Billion Dollar Girl by Megan Shull

Author:Megan Shull [Shull, Megan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2022-09-13T00:00:00+00:00

72

What I’m thinking here is: I have no idea how to eat this food. I glance up and copy Nash, loading up strips of salmon on a thick slice of homemade bread. Then, just like he does, I sprinkle on a spoonful of little jiggly orange eggs. Finally, I lift it to my mouth and take a big bite, and as I begin to chew, I immediately want more. The only way I can sort of describe it is—I guess it’s like . . . to eat a piece of fish from the river, right here on Great Bear . . . it tastes like life! Like my muscles are getting stronger with every bite. Maybe I’m under the spell of this magical place, but as I chew, I swear I feel the fish’s energy moving through my veins. I glance up at Nash, the fisherman and the chef, his wild eyes, his jagged scar across his cheekbone.

Nash gives me a quick wink as he chews.

I really love my uncle, I think to myself, and smile back. Then I pile another slice of fish onto my thick, crunchy bread and top it off with a heaping spoonful of the perfectly round, salty-squishy-shiny eggs, and use a knife to slather on some homemade honey mustard—and last, my favorite part: the crispy salmon skin. Honestly, it’s so good! The little eggs pop in my mouth, the salmon is kind of sweet like candy. The bread is so good. Everything here is like, the most delicious thing I’ve eaten in my life!

There’s a really nice light streaming through the open kitchen window. I can hear seabirds calling in the distance. The chatter at the table is mostly the sounds of eating: the clinking of forks and knives, the setting down of cups.

And ten minutes later, all that is left on my plate are a few tiny crumbs and a smear of bright yellow mustard. For dessert, Nash pours us each a hot cup of fish-head broth. I take a small sip and then another. It’s not so bad! It tastes like some sort of healing potion that’s making me strong. Medicine. I could eat this breakfast every single morning for the rest of my life, I think to myself, and set my cup down. I look around the table, first to Cricket, then Till, then Jemma and Nash. “Thank you,” I say.

Nash cracks a smile. “Sure, you bet.”

Everyone stands and helps to clear the table and just gets on with it. Nobody has to ask. Till moves to the sink and begins to wash plates and glasses and bowls and cups. Jemma is putting things away. Nash helps to clear, then quietly slips outside to work.

Cricket sweeps the floor around the table.

I want to help, but I’m not sure what to do. I walk over to the sink, and I pick up a dish towel and just start drying dishes.

I don’t mind it at all. This isn’t anything like cleaning up after Sunny.

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