Rubi Ramos's Recipe for Success by Jessica Parra

Author:Jessica Parra
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

Two rows of workstations ran down the stage, ten on each side of the tent. Behind them, the huge refrigerators were there, dominating the back of the stage like before. Only now, three normal-sized ones sat between them too.

In the back corners were two massive cabinets. Every inch of their shelves was packed with bowls, pans, and molds. Hundreds of containers of ingredients.

Dizzy from the sight of it all, Devon had to drag me to my workstation.

Atop a gold place card holder, there was my name, printed in bold cursive.

“As Torie would say, Get your head in the game, Rubes.”

I shook my hands as if that would sling off the extra nerves. “You’re right.” I shot Devon an uneven smile, letting my fingers drift over the food timer, KitchenAid mixer, oven knobs, and stovetop to familiarize myself with the equipment. Sounds of the other bakers and their assistants doing the same floated around us. “Head’s back in the game.”

Good thing too because the lights dimmed, and Summer Rae’s voice boomed from every corner of the tent. “From fifty contestants to twenty, we’ve begun to separate the wheat from the chaff. Today, our judges will find the ten rising stars heading to the semifinals.” My pulse beat hard against my temples. “Bakers, are you ready?”

Spotlights fell onto the giant fridges. The doors sprang open. Summer Rae and the judges leapt out of them.

Cheers erupted throughout the tent.

My palms stung from how hard I clapped. If I didn’t stop woohoo-ing and yay-ing, my voice would be hoarse. Even worse—gone—for next week’s debate practice.

I kept cheering.

“Rubes, this is wild. Like closing Fashion Week wild.”

Even if I didn’t know what that meant exactly, I did understand. I turned to face the crowd. If Dad couldn’t be on the stage with me, at the very least I wanted him shoulder to shoulder with all these shouting faces. Squished inside this crowd who appreciated, respected, and loved baking as much as he did.

A flash of pink tweed and blond hair cut through the crowd. Katherine snarled something to the Clipboard Lady, ran up the platform, and took the empty station in front of us.

She scoped out the rest of the bakers. When she got to me, she took in my linen pants and blouse. “Well, you sure clean up nicely.”

Some sort of backhanded compliment? “Thanks,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Not sure if the hat goes with the rest of your look.” Nope, just backhand.

“The hat goes with anything,” Devon said. A true ride-or-die.

“Plus, I can’t take it off,” I snapped. At that Katherine raised her brows. “What I meant to say is, it’s my lucky hat.”

“I see.” She smirked. “In that case leave it on, sweetie. Today you’ll need all the luck you can get.” She spun to her station.

“Madeline four-point-oh much?” Devon said.

I swallowed my fury, packed it into the deep pit in my stomach where the rest of the bottled-up anger dwelled. There was no time to unleash it on Madeline 4.0. Not when the judges made their way down the makeshift aisle between the stations.

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