Chapter 11

Evangeline

"Yo, what's good?" Christopher calls from the foot of the stairs. His pale hair is pushed back, freshly showered and eyes sparkling. "Pancakes," Max replies. They memory of what just happened is fresh in my mind. I avoid turning around to smile like I would've done in fear of them seeing my red face. See, I'm a terrible blusher. Curse my stupid blood vessels for being so close to the skin surface.

I transfer the next pancake onto a plate. "What's up?" It's Lucas. A quick glance behind confirms Asher is out too. He comes up and swipes batter from the bowl, sucking his finger.

"Come on, dude. Quit messing around." Max grumbles.

"Yeah! What kinda weirdo eats raw batter, anyway?" Christopher snickers.

"Luke does," Asher quips.

"Shut up. At least I don't enjoy eating Nutella straight outta the jar!" Lucas retorts.

I grin at their banter. How nice it is, to have a family. "Well, Evangeline, what do you think?"

"I actually do eat Nutella out of the jar!" I grin and smack my lips.

Christopher chortles, and Lucas pretends to look offended.

I flip the last pancake onto my plate."All done!" Asher whoops and helps me bring the plates to the table.

It's like seeing a different side to the cold, angry boy whom I met only a few days back. Why has his attitude changed so much?

I grab a bottle of syrup, slice squares of butter and slide them onto a saucer. "Don't forget these."

I nibble on my pancakes and watch as they tear into the food, complimenting my cooking.

Lucas moans. "So good." The others make noises of appreciation in agreement. "Where did you learn to cook like this?"

"My Dad-" I stop. I decide not to talk about him. The mere thought of that man sours my mood. "I taught myself. No one would be home, so one day I just started cooking. But I've never cooked for anyone other than myself before." They all nod.

I want to say more, but keep my mouth shut. I don't want them to pity me, or know Dad was a neglectful parent.

"Can you teach us how to cook?" Asher looks at me curiously. His eyes turn different hues in the light.

"Sure, if that's what you want."

"Hell yes!" Christopher beams.

-

So, here I am, attempting (and most likely failing) to teach my stepbrothers how to cook an omelette, for starters.

Broken eggshells litter the countertop, as well as egg innards (courtesy of Max), and that one spill of extremely suspicious substance. It's probably sauce, though.

"Crack the egg, split the shells," I instruct, "but into the pan this time."

"Yes, ma'am!" Max answers for his brother gleefully, who is trying his best to carry out the order. I scowl at Max. "You're not done yet," I say, gesturing to the mess he made. He pouts, while Asher snickers from the side.

Splat. Chris whoops. "I did it!" I peer over to look into the pan. Some of the egg is dripping down the side, but it's in the pan, for the most part. I grin and reach over to pluck a piece of eggshell out of the mixture that is beginning to froth at the sides. "Good. Now wait thirty seconds and the flip it." Chris nods enthusiastically.

It makes me wonder, have they never touched an egg, or other ingredients or kitchen utensils, for that matter? Most likely, seeing as they come from old money, and would never have to lift a finger their entire lives.

My train of thought is broken by the smell of smoke and the boys' panicked shouts. I whip my head around to find the egg sizzling. I quickly turn off the flame and lift the heavy pan off the stove. "What did you do?"

Max shrugs. "Chris tried to flip it, but he couldn't and then it started burning..." I lift up the edge of the deformed omelette (if it can even be called that). "The bottoms is Burt, but otherwise, great first attempt!" The corners of my lips twitch up into an amused smile.