A. Gardner - Poppy Peters 01 - Southern Peach Pie and A Dead Guy (5 page)

"Ugh! My hair!" Georgina is the first person to roll her eyes and leave. I grab my bag and follow Bree outside. The rest of the classrooms empty, and the quad fills up with bewildered students. I squeeze the water from my long, damp hair and hope that my makeup isn't so smudged that I have raccoon eyes.

Professor Sellers emerges from the building with the other professors. He mutters a few things to them and then nods. He faces our class and folds his arms, disappointed. A siren blasts from down the street, and another professor runs to meet it.

"Okay," Professor Sellers says so that everyone can hear him. "Who had oven number three? The temperature was turned on much
too high, and the oven timer wasn't even on."

My throat tightens, and I feel as if I might choke. My toes curl up inside my shoes as I hang my head and take a deep breath.
I
had oven number three, but I set it to the correct temperature, and I distinctly remember setting my timer. With damp hair and wet clothes, I step forward and discreetly hold up my hand.

"Ah, yes," he responds. "Come with me, Ms. Peters."

The quad falls silent as I follow him past a parked fire engine and around the corner where none of the other students can see us. I brace myself for what might happen next. At least he doesn't have the authority to expel me.

At least, I don't think he does.

"Ms. Peters," he says quietly.

"Poppy," I correct him.

"Poppy." He clasps his hands together. "Why on earth did you set your oven so high?"

"But I didn't—"

"If you can't even set an oven, I'm astounded that you got into this school at all," he continues.

"But, Professor—"

"Let me finish," he snaps. "You are on very thin ice right now. I am going to be paying close attention to you from now on just to make sure nothing like this happens again, and I suggest you spend
every
night practicing the basics in your apartment, understand?"

"Yes," I answer.

"Good." He leaves me and heads towards the fire engine parked alongside the building.

Professor Sellers just gave me a second chance, but I feel as defeated as ever. I had everything down this time. Everything. My batter was perfect. The way I filled my cupcake pan was perfect. My oven settings were perfect. In fact, I followed every rule to the letter so that the only way this could have happened was if someone changed something.

She wouldn't, would she?

I think of the one person who has a reason to hate me right now. The same person who had a moment alone with my cupcakes.
Georgina.

I'm not sure why Georgina would stoop so low that she would risk sending the entire building up in flames. I would never do a thing like that. I walk slowly back towards the crowd of people outside the building, and when I do most of them quiet down. I hate that feeling you get when you know someone is whispering about you. I concentrate on my steps, trying hard not to blush. I avoid eye contact with Georgina.

"So," Bree gulps. "What did he say?"

"He gave me a warning."

"Thank heavens," she mutters.

"But that isn't the worst of our problems." I glance around and see Cole staring in my direction. I smile at him, letting him know that things are okay.

"You did everything right." Bree shakes her head looking confused. "I know you did. I saw you."

"
Someone
turned up the heat," I respond.

"Who?" she gasps.

"Who do you think?"

"Why that crazy little—"

"Not here," I cut Bree off before she starts cussing Georgina out in front of everyone. Though Bree
shouting profanities in one of her sundresses is something I hope to see one day.

"Poppy, you've got to get her back."

"I will," I reassure her. "I will in time."

I pace our living room thinking of what to do next. All the times in my life that I've confronted people it never went down so well. The last time I did that was with my ex-boyfriend. My chest is pounding, and I can't stop thinking about what happened today. My cupcake failure will be the talk of the school for years and years to come.

"I'm relieved that you weren't expelled," Bree sighs. She is flipping through a magazine looking for a good recipe for dinner. Comfort food. "I insist that we eat our feelings tonight."

"Well, if you insist," I respond.

"Macaroni and cheese?" she suggests.

"Maybe we should go out?"

"First you need to figure out what to do about Georgina," Bree comments. She sets her magazine down on the coffee table and frowns. "I say you turn her in. That little brat could use a good slap on the wrist."

"No." I laugh. "A talking to won't shake up a girl like Georgina."

"It sure as heck would scare the crap out of me. I'm just saying." Bree stands up and heads for the kitchen.

"No we need something…" I think back to the few times in my life when I've actually plotted and sought revenge against someone else. Those plans always backfired "No." I sigh.

"Turn her in," Bree says again. "That's what I would do."

"The one thing that would piss Georgina off the most would be if I actually graduated with her."

"What are you saying? You're going to let her get away with it?"

"I'm saying I'm going to study extra hard until I get this right," I answer. "I'm going to keep my head down and do my work. That's how I'm going to get back at her."

Bree looks at me and rolls her eyes. She opens a cupboard and pulls out a container of flour. She's at it again. The nervous baking. But for how often she whips together a layered cake or a batch of chocolate chip cookies, she must be a nervous wreck twenty-four/seven.

