Touchy

Chapter 11

Chapter 11, enjoy.

When I get home from school on Tuesday, at my usual time as I don't have any revision sessions on after school today, I find myself in the kitchen. My final exam style sessions for food are coming up and I wouldn't say that I'm stressed as such about producing a great tiered cake, but I feel the need to practice it all once before at least. I've made one of the tiers at school and today I'm taking it upon myself to make another one in the time I have before mum and dad get back from work and will no doubt want to take over the kitchen.

As I'm adding in the cocoa powder to the bowl, sifting it through the sieve even though it's already fairly fine (I'm that person), my mind suddenly gets a déjà vu type of reaction. My hands almost drop the sieve on the worktop, but I manage to keep my grip steady enough not to do that. Spilling chocolate powder everywhere is not what I want to be doing. Luckily, my fingers bring the sieve down into the bowl before anything can advance into a disaster.

Placing a mucky flour covered hand to my head, I find my hair to be plastered to my face a little at the sides. The heat in here is intense, especially with the oven on, pre heating. With my forearm, I wipe away at my forehead and then shake my head. Nothing I dreamt about last night means anything, it wasn't real. Get a grip Celine.

Picking the metal strainer back up, I finish sieving the cocoa powder and rid of the utensil, putting it in the sink to wash up later. Then I grab the rubber spatula already in the massive plastic bowl and stir in the strong smelling chocolaty magic dust until it's fully combined. It doesn't take me long, about twenty seconds and just as I'm about to crack in some eggs, my phone beeps. My grip on the egg I'm holding in my hand increases drastically. Thankfully, it's almost impossible to break an egg holding it upright so I'm saved from creating even more of a mess than I already have. Despite me having not dropped the sieve, I have somehow managed to get flour and butter on the countertop. What can I say, I'm a messy baker.

Leaning over to where my phone is on the kitchen table, I see a notification has popped up on screen informing me that mum is going to be running home a little late as she's caught up at work. Plus with the rush hour traffic encroaching, I bet she'll be later. Walking back over to the counter, I replace the egg still in my hand back into the cardboard box and then quickly give my hands a wash before I walk back over to my phone.

When I click on mum's message, I audibly sigh. Not because she won't be back as early, but because the person below her on my phone contacts is Phoenix as he was the last person, other than mum, to message me. I don't know why it hits me, but it does. I guess it's because of yesterday. All of the events of Monday flood through my mind. He spoke to me first, even though I'd fabricated the event. He didn't have to talk. He chose to, just like he did walking with me in the afternoon and talking to me at night. The only other person that does that is Phoebe – except her mum drives her to and from school. If she could, she would walk with me though. It's just a shame in that sense that she lives further away. She lives in a more remote area, surrounded by nature, pure wildlife exploding on her doorstop. I'm envious at that I suppose more than anything.

Cars drive past our house on a regular basis. There are meadows close by, but there are a bunch of houses littered around ours also. It's not the same kind of nature that lives around Phoebs area, it is tamer. The true wilderness exists in her garden more than it does mine.