If Boysen’s and Lyra’s evaluation was universally glowing, Ginger’s and Mac’s was universally… mixed.

  Surprisingly, Professor Puff’s comments were the most positive. She praised the consistent structure of all four loaves, pointing out the many air-holes so distinct to ciabatta.

  “You both committed fully to the proofing spell,” she said, her voice rich with unusual warmth. “The bread’s density is a touch too high, but that can be worked out through practice. This spell requires a strong foundation, and you have laid it. I look forward to seeing how you build upon it in future weeks.”

  Professor Honeycomb, on the other hand, was less enthusiastic.

  “The plain scones are lovely. Top-notch, in fact. But the sweet… I’m having a hard time finding the cinnamon.” The Flavor headmistress held a scone directly against her nose, inhaled deeply, and shook her head. “It’s there, but it’s barely coming through, in scent or taste. How many times did you recite the spell?”

  Mac wilted visibly, but Ginger’s voice was calm as she replied, “Seventeen.”

  “That many?” Professor Honeycomb’s blue eyes widened. “Then why —”

  “We only put in a pinch of cinnamon,” Ginger went on. “At the beginning. We never added any more after that.”

  The professor looked from Ginger to Mac, then back again. “Whyever not?”

  “It was an experiment,” Ginger said smoothly. “Rather than just adding a bunch more cinnamon, I wanted to let Madame Hazelnut’s spell carry the Flavor. Or at least see how far the spell could go on its own.”

  “Not very far, apparently.” Professor Honeycomb looked again at Mac. “Aspiring Baker Fondant, did you agree to this experiment?”

  Mac swallowed hard. “S-sort of. I mean, Ginger made some good points. You really feel the strength of a spell when you’re depending on it that much.”

  “And it does work,” Ginger put in. “Remember there’s only a pinch of cinnamon in that whole batch. I know it’s faint, but without the spell, you wouldn’t be able to find it at all.”

  Professor Honeycomb nodded, but there was far more than a ‘pinch’ of doubt in her expression. She leaned towards the third plate of scones. “What about the garlic? Did you follow the same exper—”

  Six inches from the plate, she seemed to encounter some invisible barrier and jumped backwards, holding her nose. Mac looked like he wanted to hide behind his partner.

  “Nope,” Ginger said, cheerfully answering Professor Honeycomb’s unfinished question. “Opposite experiment with the garlic. We only recited the spell once, and then kept adding in pinches until our gut said it was right.”

  “I’m afraid your gut was misinformed.” Professor Honeycomb’s eyes were watering. Choosing the smallest of the savory scones, she held it at arm’s length and gave the faintest possible sniff. “The garlic is overwhelming. Oppressive. Offensively uneatable.”

  Ginger nodded. “That’s what we thought.”

  Professor Honeycomb returned the odious scone to the platter and hastily wiped off her fingers on her apron. Snatching one of the plain scones, she held it to her face and breathed in.

  “There. That’s better. Cleanse the palate.” She looked at Ginger and Mac, her blue eyes suddenly stern. “If you were aware of the experiment’s failure, why did you turn it in?”

  Ginger somehow managed to shrug politely. “Because now we know. Our guts are that much more attuned. Flavor is about gut, right?”

  She waited for a nod of assent from Professor Honeycomb, then continued.

  “And baking is about creation, which requires risk. I’d rather take the risks now, at the beginning of term, and then grow from there.”

  Professor Honeycomb studied her for a moment, then turned to Mac. “Aspiring Baker Fondant? What do you think?”

  “I think…” Mac’s fingers toyed nervously with his apron strings, twisting them into impossible knots. “I think it was worth a try. We’re here to learn. Mistakes… help. With learning.”

  After another long moment, Professor Honeycomb nodded again. “Mistakes are necessary, so long as you do indeed learn from them. I will expect to see evidence of today’s lessons in next week’s exam.”

  Mac nodded vigorously, while Ginger only smiled.

  “Very well. That’s it for Flavor.” Professor Honeycomb turned to Professor Genoise. “Basil?”

  The Presentation headmaster was already inspecting the five plates of sugar cookies. “Very interesting indeed,” he said slowly. “The red, the blue, and the yellow are vibrant. The best in the class, I’d say. But the other two colors…”

  “Those were mine,” Ginger said. “Mac did the red, blue, and yellow. I handled green and purple.”

