The Doughnut King

by Jessie Janowitz

  “Wait—is that for Cronuts?” Josh pointed to a line of people on the next block.

  “Yup. Come on.”

  We jogged to the end of the line. It wasn’t too long. Maybe about fifteen people. We’d definitely get our hands on Cronuts. I’d promised Mom we’d bring some back, but they limit you to two per person, so after Josh and I had eaten ours, that would leave two for the others to fight over.

  We’d been waiting about five minutes when a short guy with a greasy ponytail stepped in front of us. “Psst. You guys looking for extra Cronuts?”

  “Uh, yeah,” Josh said.

  The guy glanced quickly over his shoulder. “Twenty-five each.”

  “Dollars? For a doughnut?” Josh looked at me, wide-eyed. “Is that how much they cost?”

  “No, thanks,” I said to the guy. “We’re good.”

  He shrugged and walked off.

  “Wait, what just happened?” Josh said.

  “He’s a scalper.”

  “You mean like someone who sells tickets outside the stadium?”

  “Yeah. He’s got people waiting on line, and they’ll buy doughnuts and then sell them to you for a mark-up, so you don’t have to wait in line or so you can get more than two.”

  “How much do they cost in the store?”

  “I think they’re six-ish.”

  Josh turned around and watched the guy approach a family farther down the line. “Am I a bad person if I’m kind of impressed? I mean, something about it seems wrong, you know, like cheating, but still.”

  “Yeah, I get it. And it doesn’t seem like such a big deal because he’s not lying to anybody and, after all, we’re only talking about Cronuts. But I’m pretty sure that people try the same scams with stuff like getting into schools or even getting new organs, and that’s really messed up.”

  “You mean, like, human organs?”

  “Yeah.”

  “There are human organ scalpers?”

  “Jeanine was telling me about it.”

  “That’s messed up.”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “Okay, no longer impressed with the Cronut scalper and considering calling the cops on him before he becomes a big-time scalper and moves up to hearts.”

  • • •

  Josh and I bought our Cronuts and ate them on a bench.

  “Okay, these are unreal.” Josh licked sugar from the corners of his mouth.

  “I told you. But this is definitely the best flavor I’ve ever had. They change it all the time. I didn’t even know they made a Salted Dulce De Leche.”

  “It’s just so…” He took another bite. “Mmm. Why don’t you make Cronuts?”

  “I would if I could. It’s like, impossible to fry croissant dough. You see all the layers, right? Well, if you fry them, they separate. Dominique Ansel came up with a way to do it so they wouldn’t. He keeps it secret so nobody else can come out with a Cronut.”

  “Can we come here every day?”

  My phone pinged, and I checked it.

  It was a new email.

  To: DoughnutBoy@TheDoughnutStop.com

  From: WSiglinder@MajaniTea.com

  Subject: Re: Urgent Investment Opportunity

  Dear Mr. Levin,

  Thank you for your email. Unfortunately, at this time, Mr. Okello is not investing in any new ventures.

  Best of luck,

  Wally Siglinder

  Press Officer, Majani Tea

  “It’s not as if we expected it to work,” Josh said, reading over my shoulder. “And it’s not that he doesn’t like our business, he’s just not investing in any businesses other than his, I guess.”

  “Or maybe they just said that.” I stood up. “We should go.”

  There was just one way for us to get the Donut Robot now: I had to figure out how to be a shark.

  Chapter 18

  The Petersville Gazette

  Vol. 1, Issue 19

  SPECIAL EDITION: Reporting from the Petersmobile in NYC

  Greetings from the Big Apple, where people can’t get enough of the Petersmobile! It even caught the attention of the star of the morning show Breakfast with Brynn.

  Team Petersmobile members Mayor Jim Partridge and General Store owner Winnie Hammond return to Petersville today. Join them Tuesday night at the Watch, Cut, and Quilt for a screening of video they took in NYC, including footage of Breakfast with Brynn’s tour of the Petersmobile.

  Town Happenings

  The Station House Special Pupusa Dinner: This Friday from 5:00–7:00 p.m.

  The Doughnut Stop: Until further notice, Winnie Hammond will be operating the shop for reduced hours and selling only chocolate cream FYOs.

  Gordy was gone. It was no surprise. We all knew he’d been eliminated, and it wasn’t as if any of us really knew him anyway, but it still felt like somebody was missing. I don’t think it was a coincidence that none of us sat in the chair he’d been sitting in the day before. I think we felt like it was his. Or at least I did. It might have been superstition with the others, like they were afraid Gordy’s bad knife skills would rub off.

  We weren’t in the greenroom very long before Randy took us to the set to film Chef JJ announcing the next challenge, one they’d never done before, a Cloning Contest. We’d get a mystery sauce, and then we’d have twenty minutes to recreate it.

  I’m pretty good at tasting different flavors, but I’d never tried to recreate a dish without a recipe. The good news was, since it was a brand-new challenge, we were all in the same boat.

