Lyra heard Boysen approaching before she saw him. He was arguing loudly with Mac and Caramelle as they practically dragged him across the dining hall.

"This really isn't the best time for this, y'know. Can't it wait until morning? Or maybe next week, while we're cramming for the exam?"

Boysen's aggrieved voice carried easily into the kitchen through the cracked-open door, where Lyra was waiting. She'd been standing there for several minutes, not wanting his arrival to catch her by surprise. Now she closed the door softly, letting its soundproofing magic block out Mac's and Caramelle's responses, and took her position on one of the two stools set out for the purpose.

Ginger had decided on the academy kitchen as the ideal location for the kick-off of the Treble-Berry recipe. Chef Flax and the flying squirrels were in on the plot and had happily agreed to retire to their respective quarters as soon as possible after dinner. Caramelle and Mac would stand guard by the doors into the dining hall to ward off any intruders. Ginger would spend some time with Queen Penelope to make sure no one accidentally invaded the kitchen by the roof entrance.

Thankfully, all this coordination had been done without Lyra's knowledge, so she hadn't been able to voice any embarrassed objections.

"We're keeping the conspiracy group small," Ginger had assured her after the board meeting. "And everyone in that small group is a huge fan of you, and of Boysen, and of You-and-Boysen. There's no need to get all whisked up."

Easy for you to say, Lyra had thought glumly. You're not the one whose life is turning into a plot of one of Thespy's light summer plays.

Outwardly, though, she just smiled and thanked Ginger for all her help. The Crumble was going to great lengths to provide all the ingredients for a menu of happiness. The least Lyra could do was try to keep her whisking on the inside.

This became increasingly difficult as the day went on. Never had Lyra experienced a more whisk-ish afternoon. By dinnertime, her internal melodies had reached the high mixing speed required for whipping cream into stiff peaks. She was actually glad when Boysen raced through dinner and made his usual disappearance halfway through dessert.

Then, of course, Ginger began exchanging a series of significant looks, winks, and nods with Mac and Caramelle. Lyra forced herself to focus on enjoying dessert. Chef Flax's special chocolate mousse was as decadent as ever, especially with Bumble's espresso whipped cream and Sprinkle's fresh raspberries on top, but it was no use. Her insides were now spinning at a speed that would turn egg whites into meringue.

Mumbling something about 'getting my guitar,' she abandoned her last few bites of mousse and fled to the safety of the dorm.

She did get her guitar, but she did not linger in her room. The cheery walls of Shortcrust suddenly felt oppressive. Accordingly, she scribbled a note to Ginger about where to find her and headed for Queen Penelope's rooftop perch.

Never had Lyra been more grateful for the calm solitude of the royal poultry's abode. She whiled away the hour before 'showtime' with several rounds of practice, pausing every so often to ask Queen Penelope's opinion on a word or chord. The regal chicken proved a most discerning audience. Lyra thanked her profusely and promised to bring her a batch of chocolate chip cookies in the morning, along with a full account of the event.

Finally, Ginger appeared to announce that the scheme was in motion. Mac had forced a promise out of Boysen to meet in the dorm common area kitchen for some late-night filo practice. Caramelle planned to 'stumble upon' them and request a move to the academy kitchen in the main hall so they could all work together and spread out more.

Lyra was never really sure afterwards how she got down to the kitchen. She vaguely remembered Queen Penelope's encouraging farewell "Cluck cluck!" and Ginger's hearty calls of "Go get 'im!", but the actual trip down the stairs was a blur. So was the indeterminate amount of time she spent waiting by the door. Somehow, suddenly, she was sitting on the stool, clutching her guitar with icy fingers while Boysen walked in.

He froze at the sight of her, stopping his protest mid-sentence. The tumult of her internal melodies froze in response.

She gave him the brightest smile she could manage amidst the abrupt inner silence. "Hi!"

"Hi…" Boysen recovered from his surprise enough to return her smile tentatively. "If you're using this room, we can go somewhere else. Don't want to get in your way. Unless you want to join us for some filo practice?"

He turned to confer with Mac and Caramelle only to see the door swinging shut, with them still on the other side. His smile faltered.

"What's… going on?"

"Espionage," Lyra replied. She was surprised at the steady lightness of her own voice. Everything felt so surreal, it was hard to be nervous.

One of Boysen's eyebrows lifted. "Espionage?"

"Of the most devious order. Plots within plots within plots. You, Master Berry, have been brought here under false pretenses."

To her own shock, she trilled a merry laugh. Is any of this actually happening?

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"I see." Boysen looked slowly around the empty kitchen, as if making sure no one else was present. "Might one inquire as to the purpose of these plots?"

"A truly nefarious one." She narrowed her eyes, pitching her voice deep to imitate one of Thespy's melodrama villain characters. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Talk to me?"

"That's right."

"We talk every day," he pointed out. "Hardly a special occasion. No need to go to all this trouble, Treble."

He shifted his smile into a certified winsome Boysen-grin, guaranteed to disarm, defuse, and deflect.

Lyra was having none of it.

"It is a special occasion. This term, anyway. So special, in fact, that I wrote a song for it." She held up her guitar, then pointed to the empty stool next to her. "Your seat, Flavor King."

His expression shifted rapidly into something that was equal parts apprehension and enthusiasm. Lyra recognized that look. She had seen it on his face before every exam, right after his customary Lyra-only pre-exam grin.

Sure enough, he rolled his shoulders and shook out his arms, as if getting ready to bake. Then he crossed to the stool in three quick strides and sat down.

