This had to be a setup. Or maybe a dream. A weird one. The kind where you're at school in your underwear, except instead of embarrassment, it was dread. Dread that I was going to be dragged into something stupid again.
Ryen, of course, looked thrilled. Like a proud parent watching his antisocial child touch grass for the first time.
"See?" he said, practically bouncing. "Isn't this great? Now everyone's on board!"
Kiera clasped her hands to her chest. "We're gonna be such a fun group! I'll bring the sugar, Nora can bring the knives—"
I turned to her. "What?"
"I mean for chopping!" she added quickly, cheeks burning. "Vegetables. Or something."
I buried my face in my hands.
This was happening.
This was really happening.
And no matter how chaotic the day got—no matter how many puppy-dog eyes Miss Buttcheeks threw my way, or how many guilt-trips Ryen attempted—one thing remained certain:
I wasn't joining the Cooking Club.
