𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 | 𝐃. 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐙𝐎 |

CHAPTER 5.

Chapter 5.
Jelena Ronelle Toscano-Anderson

The Next Day

Culinary Class.

My favorite class. The best class on my schedule, really. I mean think about it; a class that's all about food and making food? It's heaven on earth.

I know I sound really greedy and fat right now, but you know who my father is; he passed that love of food gene down to both me and my brother, I just dug deeper into mine when it came down to cooking.

But, I'm sure today is the one day that I wasn't looking forward to Culinary Class, and that's only because for our project, I got paired with Kiyan.

Yes, I'm friends with Kiyan, but I don't play about my grade and I know that Kiyan can't really cook. He sticks to typically simple dishes and meals. While I always enjoyed going above and beyond creating creatively delicious dishes for the class which has gotten me the A+ in this class that I have now.

And, honestly, I'd like to keep it that way.

The moment that I walked into class, Kiyan was already seated at the table that I usually sit at and was looking down at the sheet of paper that was on the table intently. As I walked over to the table, Kiyan looked up and smiled at me brightly. I didn't attempt to return his smile; I wasn't in the mood for games or goofing around. I took this class to serious to just be joking around with Kiyan.

I knew Kiyan liked me; I had known for a while, plus he had made it extremely obvious. It wasn't that I didn't like him, because I did find him attractive, but sometimes I guess I like to live in a fantasy world. I feel like with Kiyan things would be real...maybe even a little too real and that's what scared me.

I liked to classify myself as a hopeless romantic. I loved the idea of love and the satisfaction and fulfillment that love brings to a person. Reading about love, watching movies about love and imagining myself being love was amazing to me, but, when it's real...well, it's scary. And I didn't think that I could handle that kind of heartache in my life.

I guess I get that from my mom..

"Wassup, Jelena..." Kiyan said once I sat down beside him.

I smirked and pulled my curls into a messy puff. "Hi, Kiyan."

"So, what are you thinking of for this project?" Kiyan asked, leaning against the counter and grinning at me.

I shrugged. "Uhm...I don't know. Maybe something simple; I don't want to make it too hard for you. I know you—."

"Now, hold on now!" Kiyan said, putting his hands up in surrender. "I can throw down in the kitchen! I made a mean barbecue pizza last night."

"Yeah, I saw that on your mom's Instagram," I said as I looked through the list of requirements for the project. "She said it was decent. Passing this assignment means the food can't be decent."

Kiyan scrunched up his face, almost as if I had offended him. "Ok look, I know that you're this young master chef and whatnot, but that doesn't mean that you gotta knock a nigga down just because I'm not as good as you.

Not every sixteen year old has their own goddamn cooking show, Jelena. Maybe you should learn how to be more open, stop trying to be so perfect, and consider other people's feelings."

My eyes widened in shock at Kiyan's reaction to what I had said to him; and granted I knew that what I had said was kind of insensitive and kind of rude, but I didn't mean for it to come off that way. I didn't expect for him to take it that way, either. Usually Kiyan was used to the way I talked. I wondered what was up with him today...