Lyra took her time wiping down the counter in the practice kitchen, savoring the silence.

Her fellow Puff Paragons had already stumbled back to the dorms to get ready for dinner. They were all so bone-deep tired that no one had protested when Lyra volunteered to do the clean-up. Even Boysen had only paused long enough to make her promise to meet them in the dining hall before trudging away, his nimble hands hanging limply in defeat.

It was the end of another long, fruitless Friday. Even though her friends were gone, Lyra could hear their discouragement singing in the air. The mournful melody was so slow and heavy that Lyra almost found herself missing the frantic hum of Boysen's stress-song.

Halfway through the second term, sang her own anxiety, responding to the sad dirge of the empty practice kitchen. Over halfway, and nothing to show for it. No light. No 'incontrovertibly tangible manifestation of Enjoyment.'

Lyra had no answer for this woeful refrain. It was all too true. While her puff pastry classwork in all three disciplines continued to be both fun and stimulating, the Mondays and Fridays in the practice kitchen were becoming objects of dread. In fact, while making her twelfth batch of chocolate chip cookies that very day, she'd reflected grimly that she had never enjoyed baking less.

You've got your spices all mixed up, whispered a voice in the back of Lyra's mind. It sounded remarkably like Chef Flax's. Enjoyment's never going to work if you bake yourself into a knot like that.

Lyra sighed. To this voice, she had several arguments ready and waiting. She spoke them out loud to the counter she was still wiping down.

"We're 'filling the bowls.' Every time we do the spell, another teaspoon gets added. The magic's got to boil over sometime. But if we stop now, we'll lose any progress we've made."

All the professors supported this line of reasoning. Even Chef Flax agreed that the second-years were on the right track, whatever 'his' voice in Lyra's mind might say. Every Sunday night, when they gathered briefly in the academy kitchen for a mini concert with him and the flying squirrels, the head chef praised the Puff Paragons' ingenuity and dedication. Bumble's emphatically sympathetic chatter was a feast of delight to Lyra's soul, especially when accompanied by Sprinkle's special reserve plum cordial.

The second-years always left these sessions with a fresh burst of enthusiasm that carried them through Monday morning's experimentation. By Monday afternoon, though, Chef Flax's warm encouragement felt like a distant memory. Bumble's chattered wisdom wilted beneath the endless repetitions of the 'proto-spell.' On a Friday evening like this one, not even the prospect of plum cordial could awaken Lyra's weary senses.

Mixed-up spices, repeated the Chef-like voice. It's just baking. It's supposed to be fun. And if it's removing your taste for plum cordial… you're doing it wrong.

The steady, circular rhythm of the cloth over the counter paused.

"I do have my spices mixed up," Lyra said to the now-spotless counter. "I need to snap out of it."

Her parents would tell her to sing her way through, but they were bards. Lyra had been at the Royal Academy of Magical Baking long enough to know there was only one road for her out of a stew like this.

She looked up at Mac's drawing, which they had pinned to the wall right by the door as a constant source of inspiration. Her eyes drifted up to the clock directly above it. The others would be arriving at the dining hall by now, but she didn't have to meet them right away. Dinner was available for another hour.

Just enough time to bake something…

She was reaching for one of the mixing bowls she had just washed when the door opened.

"Lyra? What are you still doing here?"

Marzy was standing in the doorway, Arch peeking over her shoulder.

"Just cleaning up," Lyra replied. Withdrawing her hand from the mixing bowl, she gave the counter one final swipe and wrung out the cloth. "We've been using this room for our Enjoyment experiments."

Arch nodded solemnly. "We know. That's why we like to do our homework in here on the weekends. It feels like we're helping somehow. Participating, at least."

"Arch and I are partners this term," Marzy explained.

"Oh, right!" Lyra smiled. "We all enjoyed the partner work last year. The assignments were always especially brutal, though. What's on the list this weekend?"