  “Aha.” Professor Genoise took out his monocle, peering more closely at the two plates in question. “Am I to take it you approached this assignment with a similarly… innovative spirit as the one you brought to Flavor?”

  Lyra craned her neck to get a closer look at the cookies. She bit back a gasp. ‘Green’ and ‘purple’ were not the terms she would use to describe the frosting on those platters. ‘Muddy’ was a better word. Perhaps even ‘puke.’

  “I was thinking about color theory,” Ginger explained. “Yellow and blue make green. Red and blue make purple. I wanted to see if the individual color charms could be combined in the same way.”

  “I see.” Professor Genoise leaned down so close that his monocle was practically buried in frosting. “So you recited the yellow and blue charms instead of the green?”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “In addition to the green. And for the purple, I recited the purple charm once, then did a few rounds of red and blue.”

  Professor Genoise straightened, carefully polishing his monocle before placing it back in his pocket. “And what did you learn?”

  “That color charms don’t work the same as color theory,” Ginger replied. “But I’m glad I tried. It was a fascinating process.”

  “Indeed.” Professor Genoise grasped the lapels of his elegant frock coat and drew himself up to his full height, as if about to deliver a political speech. “Once again, Aspiring Baker Crumble, you have proven yourself worthy of the word I used to describe your style at the beginning of the year: ‘daring.’ While I admire creativity even more than the next fellow, there is a time and a place for such excessive levels of… innovation. That place is not the classroom. In the future, I request that you focus on the given assignment and perform your experiments on your own time. If you waste any more of my or Aspiring Baker Fondant’s time with such endeavors, there shall be consequences.”

  Turning to Mac, the professor gave a cordial bow. “Excellent work, Aspiring Baker Fondant. Master Brulée himself would be pleased with the shades you have achieved. Dismissed.”

  This last word was addressed to Ginger as well. The Presentation headmaster’s tone was perpetually kind, but as hard and unyielding as a burnt sourdough crust. There was nothing Ginger and Mac could do but scurry back to their seats.

  Ginger was unusually quiet the rest of the morning. She didn’t raise her hand once in Flavor, and barely said a word during lunch. Texture and Presentation were the same.

  It wasn’t until halfway through dinner that the long-brewing response to Professor Genoise’s evaluation finally burst forth.

  “I just can’t believe it,” Ginger spat, staring at her untouched bowl of spicy shrimp stir-fry. “Or I couldn’t, if I hadn’t been there to witness it. ‘There is a time and a place for innovation, and it’s not the classroom’? Then where is it? If we can’t try new things in school, where are we supposed to try them? How are we supposed to learn?”

  “Like Professor Genoise said,” Mac replied dolefully. “On your own time.”

  Ginger laughed. “Right. Because we have so much of that.”

  “It is possible,” Lyra said, keeping her eyes on her plate. “Cardamom does a lot of experimenting, but it’s all on the weekends. He fits it around his classwork.”

  Boysen coughed. Lyra shot him a look, but he suddenly became very engrossed in adding extra hot sauce to his bowl.

  “That misses the point,” Ginger protested. “We shouldn’t have to ‘fit in our learning’ around our classwork. The classroom should be a place where creativity thrives. This ‘stick to the script’ attitude is warping the academy’s true purpose.”

  “You didn’t think so last term,” Lyra pointed out. “At least, not to the point where you changed the assignments. That was Aniseed’s thing.”

  Ginger rolled her eyes at the mention of her former roommate. “Aniseed thought the rules were beneath her. I have no trouble with rules. First term was all about learning those rules, which made total sense to me. Lay the foundation, right?” She stabbed moodily at a piece of red pepper. “I just expected second term to shift focus. Especially with all these projects… isn’t it time to start exploring outside the rules? Give us a little freedom? Then, third term, we could bring it all together. Rules plus experimentation.”

  “You have high ideals, Crumble.” Boysen smiled sadly. “Maybe you should start your own academy someday.”

  Ginger brought a bite of shrimp halfway to her mouth, gave up, and plunked her fork back down in the bowl, crossing her arms. “I just might.”

  “But for now,” Lyra said, in her best imitation of Hyacinth’s tension-smoothing tone, “could we all just be grateful to be at this academy? And… y’know, follow the rules, so we can stay at this academy? Together?”

  For a moment, Ginger just gazed at the steam wafting from the basket of flatbread in the table’s center. Then she sighed. “Sure. For you, Lyra. And for all the Whisk Whizzes. Speaking of…” Turning to Mac, she gave him a wry smile. “Sorry for adding stress to your life, Macaron. I’ll try to be a better partner from now on.”

