His Little Amelia

|68| • Amelia

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"You're getting pretty good at this."

 Willow Rue whispered, looking over my shoulder as I dusted the masterpiece on the table with my brush, removing the excess powdered sugar. We were instructed to make a dessert for classroom activity and were divided into pairs. I was with Willow Rue, who was looking with wide eyes and a smile at this moment. She was the one who made the filling, a chocolate passion flavouring in one while the other batch had a mocha green tea filling in between the pastel green shell. 

I chuckled, leaning away from our box of macarons, forming a knuckle so we could bump fists, which she happily complied with. "Well, this was very much a team effort. But thank you." I grinned. The shell was perfectly smooth, and the foot of the macarons was crispy and had a vibrant colour. I was impressed with myself, I honestly thought they'd come out of the oven looking wonky. 

"It's so good I could eat one right now!" She grinned, clapping her hands in excitement. The thing was, we were only allowed to eat our fails, which was the initial batch we'd done. Although we'd already scarfed it all down, of course, no evidence no story. Laughing at her words, I closed the white box, waiting for the final scoring. The chef who was taking us had stepped out, letting us have full control of the kitchen.

"Darn, so you two are pretty as you're talented." A voice called out, following a whistle. Willow Rue was the first to turn, her cheeks darkening just a little with a shy smile on her lips. I turned my head at the familiar voice. "Why thank you, Raul. What did your group make?" I asked, folding my arms. Whichever it was, I'm sure it had nothing on ours. 

He smirked, moving to the side as he pointed over at his table. "Why don't you two come take a look?" Raul offered. Looking over at Willow Rue, she nodded, walking in front of me. Raul paused for a second, meeting me at the side before I reached his table. "I have a feeling you're mad at me." He whispered, shoving his hands in his jorts. Narrowing my eyes, my shoulders tensed up, I didn't think he'd notice so soon. We hadn't spoken much after I and Evie had that talk.

His words made me feel a bit bad, he seemed clueless.

"What makes you say that?" I whispered back, not glancing his way. Raul hummed, "Well, for starters, you aren't looking me in the eye like you usually do." He pointed out the obvious when we reached his table, I felt his hand take hold of mine. "We'll continue this later."

"A croquembuche?" Willow Rue called out in an excited gasp, clapping her hands. "Oh, these were my favourite back home, and yours looks so caramelized and sturdy! Nice one." It did look caramelized, each puff looked absolutely delicious. I darted my eyes from their desert to Raul's partner. If I recalled correctly, his name was Stan -- Stanley was the full version. His thick curls bobbed when he nodded.

"It does look well stacked, doesn't it? Raul did most of the towering though,"

"Oh, don't make me blush in front of these ladies." Raul cooed, covering his face with a grin. "It looks really good though, but not as good as ours." I teased, nudging Raul's ribs, partly to break off our hold. Willow Rue snorted, shaking her head. "It looks good no lie, but ours is the best."

I smirked, "Right?" We fist bumped again, giggling at Stan's eye-roll. 

The door of our classroom opened, revealing Chef Dorothy. She was a plump red-haired woman who took us on pastries 103. Chef Dorothy raised her eyeglasses from where they hung, placing them steadily on her eyes as she moved her (quite short) legs to the front. Quickly, I and Willow Rue shuffled back to our spot.