"Mommy!"
I screamed inside my head as I squeezed my eyes shut, clinging to something—anything—to stop myself from completely freaking out. It's coming for me! It's gonna crawl on me and then I'll DIE.
I held on tighter, eyes clamped shut like it would help, like maybe—just maybe—if I couldn't see it, it couldn't see me. Time froze. The whole world went silent. All I could hear was the wind drifting in through the open window, breezy and calm, like it was mocking me. Like it was saying, Oh, you're scared of a teeny little lizard? Pathetic.
Then—splat.
Cold.
Something dripped on my arm. Another droplet followed, then another, like the beginning of rain. I cracked one eye open.
Then immediately shut it again.
Wait.
Water?
Curiosity beat fear—barely—and I peeked open the other eye. My vision filled with the sight of someone standing way too close.
Ice.
Of course.
In my blind panic, I had apparently latched onto him. My brain short-circuited trying to make sense of it. I'd grabbed him—he had come out of the bathroom, probably because of my scream, and now... he was wet. Dripping. Still in his bathrobe. Hair sticking to his forehead.
...Oh.
A mortifying groan slipped out of me as I pushed myself off him.
"No! Now I'm soaked!" I whined, flapping at the water droplets soaking through my shirt like a gremlin swatting flies. My hair was wet too. Ew, ew, ew. "This is your fault! You're the water monster here!"
I glanced toward the wall where I swear I'd seen a lizard just seconds ago—but now? Nothing. Just a wet floor and my bruised dignity. The little monster was gone, probably laughing at me from some shadowy corner.
Ugh. I probably looked like a toddler throwing a tantrum. But just imagining the skin of that reptiles makes my skin crawl in terror.
Still scowling, I tried to shake water from my arms. "Why'd you rush out like that anyway? What if you slipped? It's dangerous!" I slapped a water droplet on my shirt. "Now we're both soaked!"
Ice looked like he was seriously reconsidering every decision that had led him to this moment. He didn't even argue. Just let out this tired sigh and muttered, "I'll lend you some clothes. Just shut up or we'll be late."
Harsh.
He stomped off like I was the biggest inconvenience in the universe. I stuck my tongue out at his back. You're the one who's wet, mister bathrobe-in-public. Still, I felt a little bad.
Also, did I just accidentally see him half-naked?
Don't think about that. Don't think about that. Do NOT think about that.
INT- UNIVERSITY LABORATORY
"You'll have 10 minutes to prepare the ingredients and utensils," Professor Ice Queen—sorry, I mean Miss Professor—announced, voice sharp enough to slice cake. "After that, you'll have 3 hours. That includes decorating the cake. Whether you finish or not, your cake will be evaluated."
I used to think three hours was overkill. Like, who needs that long for a cake? But after training with Ice? Hah. Three hours might as well be thirty seconds. Especially when I still hadn't figured out how to pipe frosting properly! Why does it always come out looking like a worm?
"I don't know how to decorate!" I whispered in panic, leaning toward Ice like he was my last hope. "You didn't let me practice the roses!"
He shot me a look like I'd personally offended his bloodline. "You can shut up and start prepping the utensils," he muttered, already pulling out ingredients. "I'll handle the plating, we don't need piping here. Just do your job and don't waste time."
Right. Yes. Sir. Chef Ice.
He disappeared toward the freezer without another word, leaving me to stare at the bowls like they might yell instructions at me. Okay, Fire. You got this. Don't mess up. Please don't mess up. If I ruined this, Ice would never forgive me.
The red timer light kept flashing in the corner of my vision. Every second felt like it was mocking me. Tick-tock, little amateur. Hope you remembered the baking powder.
I scrambled to get everything prepped while Ice worked like some kind of pastry ninja behind me. He was fast. Efficient. A total baking machine. Meanwhile, I nearly tripped over my own shoelace and elbowed a measuring cup off the counter.
"Fire! Get that cake batter in the oven—we only have one hour left!"
His voice sliced through my spiral like a slap. I flinched and grabbed the pan with shaking hands, shoving it into the oven. Please bake evenly. Please don't crack. Please don't explode.
Ice didn't even look up. He was already preparing the plating decorations, hands moving so smoothly it was like watching a sculptor at work. Meanwhile, I was still trying to stop my hands from shaking.
"Okay, everyone, finalize your decorations! You have only 5 minutes left!"
What?! I nearly screamed. How did five minutes snuck up on me?! I still felt like I was on step two!
Ice, on the other hand, didn't even blink. His fingers danced over the cake like it was a blank canvas and he was Picasso. A grumpy, perfectionist Picasso.
I stood there uselessly for a second, then decided cheering was the only thing I could do.
"Go Ice! Go Ice! You're the best!" I did a tiny cheer-pump, hoping it would boost his mood.
He didn't even look at me. "Stop it, Fire. You're distracting me."
Oof.
I sank back, deflated. I'd just wanted to lighten the mood, but I guess that was just annoying. As usual.
The final minute ticked down like a countdown to doom. The other students were scrambling. Some were piping with one hand and sprinkling with the other. It felt like one of those insane cooking shows where someone burns sugar and someone else cries into their buttercream.
"Okay, everyone. Step away from your stations. Your cakes will be evaluated one by one. You may take a break while we process the results."
And just like that, it was over.
Well, the chaos part, anyway.
My legs nearly gave out in relief. My chest felt like it had been squeezed by a vice for three straight hours. I could hear everyone else exhale at once—soft sighs, the shuffle of feet, some laughter breaking through the tension. It was like a storm had passed, and we'd all survived. Somehow.
But as we shuffled toward the cafeteria, I kept sneaking glances at Ice.
He wanted to win. It's not even a competition, but he made it clear that he wanted the highest grade.
And I... didn't want to be the reason we didn't.
Not when he'd worked so hard. Not when he'd carried the team.
Still, I clung to a tiny, stubborn spark of hope.
Maybe—just maybe—we did okay.
And maybe I wasn't totally useless after all.