I sat in my maths lesson, feeling so bored I thought I would fall asleep. I tried to concentrate on all the numbers, but I found that I kept flicking to the back of my book to doodle. It was a good way to pass the time - but when I looked down at what I'd drawn, all that was there was muffins, covering the whole back page of my book. Chloe, who I sit next to (my last name is Johnson and her's is James, so the teacher's alphabetical seating plans which they love so much worked out well for once), leaned over to me and whispered, "Stop it, Bernie, you're making me hungry! Ahhh, those muffins..." 

 "Chloe, Bernadette, would you care to share that little conversation of yours with the class? Unless it's something you don't want us to hear... which would be a shame, because I had planned to go out at lunchtime, but I can always re-schedule  if there is need for a detention," Mr Piebank, our demon Maths teacher asked. 

 "We were just talking about some cakes Bernie made at the weekend," piped up Chloe. "You know, worthwhile activities to do in your spare time-"

 "I am not interested in how you use your spare time, Chloe. We are in a maths lesson, in which we should be doing maths. I should think the name says it all. Now, Bernadette, what is the answer to question 14b?"

 "Umm... well, is it... umm..."

 "Five x squared," Chloe hissed in my ear. She was always better at maths than I was, but somehow I had just about managed to get in the top set. Not exactly a good thing, since consequently this made me the worst person in the class. 

 "Five x squared," I said confidently. "That is the answer."

 "Well, yes, I suppose it is. Well done. Now, could you-" Chloe, being the quick thinker that she is, realised that he was about to ask me how I had worked it out - a question I had no idea of the answer to, of course - and quickly said "Sir, can you come and help me? I don't exactly understand this question..." and he obediently strode to her side. 

 Phew - that was close. I looked up at the clock, and sighed as I saw that there was still almost half an hour of the lesson left. At least it was fifth period - we could go home after this. I passed the time by deciding what to bake tonight. I had seen a few nice recipes: an apple tart, a raspberry and chocolate cheesecake, lemon drizzle cake... but what should I make? Just then, the bell went, and we left to go home. 

 Two hours later, I stood in the kitchen, feeling confused. I had decided to make the raspberry and chocolate cheesecake, but I thought it would be nice with a few Amaretti biscuits in the base, as well as the crushed up digestives that the recipe had said to use. It had all been going fine while I was making the top part, which was the actual cheesecake bit, and I thought it would be like yesterday and the muffins - a complete success. But when it came to the base, and I added in the Amaretti biscuits, I felt that strange fuzzy feeling suddenly go up my arms. It wasn't the same as before, though - yesterday, it had been soft and tingly, but today, it was sharp and almost painful. Weird...

 I carried on regardless, and put it in the fridge to chill, but when it came to tea, when my mum, my dad and me were going to eat it, something terrible happened. I had sunk in the knife, only to find that it wouldn't come out again. I pulled and pulled but it just wouldn't budge. Finally, after a huge heave, I managed to yank it out, but when I looked down, the whole cake had crumbled - and when I say the whole cake, I literally mean the whole cake. It was just a pile of crumbs. My Mum quickly fished out an apple pie from the freezer, but it just wasn't the same, and did nothing to soften the blow of my culinary disaster.

 It was only as I lay in bed that night that it occurred to me that the only thing I had done differently this time was that I had slightly changed the recipe. So maybe the only way to achieve that perfection was to follow the recipes exactly from the book. It made sense now... it was very odd though... clearly, there was some magic involved or something, because using a different type of biscuit for a small part of the base really shouldn't make the whole thing collapse. My mind kept going back to that fuzzy feeling. It must be a sort of warning, to tell you if you were dong well or if it was going to go wrong. I knew this was weird, but all i cared about was that those muffins should not be my only perfect creation...    

RATE THIS CHAPTER!