“What the heck happened?” PC asks me, noticing all the flour on my hair. “And where’s the oil?”

The music he’s playing on his phone was so loud, I guess he didn’t hear Pedro and me arguing in the pantry.

I slap my forehead. “No! I forgot!”

PC launches me a curious look.

“No need to explain,” he says, heading into the pantry himself. He returns with the bottle of oil. “Let’s get back to work.”

Still a little dazed, I help PC pour oil into the pot with water, and then we wait for it to start boiling.

“Newbie, are you listening?” PC asks, and judging by his tone, he’s been trying to get my attention for a while.

“Ah, sorry, what did you say?”

He raises an eyebrow at me. “I asked if you want to be in charge of stirring?”

“What?”

“Stirring,” PC repeats, amused. He cocks his head to look at me. “Come on. Something happened. You are covered in flour. Chef was covered in flour when I went to get the oil. I’m dying of curiosity!”

“Nothing happened,” I reply, my voice rising a little with nerves. “We just... We argued a little. And, please, I know you’re on his side, but can’t we just, you know, focus on cooking?”

“Sure,” he says, looking like the “keep your secrets” LOTR meme. “Sorry, I’m just giving you a hard time. And he is my friend, but I’m not on his side. I mean I’m on your side, too.”

I blink. “You are?”

“I did beg you to join the club on my knees, didn’t I?” PC nods at the pot. “Now, do you want to be in charge of stirring or not? I think we can start adding sour starch.”

I instinctively take one step back, dread filling my chest. A bag of flour already ripped open and Pedro and I held hands. That’s my cooking curse for you.

“I see what you’re doing,” Cintia says to PC, joining us at the stove. “Stop trying to dump all the work on her.”

“Excuse you. I’m training her.” PC nudges me in the arm. “Add in sour starch.”

But I’m still frozen. I only have to stir, but it suddenly looks like rocket science. And on top of that, what if that gets out to the rest of the school, that I need cooking training? What would they start saying about Salt if they heard that I can’t bake?!

I need to start acting like a pro, and fast.

“I don’t need training,” I say quickly. “I can cook. I’m from Salt, remember?”

“I never said—” PC looks confused at the prickly tone in my voice. I hear it, too, and I kick myself mentally for it. “Okay. If you’re annoyed about arguing with Pedro, take a little break. But you’re helping with kneading later!”