“I’m not sure about this, Lyra.” Melody Treble’s normally pleasant voice was sharp with anxiety. “I thought this baking thing was just a phase.”

“Or a hobby,” her husband suggested. “Everyone needs a hobby to blow off steam.”

They had been unusually silent all afternoon while helping Lyra pack. Now, as they stood with their daughter in front of the Royal Academy of Magical Baking’s magnificent gates, the reality of the moment seemed to hit home for Harmon and Melody Treble, forcing them to speak.

“Look at your brother Canto,” Lyra’s mother suggested. “He loves painting, and he’s quite good at it. But he didn’t go rushing off to the Royal Academy of Visual Arts.”

“He knows painting is a hobby.” Harmon Treble scowled up at the gates. “It helps him relax, and that makes him a better musician overall. But it’s not his profession.”

Melody nodded, pursing her lips. “It’s a hobby, Lyra. Like my embroidery, or your father’s potted plants. Why can’t baking just be your hobby?”

“I don’t know,” Lyra said quietly. “But it can’t. Baking is not my hobby. It’s more than that.”

Lyra’s right hand was fused around the packet of welcome scrolls Professor Honeycomb had handed out at the end of the exam that morning. The parchment was nearly worn through from her tight grip, but she couldn’t let go. It was the only thing convincing her that this was actually happening.

“I’m just not sure about this, Lyra,” her mother said again.

Her father nodded. “You’ve been a bard your whole life. And now, all of a sudden, that’s not enough?”

“I started these trials a year ago,” Lyra reminded them. “It’s not ‘all of a sudden.’ And you’ve both been supportive. You let me skip Any Weather rehearsals to practice my recipes. You bought me that book, Dad. I thought you loved my baking.”

“We do.” Harmon’s voice was grim. “Just like we love Canto’s painting.”

Lyra clutched the scrolls tighter. “Why’d you let me keep going? I mean, if you felt this strongly about it?”

“We never expected you to get this far,” Melody said bluntly. “You’re very talented, Lyra, but you haven’t had training like these other kids. The basic spells alone —”

Harmon held up a hand to his wife, putting his other arm around Lyra. “It’s not that we don’t believe in you, Treblette. Quite the opposite. We just don’t want to see you get hurt, or set yourself up for disappointment.”

“And we’ll miss you,” her mother put in plaintively. “Especially during shows. Your brothers are a splendid trio, but your rhythm guitar and vocals…”

Harmon squeezed Lyra’s shoulder. “You’ll be leaving a big gap, Treblette.”

“Maybe not for very long.” Lyra gazed up at the gates, which suddenly seemed very much like a mouth waiting to gobble her up. “They took six of us, but only three will be left at the end of the year. They cut the lowest performer at the end of every term. So, if I crash and burn over the next few months, you just might get your wish.”

“We don’t want you to crash and burn,” Melody assured her, rushing to wrap her own arm around Lyra from the other side. “It’s just… oh, flats. Words are such tricky things. I can’t get the right ones out unless I’m singing.”

“Please don’t,” Lyra said hastily, with a quick glance at the pedestrians passing behind them in a steady stream. “I get it. I do.”

And she meant it. Standing there between her parents, their affection flooding her from both sides, she understood.

Her father sighed. “We love you, Lyra.”

“Love you too.” Then, under her breath, Lyra sang the first line of their family favorite, the closing song for all the Any Weather Bards shows:

“I know it’s never certain When we’ll meet again —”

Pressing their heads close together, her parents finished the line, singing so quietly that only the three of them could possibly hear:

“So I’ll watch through the curtain And think of you till then.”

They each planted a kiss on top of her head. Then they stood back, letting her shoulder her own two bags and make her way through the gates.

Considering its national importance, the Royal Academy of Magical Baking was a relatively small campus. Its rigorously exclusive program meant there were never more than twelve students in residence at any given time. Other than the exam hall which had hosted that morning’s final entrance event, there were only six other buildings within the stone walls. The largest and most central was the main hall, which housed the academy kitchens, dining commons, student practice kitchens, and one classroom each for Flavor, Texture, and Presentation studies. Behind the main hall was a greenhouse, surrounded by the academy orchard and gardens. The southern end of campus was the residential area, with a dormitory for the students and three small cottages for the professors.

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The welcome scrolls included a map, but even without it, Lyra would have had no trouble finding the dormitories. She turned right as soon as she passed through the gate and tried to move a bit faster. The welcome feast was starting in less than an hour, and she wanted to get settled into her room first.

As she walked along the broad pathway, paved with wide gray stones, she wondered who her roommate would be. The dormitory had three floors, one for each year of the academy’s program. The four rooms on each floor were like large apartments. The top two floors had only three residents each, of course, with one extra room for overflow studying or academy guests. But the first years would each be starting with a roommate.

I hope it’s Ginger, Lyra thought as she approached the tall dormitory building. She hadn’t gotten a good look at Aniseed Mint that morning, but at first glance, the raven-haired girl seemed even haughtier than Caramelle.

