“One week down.” Mac collapsed into the chair in Whisk with a groan. “Eleven more to go.”

Ginger threw a pillow at him from her corner of the couch. “Don’t be so fast,” she warned. “We still have our first weekend of mad baking ahead of us, followed by the first of several Monday morning exams. I wouldn’t call the week over until THAT’S done.”

Mac groaned again, covering his face with his hands. “Is Friday no refuge anymore? Is nothing sacred?”

“Of course Friday is a refuge,” Boysen said, arriving from the kitchen with a tray of mugs. “And the Whisk Whiz Review is sacred.” He handed Lyra a mug of hot chocolate. “Speaking of, welcome back to the fold, Treble. How were your two evenings away?”

His voice was carefully light, and Lyra responded in kind. “They were good. Tutoring is going to be a big help to me this term. Though I missed you all, of course.”

“Ha!” Ginger swatted Lyra with the remaining pillow. “No way you missed us THAT much. You were happier than an overproofed lump of dough when you came home last night, and the night before.”

Lyra wrapped her fingers around the mug, concentrating on the steam rising from its creamy surface. “Both things can be true.”

“Of course.” Boysen finished handing out hot chocolate and sat back on his heels. “We’re glad you’re back, and also glad the time away is proving… beneficial.”

“It really is,” Lyra insisted. “And not just for me. I’ll soak up all the insight I can and bring it back to Whisk.”

Mac wrapped his arms around the pillow Ginger had thrown at him, hugging it to his chest. “Could you maybe ask Cardamom how the professors expect us to do this every week? This first round of projects feels…”

“Unmanageable?” Ginger suggested. “Cruel? More ridiculous than Professor Genoise’s monocle?”

“You’re just miffed about Genoise’s evaluation of your exam cake,” Boysen said. “So what if you’re too ‘daring’ for his particular tastes? You shouldn’t take it so personally.”

Lyra looked at her roommate curiously. “That happened Monday. I thought you were over it.”

“It comes and goes in waves,” Ginger sighed.

Lyra persisted, “But why didn’t you say anything? The last time we talked about it —”

“Was Tuesday,” Ginger reminded her. “I’ve barely seen you since.” She smiled dryly at Lyra’s sorrowful expression. “It’s okay, roomie. You’ve had a lot going on. We’ll find a rhythm soon.”

“Speaking of rhythms,” Boysen said, “how about we set ourselves a schedule for the weekends?”

Mac raised his hand. “Could this schedule include some down-time? Y’know, to avoid keeling over and hating the world?”

“My partner is wise,” Ginger said solemnly. “When building a work schedule, always prioritize NOT working.”

Boysen nodded, copying her grave tone. “Of course. That is the only way to ensure you have sufficient energy when the time does come to work. Otherwise, as my esteemed roommate so rightly observed, you run the risk of hating the world.”

“And baking most of all,” Ginger added.

“Exactly.” Boysen, too, raised his hand. “All in favor of setting aside most of our Friday evening sessions for Whisk Whiz Recreation?”

Mac raised his other hand. Ginger gave a thumb’s-up.

“I guess,” Lyra said cautiously. “Are you sure we won’t get behind?”

“You haven’t heard the rest of the schedule yet.” Boysen took a sip of hot chocolate, as if to brace himself. “I further propose that each ‘team’ use Saturdays as practice days for the weekly project assignments, and Sundays as ‘performance.’”

“Bake all day Saturday AND Sunday?” Ginger asked, her tone incredulous.

“Makes sense.” Mac nodded fervently. “Work out the issues on Saturday, then do a clean run through on Sunday. But if disaster strikes on Sunday, we would still have the results from Saturday as a backup.”

Lyra’s eyebrows crinkled. “How will it all stay fresh?”

“Remember the preservation spells,” Boysen replied. “We could ask the third-years to perform them Saturday nights as well as Sundays. I’m sure Razz or Hyacinth wouldn’t mind.”

“Or Cardamom,” Lyra said. “He would be glad to help.”

Ginger rolled her eyes. “Glad to help you, maybe.”

Lyra ignored her. “So we use Friday night to cool off from the week, then hit it hard Saturday and Sunday?”

“That’s the idea.” Boysen raised his hand again. “All in favor, say ‘sweet’.”

The other three chorused, “Sweet.”

“And savory.” Ginger shook her head. “That’s still a ton of baking.”

Lyra patted her shoulder. “That’s why they put us in teams. It won’t be nearly so bad with a partner.”

