Page 15 of Babydaddy To Go

“I’m not interested in your excuses,” Nate admonishes. “Take your seat beside Samantha. And don’t be late again.”

He doesn’t give me a chance to apologize or defend myself or ask who Samantha is. Nate turns back to the board and continues writing whatever the class had been working on. It looks like he’s giving us some kind of a recipe or going over a technique, but I can only see part of the board.

On either side of the large room are eight cooking stations, complete with sinks, ovens, stovetops, fridges, and beautiful appliances. In the center are sixteen black lab desks lined up in two columns of eight. Thirty-one students are seated at the tables, two at each with one exception. A blonde-haired twig sits alone at a table near the middle. This must be Samantha. I wonder what she did to be the lone solo student in the room.

I slide meekly into the seat beside her. She doesn’t so much as glance in my direction. Her eyes stay trained on Nate’s every move.

The class resumes their avid note-taking. I’m late, but I know I should probably be paying attention to what’s going on. This could be important later when we get into the kitchens, or it could be on the bi-weekly exams I read about in the academy brochure.

As quietly as I can, I slip my shoulder bag onto the table to take out my notebook. The bag’s flap snags on the corner of the desk. It flips open and falls out of my hands, spilling the entire contents on the floor.

Once again, the entire class is staring at me. Nate drops his marker with a heavy sigh and walks towards me. I can tell he’s annoyed by the way he avoids my eyes, but he helps me pick up my things anyway.

I crawl over the cold, tile floor to snag the loose pencils and notebooks that shot across the room. How did my things move so far so fast?

No one else bothers to help. I guess they figure Nate and I can handle it. It would have been nice for them to at least offer.

I find my last pencil wedged beneath the counter in one of the kitchenettes. I crawl back over to my desk only to find Nate standing beside it with a notebook in his hand.

No, I realize. It’s not a notebook. It’s my diary! Nate has it open to the most recent entry and he’s clearly reading it! What an invasion of privacy. Who does he think he is?

I snatch the worn book from his hands with the sternest look I can muster. My burning cheeks and dusty uniform probably make me look like a child throwing a tantrum, but I don’t care. Nate crossed a line by reading my diary.

“That’s mine,” I say huffily. “Stay out of my things.”

“Stop disrupting my class,” he counters.

“I’m sorry for that, but my disruption does not give you the right to read my personal property.”

Nate shrugs. “It fell open and looked interesting. You penned a nice letter to your mother.”

My face is on fire. “You’re an ass.”

“Take your seat and pay attention, Miss…”

He hesitates, waiting for me to fill in my name. Is he for real right now? Is he putting on a show for the other students, or has he forgotten my name?

When Nate doesn’t confess his blunder, I’m fuming. Even if he is pretending not to know me for the sake of the class, he’s taken it too far.

I throw myself into my seat. “It’s Hall,” I say angrily. “Alyssa Hall.”

“Miss Hall, I expect you’ll be a model student from now on?” he asks in a condescending tone. Does Nate thing this is a kindergarten instead of a college?

“What was your name again, sir? I didn’t catch it.”

His eyes flash.Good, I think.Two can play at this game.

“Nathaniel,” he finally says. “Nathaniel Glover.”

Nate waits for an outburst that isn’t going to come. I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one day. Now that the adrenaline of the morning has worn off, I’m mortified. These other students probably think I’m a fraud!

Maybe they’d be right to think that. I feel completely out of my element here. I hate feeling lost and vulnerable like this. Maybe coming to New York was a mistake.

Even if that’s true, I can’t back out now. Leaving in the middle of class is almost as bad as showing up late. My heart races just thinking about it.

Nate is back at the front of the room with his white board and markers. This feels like Cooking 101, and not a professional-level course. I’m almost glad, because that means I’m not at a disadvantage with my lack of prior education.

“Choosing the right utensils for cooking is vital to preparing the best meal. If you use the wrong pan or the wrong spatula, everything could be ruined.”