When the time came to split his tour group up into couplets for dinner, Micah dreaded his assignment for two reasons: one, it meant he’d have to work with someone one-on-one, which typically meant talking to them, which Micah was famously terrible at. Two, he might not be able to handle the responsibility of doing anything that required more mental capacity than boiling water. In the end, he was put on pie crust duty with Johnnie Ward, so.
The universe was sending him signs to go fuck himself, he was convinced.
He stood beside the senior in silence, pretending to be intensely invested in a bag of flour as the other students went to work on shucking corn and peeling potatoes. Micah’s earliest memories with food preparation were burning himself on a hot stove and trying to make pasta with spaghetti noodles and ketchup when there wasn’t any food left in the pantry. Who looked at him and decided, oh, hey, this five-foot-eleven beanstalk seems good at baking? Who? Because they needed their eyesight checked, he thought.
“Um,” he finally spoke up, dropping his hand to the counter top. “Have you ever baked anything before?”
@johnnieward
