From my experience, I can ascertain that there is a strong, positive correlation between the promise of a baked surprise and club meeting attendance. Thus, after removing cornbread from the oven, I note on the agenda for tomorrow’s Tri-M Music Honor Society meeting: “Treats!” However, my baking is far from over. I find a clean whisk and start on a second batch, although this time, it is vegan. Butter and oil trade places. Eggs give way to their flaxy brethren. The batch is smaller—I know my dietary demographics—but rich in care. Though not fortune cookies, I intend for each sweet to contain a message: Welcome. Join us. I made these for you.

In every mixing bowl lies a ticket to faraway lands. Seizing this opportunity, a friend and I chart a voyage around the globe. We first travel two thousand miles to Mexico where he shows me how to make polvorones, a traditional cookie served during weddings and holidays. Feeling inspired, I fly us across the Atlantic Ocean to Israel. There, I teach him how to braid babka, forming beautiful, overlapping connections between lengths of dough and between my Jewish heritage and me. When ready to return home, we simply leave the kitchen.

I knock on the classroom door, my smile mirroring the one made of jam on the lemony surprise I hold in my hands. My former track coach invites me in, grabbing a couple of chairs and happily accepting his birthday gift. Even sweeter than the lemon squares is the opportunity they provide; together, we reminisce about the past and discuss future plans, catching up after all this time.

The secret ingredient in each baked good I make is connection.