Page 151 of Sweet Nightmare

I stare at the egg in my hand.

“I know how eggs work.”

“Good. Good.”

I mentally roll my eyes and crack it against the edge of the bowl.

Badly, I must admit.

A generous chunk of eggshell drops straight into the mixture.

Mrs. Han closes her eyes as if praying for patience. Mika, meanwhile, raises her phone.

The camera clicks.

I slowly turn toward her.

“Delete that.”

“I don't think so.”

I hate both of them.

Things deteriorate rapidly from there.

Flour appears everywhere. I have no idea how. There’s flour on the counter, flour on the floor, flour on my sleeve, and somehow—despite not having touched my face—flour on my cheek.

A mysterious sauce ends up on my shirt. My perfectly manicured white nails look like casualties of war.

And Mrs. Han remains endlessly patient.

Which only makes the humiliation worse.

“How have you survived this long?” she asks.

“Money.”

I shrug.

She laughs and continues mixing the ingredients, deciding that my answer is perfectly reasonable.

Honestly, it is.

Half an hour later, I stare at my hands in absolute disgust.

There’s food on my fingers, beneath my nails, and somehow in my hair.

I look at Mrs. Han. “This is barbaric.”

“This, pretty girl, is cooking.”

Another camera click.

“Mika.”

I look over my shoulder to find her holding up her phone again.

“You look domestic, menace. I had to capture it.”