"Two different types of flatbread for Flavor, with three fillings each." Arch sighed as he followed Marzy into the room. "We're working on The Soufflé Sisters Cooperation Chant, so the fillings are all tricky Flavors. They won't go together well without help."

"That'll be the fun part," Marzy protested. "It's Texture that's annoying. I'm so sick of Madame Brioche's Proofing Chant."

"Professor Puff did say it was our last week of it," Arch reminded her.

Lyra perked up. "Oh, Madame Brioche! I know it's tedious, but it can be really soothing if you let it."

"I suppose," Marzy said doubtfully. "I just want to get it out of the way."

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"And practice Master Brulée's Coloring Charm!" Arch's serious face brightened. "We're focusing on different shades of purple this week."

"That's Caramelle's color." Lyra laughed at the confusion on the pair's faces. "We assigned each color to a person last year. It was Boysen's idea. I wrote a melody line for the coloring charms, and he noticed the songs matched certain people's personalities. Purple reminded us both of Caramelle."

Marzy's eyes had gone slightly unfocused. "What was Boysen's color?"

"Blue," Lyra replied briskly. "Ginger was green, and Mac was red. I was yellow."

"Like Enjoyment!" Arch elbowed Marzy sharply in the ribs. "That's perfect. Right, Marzy?"

Marzy nodded vaguely. "Perfect…"

"I could teach you the main purple melody," Lyra offered. "And the variations for whatever shades you're working on. I have tunes for all the coloring charms at this point."

"That would be incredible." Arch gave her a formal bow of thanks,, managing to nudge his partner again in the process. "We would greatly appreciate your help. Right, Marzy?"

Marzy jumped. "Oh! Yes," she breathed. "We'd love to learn the coloring charm songs. Could… could we start with blue?"

Arch's air of gravity finally cracked.

"Oh, sharpen your angles, Marzy," he groaned. Lyra almost chuckled at his slippage into architecture-speak, but she swallowed it with effort as he went on. "You've been inching around that wall all year. It's not moving. It does not know you exist. Leave it alone."

"He does too know I exist," Marzy said heatedly. "Meg says so."

"Meg?" Lyra echoed, at a loss."

"Nutmeg Caraway. My roommate." Marzy turned to face Arch, her plump hands clenched into fists. "She thinks Boysen would like me quite a lot if I could actually talk to him. Meg keeps telling me I should just go for it."

"Meg doesn't have to work with you," Arch muttered.

"She lives with me," Marzy shot back. "She's my friend. And so are you! I should think you'd be a bit more supportive."

"I am very supportive of you making it through this year," Arch countered. "There will be plenty of time for foolish crushes once we're officially second-year students. Until then, you're just throwing everything off-balance."

As Lyra's gaze snapped back and forth between them, she was aware of a strangely clear line dividing her attention in half. One part of her was listening raptly to every word that passed between Marzy and Arch. The other was wondering how she had forgotten so completely about the other first-years. Who in the name of C Major was Nutmeg Caraway? Lyra must have seen her dozens of times in the dining hall, but no amount of effort would produce even the faintest memory of what she looked like.

And of course, through it all, the Berry melody was roaring at full volume in her brain. The persistent tune made it difficult to think about first-year faces, or to comprehend anything the other half of her brain was hearing…

Sudden silence in the outside world broke through the internal chorus. Lyra refocused on Marzy and Arch to find them both staring at her expectantly.

"What?" she asked.

"I was saying that you understand," Arch told her. "You're from a non-baking family, like me. You had to work extra hard to prove yourself. Correct?"

Lyra smiled weakly. "Have to. Not past tense. Still working."

"See, Marzy?" Arch pointed triumphantly at Lyra. "That's what it takes. No distractions. No wasting time. If we really want to make a difference here, we have to commit."