I guess everyone has issues. Even perfectionists like Bree.

*  *  *

Weeks go by and I avoid the school kitchens like a batch of burnt brownies. The only time I'm there is during the day when everyone else is practicing their piping techniques. I'm not allowed to practice anything involving the ovens after hours without a buddy.
Kind of humiliating.
I've been studying with Bree, but the pressure to be perfect and not screw up again eats away at me. So far I'm not doing so hot, though Bree disagrees. She says I'm doing just fine for a beginner. I never thought that frosting a layered cake or piping macaron batter into a perfect circle would be so difficult.

How did Grandma Liz do it all?

I scratch the side of my head and check my dough again for my cinnamon rolls. They are part of a simple lesson to teach us the proper way to use yeast. My dough still won't rise. I slump my shoulders and shake my head. I feel a hand on my arm. I turn and see Jeff studying my dough. He kneads it a little and then looks at me.

"Your water must have been too hot," he comments.

"Story of my life," I sigh.

"Don't bother, Jeff," I hear Georgina say. She walks past with a perfectly positioned pan of fluffy cinnamon rolls. "This one is slowly realizing that dancers don't belong in the kitchen."

"Oh, you—"

"Poppy," Bree cuts in. Her cheeks are red, and she jerks me away from Georgina's pan. "Don't, honey."

"What?" I say. "It's not like I'm going to knock the pan right out of her hands."

That is exactly what I want to do. After the sprinkler fiasco, I did exactly what I said I was going to do. I ignored Georgina and focused on my studies. For a few days, Georgina avoided me too. I was starting to think that something inside her actually felt guilty for setting me up like that.

That all changed a couple days ago when Jeff started dragging his stool over to my station to share my book.

"Ignore her," Bree instructs me. She has been the ice water that drenches my fire since day one. Bree and Cole are the people I feel most comfortable with. They get me.

"Do you know what you need?" Jeff says. I shift from side to side in my heels. Professor Sellers told me that wearing heels to class all the time wasn't the practical thing to do, but I miss them when they aren't on my feet. I noticed right away that I wasn't the only shoe addict on campus. Most girls bring another set of shoes in their tote bags. I forgot mine today, so I'm stuck wearing heels for the rest of the lesson.

"A handheld fan?" I guess, wiping my forehead.

"Some time off," he says.

My stomach churns as he grins and stares at the splotches of icing on my apron. I know where this is going, and I was hoping I would have more time.

"Oh."

"Let me take you out," he continues.
Georgina is going to flip a lid.
My heart leaps, but being asked out only reminds me of the doughnut hole of an ex-boyfriend I left behind in Oregon. While I traveled across the country going on auditions, he was making his rounds, too, at Bailey Gentlemen's Club. A girl with really pink lipstick named Candi was kind enough to fill me in one Sunday morning.

"Tonight?"

"Yes, tonight." Jeff chuckles. "I will pick you up at seven, okay?"

"Perfect," I lie. He has been nice to me since day one, and I am attracted to him. I don't have the guts to tell him,
No, I would rather stay home and read
Southern Living
with my roomie
.

As soon as he walks away, Bree nudges me. Her face is glowing. I frown as I watch her clean up her station. I should have mastered the basics by now, but I am still struggling, and I can't figure out why. I sat down and thought about it a million times. In Oregon, I baked cakes and rolled dough without any problems. This is what I've
always
wanted to do, and after my first two days here I promised myself that I would
never
let anything like that happen again. No more epic failures.

I don't understand what is holding me back.

"Oh, my gosh," Bree says under her breath. "I thought he would never ask."

"Huh?"

Half the class leaves after finishing their assignment. As usual I am one of the last students left. Bree takes her time cleaning up her station and then starts reading one of her textbooks as I cut my rolls. I shape them on the pan and let them rise a little longer.

As much as they
can
rise since I seemed to have killed my yeast.

"You know, I stand by what I said our first day," Cole says, walking up behind me. He glances at my baking project. "If you need help, I'll tutor you."

"I keep offering, but she's stubborn," Bree comments.

"I know," Cole says. "I don't get it. She's so close to academic probation, and yet she lives with the buttercream queen."

Bree smiles at the compliment and slowly shakes her head like I'm hopeless.

"Hi," I cut in. "I'm right here, and I am trying my best to get through this semester on my own."

"You've got to stop freezing up when you're asked to do demonstrations," Cole says.

"I did nearly set the building on fire my second day here, remember?"

"That wasn't your fault," Bree says.

"No, but…
day one
. Remember
day one
? My horrific peach pie?"

"Is she serious?" Cole says, looking at Bree. "Poppy, you need to let that go. For as long as you let that memory haunt you, it will."

