“Hi!” I cry out. I wince. My voice came out way too high and excited.
Fia looks at me hesitantly, then says, “Uh ... is this the baking club?” Her English is so heavily accented that it takes me a beat to understand her. When I do, I immediately nod.
“Yes, yes, it is! Welcome!” Oh my god. I seriously need to tone it down. I clear my throat and say in a more normal voice. “Um, I thought, um, we could bake chocolate cupcakes today?” I kick myself inwardly. Why did that come out as a question? As the founder of this club, I need to be more confident.
Fia nods slowly, still giving me that uncertain look. “Chocolate cupcakes seems like a very simple thing to make.”
“Oh!” I say, still in that demented, overexcited voice that makes me want to strangle myself. “Yes, I thought we should, like, start simple, you know? Leave the seven-layer cake for the end of the semester?” I joke.
Fia doesn’t laugh. I die a little more inside. Before I can embarrass myself any further, I gesture at the counter and say, “Let’s begin!”
The next hour and a half are perhaps the most excruciating ninety minutes of my life. I am so nervous that I keep getting things wrong, then giggling like a complete moron, then apologizing, and the whole time, Fia remains stone faced, not even giving me one single sympathy smile. I try making small talk by asking her about Portugal, but she merely gives me one-to-two-word answers and doesn’t reciprocate with any questions of her own, and soon enough, I run out of questions to ask.
“Well,” I say as I take out the cupcakes from the oven, “now for the best part!”
There’s nothing quite like chocolate cupcakes to break the ice, right? Even Fia cracks a small smile when the cupcakes come out, smelling rich and sweet. We each take a cupcake and unwrap them slowly, blowing on them before taking a small bite.
The smile disappears from Fia’s face. A moment later, as I taste the cupcake, I realize why. I swallow quickly, whereas Fia, without any qualms, spits out her mouthful of cake onto a napkin. I look at her in dismay, my face burning with humiliation.
“I’m sorry, I must’ve mixed up the sugar with salt ...” I stammer.
“It’s okay,” Fia says, already grabbing her backpack from the floor. “Thank you. Bye.” And without so much as a glance over her shoulder, she pulls open the door and leaves.
My breath comes out in a dejected sigh. I gather the cupcakes and toss them in the trash. How did I mess this up so badly? I’ve baked chocolate cupcakes at least twenty times in my life, and never have I made such a stupid mistake.
The door swings open again, and I look up, hoping it’s Fia coming back to tell me she wants to give baking club another go. But it’s not Fia at the doorway. It’s Haven, wearing a huge smirk on her face. I wish I could say that I glare her down, but after the painful baking session, I have nothing left in me. I drop my gaze, making myself focus on cleaning up.
“How was the inaugural session of baking club?” Haven says, her voice dripping with contempt.
I refuse to take the bait. Still keeping my eyes on the countertop, I start sweeping eggshells into a trash bag.
Haven leans over the counter, putting her face close enough to mine that I can see each individual strand of her eyelashes. It’s impossible to ignore her when she’s literally in my face and I am forced to look at her unfairly flawless face.
“No one wants to eat the shit you make, you freak,” she says, so softly it’s almost a whisper.
“Why do you care?” I say, and hate the whining tone in my voice.
“Because you are a pathetic little shit stain on the underwear of life, and it is my job to scrub you out.”
Half a dozen retorts crowd my mind, but none of them come out. I’m frozen, as usual, nothing more than small prey, here for people like Haven to pick on as she likes. Shame burns through my chest. Why am I so useless? Haven is right. I am pathetic. I don’t deserve to take up space.
“Trust me, Fern,” Haven continues. “Nothing you bake for your pathetic little one-person club is going to turn out well.”
My gut sours. It was Haven. I’d thought that I’d switched the salt and the sugar because I was so nervous baking with Fia, but Haven must’ve done it somehow. Maybe she broke into my locker and switched out my sugar. Maybe she—
As though Haven has read my mind, she smiles. “See, you get it. Took you a while, but you got there. Don’t try to start another stupid club. It won’t end well for you.” Laughing, she saunters out of the kitchen.
I don’t know how long I stand there, my face red hot, my stomach knotted. How much more of this torture can I take? And what the hell am I going to do about my college apps? I have nothing to put on them. Absolutely nothing. Haven has seen to it.
Chapter 6
Hi Fern! Has your deal been announced yet?is the response I get from the admin of the Facebook group.
Not yet, I reply.My agent is still awaiting the contract.A stab of anxiety, me wondering if this somehow means I am ineligible.
Okay, no worries. Usually we only invite authors whose deals have been announced on PM, but once you get your contract, you can send me a screenshot and I’ll send you an invite.
Thank you so much!I reply.
