Chapter 18 Transparent Pie #2
Kitty stopped in front of the small table next to Godard and released the kittens. They leapt into the air, chasing after one of Kitty’s loose sweater threads as she took a seat.
“Boys and girls!” Madame Godard waved a hand toward the pie resting on the table.
“Kitty has spent years teaching the finer details of preparing the perfect pate sucrée and flakiest pate brisée. But there’s more to the magic of pie than just the crust. Who here has heard of tasseography … the reading of tea leaves?”
Dozens of hands shot up.
Madame Godard looked around the room. “Well, there’s a reason we don’t teach that at Brindille. It’s a fairy tale. But pietography—the art of reading pie—that’s the real deal.”
Kitty nodded in agreement. “Transparent pie tends to work best—no fruit to turn it goopy.” She pulled out her Blade and proceeded to slice the pie into wedges.
“Today, twelve lucky students will taste the recipe of Cassius Custard, first winner of the Commis Contest, and have their fortunes read. I would encourage all students competing in tomorrow’s contest to take note. Recipes that win tend to impress and entertain.”
Madame Godard pulled the cart toward her, and the whir of the cotton candy machine started.
“Once the fairy floss produces a name, the lucky student will step forward to have their fortune read.” Billows of pink fluff spun through the air like silkworm cocoons.
She reached out and pulled off a sticky tuft.
Sylvie squinted, trying to spot a name etched into it.
“Enrique Jimenez,” read Godard.
A small and slender boy with the sleeves of his chef’s coat rolled up stepped forward. “Here.”
Madame Godard waved him over. The room grew quiet as Enrique took a seat.
Kitty slid a plate toward him. “Eat.”
He picked up a fork and gulped down several bites. “Mmm …”
Kitty eyed the smudges of custard and crumbs spread across Enrique’s plate. “Your … inhaler has gone missing.”
This was not the revelation Sylvie had expected. Though, Enrique seemed surprisingly pleased. “Yeah! I’ve been looking for it everywhere.”
Kitty traced a finger through the air, as she studied the morsels on the plate.
“It fell into a shoe… . Check the pair with the red laces.”
Enrique gazed at the pie. “Cool. I will… . Thanks!”
With that, he got up and moved back toward the audience.
The cotton candy machine started spinning again. Godard reached inside and pulled a bit of spun sugar. She held it up to the light.
“Shawn Parker.”
Big Shawn stood up. Like the rest of the Pips, he was dressed in regular clothes: a loose pair of jeans, a blue sweatshirt, and an apron the size of a tablecloth.
Despite his stature, something about Shawn still felt small, like a balloon with the air going out.
He took the seat across from Kitty and polished off his slice.
Kitty seemed transfixed by the small morsels in front of her. “The test is weighing on you. Especially after what happened to your brother.”
Shawn’s face flushed red. “Err … yeah. Do you think—”
“Quiet. I’m still reading,” said Kitty.
Sylvie twisted her head, trying to make out a word or symbol tucked between the crumbs. How did she do that?
Miss Kitty finally pulled her gaze from the plate. “I’d still study. But stop worrying so much. You’re going to pass. I see a solid ten-inch Blade with an ash handle.”
A broad smile spread across Shawn’s face. He stood up. His shoulders no longer seemed to carry a heavy weight. In fact, he finally looked big.
The cotton candy machine continued to spew out names.
Several more slices vanished, as Kitty doled out fortunes. Sylvie sat back quietly as she plotted her next move. The assembly would finish soon. Then, kids would scatter for lunch. That’s when they’d approach Godard and plant the letter.
“Sylvie Jones.”
Sylvie blinked. Huh? She looked up and saw Godard staring at her, pinching a sticky tuft.
Georgia gave her a nudge. “Go on.”
No mistake.
Sweat beaded on Sylvie’s palms as she made her way up to the stage.
Kids stared at her with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.
The last thing she needed was for her dirty laundry to get aired in front of the whole school. Or worse. What if the transparent pie revealed their plan with the letter?
Sylvie’s insides turned. Secret and Sauce stared at her from the foot of the table, their golden eyes shining like glossy, probing prisms.
