Taste Test (3 page)

“So I’ll see you in a few months, right?”

“Yup.”

“Okay.” I give his shoulder a halfhearted punch.

It’s only when I’m reaching for the door that he grabs my hand and pulls me into him. My stomach tenses up, like it’s bracing for impact. He smells like soap and wood chips.

“I’ll miss you, Nora,” he whispers against my hair.

“I’ll write,” I promise, pulling back to look at him. He’s staring at me with this unsettling intensity, like there’s something else he wants to say. Like there’s something else he needs to do. I swallow hard. His lips part slightly and I feel a pull, gravitational or otherwise, drawing me in. It’s not just that he’s going to kiss me. It’s that I might actually want him to.

“You ’bout done?”

We both jump backward. Dad’s looking at us through the driver’s side window, his face screwed up into a scowl. Before I can catch my breath, before I can even think, Billy leans down and swiftly brushes his lips against my cheek.

“Bye, kid.”

He’s walking away before I can say anything back. Numbly, I climb into the cab of the truck.

“Buckle up,” Dad reminds me. They’re words I’ve been hearing from him for as long as I can remember, the same ones he used the day we brought the truck home from Jones Motors. His voice is the same as it’s always been. It’s me who’s different. The butterflies in my stomach, the dull ache in my chest—my body hasn’t quite decided where it wants to be or how quickly it wants to go there. It isn’t until we’re at the end of the driveway that I finally let myself look in the sideview mirror. By that time, all I can see behind me is dust.

The planes at Weston Municipal Airport are what people call “puddle jumpers”—commuter planes that take you to
international airports in the bigger cities. I watch through the windshield as one taxis the short runway and glides up into the air. It looks easy enough—but, then again, it’s my first time flying. I can’t help but wish the plane looked a little more like a jet and a little less like a Volkswagen bus.

Watching the planes take off is a good distraction. For a while, Dad and I sit in silence, our necks craned upward and our eyes trained ahead. Even when we get out of the truck, we look everywhere but at each other.

I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve said good-bye to my father. Twice for summer camp. Once when I stayed for a few weeks on my aunt and uncle’s horse farm. An overnight field trip to the state capital.

And today.

“All right, North Star.”

Dad sets my bags at our feet. I smile at the old nickname.

“Remember to send time sheets to payroll on Thursdays,” I say, lifting my duffel up with one hand. “And don’t forget that Dottie is off next week to see her sister’s baby.”

“I can manage the restaurant. Don’t worry about me.”

Dad’s face is suddenly serious. He grabs me by both hands and I can see that his brow is stippled with sweat.

“Listen,” he begins. “You got as much talent as any of those yahoos from fancy restaurants or boarding schools. You know food like you know yourself, like you know me. It’s a part of your family as much as I am.”

He swallows hard.

“I love you, Nora. Knock ’em dead up there.”

“Thanks, Daddy.”

It’s barely a whisper as I lean into his chest. He gives me a tight squeeze, then abruptly lets go.

“All right now. You get up on that thing and claim yourself a window seat. Otherwise you’re gonna be hurlin’ halfway through West Virginia!”

I can’t help but laugh as I hoist my bags up onto a flatbed cart.

“I’ll call you, Dad. At least while I still have my phone.”

“I know you will.”

“Don’t forget to order the to-go containers tomorrow. Oh, and the paper cups are low—”

“Have a good time, Nora!” Dad yells, waving me toward the tarmac with one hand.

Only moments after I settle into my seat, the plane’s subtle humming revs up to a roar and we begin to speed down the runway. I feel a sudden reverberation, a strong thumping in the core of my body. It takes me a few seconds to realize it’s the strength of my heartbeat, adding its momentum to the thundering motor as the plane takes off.

NACA

North American Culinary Academy

2929 Lakehurst Mountain Road

North Sullivan, CT 21842

Intake Survey

Please fill out the following and return it to the nearest production assistant upon arrival.

1. Name:
Nora Henderson

2. Hometown:
Weston, North Carolina

3. Describe what you are most looking forward to during your semester here.
Winning. No, seriously, I’m excited about cooking in the arena and learning from professional chefs.

4. Describe what you are least looking forward to during your semester here.
Missing my father and my best friend, Billy

5. Do you have any concerns you need to share with the filming crew or production staff?
I have a very strict policy against glittery eye makeup.

I have read and understand the following:

Initial here

Please fill in the enclosed forms. Be sure to include updated contact information for both your Emergency Contact designee and your health insurance provider.

Chapter Two

Sleeping with the Enemy

I really, really wish I’d brought a coat.

It’s eight thirty at night, it’s winter, and I’m in Connecticut. Standing outside the academy dorms, it is colder than cold. I’m starting to regret that I didn’t take that packing list more seriously.

