Izzy, Not Isabelle

Trail Mix and Cookies

Once we make it to the cafeteria, I take out my lunchbox, and Jake grabs his. We have the same brand of lunchbox, and it's the same color. We didn't realize it until lunch on the first day of school. We kept getting them mixed up, so we wrote our names on the top.

I peer into my lunchbox and take out the plastic container that I'd filled with leftover enchiladas. Then I realize that I hadn't warmed them up this morning. I touch the side of the container. Sure enough, it's freezing cold. I crinkle my nose but stab a piece with my fork. I put it in my mouth tentatively, and I raise my eyebrows. It's actually really good! I take another bite and soon finish off the container.

I take out the trail mix and see Jake look from me to the trail mix and back to me. I start to pick out the Reese's Pieces, but Jake snatches the container from me and grabs the little candies. I retrieve it and start taking out the peanut butter chips. Jake reaches for it, but I slap his hand away. He steals it anyway and starts to grab the little candies, and I shove him. He has to use his arms to keep from falling. I use this opportunity to take the container and pick out the rest of the sweets. Jake swipes the container, but, when he realizes there are no more Reese's Pieces or peanut butter chips, he pushes it back towards me with a glare. I glare right back, then I divide the pretzels between us.

Wordlessly, we turn to each other, fists over our palms. I flatten my hand for paper, and he uses scissors. I groan but accept the plastic container, forcing down the tasteless nuts. Ugh. I like peanuts, but the complete lack of flavor and salt makes these nearly unbearable.
I finally finish off the nuts, so I eat the pretzels. Jake's already finished all of his and is now eyeballing my peanut butter chips and Reese's pieces. I narrow my eyes and pull them closer to me. I try to eat slowly to savor the delicious flavor, but it's impossible, and I end up scarfing them down. I wait for the taste to leave my mouth, then I take a few sips of water.
Jake and I plan out the rest of our video for Media Comm, smoothing out some of the finer details.

The bell rings, and we grab our backpacks and walk towards our next class: English with Mrs. Pulizzi. I used to like English, but something has changed from sixth grade to now. Both of our smiles fade as we approach the hallway bearing the classroom. Neither one of us likes the subject or the teacher. Mrs. Pulizzi sits behind her desk pretty much all period on her computer. She's already there when we walk in, her graying hair wrenched into a bun so tight that it makes me wince. She's wearing a dark brown dress and a heavy-looking black necklace.

I glance at the board as I walk to my desk. Thank goodness; it's a makeup day. It makes sense. Yesterday's assignment took me and Jake all but five minutes of the class period, and most people didn't complete it. I feel myself sigh with relief as I slide into the chair behind Jake's. I pull out my book and start reading it. I finish it before long and put it in my backpack. The bell rings a few minutes later.

Our next class is Culinary Arts. I was so excited when I saw it when we were choosing electives! I love to cook and bake. Jake signed up for it, too, but he's not the biggest fan of concocting meals. He puts up with it though, for my sake - and, I suppose, for the privilege of being the taste tester.

The instructor, Chef Gordon, is sorting ingredients when we walk in, his hat crooked on his balding head. His classroom is pretty much a kitchen, with ovens and a huge pantry with pretty much any ingredient you could ask for. Today's assignment is one of the special things we do once a month - we get to make whatever we want!

After briefly discussing it with Jake, I decide on one of my favorites: white chocolate-dipped gingersnap cookies. I look up a recipe on the computer in the corner of the room and jot down the ingredients, amounts, and directions; there are already people waiting behind me. The class only has ten people, or five pairs, but it seems like more when they're waiting on me.

I start to combine the sugar and butter in a bowl I found in a cabinet, one of many identical kitchen tools. Jake takes the bowl and spoon from me, asking, "Shouldn't I be helping, too?"

I smile in gratitude and start to stir together the dry ingredients. Jake adds eggs, molasses, and vanilla extract into his concoction, then we take turns mixing gradual additions of the dry ingredients into the dough, which gets harder and harder to stir. We wrap the top of the bowl in plastic wrap and place it in the giant fridge. We don't have enough time to prepare the dough and bake it in one class period.

Chef Gordan is walking around the room, surveying students about their choices. I find myself sitting straighter in my seat as he approaches us. He raises his eyebrows at the lack of a bowl, and I tell him, "We're making white chocolate-dipped gingersnaps. The dough is in the refrigerator."

He smiles. "Not many students take on gingersnap cookies. Is there a certain reason you are?"

"They're some of my favorites," I explain, smiling back. It's true that not many people make gingersnaps. The recipe is very complicated, but I have a lot of experience. I'm a bit of an impulse baker....

"Mine, too." The baker nods and moves on to the next group.

I relax in my chair and let out a sigh, my eyes closed.

"You know, you don't have to stress so much about talking to him," Jake snorts.

"Shut up," I mumble, not moving. I crack my eyes open to peek at the clock. Ten minutes left of the period.

"Oh yeah!" I turn to Jake. "What are we doing in Mrs. Copperfield's class?"

Jake has Mrs. Copperfield, our science teacher, when I have math. I have her next period.

"Review," Jake replies monotonously. "Catchup, you know."

I groan. I've already finished everything for Mrs. Copperfield. I was one of the first ones done. Now I get to look forward to people asking me what an electron is and stupid stuff like that. I mean, does no one pay attention to anything? Maybe I can go to the library and get a book and use that as an excuse to ward off copycats. Mrs. Copperfield would probably let me go. She's my favorite teacher because she understands what students like me feel: sick of helping people that are simply too lazy to help themselves. I don't mind helping people who've actually tried. I have a couple friends in that class that I sometimes help, and they help me.

I met one of my friends, Cathrynn, in a way that kind of shows the mutual assistance I appreciate. We hadn't met before at the time, and the class was working on a pretty difficult worksheet. Instead of coming to me and straight-out asking, "What is the answer?" like most people do, she suggested a sort of partnership. She couldn't figure out one of the questions, so she told me that she'd help me with one of the answers if I'd help her with that one. I'd finished right before that, but I appreciated that she offered something in exchange. I explained the process leading to the answer, then she realized that I was already done. The next day, she came up to me as the papers were being handed out and told me the answer to the first problem, and we worked together on it. That was the beginning of a friendship that has kept me sane through this school year.

A/N
Extra update since it's my birthday!!

I'm honestly surprised because there are like two or three people who are actually reading this... thank you I love you so much

I'm updating this while my cinnamon roll dough is rising. Not that you care, but if there are mistakes it's because I'm trying to fend off my demon brother😂