Chapter 5 The Daily Leek
The Daily Leek
SYLVIE DIDN’T RETURN TO THE ROOM UNTIL GEORGIA WAS asleep.
She finished unpacking in the dark and was pretty sure she’d accidentally tucked her toothbrush into a pencil holder.
Finally, Sylvie went to bed. But once she drifted off, a terrible dream found her.
She was competing at the Golden Whisk, and everything was going wrong.
Judges wearing black veils loomed over her as she frantically searched for her missing Blade.
“It was here a minute ago,” Sylvie insisted, scrambling about.
“This is a very disappointing start from Team USA,” said the announcer. “I’d expected more. But maybe I was wrong about Sylvie Jones.”
Sylvie glared at him, only to realize it was the man from the diner.
“Who are you?” Sylvie shouted. “Why does the Apple of Discord have my name on it?”
“You want more answers? Then find Escoffier.”
How? Sylvie was ready to ask, when her oven burst into flames. The cake inside melted into a lump.
“Let’s hope the judges are into flambé,” said the man. Poof! He vanished into the smoke.
Sylvie carried her disaster to the judges’ table. Her heart pumped fast.
The head judge picked up a fork. “You call this a cake?”
She lifted her veil. It was Sylvie’s mom.
“It wasn’t my fault,” said Sylvie. “I didn’t have my knife.”
“And whose fault is that?” Sylvie’s mom snapped. “I told you to ignore the comments. But you didn’t listen. You let people down… . You let me down.”
A trapdoor beneath Sylvie’s feet gave way. She tumbled through the darkness.
“I’m trying!”
Sylvie woke, sweating and tangled in her bedsheets.
Slowly she opened an eye, half-expecting to find Georgia gawking. Thankfully, Georgia’s bed was empty. Sylvie checked the clock. Five to eight! If she didn’t hurry, she’d be late for breakfast.
By the time Sylvie reached the cafeteria, tables were packed with students carrying knife bags and baking tool kits.
Most of them wore starched silver and eggshell-blue chef’s coats with the Brindille twigs stitched onto the sleeve.
Below the symbol were a few small pockets, perfect for carrying thermometers or vials of liquid spells.
It wasn’t hard to spot the Pips. They were the only kids in the cafeteria wearing regular clothes.
Sylvie made her way through the enormous, gilded room.
Jeweled chandeliers hung overhead. Crown moldings that looked as if they’d been carved out of taffy decorated archways in soft peaches and dusty pinks.
A huge rice paper scroll the size of a movie screen was mounted to the far wall with several golden rods. A message flashed across it.
WELCOME SAGES AND PIPS!
ONLY 4 DAYS 10 HOURS 39 MINUTES LEFT UNTIL GOLDEN WHISK ALL-STARS
Bits of popcorn seemed to burst in Sylvie’s stomach.
Four days until the fiercest competition her mom had ever faced.
Winning Golden Whisk All-Stars would be as complex as the layers of an onion.
Sure, her mom was a former champion. But with such little time to prepare, did she even stand a chance?
After all, this wasn’t just about talent.
Her mom had mad cooking skills, and Sylvie believed she was the best. But some chefs spent years training.
If her mom failed … Sylvie couldn’t finish the thought.
She spotted the buffet table, a block of polished wood that stretched across the room like a cargo train.
Sylvie made her way over. A group of boys dressed in neatly pressed uniforms cut in.
“Excuse me. I was next,” said Sylvie.
“Too bad,” said the boy with blond hair and a perfectly chiseled jaw.
“Yeah! Deal with it, Pip,” said the stocky one. He let out an enormous burp.
Seriously?
“Dude! That stinks,” said the tallest of the three.
Sylvie stared at the laughing boys and tried to hide her disgust.
In high school, most kids were like feral cats. She’d hoped at a magical cooking school like Brindille, it would be different.
Apparently not!
Sylvie waved the stench away. A good meal. Maybe a pick-me-up spell. That’s what she needed to set the day right.
Sylvie eyed the buffet table as she tried to decide what to eat.
Crystal fountains were spewing milk and juice. Silver platters rotated, one moment offering up fluffy donuts dusted with sugar, and the next, muffins dotted with glistening gooseberries.
Sylvie read the place cards positioned in front of them.
MOTIVATION MUFFINS
CONCENTRATION CREAM DONUTS
A well-built girl with broad shoulders and hands the size of catcher’s mitts stuffed a sugar-dusted donut into her mouth. Something about her seemed oddly familiar. Yet Sylvie was certain she would’ve remembered meeting her before.
The girl wiped her powdered sugar–coated fingers onto her chef’s coat, drawing Sylvie’s eye to the ranking pin stuck to the front of her uniform.
Gold, like the CCS agents who came into the diner.