Stay calm, she told herself, trying to clear her mind. Maybe then, the pie won’t pick up on your thoughts?
A wedge of custard quivered on the table.
Nothing left to do now but eat. Sylvie picked up a fork.
The crust was buttery. The cream was rich with vanilla and egg. If it weren’t for the pie’s intrusive nature, it would’ve been delicious!
Kitty eyed the plate. “I see disappointment … but also a chance for redemption and a journey … quite unexpected.”
“Bet it’s a one-way ticket home,” said someone Sylvie suspected was Darius.
“Silence!” shouted Godard.
Kitty pointed to a smear of custard. “I’ve never seen a shape quite like this one… . Danger is near. Enemies and friends … so closely connected.” Her fingers traced the crumbs.
Sylvie felt her face grow warm. It sounded like the pie was talking about Georgia. She was glad they were friends now, and hoped the enemy part was in the past.
A glint suddenly caught her eye. For a moment, Sylvie thought it was a bit of flour still sailing through the air. But it wasn’t.
A cwtch raced toward her head. Sylvie ducked just in time. It landed with a splat in the pie. Ribbons of custard shot across Kitty’s cardigan. The frog jumped out of her pocket.
Kids started laughing.
Secret, or maybe it was Sauce, locked eyes on the frog, while the other chased after the cwtch. The cat leapt up, knocking the table over.
“No! Bad cat.” Kitty lunged forward and grabbed the frog, but thanks to the pie, the floor had turned slippery. She spun around, falling off the stage.
Crack!
Kitty let out a wail, just as one of the cats pounced on the cwtch.
Bam!
Guy’s voice rang out. “Welcome students! What an exciting day to be at Brindille!”
You have no idea, thought Sylvie.
Godard rushed past. “Sylvie, come help me!”
Sylvie jumped up and slid over to where Kitty was slumped over.
“Move her into a seated position,” said Godard. Kitty let out a moan as Godard examined her swollen wrist. “Can you move your fingers?”
“N-no.” Kitty clutched the frog in her good hand.
Godard gestured toward Madame Lopez, who hustled over. “I think she’s broken her wrist, Lupe.”
“B-but it can’t be broken.” Kitty stared at the two women. “The Commis Contest is tomorrow. I have pies to bake and a parade to lead.”
“Don’t worry, Kitty.” Madame Lopez examined her. “You’ve snapped the wrist… . But a hearty bowl of pozole and a day of rest should fix it. However, if you want to be back in shape by tomorrow, I better get my remedy rojo cooking!”
Godard nodded. “You go. I’ll help Kitty back up to the school. When the soup is ready, bring it to my office.”
“I’ll see you in a few hours,” said Madame Lopez, hurrying off.
Kitty stared after her. “B-but what about my puff pastry? It still needs two folds and turns before tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry, Kitty. I’ll see to it,” said Godard reassuringly. “Sylvie. Give me a hand. We need her on her feet.”
Sylvie slipped one arm around Kitty’s waist. With the other, she slid the letter into Godard’s pocket as they hoisted Kitty up. She watched as the two women slowly made their way through the sea of clamoring teachers and students, Secret and Sauce trailing behind them.
Georgia came and stood next to Sylvie. “Do you think she’ll be okay?”
Sylvie thought back to her own injury. “Madame Lopez’s epazote broth healed my leg in a few hours. I’m sure her pozole can fix a broken wrist in a day.”
Georgia’s face suddenly grew pale. “But our plan … now it’s ruined. We can’t give Godard the letter.”
“True… . Or at least it would be”—Sylvie gave her a mischievous grin—“but luckily I managed to slip it into Godard’s pocket when we were helping Kitty.”
Georgia looked at her. “I can’t believe you kept your head at a time like that … and in front of the whole school. Impressive!”
Sylvie wiped a streak of custard off her shirt. “Well, no one was focused on me. So, in some ways, it was perfect. Besides, Bass will be here in the morning, which means pressing pause wasn’t an option.”
Sylvie stole a final glance at Godard as she and Kitty disappeared outside. The dining hall doors swung shut, but not before Sylvie saw the headmistress pulling the envelope out of her pocket.