Hepzibah had been in the classroom for several minutes already, drumming her fingers into the fresh dough spread out across the flour-strewn surfaces, smearing a flour-y smiley face into the mixture. As the door slammed, her finger plunged a little too deep into the dough as she jumped, & the smiley face now had three eyes.

Looking up, she saw James Timberlake marching over to the same table as her with such a racket it was difficult not to ignore him, hard as she tried. There were two tables in the classroom, two very long tables on each side of the room, with a small hob & cooker, & sparkling clean surface on which to work on per chair. Around the room were the more professional cookery uses, several cupboards with the correct utensils, only the best for Darlingham students.

As the contents of James' bag spilled over the floor, Zee watched several simpering students rush over to assist him, while she rolled her eyes in disbelief, digging her nails right into the dough, leaving sharp, curved marks right across it. She smoothed the dough out again, erasing all traces of her mixture-art.

Hepzibah didn't even look up, but the pressure of her nails dug further into the dough as she resumed her mixture-art.

'I know,' she replied in a civil, but certainly not friendly tone, 'your reputation prevails you.' She looked up, & was slightly taken aback at how close he had gotten. Hesitating, she decided she might as well be a little friendlier, 'I'm Zee.' she said, extending a small, pale hand, trying to estimate how easily James could crush her fingers with a simple handshake.

With a slight nudge in her mind she remembered the old saying about how the size of a male's hands could determine the size of something a little less public, & she resisted giggling. Childish she certainly was.