  “No worries,” Mac said amiably, scraping the last bits of sticky rice from his bowl. “It was the first weekend. We’re all still finding our rhythm. As teams, I mean.”

  Lyra felt Boysen’s eyes on her, but she focused on arranging a neat combination of shrimp, rice, and red pepper on her fork. Once this perfect bite was thoroughly chewed and swallowed, she dabbed her mouth with a napkin and stood.

  “I need to stop by the kitchen,” she said brightly. “Haven’t seen Chef much this term. I’ll see you all in Whisk later!”

  Without waiting for an answer, Lyra made her way swiftly across the dining hall, narrowly avoiding a collision with a platter of individual trifles headed to the second-year table. She pushed open the kitchen door just in time to see Chef Flax come in from the greenhouse, staggering under the weight of a massive pumpkin.

  “Chef!” she called, darting across the kitchen. “Let me help.”

  Together, they deposited the giant gourd on the counter, where Bumble immediately began scoring it with a sharp knife in preparation for slicing.

  “Thank you, Lyra,” Chef Flax panted, sitting on a stool and leaning heavily on the counter. “Sprinkle has rather outdone herself this year with the winter squashes.”

  Lyra regarded the pumpkin with suitable awe. “What’ll you make with it? Pies?”

  “Not this week.” Producing a purple handkerchief from his apron pocket, Chef wiped his forehead. “Soup, I think. At least until our egg supply is back in order.”

  “Eggs?” Lyra froze. “Is something wrong with Queen Penelope?”

  Chef Flax chuckled, but Lyra noticed his eyes lacked some of their usual jollity. “She’s a bit under the weather. Nothing too serious. She works hard, and gets run down every once in a while. We’re trying to give her some time to rest. Makes menu-planning more of an adventure. Right, Bumble?”

  The sous chef chattered something shortly in squirrel-language.

  “Oh, stop whining.” Chef Flax flicked the flying squirrel gently with his handkerchief. “It’s good to challenge ourselves every once in a while. The old bird will be back in tip-top shape soon.”

  Bumble chattered a longer phrase, using his knife to point emphatically at a large tray on the counter. The tray was covered with a tightly wrapped tea towel, but Lyra could still smell the fragrant mixture of ginger, cloves, and cinnamon wafting from it in aromatic waves.

  “Right. Best get a move on.” Chef Flax mopped his brow once again before pushing to his feet. “Bumble’s special gingersnap cookies always help Queen Penelope feel better. Baked with Sprinkle’s spices, of course.”

  Bumble chattered animatedly to Lyra, and Chef Flax nodded. “Sprinkle’s magic does make the spices more salutary. It’s like she infuses them all with extra medicinal… ‘oomph.’”

  “Can I help?” Lyra asked as the chef hoisted the tray.

  He smiled. “Thank you, m’dear, but I’d best make this visit solo. Queen Penelope doesn’t like to be disturbed when she’s feeling poorly. I’ll give her your warmest regards, though.”

  “Please do,” Lyra said gratefully. “And if there’s anything more I can do to help, let me know.”

  The head chef paused, balancing the tray easily in one hand. “Music might help. If you want to bring your guitar some night this week, we could give it a try.”

  Lyra felt her stomach clenching, but managed to keep her expression neutral. “I can try. The evenings are pretty busy, but… we’ll see.”

  “Yes, second term is a bit of a slog. Chin up!” Giving her an encouraging smile, Chef Flax turned towards the door leading to the kitchen’s direct rooftop access.

  Suddenly, Lyra remembered why she had come to the kitchen in the first place. “Sorry about last night, Chef,” she called after him. “I really will try to bring my guitar soon.”

  He paused long enough to assure her that all was well, then continued up the stairs with his tray of salutary sweets.

  Lyra hesitated, not sure where to go next. She still had time before the Whisk Whiz Review. Maybe Ginger was back in Zester, and needed to vent some more…

  Sighing, Lyra turned to the door. She wasn’t really in the mood for a Ginger-rant, but wasn’t that what roommates were for?

  Before she had taken one step, though, the door from the dining hall swung open. There stood the Flavor King himself, looking as blue as the berries he had baked into such delicious scones the previous Saturday.

  “Hi,” Boysen said. “Can we talk?”