Surviving my Scholarship

Corpse Reviver #2

------------------------------------One Week Later --------------------------------------------------------------------

                "Will you please teach me to make that crumble now," I begged in the doorway to the kitchen. "Please! Oh please! Oh please!"

                The chef lowered her rather large knife with a sharp metal clinking noise. The fish head flew off the cutting board and easily into a collection bucket on the floor. Swoosh! She turned to me her silver eyes glared at me. There was a brief stare down and then she blinked. Sideways! I wasn't expecting that. I flinched a little and she smirked.

                "Go away, little Plutonian," she growled before hacking down on the fish again.

                "Why do you keep calling me that? I was born here," I cried out.

                I was frustrated that she wouldn't teach me how to make the crumble. Pierce was coming home today. I wanted to make him something special. I hadn't really thought about him the entire week. I felt bad. Guilty baking? Was that a thing?

                "You may fool those idiots, but I see your eyes, Plutonian," she growled again. "Those contacts are pointless against my race."

                "You are Martian," I cheered. I finally figured it out!

                "Marzian," she clarified pulling out the /z/ sound.

                "What," I turned back to her.

                "It's Marzian. Earth dwellers ruined our name years ago with that Martian label," she hissed.

                She diced the fish into tiny pieces. I think it was more out of anger than desired consistency.  Every time the knife came down, I flinched. This was so gross to watch. No wonder I didn't cook more than those Ramen like noodles. Yes, I would add things to it. I never really had time to actually try to learn.

                "I'm sorry, Marzian," I corrected. I swung a finger to my brain. "I got it. Now, how about that crumble?"

                The Marzian sighed and motioned to the pantry with the pointy end of the knife. I took off without hesitation worried she would change her mind.

                "Apples," she blurted out. "Flour, sugar, butter, salt, lemon, brown sugar, animal fat, ice cubes, and......"

                "Hold on," I peeked out of the pantry my arms filled to my chin with things.

                I walked out with what I could balance and threw them on the second counter across from her to keep out of her way. It must be nice having a double island with varying levels of countertop. She glanced over rolled her eyes and walked back into the pantry coming back out with everything I had missed. She plopped them down next to me and went back to hack up another fish.

                "Are we having fish tonight," I grimaced as I looked at the pile of fish mulch. She laughed.

                "No Plutonian. This is my dinner. Your food is poisonous to my race."

                "Is that why Jon tries all their food," I questioned and she nodded.

                She then threw her knife onto a wall near where the dishwasher was. He ducked easily and grabbed it. The amount of gashes in the wall made me think she does that a lot. She has impeccable aim for a cook. I wonder if Mr. Galloway likes to hire those who have various talents in his household. Marzians were known for their French-like arrogance and short tempers. They also picked up fighting easily with their agile forms and their unique sight.