A La Carte by Tanita S. Davis

Author:Tanita S. Davis
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780375849503
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2008-06-10T04:00:00+00:00

11

“Where’s my boning knife?”

Pia is shouting, and tension is high in the kitchen at La Salle. There’s a food critic in the restaurant from Taste the North Bay, and all the chefs are in a huge panic. I’m actually being treated like a real chef’s assistant, which means Stefan just screamed at me for overbeating a bowl of egg whites he was going to use for a sour cherry soufflé. I didn’t even know you could overbeat egg whites, but he’s just ranted and raved and banged his big fist on the counter about did I just think I was making meringue and now he’s going to make me do it all over again—by hand. It’s all I can do not to burst out crying.

I am so tired of crying.

I feel fragile, like broken glass that’s been badly mended with glue that isn’t yet dry. I want to sit very, very still for a while until the feeling that I might shatter goes away. The rumor mill at school has been very busy with news of who’s in trouble, who’s sent to military school, and that type of thing. People are talking about Sim. No one has come up to me and asked, but I’ve gotten some looks lately like people are wondering if I know something. Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell them.

It’s been three days.

Eventually, I had to wash my face. I felt like some middle school kid, thinking she’d never wash her hand again because some boy she likes touched it. I am not that lame. Quite. I won’t wash my sweatshirt yet; I know that much. It still smells like him.

“Seifert! I need those whites yesterday!” Stefan is bellowing, and I pull myself back into the moment. There’s barely room in my little corner of the world to stand, but I hunker into my work space and start over. First, I clean the bowl, since egg whites won’t whip in a dirty bowl. With a mixture of a quarter cup of vinegar and a tablespoon of salt, I rinse it and dry it thoroughly with paper towels before cracking four eggs in a separate bowl and making sure there are no yolks in my white. The eggs are room temperature, and I use the balloon whisk Stefan gave me to beat them, incorporating air into the liquid. It takes me a little while to get it right. At first I’m moving my wrist too much. After a little while, I find a rhythm that is comfortable for me. The bowl is tipped to the side, and I move the whisk in tight circles.

“Where are the whites, Elaine!”

“I’m coming!” I want to throw something.

After the egg whites begin to foam, I carefully add a half teaspoon of cream of tartar to help stabilize things. I want to dump it in, but I’m scared now. I don’t want to have to do this again. I keep moving the whisk, counting under my breath. I’m trying to make a hundred beats per minute, but I can’t go that fast.

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