Emily #freementalillness #literasia

o n e

From the very first moment Emily Kim met Walter Kade, he infuriated her. 

He strolled into the class, a denim jacket slung over one shoulder, and no backpack to be seen. Approaching Chef, he explained that he was a transfer student, having just moved here. She half expected him to be chewed out by Chef for calling her Ms. Boudin, but he walked away unscathed. 

When Walter had appeared out of the blue as a transfer to their school, he was placed in whatever classes had open spots. Culinary Arts held few people, just the way Emily preferred it to be. It was mostly a mix of reluctant students and choir drop outs, so they left her alone. Culinary Arts wasn't a popular class, mostly because of Chef Boudin.

Hailing from France, Chef Boudin preferred to be called Chef, and liked wine and cheese a little too much. Chef was an outspoken practitioner of favoritism. If you got on Chef's bad side, you could never go back.

Emily had been in Chef's good graces ever since she made a perfect croissant as the first assignment, a surprise-your-teacher-because-she's-too-lazy-to-think-of-something-to-do kind of thing. And once Chef found out that Emily spoke fluent French from living in Canada most of her life, Emily secured a spot in her permanent good graces.

Walter didn't have to lift a finger. He simply walked into class and it was like he'd bewitched Chef. She had fallen under his spell, just like the rest of the student body. Sure, he was sort of good looking, but he didn't hold a candle to Logan Lerman. 

Emily busied herself by tidying her workstation, ignoring his very obvious presence in front of her.

He cleared his throat. 

"Did you get lost going to your station or something? I believe it's that way," Emily said, nodding her head in the opposite direction.

"No, actually, this is my station. The one over there has broken stove tops. I'm Walter Kade, by the way." He held out his hand, presumably for her to shake, but she just stared at it. 

No way was she sharing her baking station, it was her spot. Sure, there were two spaces, but Emily worked on multiple things at once. Upon bringing this up with Chef, she was met with the first stern word she'd ever received from her.

"You have to stay, I guess," she sighed reluctantly. Emily picked up an apron and some rags, handing it to him. "These are yours. Keep your side clean, and I'll do the same." 

Walter looped the apron around his waist. "What's your name? Or can I call you 'cooking buddy'? Cuz you cook and you're my friend. Get it?" He attempted a pun, grinning, while Emily glared. 

"My name is Emily, don't ever call me 'cooking buddy' because I am most certainly not your friend," she scowled. 

"Okay Emily." He still smiled, which made Emily's frown deepen. 

Chef, with her feet propped onto a desk, and eyes glued to her phone screen, (most likely trying to beat her high score of one on Flappy Bird) announced that they were to turn in perfect cream puffs by the end of class. 

Emily set to work, expertly mixing up the necessary ingredients and preparing the oven for baking. Walter looked lost, but she made no effort to help him.

He picked up a measuring cup, and looked at it funny. 

"What does this do?" He asked Emily. 

"Measure stuff." Was her curt reply.

"And this?" He gestured to a spatula.

"Mix stuff." 

"Gee, thanks, you're so helpful," he said sarcastically.

"You're welcome?" 

By the end of class, not only had Walter managed to ruin all of his eggs and spill milk on the floor, but a bag of flour had also exploded, creating a terrible mess. Emily rolled her eyes as Chef went on a rampage about the mess he made.

In the present day, he still made terrible cream puffs, asked stupid questions and made bad puns. Emily excelled in Culinary Arts, preferring to cook rather than to talk, one of the things that made Walter unbearable. He never stopped talking. 

"Hey, Em, why do you never smile?" He'd asked her one afternoon in Culinary Arts. Emily eyed him suspiciously. Walter stood across from her at their cooking station, hands kneading some pastry dough, wearing an apron covered in splatters of batter. Specks of flour were smudged on his face. Emily did not like the fact that such an outgoing person shared her baking station. 

"Nothing to smile about." Emily mumbled. She kept her eyes downcast at the cupcake batter she was pouring into individual paper wrappers on a baking tray. 

"But there's so much! The world is a vibrant and beautiful place. The birds are chirping, the sun is shining, what is there not to smile about?" Emily glanced out the window. It was raining heavily, and no birds were to be seen. She looked back at him dubiously. 

"For starters, global warming, pollution, illegal drug trafficking, extinction of species, deforestation," she rambled. 

"You're so serious, I might have to start calling you serious-pants. Like smarty-pants, but serious!" He paused, waiting for Emily to react to what he thought was a fantastically constructed pun. She shook her head and stuck the cupcakes in the oven, setting a timer, and proceeding to clean her counters. 

"Why are you rolling dough?" Emily inquired after a long silence. "The assignment is cupcakes."

"Yeah, and that's why I'm rolling dough. For the cupcakes." Walter said with a 'duh' tone.

"Yeah, but you don't use dough to make cupcakes." Emily said with a 'duh, stupid' tone. 

Walter swore and sighed. "I should start cleaning up now, shouldn't I." Emily warily eyed the crushed eggshells and clumps of butter in the dough and she nodded.