"I am committed!" Marzy sounded close to tears. "It's just… just…"

"I understand," Lyra broke in hastily. "Both of you. I really do get it." She looked at Arch. "There is a lot of pressure when you're an outsider in the baking world. There's plenty when you're an insider, too, but it's different for us. We do have to work extra hard to win people's respect. But…"

A chorus of memories from her own first-year crush washed over Lyra's mind. Her tone softened as she turned to Marzy.

"But some people are just really… extraordinary," she said gently. "They're impossible to ignore. It doesn't mean you care any less about baking. You just have to work extra hard to stay on pitch."

Marzy swallowed. "Do you mean… to stay balanced?"

"That's right," Lyra affirmed. "Balanced Flavors, balanced… angles." She smiled at Arch. "Or corners. Or whatever architectural term is appropriate."

"So…" Arch glanced sideways at his partner, then back at Lyra. "What do we do?"

Producing a pen and a piece of parchment from her apron pocket, she began drawing a musical staff. "First, I'll teach you all the purple coloring charm melodies. Then you just keep doing what you've been doing."

Marzy sighed. "Arguing?"

"Working extra hard." Lyra paused her drawing long enough to give them each her best imitation of a Boysen pre-exam grin. "You care about baking, and you care about each other. I think you're both going to be just fine."

—

"That is a very thoughtful face, Lyra," Ginger called from her spot on Lyra's couch. "Too thoughtful. And you've been acting weird all night. What's cooking?"

Lyra paused with her hairbrush midstroke, squinting at herself in the bathroom mirror. "I've been acting weird? How?"

"You were rather quiet all through Puff Paragon Recreation," Caramelle pointed out. Setting down the fourth jar in her nightly skincare regimen, she picked up the fifth and began applying it to her forehead. "You hardly laughed at those lovely drawings Mac did of Fortescue."

"And you didn't even comment on my dad's new chocolate cream puffs, which I was so generous as to bring and share with you all." Ginger frowned. "I repeat: what's cooking?"

Slowly, Lyra resumed her hairbrush's movement. "Nothing new. All the Enjoyment stuff, of course."

"That's stewing in all of us," Ginger said darkly.

Sighing, Caramelle dabbed the sixth jar's contents onto her nose. "I, for one, am feeling quite overbaked."

"That's just it." Lyra winced as her brush encountered a particularly tough tangle. "I think we're all overbaked. But I don't know how else to go about it. And then there are the first-years."

She quickly recounted her conversation with Marzy and Arch.

"I feel like I've abandoned them this term," she confessed. "I forgot that Nutmeg girl even existed. And Arch is trying so hard, and Marzy was so upset… I just don't know if I did enough. Or if the advice I gave was any good."

"I think you gave splendid advice," Caramelle assured her. "You reminded them to focus on what's really important. And you even missed most of dinner to teach them those coloring songs! Boysen was getting so worried before you showed up. I thought he was going to send us all out for search-and-rescue."

"Which brings us to the real issue." Ginger suddenly stood up and cast aside the pillow she had been hugging. She crossed Lyra's living room area in three long steps and stood in the bathroom doorway, crossing her arms. "The first-years aren't the reason for Lyra's Thoughtful Face. Not the main reason, anyway."

Lyra felt a sudden irrational need to hide, but she couldn't step back without running into Caramelle. Unwilling to risk jostling her suitemate during the crucial 'skincare: step six, she pretended to focus on braiding her hair.

"Oh?" she asked, keeping her tone light. "So what is?"

Ginger raised her eyes to the ceiling, as if seeking some sort of divine assistance. "I have kept my lips sealed, like a good little pie crust, for a year and a half. But that is quite long enough. Longer than enough. In the name of every spice in the rack, Lyra, what is taking you so long?"

"Developing a new spell takes time. I can't…"

"Not Enjoyment. Not anything to do with the academy, or even baking." Ginger caught her gaze in the bathroom mirror and held it. "Lyra, my dear dense lump of sourdough, what are you going to do about Boysen?"

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