Sylvie rolled her eyes. “Do you always have to be so prim and proper?”
Georgia ignored the question. “I’ll wash while you eat. I’m used to doing dishes. My mama doesn’t know the stove from the oven.”
“That explains the shrimp and strawberry Jell-O salad,” said Sylvie.
Georgia nodded. “The kitchen used to be my dad’s turf. But after he and Mama divorced, he moved away. Then, she married Bud. He’s nice, but just as bad at cooking. So, I took over.”
Sylvie shoved the other half of the sausage into her mouth, wiped her chin, and filled a bucket. Her reflection swirled across the water’s surface, fracturing into a dozen sudsy pieces.The shirt was a gift from my dad.That’s what Georgia had said.No wonder she got so upset when I ruined it.
“Even though it was an accident, I’m sorry I ruined your top,” said Sylvie.
Georgia stacked the mixing bowls, one on top of the other, and carried them to the sink. “We both made mistakes. I probably should’ve just asked you about your mom, instead of reading about her on Rumor Wheeler’s blog. I just didn’t want to come across as a clueless girl from a Scullery family.”
“I understand,” said Sylvie. “But just so you know, Rumor Wheeler spins stories like a spider weaves webs.”
“Sounds like she really lives up to her name,” said Georgia. “But, it doesn’t matter now. I’m done withThe Daily Leek,and hiding who I am. I texted my mama last night and told her about Darius. She reminded me that where I come from doesn’t define me, and even if it does, being different isn’t a bad thing.” Georgia placed the bowls into the sink.
Sylvie picked up a scouring pad. “Your mom sounds smart.”
Georgia nodded. “It’s just—all this stuff is new to me, and her. I mean, a few months ago we didn’t even know any of this existed. Now, here I am. Learning how to drown toadstools and hoping one day I’ll be lucky enough to be a real student at this school.”
“I get it,” said Sylvie. They were both facing roadblocks to get to their dreams.We’re stuck in the same boat—or, maybe, stuck in the same food truck.“So, if both your parents are Scullery, how did you end up at Brindille?”
Georgia snorted out a laugh. “It was the school bake sale. I’m from Montmarte.”
Sylvie’s mind flashed to the sleepy town they’d driven through right before arriving at the truck stop.
“Who knew all this was in our backyard?” Georgia waved a hand. “But then, I made red velvet cupcakes with cherry buttercream frosting for the bake sale. An inspector from the CCS happened to be passing through. He spotted them—said I had a special touch.”
“I get it,” said Sylvie. “Twenty people can make the exact same recipe and still end up with twenty different dishes.”
“That’s what he said!” Georgia picked up a second sponge and started scouring food dye off the spatulas. “Cupcakes really are one of man’s greatest inventions, but who knew they’d also be the recipe that changed my life.”
Sylvie carried the bucket of soap over to the tables and scrubbed. A sticky wad of gum was glued to a corner.Gross!
“Apparently, it’s rare for CCS inspectors to find talent in cases like mine, with two Scullery parents.” Georgia worked the soap into a lather.
Sylvie understood.
Scullery were clueless about cooking, and even more blind to magic. Of course, the CCS had inspectors scouting for talented kids like Georgia. But now that Bass was in charge, searching for kids like her was hardly a priority. Combine that with so many schools and bake sales, it was like searching for a penny at the bottom of the ocean.
“Hey, do you hear something?” Georgia froze mid-scrub.
Sylvie was about to say no when a noise like a trumpet in the hands of a toddler pierced her ears.
“I think it’s a frog,” said Georgia, setting down her sponge.
Frog?Sylvie had never heard a frog wail. “Are you sure?”
“It’s a distress call. It’s probably stuck in the vent.” Georgia scrambled onto Boris’s desk.
“What are you doing?” asked Sylvie.
Georgia wrapped her fingers around the grate above the lecture board and yanked. “I’m trying to rescue it; poor thing probably wandered in from the garden.”
Thunk!The grate broke free.
Another sharp wail punctured Sylvie’s eardrums. She took a step back. “Have you seen what’s growing in that garden? What if it’s a snake—or worse, a snake gourd?”