“That’s right.” Boysen caught her eye and flashed her a grin. “Could even be fun.”

“What about Caramelle?” Mac’s voice was anxious. “She has to do it all by herself.”

“Serves her right,” Ginger said grimly.

Lyra had kept her promise to Caramelle and hadn’t told her new roommate any details about the Pestle breakup, but Ginger seemed to have guessed exactly what happened. She also didn’t need any encouragement to think the worst of ‘The Meringue.’

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Mac, on the other hand, was still viewing the world through Caramelle-colored lenses. “Don’t say that, Ginger. Think about handling all this work alone. And it’s only going to get tougher from here.”

“Serves her right,” Ginger repeated. “She’s the one who asked to work alone.”

“And she’s not even coming to the Whisk Whiz Review anymore.” Mac stared despondently into his hot chocolate, ignoring the steam as it fogged up his glasses. “Did she say why, Lyra?”

Lyra gazed into her own mug, avoiding everyone’s eyes. “I think… she’s gone as far as she can with us. That’s what she believes, anyway. She wants to be able to move at her own pace.”

“Can’t you try to talk to her?” Mac persisted. “Make her see sense?”

“Lyra has wasted enough breath on that particular lost cause,” Ginger said heatedly. “Seriously, Macaron. What is it with you and The Meringue?”

Mac froze. “What do you mean?”

“I mean she’s an arrogant, puffed up lump of over-enriched dough.” Ginger spread her arms as if to indicate the size of Caramelle’s ego. “What do you see in her?”

Mac opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked at Boysen helplessly.

“Point of order, Crumble,” Boysen said, his calm voice instantly defusing the tension. “We do not investigate matters of the heart. ’Tis far too… layered for the Whisk Whiz Review. And we don’t speak ill of other Whisk Whizzes.”

“The Meringue is not a Whiz anymore,” Ginger shot back. “She has forfeited the right to —”

“You can’t stop being a Whiz,” Boysen said firmly. “It’s a lifetime membership, guaranteed. If Caramelle ever wants to return, she’ll be welcomed back with open arms.”

Ginger shook her head, but said nothing.

Mac studied Ginger over the top of his mug. “What do you have against her, anyway?”

“She was mean to my friend,” Ginger said. Lyra started to object, but Ginger cut her off. “I don’t know the whole story, but she did something to hurt Lyra. Isn’t that enough?”

“Lyra doesn’t seem to be taking it as hard as you are,” Mac observed.

“Lyra’s a better person than I am,” Ginger said.

“That’s not true,” Lyra protested.

“And you’ve hated Caramelle from the start,” Mac went on. “You were sniping at her all first term. Why?”

Ginger looked at Boysen. “Does this count as ‘matters of the heart’, or do I have to answer?”

“I think it’s a valid question,” Boysen replied. “Especially since you and Mac are going to be spending a lot of time together this term. Best to clear the air.”

“Fine.” Ginger sighed. “I guess… to me, Caramelle Meringue represents everything that is wrong with the baking world.”

“Is that all?” Boysen asked dryly. “Easy fix, then.”

Ginger stuck her tongue out at him, then continued. “What are we always saying in these review sessions? That baking is about creation. Shared creation. That’s the whole point of this academy. We’re here to make good food so we can share it with others. Right?”

“I’ll drink to that,” Lyra said, taking a sip of hot chocolate.

“But creation requires creativity,” Ginger went on. “Not just doing the same old thing over and over, but trying new things. Pushing boundaries. Taking risks.”

“Creativity is ‘daring’,” Boysen suggested innocently.

“Exactly.” Ginger nodded. “That was one of the founding principles of the academy. This school was supposed to be like an incubator for creativity, raising new generations of bakers who would keep moving things forward.”

“Oh yeah…” Lyra closed her eyes in an effort to remember. “I did some research into the academy when I was going through the trials. That was a big part of the founding charter. I think the book I read even used the phrase ‘incubator for creativity’.”

Mac’s eyes squinted at Ginger behind his glasses. “What does this have to do with Caramelle?”

“It’s her whole family, really,” Ginger said. “And others like them. We’re the Royal Academy of Magical Baking, right? But somewhere along the way, people stopped caring about the ‘academy’ part, or even ‘magical baking.’ They only care about ‘royal.’ About getting ahead and moving up in the world.”

“Being the best, no matter what,” Lyra muttered, thinking of her last conversation with Caramelle.

