“Very nice, Molly,” he speaks softly right behind me.

He continues watching over my shoulder, and I don’t even care that I’m the only one in the class who already had the foresight to add my egg whites in last. Everyone else is scrambling around to start their soufflés over while I’m just standing here with a kitchen utensil in my hand thinking about slathering his body with the egg whites and licking them off. Shaking away my lust-filled thoughts and the idea of consuming raw eggs and the possibility of Salmonella, I go back to manically whipping my whisk through the fluffy white mixture in my bowl until I have perfect, soft peaks.

“You have beautiful peaks, Molly,” he adds quietly.

Usually, nothing breaks my concentration in the kitchen, and even though I know I have perfect egg white peaks in the bowl in front of me, hearing my instructor say the words right by my ear turns me into an idiot.

“Do you think so? They’re a nice, full B-cup, but I’ve never thought of them as beautiful before,” I ramble.

“Did you say something, Molly?” he asks.

I notice he moved a few feet away and didn’t hear me talk out of my ass like…someone in my family. Quickly shaking my head, I concentrate on the peaks in my bowl instead of the ones on my chest.

For two years I’ve had to try and be stealthy about my obsession with our student-teacher, Marco Desoto, and I can tell I’m losing my edge. He’s caught me staring at him more than once, and the few times (okay, more than a few) I’ve quietly walked up behind him just to smell him while he was busy at the stove, he knew I was there and called me out on it. I can’t help it. He smells like the best damn cookie in the world. Like vanilla and almond dipped in brown sugar and butter. Girls buy lotions to smell like that crap and this guy oozes it from his pores.

I was once the queen of stealth. I walked through our house completely naked because I realized we were out of towels right when I was getting into the shower and I had to grab one from the dryer. Our living room was filled with all the adults in our family, and no one even noticed me strolling bare ass across the carpet to the laundry room off the kitchen. That was the day I found out my Aunt Claire smoked pot and licked the walls at Seduction and Snacks.

Another time, I stood over my sister, Ava’s, shoulder and spent fifteen minutes watching her text her boyfriend, Tyler. I learned about “accidental anal” and a bunch of other shit I can never scrub from my mind, but hey, I got some more dirt to add to my ever-growing laundry list of things about my family I’ve titled “Things I need to know in case anyone ever tries to fuck with me”. It’s not that I don’t love my family, I just like to cover all my bases. I like being the only quiet person everyone forgets about until I speak up, and then they all look at me like they’re trying to remember who I am and what I’m doing there. It’s not their fault. I’ve spent the last two years living and breathing culinary school studying to be a French Pastry Chef.

“I thought I heard you say something about cups, my mistake,” Marco says with a smile.

“Nope! No cups here. Just beautiful, firm peaks that will not drop no matter how old and wrinkly they get!”

Marco Desoto is turning me into the princess of bumbling idiots and my family will never let me live it down if I don’t get my shit together. Uncle Drew was disappointed when I told him I was going to culinary school and had to inform him that there was no such thing as “ninja school”. He truly thought he would get to tell all of his friends that he had a niece who was a real-life ninja. I’m pretty sure that was the first day I ever saw him cry.

Monday through Thursday, every day including summers for twenty-four months, I’ve been up at school from six in the morning until eleven at night. I’m lucky my family even remembers my name at this point. Even before that though, I usually kept to myself. My family is plenty loud and annoying enough to make up for my lack of enthusiasm.

It makes this unhealthy obsession with Marco all the more annoying. Even though I remembered the whole egg white thing today, I’ve been flakey and off my game the last few weeks. Being a pastry chef is my dream and I’m on the verge of making it a reality. Tomorrow is my last final exam and I will finally be done with school. I need to stop thinking about Marco covered in eggs and concentrate on what I’m supposed to be doing. I have to finish writing an essay about the history of soufflé’s, and then all day Monday, I have to do my final presentation, which includes making eight different desserts and showcase them in an exhibit. I’ve already spent over twelve hours researching my paper and getting most of it typed up, but I still have a few more things to add as well as doing a few practice baking runs when I get home so that everything is perfect. It has to be perfect. Nothing can distract me, especially Mr. Sugar Cookie, who I can’t stop staring at as I fold my egg whites into my other mixing bowl.

Why did he have to show up in one of my classes two years ago? WHY? Ever since then I’ve made sure that I sign up for whatever courses he’s teaching that corresponds with my schedule like some kind of creepy stalker. I stare at him instead of concentrating on my food, and for God’s sake, I started talking to him about my BOOBS a minute ago.

As everyone finishes up what they are doing and Marco reminds us what time we all need to be here in the morning to start our final, I am determined to do absolutely nothing for the rest of my night but think about Monday and my dreams finally coming true. In just a few more days, I will be a classically-trained French Pastry Chef with a bachelor’s degree in Baking and Pastry Arts. I will be able to bring some classiness to Seduction and Snacks and maybe get a life. I really, really need to get a life.

The scream from the bathroom across the hall is deafening and so loud that I can hear it through my earbuds as I blast Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 21 while flipping through The Baking Bible. Charlotte stopped by to do a load of laundry since hers and Gavin’s washing machine is on the fritz, and I’m assuming she found a red sock mixed in with her whites. Oh, the horror.

Turning the volume up, I go back to writing down a few notes to add to my final paper, leaving my sister to the domestic bliss of washing her soon-to-be husband’s tighty whities.

Gavin and Charlotte have been up each other’s asses ever since they got engaged and started planning their wedding. I’m pretty sure she only asked me to be a bridesmaid out of family obligation. We’re not really that close and it’s probably my fault. I haven’t had time for anyone ever since I started taking college courses my sophomore year of high school and then went right into culinary school after graduation. On top of that, I like to keep to myself. My family is crazy, loud, and so inappropriate that most of the things they say and do border on being illegal. I’ve wondered many times if I was adopted, but I’m just too chicken shit to ask anyone. I’ve never felt like I belong in this family.

Sure, I have a sense of humor, but it’s more sarcastic and dry instead of in-your-face like everyone else. Charlotte and Ava have much more in common with each other than with me. They care about love and guys and fashion…all that shit you read about in women’s magazines. But me? I just care about baking. Cookies, cakes and pastries never let you down. People think it’s all about recipes, but it’s so much more. It’s the science and chemistry of using exact measurements and the right temperatures, and when you follow the rules everything comes out perfectly. I like knowing exactly how something will turn out. I know if I do what I’m supposed to, it will be exactly how I want it. Even if you plan it all out and follow everything to a T, life will fuck you right up the ass. Without lube.