AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Then I set my timer and waited…and waited and waited and waited.
The first time the timer went off, I went to check and found that my cookies were still almost raw, which made no sense. Thinking that the oven I had chosen must be broken, I slid my pan into another one, right beside it, and set the timer again.
Again, the cookies were undercooked—just barely getting done around the edges while the insides were still soupy and raw.
Okay. Taking my pan, I switched ovens again. This time I picked an oven that another girl was just pulling her pan of cookies out of. The cookies she had baked looked perfectly done—golden brown and delicious with a smell that would make even the most dedicated dieter decide to cheat.
Thinking this had to be the right oven for me, I slid my pan of underdone cookies in a third time, making certain to check the temperature the oven was set on. Everything was in order so I set my timer again—this time for only five minutes, since the baking process had at least begun and I didn’t want my cookies getting overdone. There is nothing worse than overdone chocolate chip cookies.
Except for burned ones.
When my timer went off for the third time and I went back to check my cookies, I saw with horror, that tendrils of smoke were seeping out around the edges of the oven door.
Grabbing a silicone glove, I yanked open the oven door, only to be choked by billowing clouds of black smoke which promptly filled the classroom and caused a fire alarm to start blaring somewhere in the corner.
“Miss Latimer! What did you do?” Mrs. Hornsby was suddenly at my side, waving wildly at the clouds of smoke and coughing along with the rest of the class.
“I…I don’t know,” I exclaimed, horrified. “I followed the instructions—I don’t know how they could have burned so quickly!”
“This is a mess!” Mrs. Hornsby’s face was red with anger. “Miss Jacobs,” she called to one of the other students. “Run to the office and tell them to turn off the fire alarm and let them know there is no need to evacuate the entire castle. Run now—hurry!”
Miss Jacobs—a small blonde girl with wide eyes and a nervous way of twitching her nose like a rabbit—took off as fast as she could go, scampering out of the classroom and down the hall as though the devil himself was chasing her.
“Take that out! Take it out and put it in the sink!” Mrs. Hornsby was shouting at me over the sound of the still-blaring fire alarm and pointing to my tray of cookies, which looked like blackened lumps of charcoal.
Quickly, I did as she said, dousing the smoking cookies with cold water until they stopped smoking. Just as I was finished, the alarm finally cut off. Shortly after that, Miss Jacobs came back and ran up to Mrs. Hornsby.
“The alarm was cancelled, Mrs. Hornsby,” she said, unnecessarily since we could all hear that the blaring sound had stopped.
“Yes. Thank you.” The teacher nodded irritably. “You may go back to your seat.”
Meekly, Miss Jacobs withdrew as the other students started opening the windows and airing out the room on the side of the stone wall which showed the moat around the castle. I started to go back to my seat as well but Mrs. Hornsby stopped me with a look that would have frozen liquid magma.
“You can stay where you are, Miss Latimer,” she said darkly. “You’d better get started on those bowls and pans while I grade the other girls’ cookies.”
“Is the grade based on the cookies, then?” I asked, my heart sinking. I guess I’d been hoping she would at least give some points for participation but the Home Ec teacher only glared at me.
“It absolutely is,” she snapped. “And since you did your very best to turn yours into a burnt offering and I have no intention of eating charcoal, you will be getting an F for today.”
“What?” I exclaimed. “But Mrs. Hornsby, please! I honestly was watching my cookies. I followed all the directions—I don’t understand why they burned!”
“An F for today,” she repeated, giving me a look that said I’d better shut up. “And an F for tomorrow if you don’t watch your mouth, Miss Latimer. I do not like excuses—I only want to see results.”
Then she swept away and began tasting one cookie from each of the students, making comments and judgments on the different textures and flavors while I watched helplessly.
She was clearly very hard to please and I saw several students slump when she gave them a C or even a D, in the case of one undercooked and too-doughy cookie.
“Are you trying to give me salmonella, Miss Eversham?” she exclaimed, not even putting the cookie in her mouth. “Next time follow the baking directions better!”
