The Cookie Crumbles by Tracy Badua

Author:Tracy Badua
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2024-03-22T00:00:00+00:00

11

Laila

MY STOMACH WAS in knots as they served turkey and veggie sandwiches.

After a quick trip to the bathroom to investigate Jaden’s bottle—it held no clues as to what medicine it held or what it was meant to help with, especially with the torn label—all I could think about was Lucy. I hoped she was okay. But worrying about it made the knots knottier, so I shoved a sandwich in my mouth to distract myself.

Flavors burst on my tongue, none of them good. First, I could taste stale bread that absorbed the moisture of the turkey. Second, the lettuce was limp, like eating paper. My superpower kicked into gear. These sandwiches were made almost two days ago. The only reason they were edible was that someone lightly slathered one piece of bread with a sharp, acidic pesto to keep the flavor fresh.

As if that someone knew we’d be stuck inside, unable to get food during this weekend.

I stared off out the windows as the storm raged outside. The trees bent in the wind, rain pelted the glass, thunder rumbled through the sky and floor, and every few seconds lightning flashed. It was normal to get storms like this along the coast of North Carolina. Maybe Chef Noah or Polly expected as much and made these sandwiches in case. Maybe I shouldn’t spend too much time thinking about it or anything else beyond the competition . . . which I was losing.

There was a chance I could pull out of my downward spiral. I could still win. There’s nowhere you can’t go. Nothing you can’t do, I heard my dad tell me. But to win, everything I did from here on out had to be perfect.

Just then, Micah plopped down at my table, and I let out a startled yelp, followed by a “Huh?”

“I never thought you tried to kill Chef Remi,” he said before taking a bite of his sandwich. “Of all the people here . . . you’d be my last suspect.”

“Your father definitely seemed to think I was the only suspect.” I leaned forward, my voice falling to a whisper. “But what do you mean?”

Micah leaned forward too. He smelled like the spices he used in his cookies. I wished suddenly that I had tried them, because unlike mine, they were winners and everyone raved about them. I couldn’t lose focus, even though his mighty arms were very distracting and very close.

“Ask them. Philippa’s family worked with Chef Remi and Jaden’s dads were on that show about Chef Remi traveling the world and eating foods from different cultures.” Micah sipped his soda.

“Wait, I saw an episode of that show! He went to Charleston to understand Gullah Geechee food and ended up fighting with everyone about how French food was better. I watched it with . . .” I trailed off. I watched it with Dad. It was so long ago, but I remembered the way he yelled at the TV. My dad said it was like watching someone disrespect his own mother, who was from the same area, who made the same food from the same culture.

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