Taste

by Juliet Madison

  I wished I could predict the outcome and save myself some nerves, but my Delta Girl ability didn’t seem in the slightest bit interested in what I wanted to know. It had its own agenda, and I was its slave.

  I watched Emilia through the rectangular window of the kitchen. The man she was speaking to seemed a little worried. Uh-oh. Was he okay? I paused what I was doing and locked my eyes on them. She took his plate from him and brought it into the kitchen.

  “Mr. I-Didn’t-Know-It-Had-Chili-In-It wants a different meal.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Chili?” I said. “So he hasn’t eaten any of it yet?”

  “He had a bit but thought it was too spicy. Leo?” She called out, bringing the plate over to arrange another meal as fast as possible. Emilia went to throw the dish out, but then picked up a piece of chicken and tore a bite off.

  I wanted to yell out, “Don’t! It might be contaminated!” but bit my tongue. It probably wasn’t, but I did taste it in my vision. I spent the next hour watching Emilia like a hawk for any signs of poisoning, as well as those customers who—from what I could see—had also ordered the chicken with apparently undisclosed chili.

  The only thing that happened was Emilia rolled up her sleeves. “I’m hot,” she said. “Busy night. With all this walking back and forth, who needs the gym?”

  “Do you feel okay? Like, not sick or anything?”

  Leo looked my way. He must have overheard.

  “Fine. Why? Do I look sick? Sometimes people say that because I’m pale-skinned, but it’s just the way I am. I should start using bronzer.” She swiped her cheeks with her palms.

  “No, no, it’s just you said you were hot, so I was making sure.” I smiled reassuringly.

  “Aw, aren’t you a caring soul.” She turned on her heel and returned to her duties.

  Okay, if anyone was going to get poisoned it would have happened by now, surely.

  When I realized this, I also realized that I’d been holding my breath tightly in my chest all night. My abs were tense. It was like I’d done planks non-stop for the past couple of hours.

  Customers filtered out, noise subsided, and the wait staff left. “I’m pretty much done,” said Sam. “You alright to close up, Leo?”

  He nodded. “Sure.”

  “You can head home too if you like, Tamara,” said Sam. “I can give you a lift?”

  “No, it’s okay, I still have some more things I can do.” It was only twenty minutes until my designated shift would end. Plus, I wanted to go home with Leo so we had a chance to debrief about what had happened this afternoon.

  “Thanks guys,” said Sam. “And good luck in the competition tomorrow, Tamara. Knock ‘em dead!”

  Oh God. I hope not.

  “Relieved?” Leo asked, after Sam turned off the main lights in the dining room and walked out.

  “That no one gasped for breath and collapsed on Harborside’s floor? Yes. Absolutely.”

  “Me too.” Leo leaned against one of the counters, his hands underneath the backs of his thighs.

  “And I’m also relieved that you now know about the thing.”

  A look of astonishment crossed his face. “I can hardly believe it, but it makes sense, you girls acting all weird sometimes.”

  I laughed.

  He shot me a curious glance.

  “It makes sense,” I said.

  “Ah, gotcha.” He tipped his head back. “So, um, I guess what you’ve told me is the tip of the iceberg, and that there’s a lot more that’s happened to do with your ability?”

  “Yep. I’ve become good at keeping secrets. Though I hated the idea of keeping them from you.” I stepped closer to him. “Especially since I knew something about your dad that you didn’t. It killed me not to tell you.”

  Leo took my hands gently in his. “What do you know?” His voice was soft and quiet, almost childlike.

  “Riley wants to tell you himself. Come on, let’s finish up so we can get back and you can talk to him. I don’t know how either of us will sleep tonight, after all this. I hope I’m not too sleep deprived for tomorrow.”

  Leo stood up straight. “You go to bed as soon as you can, you hear? Can’t have my favorite chef-to-be falling asleep on the job.”

  “I’ll try.” I smiled.

  Leo leaned closer and kissed me gently. It felt so good. I didn’t think I’d get to feel this again after telling him the truth. But he was an even greater guy than I’d imagined. “So, you’re a Delta Girl, huh?” He grinned.

