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I opened the oven door to release a mushroom cloud of smoke.
I groaned. “Not again!” I sprinted across my apartment, unlocking the windows that my couch and TV were pressed against and throwing them open. Next, I grabbed the thin red blanket I kept out for this very purpose even though it was still too hot to use one.
I stood at the top of my kitchen, a foot away from my fire alarm, and flapped the blanket trying to drive the smoke towards my open windows.
“Don’t you dare,” I warned my fire alarm, as if I could intimidate it into silence. “Don’t even consider it!”
I flapped my blanket harder as the smoke clouded the air around me. “I should have turned on the ceiling fan!” Unfortunately, I couldn’t run back to my little makeshift living room now. I was the last defense between the smoke and my fire alarm—I woulddiebefore I set it off. Again.
I knew from experience that my apartment fire alarms weren’t tied into the main building’s system, but they were still loud enough that almost every apartment on my floor would hear them, and the last time they’d gone off it had woken Mia up from her nap.
Because I have the best luck, someone knocked at my door.
For a wild moment, I wondered if one of my human neighbors was coming to check on me, or to talk to me, or maybe even invite me out somewhere!
My hopes were crushed when I heard a familiar “Emergency Rations?” through the door.
“It’s open, Connor!” I shouted as I kept flapping.
Connor opened the door and stared at me. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to be a good neighbor,” I said. “Can you come here and do this for me?”
“Flap a blanket like a demented bird? If you wish.” Connor closed the door as he approached me.
“Here.” I thrust the blanket at him pinning it against his chest.
Connor reluctantly took it, and I dashed back to the oven. Still wearing my oven mitts, I grabbed the pan from the oven, then rushed towards my open windows.
“I don’t get it!” I shouted as I scooted between my couch and coffee table. “Nan said they’d be a nice golden color! They’re scorched!” I stuck the pan on the fire escape patio, so the whisps of smoke that lazily drifted off the shortbread dispersed into the outside air instead of further clouding my apartment.
“I still don’t know what’s going on,” Connor reminded me.
I pulled off my oven mitts and pushed some of my red curls out of my face, then finally looked back at Connor.
Somehow, he managed to look cool while he fanned the air with the blanket, snapping it with crisp movements as he raised an eyebrow at me, his red eyes glittering with bemusement.
“I was trying to make a family shortbread recipe,” I said. “I cooked it as long as my Nan said but somehow they burned.” I mournfully looked at the baking pan on my patio. “Badly.”
“I see,” Connor said. “What you’re saying is this is another one of your failed cooking ventures?”
“Another?” I asked.
“You groan loudly when you’re disappointed,” Connor said. “It’s easy to hear through the walls.”
I nervously twisted my oven mitts in my hand. “Do you think our other neighbors can hear me?”
“No.” Connor eyed the fire alarm as he snapped the blanket again, creating a gust of air. “I’m afraid that prize only goes to me with my vampire hearing. Thank you very much for your concern. I’m touched you care so much about me.”
“It’s not the same thing.” I peered out the window—the pan was no longer smoking. “We’re friends!”
“Oh, so it doesn’t matter if you abuse my ears because of our friendship? Good to know.”
“You know what I meant.” I retrieved the pan, then ducked back into my apartment. “I better take a picture and send it to Nan—she might be able to figure out what I did wrong.”
I set the pan on my counter and frowned at the dark brown shortbread.
Connor flapped the blanket one last time, then tossed it on the couch before joining me in my kitchen. “This is what all the fuss was for? I question why you went through all the effort.”