  Back in the greenroom for a break before the challenge, I started to wonder what sauce I’d make if I were trying to make it impossible for people to guess what was in it.

  For starters, I’d use a ton of ingredients, harder to taste any individual one that way. Also, plenty of different spices.

  What I needed to do was focus on ingredients and spices that were used together a lot in sauces. I didn’t need to be able to taste everything. I just had to be able guess what spices were most commonly used with the ingredients I could taste. To prepare, I started running through spice combinations:

  Clove, cassia bark, cumin, turmeric, and coriander.

  Cayenne, oregano, thyme, and paprika.

  “Guys?”

  We all looked up. Randy stood at the door to the greenroom. “Chef JJ had to take a call so we’re going to do an interview now. Keya?”

  The second Keya and Randy were gone, Phoenix was on his feet, pacing and talking about how unfair Knife Skills Showdown had been. He was super worked up.

  “So I think we should all sign this.” He stopped pacing, pulled a piece of paper out of his backpack, and held it up.

  “What is it?” Izzy asked. She was sitting on the floor reviewing flash cards with cooking terms like dice and dredge.

  “It’s a petition. It says we want Keya thrown off the show for using her own knives.”

  “This is isn’t Survivor,” Harper said. “We can’t vote people off the island. Besides, it was in the paperwork. You’re allowed to bring your own knives.”

  “But it never says anything about specially-made knives.” Phoenix raised an aha finger.

  “Here, I have something for you.” Harper looked down, scanned the buttons on her jean jacket, selected one, and handed it to Phoenix.

  “‘Get over it’?” he read.

  “You’re welcome,” Harper said as she rearranged her buttons to fill the space left by the one she’d given away.

  “I think she’s nice,” Izzy said, not looking up from her cards.

  “Who?” Harper said.

  “Keya.”

  “Nice?” Phoenix said. “Do you get that she and her bionic knives are going to wipe the floor with you?”

  “If you want to get rid of someone who has
an unfair edge, why don’t you vote him off the island?” Harper pointed at me. “Did you see Chef JJ and his mom together? Now that’s unfair.”

  I didn’t say anything. What could I say? It was true.

  “Yeah, but she hates him,” Phoenix said. “I mean, did you see his onions?”

  “What if it’s just an act?” Harper said. “Ever think of that? You know, to try to prove she doesn’t favor him when she does?”

  “If you think it’s so unfair, how come you won’t do anything about it?”

  “Two reasons…” She counted them off on her fingers. “One: I’m not a whiner.”

  “I’m not a whiner.” Phoenix jammed his hands in his pockets.

  “Whatever you say,” she said. “And two: he’s never going to win.”

  “What are you, psychic?” I said. “You don’t know who’s going to win.”

  “You’re right. But I can tell who won’t win: the kid who was so nervous, he turned green before the first challenge. That’s the kid who’s going to choke.”

  “I’m not a choker.”

  “We’ll see,” she said.

  Something burned at the back of my throat.

  With Harper and Phoenix watching me, I walked out of the greenroom and headed for the men’s bathroom at the end of the hall. There was a bathroom in the greenroom, but I wanted to be someplace I couldn’t hear them talking about me.

  I turned on the sink, slurped some water from my hands, then splashed cold water in my face.

  The tip of my nose was sore, and it looked red in the mirror. Great. Just what I needed, a pimple right in the middle of my face.

  I wet a paper towel and scrubbed at the spot. I don’t know why. I knew I couldn’t scrub it off. And I was just making it redder.

  I gave up and went into a stall to use the bathroom. When I came out, Terrence was leaning against a sink looking at his phone.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey.”

  “How you feeling?” he asked, not looking up from the screen. “Second day can be rough because that first jolt of adrenaline’s gone.”

  Static screeched out of the headset resting around his neck, and he yanked up the mouthpiece. “Hey! Didn’t I tell you to watch it by that amp?” He pulled on the headset and listened. “No, no. Don’t touch it. I’m coming right now…”

  Terrence continued giving orders as he gave me a wave and walked out of the bathroom.

  It wasn’t until I started washing my hands that I saw the phone.

  Terrence must have put it on the shelf above the sinks when he got the call on his walkie. I stood there for a second just looking at it.

  Terrence was busy. Who knew how long before he noticed he didn’t have his phone? And what if somebody had taken it by then? The right thing to do was to bring it to the set.

  I dried my hands and picked up the phone. It sprung to life.

  And it wasn’t locked.

  Before I knew it, I was reading the screen.

  To: T.Glenn@CYCI.net

  From: R.Merriman@CYCI.net

  Re: Cloning Contest

  T-

  This mole sauce has a bunch of ingredients we don’t normally stock. Please triple check that they’re all there. List is copied below. If anything is missing and you-know-who blames me, I will personally carve CAN YOU CUT IT into your chest with a butter knife.

