Free A. Gardner - Poppy Peters 01 - Southern Peach Pie and A Dead Guy by A. Gardner Page B

station.
    I stop when the room becomes eerily silent. I can hear my heart pounding, and my thoughts start spinning out of control. I think back to the last time I was here after hours. I got so anxious that I almost passed out. I force myself to wipe the counter so I can leave.
    As soon as I do, I hear it.
    The noise.
    A loud bang sounds from the kitchens across the hall. A horrified squeak forces its way out of my mouth as I jump. I swallow the lump in my throat and grab my things. I don't want to be here anymore. I don't know what's going on in this building once the sun goes down, but I don't want to stay and find out.
    My legs feel like blocks of concrete as I walk out of the classroom. I have to force myself to move faster and avoid looking behind me down the dark hallway. The banging noise haunts my memories. I hear it clanging around in my brain, and I can't tell if what I am hearing is real or not anymore. My forehead starts to sweat, and my stomach is churning. I feel dizzy again like before. I focus on the front door ahead of me. All I want to do is breathe in the hot, Georgian air. If I can make it that far then everything will be fine.
    "Poppy?"
    The voice startles me, and I let out a scream. I turn around and see Professor Sellers with his arms folded and his lips curled. He's studying my expression with a curious look on his face. His eyes dart around the hall.
    I gulp.
    "Professor," I say quietly.
    "What are you doing here?" he quickly asks me.
    "Practicing for the contest. Napoleons." I place a hand on my pounding chest. "I wasn't using the ovens, I swear."
    "Napoleons?" he repeats. "Those are pretty difficult."
    "So I've heard." I shrug, digging my nails into my skin. Why is he staring at me like that? I just want to go back to my apartment and share a chocolate croissant with the psychotic cricket living in my room. Anything is better than this. I can't stomach the awkwardness anymore. "See you tomorrow." I turn and bolt for the door.
    If Professor Sellers said anything else, I didn't hear it. My mind is too busy screaming get out of here!
     

CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    I'm uneasy as I slip into Professor Sellers' class. I slump my shoulders and sit at my station anxious to get this class over with. Bree takes her notebook out of her book bag with a smile on her face. I wanted to tell her about last night, but she wasn't home when I burst through the door to our apartment.
    "Are you going to tell me where you were last night?" I ask her quietly.
    "I went out with Tessa and Jill next door to celebrate. I was chosen for a special assignment." Her face is glowing. "The student bakery is short-staffed, and Mr. Harris picked me to start my rotations early. Wonderful, isn't it?"
    "If you like getting up at 3 a.m."
    "Poppy," she whines. "I must be building a noteworthy reputation if he thought of me first. I mean, he could have asked Georgina, but he didn't."
    "True."
    "Poppy Peters," Professor Sellers announces. "You are wanted in Mr. Dixon's office."
    President Dixon.
    My face feels abnormally hot, and Cole stares at me as I exit the classroom. I walk outside and towards the adjacent building where the president's office is. I wipe the sweat from my cheeks when I jog down the steps and into the blaring sun. My heart rate increases as I near the president's building. What did I do this time?
    A cool breeze blasts across my face when I open the door to the adjacent building. The air conditioning in here works much better than in the kitchens. I count my steps as I walk to the president's office. I pass an empty reception desk and a small waiting area with a tan sofa and two leather chairs. The office door is open, and I can hear President Dixon typing on his computer. My shoes make squeaking noises as I walk closer. The typing stops.
    "Poppy Peters?" Mr. Dixon asks, peeking around the corner of his desk.
    "That's me."
    "Come on in and have a seat," he instructs.
    I sit down and place a hand on my churning stomach. I glance