Free Untitled by Unknown Author

look at a recipe and don't like everything that's in it, you can change it. Only he'd say adapt . He always says that's how new recipes are developed. You leave out the stuff you don't like, you add the stuff you do, and voilà!"
       I guess the celebrity chef thing went to my head. To add a little oomph to that last word, I gestured wildly. Too bad I did it with the hand that was holding the pot of peach sauce.
       As if it was all happening in slow motion, I saw the sauce slosh and I knew when it splashed over the sides, it was going to rain down on our students in a sticky mess. I tried to compensate, stepping back, but my butt slammed into the stove. The fire was on, and though I knew in my head that I wasn't in danger of getting scorched, I flinched. I darted forward and tripped over my own feet. I would have gone down like a rock if I didn't put a hand out to stop myself.
       When I did, I knocked into the shelf next to the stove. It was where I'd stashed the brown paper bag with the can of antistatic spray in it. The sleeve of my sweater caught on the bag.
       I knew better. Honest. I knew not to yank my arm away, but remember, it might have felt like it was happening in slow motion, but all this occurred in the blink of an eye.
       I was so anxious to at least look like I had the situation under control that I didn't think.
       I tugged my arm back, and the bag came with it.
       The aerosol can slipped out of the bag and tumbled. It clattered against the tile floor.
       The noise of it was still echoing when I breathed a sigh of relief. The excitement was over, and I hadn't fallen flat on my face in front of our students. Or dropped the pot of peach sauce.
       Life was good.
       I guess that must have been what I was thinking about. That's why I wasn't paying attention until I heard a collective gasp and saw a blur as someone pushed from the back of the crowd of students around me to the front of the group. Before I could register what was happening, that same someone took hold of my shoulders and pushed me—hard—away from the stove.
       I must have been hallucinating.
       That blur looked an awful lot like a tomato.

    Q HAD KEGAN JUST ATTACKED ME?
              The words rang through my head along with the sounds of the voices raised in surprise.
       "What happened?"
       "Are you hurt?"
       "What on earth are you doing?"
       Those first two questions were directed toward me, one by Margaret who was fanning her face with one hand and leaning against Jorge, and the other from Damien who'd raced over the second the commotion started.
       The last question was mine, and I'll admit I did not sound as cool, calm, and collected as I would have liked. My words were directed at Kegan, who was sitting on the floor beside where I lay. He had his hands on his knees and he was breathing hard.
       "I'm so sorry, Annie." Kegan put a hand on my shoulder. Since I was facedown on the floor and struggling to sit up, this was not the best strategy. I pushed his hand away, sat up, and scooped the hair out of my eyes. While I was at it, I picked pieces of peach sauce out of my hair.
       Kegan's face was pale. His lower lip trembled. "I'm so, so sorry. But there wasn't time to explain. I had to do something. Before you got hurt."
       Since I was already covered with peach sauce, both my knees were scraped and one of my elbows was bleeding, this seemed like a moot point.
       "I wasn't going to get hurt," I said. "At least not until you pushed me. I had everything under control."
       "But you didn't." Kegan stood on shaky legs. He stooped down to help me to my feet, and once I was up, he kept an arm around my shoulders. "It was the antistatic spray, Annie. I couldn't take any chances."
        Huh? would have been the appropriate response, but I had yet to arrive at huh st age. Along with everyone else in the kitchen, I simply stood there with my mouth open, staring