Free Pinpoint (Point #4) by Olivia Luck

the top of his desk, eyes on me. A rush of gratitude to this boy fills me, and I’m reminded what made me want to volunteer in the first place: connections like this one.
    I roll through the attendance sheet and determine that the boisterous girl is London and the rapt boy is Michael.
    Clasping my hands together, I offer a tentative smile to the mostly sullen expressions. “Okay. We’ll get into the kitchen during the second half of our session, but first, I want to give you an idea of what we’ll learn here and how I’ve set up our class.”
    “They said this shit wasn’t like school,” London interjects. The other students don’t chime in, but then again, no one comments against the verbose girl.
    “You’re absolutely right. Our time together won’t be like school. There are no tests, no presentations, and no grades. We’re going to do our best to make this course fun, and hopefully, you’ll learn a thing or two about baking.”
    London rolls her eyes, and I feel my stomach drop. “Yeah, right,” one of the other girls says with a snicker.
    “Give this a shot,” I say as sternly as I can manage (which isn’t saying much). “Here’s how this course will work. You are going to learn the fundamentals of baking. We’ll do the sweets and some savories. Tonight, we are making a batch of my kitchen sink cookies.”
    “What’s that?” another girl, Amber, calls out.
    “The mixture of all things good in one cookie. We’ll get to that in a minute. Each week, we’ll make something different. Since there are two kitchens, we will split up into two groups. Each week, you’ll work with a different group. This is the most important part of my introduction so listen up. This is a judgment-free zone. Whatever questions you have, whatever is confusing to you, ask me. Be comfortable in this space.”
    Pause. They continue to look unimpressed.
    “Any questions?”
    The students stare at me blankly. Shoot. Have I lost them already?
    “Before we get started, one more thing. At the end of this course, you will create your own recipe.”
    “How the hell are we supposed to do that?” London yelps.
    “Yeah, that sounds fuckin’ hard,” Amber scowls.
    Bruce said the students wanted to be here, yet none of them except Michael appears the least interested in what I am saying.
    “Are you going to play that broke ass music every week?” London says.
    My hands clench together into fists at my side—not because I am angry, but because I am fighting the instinct to wrap my arms around my waist in comfort. These kids are ruthless. “First, no cursing in this room. Second, by the end of this class, you will want to make your own recipes because I will show you how to do it. And if you’re lost, you’ll come to me, and I’ll help you.”
    The students stare at me sullenly. Ooo-kay. Moving right along.
    “Will you tell us what we’re going to be baking in advance?” Michael pipes in.
    “Absolutely.” I hand out a stack of square cards, one for each student. “I buy the ingredients ahead of our meeting. That means I need to know at least a week in advance what’s on the schedule. Let’s take a look and see what you think.”
    “Chicken pot pie is dinner,” Amber says.
    “True enough, but we’re going to make the pie crust from scratch, and then the filling, of course. Does anyone have any objections to the schedule? Anything you want to bake that’s not listed?” More silence. I’ll take this as a little victory. They may not be engaged (yet), but at least they aren’t complaining.
    “Let’s get started then. Grab your apron and come into the kitchen. Today, we’ll split into teams by color. Yellow in the kitchen farther from the door and orange is the closer one.” All except for Michael trudge into the kitchen with little enthusiasm. I stand between the kitchens to address them all. “Across the hall, there’s a cooking class. You may think we’re doing the same thing in here, but that’s not