Opportunity Knocks by Sara Farizan

Author:Sara Farizan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.

I forget to put the cap on the blender. Chunks of chopped walnuts fly out of the top of the mixer and ricochet off the kitchen sink and coffee machine. I turn it off, wishing we’d decided to make brownies from a box for the bake sale. Baklava was a little too ambitious.

“Are you sure you don’t want my real assistance?” Felise asks, swirling her pointer finger in the air. I told her that if we were going to bake together, I didn’t want her to use her powers. She still doesn’t understand why, and now that I’m looking at the mess I’ve made on the kitchen island, I’m not sure I understand either.

“No. I have to get used to doing things on my own,” I say, blowing a strand of hair out of my face. Felise is wearing an apron that doesn’t have a smidge of phyllo dough or honey on it.

“So you’ve said.” Felise purses her lips and raises an eyebrow.

“You can help me clean up, though,” I say as I rip off a paper towel to pick some nuts off the floor. Some of them float in the air before I can get to them. “Not that kind of help!” The nut bits drop and crumble, becoming even smaller than before.

I hear her footsteps walk away. I figure I’m on my own. She doesn’t seem like the type to stoop down or get her hands dirty. Or so I thought until she stands over me, holding a broom and dustpan.

“This seems more efficient,” she says. She hands me the dustpan. I hold it while she sweeps nuts my way. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve had baklava, but is it meant to have a smoky flavor?”

“No. Why?”

“If I’m not mistaken, I think that’s smoke coming out of the oven.”

I turn around to look and sure enough some smoke is inching out of the top.

“Shoot!” I say. I rush to the oven to turn it off. When I open the door, smoke billows out and I start to cough.

“Is everything all right?” I hear Mom say behind me. Before I can utter a word, she has a fire extinguisher in hand and pointed at the oven in case something is on fire.

“You certainly are prepared, Mrs. Moradi,” Felise says.

“Too prepared,” I grumble. Mom promised she was going to let Felise and me bake by ourselves, but deep down I’m kind of glad she’s here to help. I should know she wouldn’t leave me totally unsupervised. Mom sets the fire extinguisher down and puts on some oven mitts. She pulls out a tray of baklava that’s charcoal black and reeks of ash.

“Oh dear,” Felise says, peeking over Mom’s shoulder. “Perhaps we could repurpose them for something else?”

“Like what?” I ask, worried about how long making a new batch is going to take. At this rate, I’ll be up all night.

“They could serve as some sort of garnish?” Felise suggests.

“For roadkill?!” I exclaim. I almost start to cry, then think about how sweet Felise is trying to be about it and laugh instead.

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