you work hard. Complacent is not the word anyone would use to describe you.”

Her roommate just stared at the floor, eyes wide in her pale, strained face.

Lyra placed a hand on the girl’s rigid shoulder. “Everyone knows you have done absolutely everything you can to succeed tomorrow. All that’s left to do is rest.”

Caramelle kept her gaze on the floor. A few long, silent moments ticked by. Then she nodded, as if she had made a decision.

“There is one more thing I can do.” She stood, grabbed Lyra’s hand, and started dragging her to the kitchen area. “Put that apron back on. We’re not done practicing.”

Lyra groaned. “Yes, we are. We have our recipes for tomorrow. We’ve each made our cake at least a dozen times this week. Now we need sleep.”

Caramelle took the apron and started putting it on Lyra. “Remember what I told you at the beginning of term? I wanted us to be there for each other. Have each other’s back. So this is me having your back.”

“How?” Lyra demanded as Caramelle tied the apron strings firmly. “By practicing solidarity in sleep-deprivation?”

“By giving you an edge.” Caramelle leaned in, dropping her voice to a whisper. “I’ve been getting some extra help from Cardamom in Presentation class this week.”

Lyra’s heart flip-flopped. “I… I noticed.”

“It’s not like that first week.” Caramelle assured her. “I actually do need the help. My style is virtuosic, remember? I can put on a great show. But we’ve been focusing so much on basic neatness this term, and that’s my weak spot. Cardamom has been so helpful. This week, he gave me a great tip to get the most out of the Presentation spell you and I are using in our exam cakes.”

“Madame Temper’s Chant of Precision?”

“That’s the one.” Caramelle gripped Lyra’s arm, her hands shaking. “I know you used that spell in your final entrance exam, and it was great, so I’ve been telling myself all week that you don’t need this tip. That I could keep it to myself. But that’s not fair. Pestle girls stick together, right?”

“Sure,” Lyra said slowly. “But… special help? Isn’t it cheating?”

Caramelle’s eyes widened. “Not at all! We’re supposed to use what we’ve learned in class. This is what I learned in class, from Professor Genoise’s official assistant. And it’s not like he gave me a different spell to use or anything. It’s just a slightly better technique for the spell we’re using already. A shift in inflection to two words, and an extra repetition of the last line.”

Lyra hesitated. “I appreciate it, Caramelle. I really do. But if it’s such a subtle adjustment… will it matter? I mean, will it make that big a difference?”

“This is our first exam at the academy,” Caramelle said fervently. “We’re up against a group of incredibly talented bakers, and one of us won’t be here next term. We have to use every resource at our disposal to make sure we’re not that ‘one’.”

“I guess…”

“Just let me show you once, and then you can decide if you want to use it or not,” Caramelle pleaded. “I think… I know Cardamom would want me to share this with you. He talks about you quite a bit, you know.”

Lyra’s flip-flopping heart gave a great leap, lodging somewhere in her throat. “He does?”

“Oh, yes. He thinks it’s great that we’re roommates. He believes in both of us so much.” Caramelle gazed at Lyra, her eyes large and shining with intensity. “Will you go through the recipe once with me?”

“Okay,” Lyra relented. “One more practice run, with Cardamom’s adjustment to the Presentation spell. But then we sleep. Deal?”

“Deal!” Caramelle clapped her hands. “Oh, Lyra! Tomorrow is going to be a grand day.”

She smoothed her perfectly coiled auburn hair, then twirled in place before dancing towards the kitchen. Lyra laughed and followed, caught up in her roommate’s sudden burst of spirits.

“A grand day indeed,” Caramelle sang under her breath as she quietly got out bowls and pans. “I can feel it, Lyra. You mark my words. The Stellar Enchantment Pin is coming to Pestle tomorrow.”