Preparing for Finals

The open kitchen is irritatingly small and farther away from campus than I'd like, but it’s not like I can be picky about it. I mean, I’m lucky enough my boy in the post office found this place on such short notice. And, despite its size, it is remarkably well stocked for baking. I pull the sealed plastic baggie of now-infused butter out of the pot of water, shifting it about to make sure it looks good. Appearances are important, after all. While I carefully place the bag of butter on the counter by the dry ingredients, I use my knee to preheat the oven. The bowls of the less fun kind are easy enough to mix, the dry ingredients first, then the vanilla, eggs, chocolate, and butter. Once those two separate bowls are done, I just carefully mixed them thoroughly together. I make sure to cover the entirety of the pan with parchment paper. Shoveling the goo into an even layer across a baking pan, I wait for the oven to beep at me. I glance at my phone. Ali texted me an hour and a half ago, while I was starting the sous vide, asking if I had any study plans. As much as I want to spend the night doing some one on one “studying” with her, I need to actually do well on this exam, which means I actually need to study. She knows I’m busy right now, so I can wait to respond until the brownies are done. Lisette also texted, asking when she’s getting her chocolate fix. I don’t even bother responding to that. Instead, I first text Ter. ‘Are you free for a study session tonight? I’ll pay for the waffles and bring booze.’ Of all my friends, or whatever you want to call people like Ter and Phil to me, Ter has been the person who helps me study best. Mostly because in her own way, Ter’s arrogant insistance on her own genious boosts my confidence in how much I know, and she’s the only person I’m close enough to study with who also has no qualms telling me when I’m being stupid. I think she even enjoys it. An important aspect in a studybuddy. She also generally agrees to my requests, because: A, she knows if I’m stooping so low as to ask, it’s important; B, she wants me to be a “Tempering but positive influence” on Ali, who we’re all pretty sure is poised to conquer the world; and C, behind her aura of cold not-give-a-crapness, she cares about my success. The oven beeps, and stepping off to the side, I open it and slide the pan on in. Closing the oven, I turn on the timer for twelve minutes and walk outside. I have some time on my hands, and I’m not about to hot-box some random guy’s kitchen. Rolling up this week’s roaches into a single joint, I let the fire jump across from finger to finger and back, holding my thumb and forefinger on opposite sides of the joint. Once my hand’s in place, the blaze stops its previous movements, now only jumping between the thumb and pointer finger. As soon as the end of the joint begins glowing, a flourish of my hand stops the fire, and I take a deep hit. My phone vibrates. Holding the joint in my mouth, I pull it out and check. It’s Ter. ‘Okay. Three rules: 1. No Alina. You two making eyes at each other will get on my nerves. 2. You need to be in the same state as you’ll be for the final. Read this as a reminder that if you study high, you best find some way to keep yourself high throughout the final exam period. 3. Whatever whisky you bring best be over 100 proof.’ I can’t help but groan. That means I’m going to need to hit up the liquor store. And apologize to Ali. Right, I think as I take my next hit, that should come first. I shoot Ter a quick, ‘Will do, Therese’. Then, to Ali, I reply, ‘Sorry, I’m studying with Ter and she said our lovey-dovey-ness would get in the way of her work.’ Ter responds first. ‘See you at 6 at WH, then’ is her curt reply. Ali decides now is the best time to call me up, seeing as I was clearly free. Picking up the phone, I say, “Yello.” “Hey babe,” she says over the phone. “How’s life going, Ali?” I ask, to be polite. She sighs. “It’s going. She really said I couldn’t be there?” I chuckle. “Her exact words were,” I begin, tehn clear my throat and do my best Ter impression, “No Alina. You two making eyes at each other will get on my nerves.” Then, taking a breath, I add, “Sorry. If it makes you feel any better, she’s also forcing me to bring her booze.” Ali laughs at that. “Actually, that does make me feel a little better. What’re you up to now?” “Baking brownies. You?” I could feel her smiling through the phone. “Writing my ILT final.” “Mm, I’m not about to take you away from that important work,” I joke. After a pause, she suddenly realizes what I just said and asks, “Wait, wait, how are you baking things? You don’t have an oven.” I steal Ter’s joke. “Magic,” I say with a chuckle. Ali sighs deeply. “But seriously, though.” “A friend of a friend’s out of town, I’m borrowing.” It’s a white lie. Also, I’m fairly sure she knows it. And, like Ter never says but always implies, it isn’t really a lie if they know you’re lying. “I see,” she says, “Borrowing.” I can tell from the intonation that she has figured out borrowing doesn’t necessarily involve getting permission in my vernacular. I chuckle. “Shh, don’t tell.” “I’d never,” she replies, chuckling herself. Taking another hit, I add mockingly, “Hey, not all of us are royalty. Some of us have to actually work at getting resources.” “Screw you. You know, just for that, I’m not going to help you.” She tries her best to keep her stern demeanor, but can’t and bursts out laughing. I smile. “Alright. See you tomorrow morning. Love