Chapter 25

Miyano sounded racked with nerves. So this was the voice the person he was dating heard. I was seized for a second time by the feeling that I was listening in on something I shouldn’t be. “Hey, sure. Can’t wait! Think I’ll make something myself.” Whether I felt bad about it or not, the silence in the hallway made Sasaki’s voice on the other end of the line clearly audible. “Uh, okay, then… Do something that doesn’t involve flour, butter, sugar, and eggs. So we don’t make the same thing!” That was pretty much as good as admitting he would be making cookies. “Ha-ha-ha! Sure, no problem.” I was sure Sasaki had to know what Miyano was referring to, but he didn’t say anything about it. Feeling that it would be really wrong of me to listen to any more of the conversation, I sneaked back to the staircase, carefully avoiding loud footsteps. As for my pencil case…eh, it could wait. I decided not to tell my girlfriend that I would be handmaking something for her. Just a little surprise—I was sure she would love it. I was confident that she wouldn’t be upset even though I was technically hiding something from her. Miyano had probably fessed up because he figured he couldn’t manage that. But there was nothing to feel guilty about! Still, I could sense how happy he was when he told Sasaki about it, and I was glad they seemed to have the same friendly relationship they’d shared before they were dating. I wondered—if I told Yuki what I was going to do, the way Miyano had, would she giggle and tell me she “couldn’t wait”? Yeah… Yeah, probably. Oh, I really wanted to see her react that way. Maybe I should go ahead and tell her the next time I saw her—I could tell myself Miyano made me do it. I quickly thought better of the idea, though. I wanted this to be a surprise. I would just have to keep it to myself. Next year, though? Maybe I would tell her. I was eager to see all of Yuki’s facial expressions. So White Day arrived. Even though our lesson was explicitly about making White Day treats, the teacher didn’t inquire as to who we were planning to give our cookies to. Everyone acted like this was just an ordinary cooking class. It was nice that even here at a boys’ school, no one made any crude jokes about giving girls chocolates on White Day. The way everyone was cool with it quickly transformed an initially awkward atmosphere into one of banter and friendly chat. There were about ten of us there, a mix of first- and second-years, and we each baked our own cookies rather than forming groups. We could even pick where we wanted to work, so Miyano, Tashiro, and I all set up shop at the same workstation. Our instructor, one of the home ec teachers, looked thrilled that students were showing an interest in cooking. I even started to think that maybe the White Day thing had just been an excuse. It so happened that the teacher had offered the same activity for Valentine’s Day, but no one had signed up and the idea flopped. “I almost cried!” the teacher said—kind of jokingly, but I got the distinct sense that it might have been true. The teacher did most of the instructing, with one student helping out as an assistant—Niibashi, a second-year from Class A. I knew him for his refined good looks. In principle, we used ingredients that we brought and followed a recipe supplied by the teacher, but people who wanted to could do a recipe of their own choosing instead. The teacher would still give you advice and help, which was what they spent most of their time doing after an explanation and a quick demonstration. “Best to start out simple!” Miyano declared, choosing to follow the instructor’s recipe. And indeed, the ingredients were easy to measure out and it was overall a perfect starting point for a beginner. Miyano imitated what the teacher had done in the demonstration, and the cookie cutter made it easy to cut as many cookies as he wanted. He didn’t make any mistakes worth mentioning, and it went great. Or it should have. “These don’t look right…” Miyano’s cookies were slightly burnt but somehow still seemed soft. When he pulled the parchment paper off the baking tray, they sort of flopped over. I was no baking expert myself, and I had no idea what could have caused that. “I don’t get it… Did I not heat the oven to the right temperature?” “Nah, that can’t be it. Maybe the flour was lumpy?” I suggested. Miyano shrugged, flummoxed. “Gimme one,” said Tashiro, and without waiting for an okay, he popped one of the still scorching cookies into his mouth. “Hey, that’s…not bad,” he said, but not in a way that inspired much confidence. “I was planning on nice, crunchy cookies. This isn’t quite what I pictured…” Miyano was defeated, and I didn’t know what to say to him. Tashiro’s and my baking had come out just fine, so words of sympathy escaped me. We were surprised to hear someone say, “Mind if I have a taste?” It was Niibashi, who was going around to each workstation. Miyano looked up, dazed for a second, but then he seemed to remember why Niibashi was around and nodded. “Oh, yeah. Sure, go ahead.” The expression on his face had been—well, not quite what you might call love at first sight. It was close to the kind of look you gave someone when you saw them in town and were trying to remember whether you knew them. I would have to ask him about it later. “There might be a bit too much butter in these. Did you measure it out?” Miyano gulped at the very specific suggestion. “I brought 200 grams of butter, so I sort of eyeballed half of it. And then when I was working the dough, the flour just didn’t seem to want to mix in, so I added a little more…” He trailed off. Ah, so he hadn’t measured carefully—and then he’d changed the amounts. I couldn’t help muttering, “Geez!” “Hey, it’s just oil. When it cools off, it’ll have the texture you’re going for,” Niibashi said kindly. Miyano looked very relieved. “Thanks…,” he said. “Lucky you!” chimed in Tashiro, pleased.