  My face warmed. “It’s just a silly name we came up with. It wasn’t really my idea.” I waved my hand.

  “It’s kind of sexy,” he whispered, nuzzling my neck.

  “Hey, are you calling my sisters sexy?” I placed my palms on his chest and pushed him back a little.

  He chuckled. “No. Just you. My Delta Girl.”

  • • •

  He parked outside his house, and I walked him to the door. Riley opened it before Leo could turn the doorknob.

  “Hi,” he said to me. Then he said, “Hey,” to his brother.

  “I’ll leave you guys to it,” I said, turning to walk across the road. “Yell if you need me.”

  “You get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow at the competition.”

  “Oh yeah,” said Riley. “Good luck, Tamara.”

  “Thanks.”

  I walked across their yard but turned briefly to watch Leo enter the house. Two brothers, making ends meet on their own. Even if we’d had a sister a few years older, I still didn’t know how we would have coped without Mom. The door closed, and the door that led to a completely new and different way of understanding life opened. Leo would never be the same after this. Everything he’d processed about his father’s death now had to be changed, reprocessed, and rebuilt. It was bound to bring up the grief again, but at least he would know and have closure. I ached for the day when I had the chance to reprocess my dad’s death, to know the reasons behind it, how it had happened, and where he had spent his last waking moments.

  And as I walked up to my front door, I turned around again as a rich coffee taste warmed my mouth. I had the strongest feeling that someone was behind me, but there was no one there. Except, I knew without a doubt that there was.

  Chapter 16

  “Careful!” Savannah rushed around the corner of the kitchen, just as I exited holding the cake stand displaying my best ever butterfly sponge cake.

  “Oops, sorry! God, imagine if I had bumped into you,” she said, “It would have been—”

  “Your funeral!” I said, a bit too quickly. “Sorry, that was in bad taste.” No one should ever joke about death around Savvy.

  And then in even worse taste, I laughed at my taste pun. Oh God, I was acting crazy with all the nerves.

  Savannah stared at me seriously for a second, then snorted with laughter. “It was funny.” She patted my arm. “Anyway, don’t we get a taste of the cake too?”

  “Not on your life.” There I go again. “Judges only. Anyway, you got to taste some after I made the practice one at Leo’s that time.” I eyed my creation. The perfectly symmetrical butterfly wings cut out from the sponge and decorated with multi-colored frosting reminded me that change was always occurring. Butterflies went through a massive transformation, just like we had. Like we were still doing. I decided then that the butterfly would be my new symbol, to remind me that a beautiful thing could come from something not so beautiful, and that anything was possible with patience.

  “We ready?” said Mom. “I’ll drive you, Tamara, so you can hold the cake. Who else is coming in the car and who is walking there?” She glanced around.

  “Me. I’m walking,” Savvy said. “Actually, I’m running there. See you later!” She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and disappeared out the door. Judging by the look on my other sisters’ faces, they were happy to be passengers, instead of trying to catch up with Savannah and ending up all sweaty when they arrived.

  I gripped the cake stand fierc
ely as Mom turned corners and went over bumpy bits of road. “Careful, Mom!”

  “I’m trying, honey, I’m trying!” She swerved a little to avoid bumping into the car in front that had braked suddenly. “Where did that nincompoop learn to drive, video games?”

  “Mom, you’re allowed to say idiot, or loser, or jerk,” said Sasha.

  “Oh, I couldn’t. He might be a very nice person and I’d feel bad.”

  “So nincompoop is a step above the other names?”

  “It just has a gentler feel to it. Cutesy.”

  Sasha laughed. But I didn’t. Although it was cute, the way Mom was nice even to people she was ridiculing, my mind was elsewhere. “I can’t wait till this is over,” I said in a shaky, tense voice.

  “Oh sweetheart, you’ll be fine, you’ll—” Beep! Someone else honked their horn at the car in front as they narrowly escaped a collision. “Okay, maybe he’s a little bit of an idiot. Although I can’t say it! It sounds mean. He just needs to learn some driving skills.”