Ginger pointed at her. “That’s it. That’s the mantra. Baking isn’t about experimentation anymore. It’s about doing the same things everyone has always done, but better, so you can beat everyone else out of that exclusive royal chef job or get the best restaurant space. Competition has replaced creativity.”

“So… you don’t really hate Caramelle?” Mac said. “Not personally, I mean. You just hate her whole family on principle?”

“Hate is a strong word.” Ginger took a determined sip of her hot chocolate. “Let’s call it cordially dislike. But it is personal.”

Boysen looked at Ginger curiously. “Did she steal your favorite rolling pin in kindergarten or something?”

“Sweet and savory, no,” Ginger chuckled. “The Meringue didn’t go to my school. She had private tutors all the way. But we still ran into each other plenty over the years, at competitions and dinners and such. The baking world is small. You know that better than most, Berry Boy.”

Boysen shrugged. “I knew about Caramelle, sure. I knew about all of you before we started here. Except for Treble, of course.” He winked at Lyra. “But I didn’t know anyone well enough to form an opinion, let alone a ‘cordial dislike.’”

“Well, I did.” Ginger drained the rest of her cocoa and set the mug down on the floor. “Let’s just say… Caramelle is a true Meringue. The whole family are Texture experts, which means they are obsessed with rules. Formulas. The baking world should be structured just-so, according to ‘how things have always been done.’ And, of course, that includes the Meringues at the top. Can’t have structure without hierarchy.”

“Cardamom was saying something pretty similar the other night.” Lyra instantly felt the air in the room start spinning a tad bit faster as tension whipped up again, but she tried to ignore it. “That old baking families are damaging the profession, making it harder for new ideas to take root.”

Ginger whistled. “Well, isn’t that the honey calling the sugar sweet?”

“Coulis is not an old name,” Lyra said, carefully avoiding everyone’s eyes. “He’s only ‘the Third.’ It’s been rough for him and his family.”

“I’ll bet.” Ginger snorted. “Do they collect all their tears in crystal bottles, or diamond?”

Lyra couldn’t help glancing at Boysen. He was studying his hot chocolate with unnecessary intensity.

Meanwhile, Mac was still on the subject of auburn-haired Meringues. “I don’t think she’s really like that,” he insisted. “That old family nonsense. We all spent a lot of time with her last term. She didn’t talk that way.”

“I was surprised,” Ginger admitted. “I tried to give her the benefit of a doubt. I thought maybe Lyra could be a good influence. But it turns out… a Meringue is a Meringue, through and through and always. You can’t un-whip those egg whites.”

“What do you think, Treble?” Boysen asked. Lyra looked up to find him watching her closely. “You two spent the most time together. Do you think Ginger’s right? Or should my poor roommate continue to hold out hope?”

Lyra’s hot chocolate had gone cold in her hands. She clutched the mug anyway, trying to draw support from its smooth surface as she chose her words carefully. “I think… you’re right.”

“Me?” Mac and Ginger asked at once.

“Boysen.” Lyra smiled at his look of surprise. “I was really… disappointed in Caramelle, at the end of last term. But I also saw how hard she worked. If she chooses to come back to the Whizzes, we should let her.”

Mac and Boysen cheered as Ginger groaned. Lyra held up a hand. “I’m not saying I think she will come back. Honestly, I’m with Ginger on that. I don’t have a lot of hope that Caramelle will change any time soon. But… creativity is all about being open to change, right?”

“Exactly.” Boysen beamed at Lyra, which somehow warmed her heart far more than the hot chocolate could have. “Besides, it sounds to me like Crumble’s problem is more with Professor Genoise than any particular student.”

“Mac, throw that pillow at Boysen,” Ginger commanded. “I don’t have any missiles left.”

Mac hugged the pillow she had thrown at him earlier. “You can pry it from my cold, floury hands.”

Ginger nudged Lyra. “Roomie, take that pillow from Fondant.”

“Is a pillow fight really the best way to begin the term?” Lyra laughed.

“It’s Friday, isn’t it?” Ginger lunged across Lyra, snatched the pillow from Mac, and used it to swat Boysen on the head. “Fridays are for cooling off!”

“Watch the hot chocolate!” Mac yelped, cradling his mug.

“Watch the fire!” Boysen rolled to the side, managing to empty the dregs of his hot chocolate into the flames rather than onto the rug. In the same fluid motion, he grabbed the pillow from Ginger’s hands and threw it back, catching her squarely in the nose. “Mac! Battle stations!”

With that, the first-ever Whisk Whiz ‘Recreation’ kicked off to muffled shrieks of pillow-faced laughter.