And as for Caramelle herself…

Lyra really, really hoped she’d be rooming with Ginger.

She trudged up the three shallow stone steps and paused for a moment, looking at her new home. Every academy building was constructed of the same gray stone. It gave the whole place a solid feeling, like a visible testament to the institution’s enduring legacy. The carefully groomed ivy was also a nice touch. Lyra thought it gave each building the appearance of a neatly decorated cake.

Taken all together, the Royal Academy of Magical Baking was an impressive place. The buildings stood proudly, as if daring time to do its worst. Yet though Lyra definitely felt all the weight of the school’s imposing presence, it wasn’t overwhelming. She decided it was the cheerful red color of all the doors that saved the whole place from drowning in its own importance. The red paint added just the right dash of ‘cozy’ to the academy’s recipe.

Lyra took a deep breath, trying to inhale enough of that cozy cheer to calm her rising tide of nerves. Then, with determined confidence, she pulled open one of the dormitory’s red doors and strode inside.

The foyer had a staircase on either side, leading up to the second and third floors. Lyra passed through the foyer and pulled open another door to find herself in the first floor central living area. Each floor was built around its own communal space, for times when that year’s students wanted to gather for group meals or study. Directly inside the door were two couches, facing each other across a magical indoor fire pit. Beyond them was a dining table with six chairs. A kitchen took up the rest of the room, large enough for six ‘Aspiring Bakers’ to make a glorious mess simultaneously.

The walls on the left and right each had two doors, all currently closed. Lyra knew from the welcome packet that they were all named after various pieces of baking equipment. She recited their names quietly to herself, starting with the room on her immediate left and moving clockwise.

“Spatula, Whisk, Pestle, Zester.” Her gaze landed on each door in turn before settling on the back right corner. “And I’m in Pestle.”

Moving around the common area, she navigated to the correct door. It was painted the same cozy red as all the other doors and had a hand-drawn picture of a pestle hanging in the center. Suddenly unsure of the etiquette, Lyra knocked.

A rustle of movement sounded on the other side of the door, then it was pulled open.

Lyra’s heart took a nosedive.

“Caramelle,” she said.

The auburn-haired girl stared at her for a moment. Then, to Lyra’s complete astonishment, Caramelle’s face broke into a wide smile.

“Lyra!” Caramelle threw her arms around the stunned former bard. After a brief hug, she stepped back and threw the door open wide. “Come in! Oh, I’m so glad we’ll be roommates. I was hoping to get to know you better!”

Lyra stood in the doorway, frozen in shock. “You — you were?”

“Of course!” Caramelle’s eyes shone with delight. Genuine delight, as far as Lyra could tell. “I think we can learn so much from each other. I’ve got loads to pass along from Master Chiffon, and you… well, you must be doing something right. I’ve never heard of the professors speaking to a student during the judging.”

“You haven’t?” Lyra still seemed unable to move, but Caramelle ushered her in and closed the door behind her.

“Never. You caused quite a stir, Miss Treble.” Caramelle laughed. “Treble! I do hope you won’t make trouble, Miss Treble.”

This was by no means Lyra’s first encounter with that tired old joke, but Caramelle was so clearly tickled by it that Lyra tried to play along.

“I don’t plan to,” she said, forcing a smile and a laugh. “I just want to learn about baking.”

“As do we all.” Caramelle was suddenly serious. She took both Lyra’s hands in her own, looking her straight in the eye. “This place is hard, you know. That’s why we’ve got to stick together.”

Lyra couldn’t stop her eyebrows from rising. “Really? I thought it was super competitive. Especially this first year.”

Caramelle waved one hand dismissively. “Oh, sure. We’re all hoping to move into our own room on the second floor next year. But each of us is really just trying to become the best baker we can be, right?”

“Of course,” Lyra said.

“Of course! And the only way to become the best baker you can be is to make use of every available resource.” Caramelle gave Lyra a dazzling smile. “Including our fellow bakers.”

Lyra hesitated.

Maybe I judged her too quickly, she thought. She was probably just nervous this morning, and it made her come across all… Meringue-y.

Lyra looked around the room. On the right was a small living nook, with one couch and one overstuffed armchair nestled around another magical fire pit. Two twin beds stood against the left wall, each with an accompanying desk and small bookcase. As with the common area, a large kitchen took up the rest of the room. A door on the right-hand wall led to an adjoining bathroom with the Zester apartment.

Each room has a huge kitchen, but two rooms have to share one bathroom, Lyra mused. At least the Royal Academy of Magical Baking made its priorities clear.

“What do you say?” Caramelle coaxed. “Can we decide, right here and now, to have each other’s back this year?”

Lyra took another look around the apartment. The room was reasonably spacious, but it was still far too small a space to share with an enemy, especially considering the intense weeks ahead.

She took a deep breath, then returned Caramelle’s smile. “Absolutely,” she said. “That sounds really nice.”

“Sweet and savory!” Caramelle gave her another, even quicker hug. “Now let’s get you unpacked. The welcome feast starts in just a bit, you know. We can get there early and choose our seats!”