I take a deep breath and face the inevitable. Cole is right. I do need help if I'm going to pass all my basic level courses. I frown. Grandma never mentioned that this program was so hard. Maybe I just don't have the talent for it that she did?

"Fine," I agree. "I'll meet you here tonight after dinner."

Cole grins and straightens the collar of his light orange button-down. The color reminds me of an orange Creamsicle.

One of those sounds really good right now.

"Don't keep her too long, Cole." Bree smirks as she gathers her books and places them in her bag. "She's got a
date
."

"With who?" Cole looks a little disappointed. "There's no time for dating at CPA. Are you crazy?"

"Chill," I respond. "It's just dinner. I think."

"That's how it starts anyway," Bree quietly comments. I stare at her for a moment, but decide against asking her to elaborate. We have all had boyfriend issues at one point or another. I don't care to bring mine up. Ever.

"I'll keep that in mind," I say. I turn back to Cole. "Give me an hour."

"You got it."

*   *  *

Cole is a genius.

We practice for one of our upcoming tests by re-creating a few pastries that the student bakery sells. I fill my éclairs, pleased with myself for finally getting the dough right. Cole watches me to make sure I don't overfill them.

It is getting late, and the two of us are alone in the student kitchens. I am so proud of myself for making the perfect éclairs that I forget all about the past couple of weeks, and how I was almost expelled for something I didn't do.

"You know," I comment. "I think I can tackle that peach pie again. I don't know what was going through my head that day."

"I do," Cole replies. He changes his expression and attempts to mimic me using a high-pitched voice. "Is there AC in here? There better be AC in here or I'll—"

I hit his arm.

"What?" I take a bite of my finished éclair and lick the chocolate from my lips. There's nothing better than being able to taste your success. "It's hot here. Maybe I'm cold-blooded and just never noticed it before?"

"My aunt makes these sometimes in casserole form," he says, taking another bite of his éclair.

"You're kidding."

"Nope." He takes another huge bite and nods. "She calls it éclair pie. It's basically graham crackers, French vanilla pudding, and chocolate sauce layered in a casserole dish."

"Your aunt sounds amazing."

"She doesn't live far from here," he says. "I think I'll be going to see her during our holiday break."

"Nice. I'll be flying back West and, unfortunately, staying with my parents. My apartment there is being rented at the moment." I sigh and gaze around at the empty classroom. The storage room is dark like the halls outside. The only light around us is coming from the fixture right above our heads. "Should be interesting."

"Three days is my max when I go see my mom. Once that line is crossed she goes back to hollering at me for leaving my socks on the floor."

"I'm sure you're incredibly messy, Cole. I don't blame her."

"Oh, I see," he jokes. "Take her side."

I laugh and lick a bit of chocolate from my pastry. Why can't every class feel like this? Calm. Comfortable. Easy. Or maybe it's having Cole around that helps me relax?

"Well, at least all that time back in my old room will give me some time to do some serious thinking," I say quietly.

"Quit second guessing yourself." Cole notices my frustration and shakes his head. "You deserve to be here just as much as anyone else."

"If only I was good enough to come up with my own line of gourmet cake mixes," I joke.

Cole chuckles and tosses some flour at me. It lands in my lap. I laugh and wipe the flour stain from my jeans, catching a glimpse at the time. I quickly realize that I'm late for my date with Jeff.

"What's the matter?"

"I've got to go," I say. "I have a date with Jeff, remember?"

"You don't sound too excited."

"Oh," I huff. "You were probably right when you said I don't have time to date. Honestly, I suck in the relationship department anyway. Oh, well. What harm can
one
date do?"

Cole looks down at some flour that spilled on the floor. He kneels to wipe it up when a loud crash makes him jerk back to his feet. He glares at me as if hoping I had made the mysterious noise. I shake my head. My torso is frozen. I start having flashbacks of the night I was here all alone and kind of drunk.

Okay, I was completely drunk. But it had been a really tough first day.

"It's happening again," I mutter, covering my ears.

"What was that?" Cole stands up. His eyes are wide, and his fists are clenched. "I didn't hear anyone else come in. Did you?" He inches towards the hall.

"Stop," I blurt out. "You don't go searching for the
thing
making the freaky sounds." I point my finger at him. "Don't you watch horror films?"

"This isn't a horror movie, Poppy. It's a cooking school in a quiet town in Georgia. Nothing like that ever happens here."

"You don't know that," I whisper.

Another bang makes us both jump, but Cole opens the door leading into the hallway and begins looking for the source. My chest is pounding so hard that I feel like everyone on campus can hear it. I follow Cole with a worried look on my face. My gut tells me that this isn't a good idea.