I glance around at my competition. Two girls, both blond, are hopping from foot to foot, giggling and whispering to each other. A guy with shaggy hair chews his nails, while a beautiful girl with caramel skin leans up against a nearby pillar. A tall boy with a couple of facial piercings is talking to a petite brunette, who whips her dark hair over one shoulder and giggles.

An hour ago, at the airport, we had to fill out some paperwork and turn in our cell phones. Honestly, it went over better than you’d think—of the twenty contestants, there were only one or two criers, a couple of phone-kissers. One guy almost smuggled his through by disguising it as a calculator. But by
the time we made it onto the charter bus, a bubble of nervous anticipation started to inflate in my chest. I’d plopped down in a seat toward the front and glanced at a girl sitting behind me. She was staring out the window with a bored expression, twirling a lock of shiny black hair around one perfectly manicured finger. When she noticed me, her chocolate-brown eyes narrowed.

“Um, can I help you?”

“Sorry.” I smiled. “I’m Nora. Nora Henderson.”

I reached my hand over the back of the seat. She stared at it as if it were a weapon.

“
Enchanté
,” she replied, raising one professionally arched eyebrow.

On—shan—what?

Just then, a tall, impressively built guy with wavy blond hair slid easily into the seat next to her. He looked from me to her, eyebrows raised.

“Hey, Joy,” he said, his voice deep and velvety smooth, “long time, no see. Making friends already?”

“Yeah, right.”

Joy gave me a disgusted once-over and I blinked hard. Mr. Universe flashed a dazzling smile and stretched a deeply tanned arm around Joy’s shoulders.

“Come on. You know that NACA’s famous for slumming—they have to take on
some
amateurs to make things interesting. She’ll go back home in a few weeks once she realizes she’s up against people like us. If she manages to last that long.”

“Christian, please. Don’t give her that much credit. She’ll be gone by
tomorrow
.”

The fury rushed up my neck and into my cheeks, but before I could muster a snarky retort, a gigantic man, half Santa Claus, half Shrek, stood up from his seat in the front of the bus and clapped his enormous hands.

“Welcome, chefs!” he boomed. “I’m Benny Friedman, one of the executive producers. On behalf of the show, I just want to say how excited we are that you’re here. There’s an amazing amount of talent on this bus and we’re sure this will be the best season of
Taste Test
yet!”

As the bus pulled out into the New England night, Benny began to lumber down the aisle, handing each contestant a black folder with the
Taste Test
logo emblazoned across the cover.

“In these folders you’ll find your orientation packet—campus maps, contestant dossiers, a daily agenda. Every morning, you’ll get a schedule detailing where to be and when. There’s a list of the amenities you’ll find in your dorm—we’ve just renovated the fitness center, and the academic center was recently stocked with over two thousand cookbooks and chemistry texts.”

Behind me, Golden Boy called out, “What about the onsite spa? I’m just not myself without a daily massage.”

People chuckled and Benny looked amused.

“Well, Christian, you’ll just have to be someone else for a few months. Unless, of course, you’d like to hire your own personal massage therapist.”

“That could be arranged,” Christian retorted. Joy gave a little giggle and I rolled my eyes.

When Benny reached my seat, he smiled before handing me my folder.

“Nora, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Please—none of that ‘sir’ stuff. It’s Benny.” He leaned against the seat in front of me. “My assistant grew up just outside of Charlotte. That’s not far from your hometown, is it?”

“Not too far—about fifty miles or so.”

Benny nodded. “Well, she tells me your dad’s restaurant is famous down there. That his pork butt is the best she’s ever had.”

Behind me, there was snuffle of laughter. I swallowed hard.

“Thank you, sir. I mean, Benny …”

He patted my shoulder and moved on. I forced myself to sit up straight.

That was good. He singled me out. Everyone saw him talk to me. It doesn’t matter that he said—

“Pork butt?”

The voice was an equal mix of revulsion and superiority. I turned to glare at Christian.

“It’s barbecue,” I snap.

He nods knowingly. “Oh, right. Hillbilly food.”

I narrow my eyes and bite down hard on my tongue before turning toward the window and staring out at the cold northern night.

It only took fifteen minutes to make it to the NACA campus, but the bus had to park several blocks away from the dorm. By the time we make it to our home away from home, I’ve just about lost the feeling in my fingers. Benny holds up his hand and gestures for the group of us to come closer.

“I’m going to take you on a quick tour through the facility
before we get to your rooms. Now, keep in mind that this dorm was renovated specifically for
Taste Test
. This building, your classes, your labs—
everything
is separate from the rest of the school. And what you see in here? Well, it’s not exactly what you might expect from a college dorm.”

So, you know Buckingham Palace?

Yeah, apparently I live there now.

Even
my
overactive imagination couldn’t have conjured how luxurious our building would be. The first floor has three common areas—a big state-of-the-art kitchen, a wood-paneled library, and a swanky lounge. There are elevators with shiny gold doors, and the furnishings are the kind you’d see in a museum or fancy restaurant. Every stationary object is draped in velvet or silk.