Sylvie wondered why the girl was wearing it. On one hand, gold was the highest Sage ranking, reserved for CCS leaders and people of importance. So, she could see why someone might want to show it off. On the other hand, sporting ranking pins that your headmistress disliked didn’t seem smart.
“What are you looking at?”
Nothing, Sylvie wanted to say, but before she could, a boy with black hair and large ears appeared. “Belinda!”
The girl staring at Sylvie turned. “What?”
“Some first-years just took your table.” He pointed toward a small group huddled in a corner. “Arrogant pricks!”
Belinda spun around on her red cowboy boots and marched off. “Let’s teach those piglets a lesson.”
Sylvie stared, slowly putting two and two together. Belinda as in Belinda Bass … Jack Bass’s daughter. That’s why she looks familiar! Sylvie had known that Jack Bass had a daughter at Brindille. What she hadn’t realized was how much they looked alike.
Sylvie spotted bowls of pick-me-up porridge bubbling on a serving tray.
She grabbed one and watched as Belinda hoisted up two of the students sitting at her table and extracted them.
Sylvie thought about saying something. But Belinda seemed like the kind of girl that would punch you before she’d consider listening.
Stay out of it. Keep your nose clean, Sylvie reminded herself.
She turned around, searching for a table that wasn’t part of anyone’s turf.
After breakfast, she’d track down the girl who was supposed to show her around.
Sylvie tried to recall her name. Flora. Maybe Flora could tell her more about the library before orientation?
Yes. That was a good plan. Sylvie scooped up a bite.
The porridge was warm and creamy, with melted butter and a hint of spice. Delicious.
“It was a hex that gave her the scar on her hand,” whispered someone.
Sylvie turned. A group of gossiping Pips were sitting at a nearby table. She spotted several familiar faces: Adara, Georgia, Big Shawn.
“I’m not surprised,” said Adara. “I mean, look at her mom … cheating at the Golden Whisk. She probably practices hexes on her own kids.”
“Maybe her mom’s innocent,” suggested Big Shawn.
“Well, that’s not what Rumor Wheeler says.” Georgia had her head down, focused on something she’d tucked below the table.
Sylvie hated Rumor Wheeler. With a name like that, it was no surprise she’d stepped out of the kitchen. Trading in her recipe books to cook up stories. Wheeler was the gossipy know-it-all behind the popular blog, The Daily Leek.
Ignore it, Sylvie told herself.
Sylvie shoveled another spoonful of porridge into her mouth and scanned the room, trying to find a spot far away from Georgia and the others.
“Listen to this.” Georgia’s eyes were still fixed down. “It’s from Wheeler’s exclusive interview last week with Josephine Flammé.”
The hairs on Sylvie’s neck prickled. Flammé was the sad-eyed blonde who’d accused Sylvie’s mom of cheating all those years ago.
“‘I’m happy to see the CCS finally holding Abby Jones accountable for what she did. Abby has been training for All-Stars for over a year, but without cheating, I guarantee she won’t win. ’”
Sylvie stiffened. That’s not true. Mom had a week to practice!
Georgia continued. “‘When she loses, and they confiscate her Blade, you better believe I’ll be there to watch her go down.’ Our writers have since reached out to Flammé for further comment but have been unable to reach her.”
Sylvie tried to drown Georgia out, but it wasn’t right. They’re trying to make her look guilty, like she had all this time to train but can’t win without cheating.
Georgia slipped her hands onto the table and picked up her chocolate cream donut. Sylvie’s gaze narrowed. A sparkling pink phone was concealed inside Georgia’s sleeve. How did she get that past Kitty?
Part of Sylvie was impressed, but mostly she was furious. Georgia was using it to spread lies. Georgia slid the phone under her notebook and tapped the screen. The Daily Leek’s headline glowed brightly: “Deceit Bubbles Up at the Golden Whisk. Who Will be Abby Jones’s Next Victim?”
Below it was a picture of Sylvie’s mom and Josephine Flammé.
“I can’t believe All-Stars is only a few days away,” Adara squealed. “It’s so exciting!”
Big Shawn nodded. “I can’t wait to see what Ewald Zotter comes up with this time. His sugar work is amazing!”
“All I know is Sylvie’s mom will probably get banned at the end,” said Georgia firmly.
Crack! Bam!
Sylvie didn’t realize she’d dropped her bowl until she heard it smash.
Georgia looked up, quickly tucking the phone into the bag by her feet. But it was too late. Sylvie marched over. She wasn’t going to let her get away with this. “You’re spreading lies.”
Georgia’s lips tightened. “Not according to Rumor Wheeler.”
“I don’t care what The Daily Leek has to say.” Sylvie’s eyes cut through Georgia. “But I bet Madame Godard would love to hear about your discoveries.”
Georgia glared at her. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“You sure about that?” Sylvie snapped.