ya.” “Love you too,” she replies as she hangs up. I lean back on the wall, sigh, and with a generally pleased with the universe smile plastered across my face, take another hit. After a few more relaxing puffs, the oven timer beeps. Inhaling once more, I carefully balance the joint across the porch railing, then head inside to check on my brownies. It smells real good, but it isn’t done yet. Whispering to myself and crossing my arms elaborately, the pan turns itself inside the oven. I then set the timer for another twelve minutes and return to my joint. It’s the little things like that which really make being mystical awesome. As the time rapidly passes me by, I enjoy the simple elegance of suburbia. The other side of the river might have beautiful farmland and crops, but I personally prefer this side’s suburbs. So many people with no idea about the world they separate themselves from. Togetherness is so much more important than space. As I hear the beeping, I put out my joint and carefully put it back in my pocket tin. Heading back into the kitchen, I open the oven and step back. My fingers tense up into a claw as my right arm circles about itself once, then slowly moving the clawed hand back, the pan pulls itself out of the oven and stops at the counter. Relaxing my arm and fingers, the pan falls the quarter inch onto the counter with a metallic thud. I kick the oven closed and turn it off. While waiting for the pan to cool, I wash the two bowls I used to make the batter thoroughly. Checking my watch, I realize it’s almost time for dinner. I carefully pull the large brownie slab out and lay it on the counter. Around it, I sprinkle a salt circle, with a few flourishes of symbology at noon, four, and eight o’clock. I rinse off the pan and put everything back. Once the family returns tomorrow, everything should be normal. Stopping by the liquor store across the street from Waffle House, I pick up an 110 proof whiskey, relatively local. Then, I head across the road to meet up with Ter, who is fast approaching from the direction of campus. Meeting up with her, I nod and say, “Therese. How’re you doing?” “Finished all my finals that aren’t tests,” Ter answers me, “You?” “Baked brownies,” I say, “Though, to be fair to me, it was to fulfill rule number 2, so it’s finals related.” My voice is slightly uncertain about that last bit. Ter picks up on that uncertainty immediately. “Are you certain? Or are you just doing a favor for your personal favorite Magister.” “Hey,” I shoot back, “She’s already been accepted as a Maestro here. All she needs to do is finish her dissertation. Which means me being friends with her is a long-term good idea.” Ter smiles at me, chilling me to my core. She opens Waffle House’s door and says, “And yet, only one of us can actually talk back to her.” I walk in, and she follows me. As we sit down, I add, “Well, I haven’t replied to her text yet, that’s, like, the first step to talking back, right?” Ter laughs, three quick chortles, then it shuts itself down. Knowing her, that's basically the same as hysterical laughter. One’s a chuckle, two’s laughing, and three is hysterical. I pass her the bottle of whiskey under the table, and, taking it, she leans down and takes a swig. We order our breakfast food, and open up our textbooks for studying. And, unlike with anyone else, we just basically go through the content, talking about the key topics that will be on the final in brief. We use our best study practice for learning and understanding content. We take a topic and explain it, in our own words, for a paragraph, then slowly cut that down until we have it explained in a third-grade level sentence. It worked last semester for finals week, and for midterms this semester, so it will work for finals, too. It has to. Every once and awhile, she swigs away under the table. Whenever I start feeling sober, I lean on the window and light up for a few tokes. Rule number two does apply for both of us. As we wrap up our meals, around seven, I know my brownie has finished cooling. “One sec,” I say, during the first break in studying after we finish. Seeing Ter nod, I close my eyes and picture the kitchen. Feeling the salt circle I left there in my head, I trace the same symbol across the table between us in salt. I make the slight alteration to the top of the salt drawing. I take a hit from my joint and open my eyes. Ter has our books propped up and open, to hide the giant drawing. I place the joint on the salt with whispered french words and slight but unnatural hand movements. The salt bursts aflame, then like flashpaper, it disappears. In the center of where the circle used to be, there’s a large brownie. I take it and, wrapping it in napkins, place it in my backpack. “Sorry,” I say, “I don’t know when tonight they’re coming back, I wanted to make sure the kitchen was clean.” She nods in understanding. “Now,” she says, “On to chapter seventeen.” With a groan, I turn the pages of my textbook. Opening up my ‘League of Evil’ groupchat, I text Ike, Nat, Phil, and Ali if they want to work separately on essays tonight in the Pembarton computer lab. As the yesses come in, I ask Ter, “Hey, Therese, I know you’re done with your work, but a bunch of us are going to be holed up in Pembarton writing essays and whatnot tonight, if you want to join in.” She smirks at me. “Maybe,” she replies, “If I don’t need to pass out or nothing.” I can never really tell if she’s joking, but I think she is in this instance. With a nod, I dive back into my textbook.