  “You’re too nice, Mom.”

  “Do unto others as you want them to do unto you,” she said. “What goes around comes around.”

  Hmm, maybe I should compliment the judges on something, like on their clothing, or their smiles. Then maybe they’d compliment me on my baking skills. Enough to win, even. I chuckled. When this was all over, I wanted to give Leo a great big kiss on the lips. If I did that, then by the law of Mom’s mantras, he would do the same unto me. Win.

  We arrived at the school hall, and I signed in at the competition desk. They put a little paper bracelet around my wrist with my entry number on it, then showed me where to put my cake, on a table (on the stage!) guarded by two people who looked like they wanted to devour everything in front of them. I was tempted to wait there and keep watch over my entry, making sure no one tampered with it, but they told me I’d have to come back later when the official judging began. According to the rules, it would be judged not only on taste, but also on presentation and overall appeal as well as originality. And various other standards.

  There were gift stalls and community information stands, raffles, and charity donation booths. People wandered around, and I noticed more people going up to the stage. I peered at their entries, checking out the competition. Mine was entry number five, which I decided was a lucky number. Forget about seven. Five was taking over.

  I noticed Emilia stepping off the stage and waved her over.

  “Hi. Nervous?” she asked.

  “A little. What number are you?”

  “Seven.”

  Crap.

  “I’m five. How many entries do you think there’ll be?”

  She looked at her watch. “Entries close soon, so there can’t be too many more. Oh, there’s Lachlan.” She waved, and he came over from one of the stalls.

  “Been spending big?” I asked him.

  “Of course not,” he replied briskly, shoving his hands into his pockets.

  Okaaay, was just asking.

  “I might,” said Emilia. “After the comp. I saw some nice things over there.” She peered toward the stalls.

  “So, shouldn’t you two be at each other’s throats or something?” Lachlan asked.

  “Nah,” I said. “A little competition is healthy. And anyway, there are lots of other entries, so neither of us may win.” I watched a flurry of other people take their entries up to the staging area.

  “Gee thanks.” Emilia put her hands on her hips. “Hey, I say if someone else wins, we accidentally on purpose knock their cake over when we go admire the winning entry. I could slip. I mean, these shoes are killers.” She lifted one of her heeled boots.

  “You’re cruel,” said Lachlan. “But how about knocking it over and accidentally on purpose making it land in one of the judges’ laps?”

  She laughed a high-pitched guffaw. “Where have you been all my life, Lachlan?” She pinched his rounded cheeks. He went red.

  “Oh, you two.” I shook my head. “Are you going to do that if I win?”

  “Of course not.” She kept her face straight. “Not when you’re looking, anyway.” She gave me a joking slap on the arm, then said, “Oh, I just saw someone I recognize. I might go flirt.” And she was off.

  Lachlan and I stood there awkwardly, and all of a sudden I didn’t know what to say, like Emilia was some kind of conversation mediator and without her our brains had frozen.

  “Good luck,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  I glanced around. Where was Leo? I could see Mom chatting with someone at the charity stall, and then I spied Leo at one of the gift stalls. He hovered like a helicopter, moving left, then right, then turning, looking like he didn’t know what he was doing. The crowd moved around him, and I could only see his head above a group of tall people.

  Then the air seemed to shift as a path through the crowd appeared, and a man in a bright yellow apron walked into the hall, his hair seemingly glued in place on one side of his forehead. The Dancing Chef. He grasped a woman’s hand and spun her around gently, and she swooned, her hand on her heart. As people welcomed the celebrity chef, he shook hands and nodded and smiled, and for a moment our gazes connected. I flashed a smile, but by the time I did, he was already looking at the next person.

  I couldn’t believe the Dancing Chef was going to be eating my cake. Well, a bite of it. Surely he would feel sick after sampling all the entries? But I guess he would only eat a small amount, just enough to judge it. I hope he liked that I put a lot of yellow in the butterfly wings, since I knew it was his favorite color. I realized then that maybe I should have done a dancing cake of some kind. Why hadn’t I thought of that? It would have been tricky, though.

