Baker's Dozen

Chapter 1: I Set Fire to an Oven

"Vanessa!" I hear my mother scream as I awaken abruptly from a good nap. "It's on fire again!"

My eyes widen as I dart into the kitchen, scrambling my way around the counters and display cases. The fire extinguisher is calling my name.

I rip the faded extinguisher off the wall, shake it like a madman, and press down hard on the handle. I try not to breathe in any smoke, and I can feel the blast of cold as I spray at the open oven blindly.

I open up one eye to see that the flames have gone out, and my mom and I sigh in unison. Relieved, I pant heavily, looking around the bakery kitchen. Her sigh was more of a sigh of disappointment.

"Vanessa. This is the second time you almost set our bakery on fire," my mom lectures. "You can't just leave food baking in the oven without checking on it every now and then."

"Sorry, mom." I reply tired and ashamed. Technically, it's the third time, but let's not go there.

"You shouldn't even be sleeping."

I love baking and all, but sometimes I forget that I love falling asleep on the stool in the back corner even more.

"I won't do it again." I say, this time actually looking at my mom.

Her chocolate brown hair matched mine, except for the fact that hers only reached her shoulders, and it was tied back into a ponytail.

The prominence of the stress marks on her forehead was my fault, just then.

She raised her eyebrows and frowned, then shook her head while walking out of the kitchen. This bakery meant everything to her and our family, and it seems like I'm the only one putting it in harm's way.

Realizing that the fire extinguisher was still in my hand, I place it back onto the wall, and go to throw out the burnt cupcakes waiting for me in the oven.

I slide on some oven mitts and gingerly pull the tray out of the post-burning oven. I looked at the cupcakes, and they looked back at me. I made a face. They weren't cupcakes anymore.

***

Best Bites Bakery is our family pride. It was once my grandparents', but they passed it on to my mother when they retired. The recipes from 1987 are still alive today, and only known by the bakery's most trusted workers.

Which is kind of why I don't know them. I make up my own recipes when I bake at home, and the only recipes that are given to me are ones that aren't used at Best Bites. I can only guess what's in the sweet-smelling pastries, but I'm a pretty good guesser, so that's fine with me.

I sit inside my living room on the couch, cozying up in a blanket with a book. Being the only child and with all my friends from school busy, without any kind of entertainment, I might as well buy myself a coffin and lay there to die of boredom.

I read into the climax of a chapter, eyes pouring into each and every word.

"No, you can't!"

"I'm sorry. But I have to go."

"But-"

"Vanessa."

I hesitantly lift my eyes up from the book to see my mom standing there in front of me. Irked by the interruption, I ask, "Yes?"

"My friend Janie came into town this morning. She and her son are dropping by the bakery tomorrow, so please try not to-"

"Start a fire again?" I say looking back down at my book. "Will do."

In my peripheral vision, I see my mom make a small, sheepish smile that doesn't show her teeth, and with that, she leaves the room.

I probably shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean to sound so rude, but it did sound a little too sarcastic. I would say sorry, but it wouldn't make up for the nightmare that is tomorrow.