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like anyone beat down my door for the personal chef thing.”
    “People are totally into cooking classes. Learning something, meeting new people, the whole thing. And the vegan angle makes it new and different for people. Everyone’s heard of veganism, but no one really knows what it is. I mean, my mom always says, ‘But she still eats fish, right?’ ”
    If I had a student like Sara’s mother, I might jump out a window. No, Sara’s mother, I do not eat fish. Yes, bacon countsas meat. No, I don’t eat eggs. No, I can’t (and don’t want to) have even one tiny taste of cheddar. Yes—and add megaphone here—I do get plenty of protein. But teaching vegan cooking was a great idea. People did love cooking classes. And between the personal chef business—if it ever picked up—and the cooking classes, I could probably eke out a living.
    Thanks especially to the happy couple’s big fat starter check.
    I took a bite of almost-cheesecake and sat down with my trusty notebook.
Skinny Bitch Cooking School!
What: Learn to make crap-free favorites, from lasagna to pad thai, from almost-cheesecake to not-your-grandma’s apple pie. Only $400 for a six-week class from famed vegan chef Clementine Cooper.
When: Tuesdays, 7/2 – 8/5. 7 p.m.–9:30 p.m.
Where: Montana & 14, Santa Monica
How: (310) 555-7124 or email [email protected]
    After posting ads for Skinny Bitch Cooking School everywhere, from light posts to coffeehouse bulletin boards to Twitter, Sara and I waited for my phone to ring and my email to ping.
    Day one. Nothing.
    Day two. Nothing.
    Day three. Sara signed up, leaving the four hundred dollar fee (and it wasn’t like she had it to spare) in cash on my dresser.
    Day four. Nothing.
    Day five. A stranger signed up! Eva Ackerman. That made two students.
    Day six. Another stranger signed up. Duncan Ridley.
    By day eight, Sara and I stopped straining to listen for the phone and pings of email. But I had three students. Enough for a real class. A cozy, hands-on cooking class.
    Three students at four hundred bucks a six-week session. Suck it, Emil.
    I was on my way. To not being evicted, for a start. It was something.

Chapter 4
    My three students were due to arrive in five minutes for the first class. Well, two of the three, since Sara was already there. I’d spent the day shopping at the grocery store and the farmers’ market for the menu—lasagna, sun-dried tomato and eggplant bruschetta, and a simple salad—and scrubbing the kitchen with white vinegar and baking soda until it sparkled.
    My cell rang. Please don’t be one of the two calling to cancel , I prayed.
    It was just my mom and dad calling to wish me luck. Then Ty. Then Sara from the bedroom, asking if her Target Missoni skirt would be too short if she were sitting on one of the kitchen bar stools. It wasn’t.
    The buzzer rang, and I pressed TALK. “Skinny Bitch Cooking School,” I said.
    “We’re at the right place then,” a guy said. “It’s me, Duncan, and—I’m sorry, what’s your name?” Silence. “And Eva right behind me.” I buzzed them up.
    “He sounds cute,” Sara said.
    The doorbell rang. I took a deep breath and opened it.
    He was kind of cute. A bit uptight looking, maybe. Twenty-something with short, sandy blond hair and blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. He had a messenger bag slung over his torso. “Hi, I’m Duncan. Ridley.”
    Behind him, a scowling thirty-something redhead with a chin-length bob and dark circles under her eyes said, “I’m Eva Ackerman. Eva. Not Eve. Not Eves. Not Evie. Eva. Just Eva. For some reason, people have trouble with this.”
    “Hi, Eves!” Sara said, sticking out her hand. “Just kidding.”
    “I have no sense of humor,” Eva said, marching in with a great eye roll at Sara. “In fact, my soon-to-be ex-husband screamed that into my ear about five minutes ago before he hung up on me. Tell me, is this funny? ‘Maybe you wouldn’t need to request so much alimony if you stopped eating