Lyra's fingers moved automatically to their positions for the first chord, still feeling a bit like she was sleepwalking. But the Berry melody had been waiting for this moment for too long to choke now. The tune rose up joyfully out of the dreamlike internal silence, ready to carry her through. It wouldn't let her down.

Which was the whole point, really.

Closing her eyes, she began.

"Have you ever stopped to really look up at the sky?

It's always there for anyone who wants to learn to fly.

I know that if it vanished, I would fall apart and cry…

The wide expanse reminding me of all I've yet to do,

And that's why I adore the color blue.

Have you ever stopped to really think about the sea?

It's always there for anyone who's desperate to feel free.

I know that if it vanished, I would grieve eternally…

The daily tide reminding me that life is ever new,

And that's why I adore the color blue.

Have you ever stopped to really think about your heart?

It's always there for me — so kind, so faithful from the start.

I know that I'd be lost if we should ever have to part…

Your seasoned song reminding me that love can still be true,

And that's why I adore the color blue."

The last note seemed to hang in the air for several seconds longer than usual. Lyra could hear it echoing faintly at the edge of her senses when she forced her eyes open to look at Boysen.

He was staring at her.

The Berry melody was still rolling along inside her mind, but the outside world felt suffocatingly quiet. Possessed by a sudden need to fill the silence, she laughed shakily.

"Because you're blue. Get it? Like I'm yellow, and Ginger's green… so when I started writing a song for you, I ended up writing about the color blue. It's your song. Just to be clear. What… do you think?" Lyra asked.

Boysen was still staring at her. Slowly, he took in a breath.

"You couldn't have waited one week?"

It was her turn to stare. "I… what?"

"One week!" He held up one finger, wagging it in her face for emphasis. "I had a plan. A truly well-seasoned plan. You couldn't have waited until the talent show?"

"The talent show?"

"The talent show!" As if no longer able to sit still, Boysen jumped up and began pacing. "I've been busy with my own espionage, y'see. Plots within plots within plots. All building up to a big romantic gesture. Public declaration. Salts, it was going to be scrumptious. Canto said —"

"Public?" Lyra repeated. Then, as her dizzied mind caught up to the moment, "Wait, Canto?"

His shrug was sheepish. "Yes, public. I thought, since I'd behaved like a thistle to you in public, I'd best apologize in kind."

She waved this away impatiently. "You said 'Canto.' What does my brother have to do with this?"

He stopped pacing and glared at her, wiggling his eyebrows in his own imitation of a Thespy melodrama. "Never you mind. You may have beat me to the start of the recipe, but I'll be cooked before I let nearly a whole term of sweet, nefarious plans go to waste. You're getting your public declaration, Treble. In one week. Prepare to be wooed."

Laughter bubbled out of her, warm and free and with only a faint taste of hysteria. "So you're not mad at me?"

"Salts, no."

"But…" She hugged her guitar tightly, struggling to bring the laughter under control so she could speak coherently. "But you've been avoiding me. For weeks."

"I had to make use of every spare second. Nefarious schemes take a shocking amount of time to prepare."

She hesitated. "And before that… I mean, ever since Cardamom showed up, you've been…"

"Acting like a sack of spoiled sugar?" Boysen nodded. "I know. And I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you now, but I was. For no good reason, really. By the time I realized how over-spiced I'd gotten, it felt… too late, somehow."

"Like you'd overmixed the batter," Lyra said slowly, "and the cake was sure to collapse."

"Exactly." Hopping back onto his stool, he gave her a wry smile. "Hence the need for… drastic measures. Big gestures."

"Plots within plots within plots?"

"Within plots," he agreed.

"Well…" She spread her arms, indicating herself, the guitar, and the entire scene. "Clearly, we were thinking along the same chord progressions."

"Looks like it." He glanced at the door with a feigned scowl. "Though you had more accomplices than me. I'll never again trust a single word Fondant says. Especially about pastry."

Lyra laughed.

Again, silence settled over them. Except this was an entirely new Flavor of silence. Lyra had never imagined that quiet could be both stabilizing and energizing, all at once. She felt relaxed enough to fall asleep, yet so jittery that she was tempted to leap up and dance around the room.

It was such a lovely silence that she was reluctant to break it. Yet there was one thing she still needed to know.

"So… you like the song?"

His eyes sparked, making her think wildly of yellow light shimmering over blue chocolate chip cookies. "I love it."

"And… might you want to have some more 'special occasion' times, in the future? Maybe a lot more? Just you and me?"

He reached out and took both her hands, gently working them free of their death-grip on the guitar.

"Sweet and savory, yes."

Pure delight rose up in a loud chorus inside her. The tune was like the Berry melody, but much richer and more dynamic. She felt like she'd been hearing only half of what the song was meant to be, and now she was experiencing its true fullness.

It was stronger than any wave of concentrated Enjoyment magic. It was deafening. It was sure to overwhelm her, and then who knew what might happen?

Suddenly, she was babbling.

"Baking slang is so strange, don't you think? When something's bad, we say it's like spoiled sugar, but 'sweet' can also be a good thing. And what about 'savory'? Is it supposed to be better or worse than sweet? Does it depend on the speaker's personal preference, like if they have a sweet tooth or not? And if you think of the literal definition, 'savory' could mean —"

The kiss with which he interrupted this rambling monologue silenced all debate, being both perfectly sweet and decidedly worth savoring.

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