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Nancy walked back to her own table, a smug smirk on her face and Megan went silently back to the supply shelf and got two hairnets—one for each of us. She handed one to me and then began tucking her own, long auburn hair, into the other one.
I did the same, keeping my eyes down and trying to keep the right side of my face to the room at large while hiding the left side in the shadows. Megan tried to help me by standing in front of me while I tucked my hair up into the net, both of us waiting for everyone else to turn back around and get back to their baking.
Mrs. Hornsby got a look at my scarred face, however. I knew because I heard her catch her breath in what sounded like a horrified gasp. I hoped for a moment that she might let me out of wearing the hairnet after all, but she only paused to gather herself for a moment, then clapped her hands loudly and went back to the front of the class.
“All right, class—eyes on your own baking,” she said firmly. “If your projects aren’t already in the oven, they ought to be going there very soon. Remember, this counts for fifty percent of your grade and I am not inclined to be lenient. You’d better impress me or don’t expect to pass this unit!”
That got everyone’s attention. Faces that were turned towards me in morbid curiosity faced quickly front, their attention back at their own tables. I breathed a minimal sigh of relief, though I still tried to keep my face turned away so that only my right side was clearly visible.
“Kaitlyn, I’m so sorry,” Megan whispered as soon as the teacher was gone and the rest of the class was busy with their own work again. “I never meant for that to happen!”
“It’s okay,” I whispered back, wishing my voice didn’t sound so shaky. “It’s just Nancy being a bitch, as usual.”
“It just goes to prove she doesn’t need magic to be cruel,” Megan said grimly. “Oh, I wish I could use some Blood Magic to get back at her!”
“You can’t though,” I said quickly. “I don’t want you getting into trouble on my account, Megan. Please promise me you won’t.”
“All right then,” she grumbled, looking irritated. “But I still think something ought to be done. Nancy is a horrible excuse for a human being!”
I wanted to tell her she didn’t know the half of it but of course I couldn’t. I knew that if Megan found out what other evil deeds Nancy Rattcliff had been up to, she would certainly retaliate. So I just kept my head down and my face turned away as we slid our cake pans into the closest oven and set the timer.
Somehow, I was going to get through this class, I told myself. And I wasn’t going to let Nancy drive me out of it. Wearing a hairnet was bad, but since this was the end of the baking unit and we were supposed to do sewing next, I shouldn’t have to worry about it again.
I can handle it, I told myself grimly. I’m not the fragile little flower all my Coven-mates think I am. I can keep my cool and get this done even with my scars showing. At least things can’t get any worse.
I had no idea how wrong I was.
10
Kaitlyn
“There—that looks beautiful, don’t you think?”
Megan stood back from the cake, hands on her hips as she considered our finished creation.
I had to admit she was right. The three-tiered chocolate cake was beautiful, covered in fudgy homemade butter cream frosting which Megan had decorated skillfully with chocolate flowers and butterflies she’d made using a piping bag and several different tips.
“It’s gorgeous,” I admitted. “And it smells amazing. I can’t wait to try a slice.”
“Well, we have to wait for Mrs. Hornsby to try some first,” Megan said. “We can’t touch it until she grades it.” She looked worried. “I just hope she likes it! I really need an A on this project to bring up my grade.”
I knew she was still struggling because of the long string of failing grades she’d gotten at the beginning of the class, when Nancy was still able to mess with her. But surely getting an A plus on her final exam would bring up her average considerably. And after seeing how perfectly the cake had come out, I didn’t see how Mrs. Hornsby could award us anything less than that, no matter how picky she was.
She was a tough teacher, though—there was no denying that. One of the girls on the far side of the room was wiping away tears after her Crème Brule had only gotten a C minus and another girl was glaring angrily at her plate of blueberry muffins which Mrs. Hornsby had declared, “Too simplistic” and had marked with a D.
