Ray and Milicent sat side by side on the low wall behind the school's garden
Milicent had her hair tied back messily, the way she always did when she wasn't trying to impress anyone. Ray watched her absently as she flipped through her sketchpad — though this time, it wasn't full of plans or observations, just doodles and half-finished thoughts.
Ray cleared his throat.
She glanced over. "What?"
He grinned. "Okay. So… you know how you made the meal during Home our swimming pool party, and it almost made the teacher cry?"
She rolled her eyes. "It wasn't that good."
"It was," he insisted. "And I've been thinking."
"Dangerous," she said with a smirk.
Ray ignored her. "There's this inter-school cooking competition. Our school and Raymond's Academy are hosting together. It's a big deal. Media coverage, judges, trophies & The works."
She raised an eyebrow, curious now. "And?"
"I signed you up."
Milicent blinked. "You what?"
Ray laughed. "I sent in a sample menu under your name. I may have added a few glowing reviews and a fake quote from the principal."
Her mouth fell open. "You forged a—?"
"It wasn't forged," he said, hands up in defense. "It was… pre-approved improvisation."
Milicent shook her head, still stunned. "You signed me up for a whole competition?"
"I know what you could do," he said, softer now. "You pay attention to flavor the way some people pay attention to battle strategy. You're good, Milicent. Better than you know."
She was quiet for a moment, the wind brushing her cheek as her mind raced.
Finally, she whispered, "You really think I could win?"
"I think you're already the best cook in this school and In backwood's Mansion," Ray said. "Now go prove it to everyone else."
please don't let me down ...........
________________________________ news about the cooking competition buzzed around the school with new energy. Posters went up on the bulletin boards: Inter-School Culinary Championship — bold fonts, shining trophies, and a list of shortlisted names beneath it.
Milicent's name was there. Right below Jasmine
who cares compete with Jasmine
she has attend one of the best caterings and baking institutions one junior student mummured"
oh here she comes "
they all paused to look
she arrived at school in a sleek car with tinted windows and her driver stepped to opened the door.
Everyone knew her reputation. Not just in class, but across the district.
she's the girlfriend to the pompous backwood's first son Ryder , and Jasmine had trained in Paris one summer, at a high-end baking school she name-dropped often. She could whip up a croissant blindfolded and still manage to pose for a photo. She was confident, composed… and used to winning.
So when word spread that Milicent had been nominated too, Jasmine didn't hide her disdain.
In the cafeteria, she smiled sweetly across the table and said, loud enough for others to hear, "Oh, you're entering too? That's… adorable. I just didn't think this year would be more of a charity round."
a common maid participating in the competitions
I guess you were been lied to since the swim pool party
she laughed !
Milicent blinked, holding her tray steady. "Well, I guess you'll have to cook like you've never cooked before."
Jasmine smirked. "Sweetheart, I've been winning this since Year 9. I don't cook to compete. I compete to remind people where they stand."
That night, Milicent didn't sleep.
She sat at her desk, fingers stained with ink and the edge of a new recipe book open wide. She researched late into the night — spices from Northern Nigeria, baking methods from Korea , fusion dishes that balanced street flavor with gourmet technique.
She wasn't just cooking anymore.
She was fighting.
She practiced under pressure. Timed her plating. Memorized techniques. Even faced a mock judging panel — made up of Ray,Amy ,mam Emily, and a highly judgmental friend of mam Emily who claimed she was once a backup contestant on a reality show.
Milicent didn't just prepare like a student.
She trained like a soldier.