Last Hero by Timothy D. McLendon

Author:Timothy D. McLendon [McLendon, Timothy D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Timothy D. McLendon
Published: 2015-02-09T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

SUGAR AND SPICE

BIANCA WATCHED Danny walk out of the kitchen. He was so cute! His dark blue eyes and broad shoulders always made her heart skip a beat. Why hadn’t he asked her out yet? No matter. She’d write him a poem one day, and he’d be hers forever!

“Start cleaning,” Ms. Lam said. She was bossy for an old lady. She didn’t seem to like kids at all, and Bianca had no idea why she worked here. She was so old she walked with her back hunched over and a limp.

Bianca picked up a white knob from the floor. It looked the piece from one of the ovens that turned the temperature up or down. “Where does this go?”

Ms. Lam limped over to her and snatched the knob. “Where does this go?” she mocked in a high voice then slapped it on a small metal bar on the closest oven. Bianca knew her voice didn’t sound like that. She had recorded her voice many times in interviews. Speaking of interviews…

“So, Ms. Lam, it looks like this will take awhile.” Bianca snatched a notepad from her back pocket. It had a small pencil in the metal spirals on top. “Let’s talk about your famous meatloaf. How do you make it?”

Ms. Lam huffed. “You don’t give up—do you, girlie?”

Bianca smiled and shook her head. Persistent—that’s what everyone said she was. Her parents said she leaned to walk at seven months old, ahead of all her cousins. Why? Because every time she stood and fell down she jumped right back up. It didn’t matter how many times she fell. She had refused to crawl anymore.

“Push that oven back against the wall,” Ms. Lam said, pointing at the oven that had all its knobs back now.

Bianca looked at it and laughed. It was way too heavy for her to move unless it had wheels. She put her hands on it. “Here goes nothing.”

“Sometimes I use snips and snails to make my meatloaf,” Ms. Lam said from behind her.

The oven escaped from Bianca’s hands and banged against the wall on the other side of the room. She held her palms in front of her face. How was this possible?

“Other times,” Ms. Lam said, standing behind Bianca and breathing heavily on her ponytail, “I use sugar and spice.”

Bianca turned to find Ms. Lam facing her with some kind of butcher knife. Ms. Lam contorted her face, raised the knife, and thrust it toward Bianca’s head.

Bianca froze. She had been right about the meatloaf, and Ms. Lam’s old wrinkly face was the last thing she’d ever see. She wasn’t supposed to die like this. She was supposed to win the Pulitzer one day or at least write a feature article for the Sunday newspaper.

The knife never touched Bianca’s head. She blocked Ms. Lam’s arm and shoved her hands against Ms. Lam’s stomach. She watched Ms. Lam fly toward the wall the same way the oven had.

Ms. Lam crashed into the wall then fell face down. She didn’t move anymore.

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