  “Boo!” Hands grasped my shoulders from behind.

  “Hey, you.” I poked Leo in the chest.

  He had texted me this morning to say Riley had told him everything about his father’s death, and that he would talk to me about it after the contest.

  “I got you a present.” He held up a tiny charm in the shape of a coin. “For good luck. Now give me your leg.”

  “My leg?”

  “Your ankle.” He crouched and lifted the hem of my black skinny jeans, and attached the charm to my red jasper anklet. “There you go.” He stood and smiled, and so did I.

  “Thank you! That’s so sweet!” I moved my foot around to showcase the silver coin. “I like it.”

  But a wave of sadness tumbled into my heart as I remembered that Dad used to have a lucky coin. Mom was never able to find it, so she thought that maybe he’d had it with him on the day he disappeared.

  “Toss this for good luck!” he’d say, when any of us had something important to do, like a spelling test at school, or when we simply wanted to see how high we could climb up the tree in the park. We’d give it a toss, and it would usually land on the floor instead of in our hands, but that didn’t matter, he said. And then we’d believe we could do anything. Luck was on our side.

  But it wasn’t on his.

  “How are you,” I asked Leo. “I mean, after last night?”

  “My head is spinning. It’s a lot to think about, and—”

  “Okay, folks! Time to kick off this contest while the entries are still fresh!” The Dancing Chef really took to the microphone. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he decided to do a bit of karaoke while he was here.

  I guess my chat with Leo would have to wait.

  My belly flip-flopped with nerves as a camera crew took to the stage. They were filming it as a bonus segment for the cooking show. A photographer snapped photos of each entry, and my belly flip-flopped even more when he got to mine.

  Once all the photos were taken, the Dancing Chef spoke again. “A big thank you to everyone who has taken the time to enter and create these delicious-looking masterpieces! I am salivating at the sight of them all. Lucky I’m wearing my apron!”

  He was known for making silly jokes and being a bit over the top and cheesy, but that was why his show worked.
It could be boring to watch someone cook, but not the Dancing Chef.

  “And a surprise for whoever the lucky winner is… I’m going to invite them onto the stage for a little dance with moi.” He flourished his hand and gave a bow.

  Oh crap. Do I really want to win now?

  I eyed Leo, and he raised his eyebrows.

  “To get things started, we’re going to do a public judging round. I’d like to invite any interested members of the crowd to line up near the stage and take a scoring sheet. As you walk past the table of entries, give a score out of ten for the presentation and originality of each creation. Unfortunately you won’t be permitted to taste the entries; that is reserved for lucky ones such as myself.” He placed a hand on his chest.

  I can taste a whole lot more than you, Mr. Dancing Chef.

  “And obviously, entrants won’t be permitted to take part in the public round, but everyone else, please come forward.” He pointed to the side of the stage, where a few people had already begun lining up. Someone holding a clipboard let a few people up at a time, and other crew members stood near the entries, probably making sure no one touched them or sneezed on them or—if Emilia had her way—tripped over someone’s foot.

  “I know who I’m giving a perfect ten to.” Leo winked as he walked off to join the line. Good thing I had four sisters, a mom, and a boyfriend here. Those were a few extra votes in my favor. But I knew the public round would only have a small effect on the scores, as it was bound to be rife with favoritism. The judges’ thoughts would bear more weight.

  Mom stepped off the stage and gave me a thumbs-up sign, and when the bustling crowd gradually returned to the floor, the microphone was commandeered again. “And now, dear guests, I’d like to welcome each of the entrants onto the stage, and invite them to stand behind their entry for some publicity photos. Then the official judging will begin.”

  Gulp.

  “Good luck,” various people whispered as I shuffled through the crowd to the steps beside the stage.

  “Entry number one, is David Hafflethor… Hafflethwar? Haffle… Um, David! Welcome to the stage!”