  -R

  Black Mole Sauce Ingredients:

  onions

  garlic

  guajillo chiles

  mulato chiles

  pasilla negro chiles

  cloves

  canela (Mexican cinnamon)

  anise

  allspice

  plantain

  prunes

  bittersweet chocolate

  almonds

  sesame seeds

  raisins

  yerba santa leaf

  I put the phone against my chest and looked around.

  Click it off. Just press the button.

  I tipped the phone forward just enough to see the screen.

  Everybody knew there was chocolate in mole sauce. But yerba santa leaf? And who can taste three different kinds of—

  Laughter, loud, close, and coming closer.

  I jumped, dropped the phone, ran into a stall, and waited.

  When more than a minute had gone by and I was still alone, I came back out.

  The phone sat screen down on the tile.

  I held my breath, squatted, picked up the phone, and turned it over.

  No cracks. Phew.

  I set the phone back on the metal shelf above the sink and rushed back to the greenroom.

  Chapter 19

  Interview with Tris Levin, Age 12, Petersville, New York:

  Oh, no, I do feel good about winning the challenge. I just think maybe I ate too much chili or something. Do you think maybe we can do this later?

  I ripped off my microphone and sprinted out of the room and down the hall, my eyes on the checkered tiles flying by. I didn’t want to have to see anyone. At least Mom had texted that she and Dad would meet me back at the Petersmobile. I couldn’t have handled them congratulating me in the parents’ lounge in front of everyone.

  My throat burned from the back of my mouth all the way down to my stomach.

  What had I done?

  I spun around the corner and smashed into someone.

  “Hey!”

  I forced myself to look up. It was Dieter, his glasses lopsided.

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “You are going to be killing someone this way. If you are going forward, you are looking forward, no?” He pulled the handkerchief from his blazer pocket and began wiping his glasses with it.

  “I’m really sorry,” I said, already backing away.

  “Oh, good job today!” he called, stoking the fire in my gut.

  “Thanks,” I yelled over my shoulder.

  I hadn’t planned on… I couldn’t even say the word for what I’d done in my own head, for what I was. If I tried hard enough I could almost convince myself I’d won fair and square.

  And maybe I would have. There was no way of knowing now.

  I would have recognized the sauce as a mole.

  At least, I think I would have.

  And for most of the challenge, I really believed I was only using ingredients I could taste. The thing is, I can’t say that I wasn’t looking for certain flavors because I knew they were in there. Maybe I tried to taste cloves because I’d seen them on the list. There was no way to know for sure.

  It doesn’t matter though because halfway through, I just gave up. Gave in?

  Chef JJ came by my station. She was standing right behind me as I measured a teaspoon of salt over the saucepan. Then before I knew what happened, a blanket of salt covered the sauce.

  “And that is why you don’t measure ingredients over your pan,” she said.

  “Tick-tock.” Dieter tapped his kazoo on my clock.

  I only had ten minutes left, and I was going to have to start from scratch.

  I dumped the sauce, rinsed the pan, and ran back to the pantry. And this time when I went to grab the ingredients, I grabbed everything, not just what I’d tasted, but what I’d seen on that email, things I’d never have tasted, like the canela, the pasilla chiles, and the plantains. I never made a decision to cheat. I just did it and was moving so fast I didn’t even have time to think about it.

  And then it was over.

  I’d managed to finish in time, and I’d identified more ingredients than anybody else.

  I won. Izzy was out. And Phoenix hurled cooking utensils across the set like the Swedish Chef from The Muppets, or like the Swedish Chef’s evil twin. I guess he thought the Cloning Contest was going to be his moment to shin
e. Skinny Jeans’s on-camera tantrum was guaranteed to make a hit teaser for the show. Millions of people were going to get to watch Phoenix lose it over and over again. For sure, there’d be a GIF too.

  Skinny Jeans was a know-it-all whiner. That wasn’t on me. But I still felt bad, someone-holding-a-lit-match-to-my-tonsils bad.

  I was at the elevators now. I pressed the button.

  Cheater. It was all over the smudged face looking back at me from the elevator doors. How could anyone see me and not know? I tried out a few I-won! smiles, but they looked like someone was pulling strings on the sides of my mouth like some horror movie puppet. The rest of my face told the real story.

  The elevator came, and I got on.

  Then, just as the doors were closing, Keya rushed in, breathing hard, one of her Princess Leia rolls unraveling.

  My stomach shot up into my chest as the elevator dropped.

  “Congrats on your win! That was brilliant! I couldn’t taste the chocolate in there under all those chilis.”

  Ping…Ping… Floors clicked by on the screen above the buttons.

  “I’ve had mole before,” I said to the cheater in the elevator doors.

  There was a screech of metal grinding against metal, and the elevator bumped to a stop. The little black window flashed a neon-blue 22.

  Keya’s perma-smile disappeared. “Are we stuck?” She hit L again and again.

  “Looks like it.” I tried not to sound too happy. The truth was, I would have done anything to delay hearing everyone back at the Petersmobile tell me how proud they were.

  Besides, it’s not as if I hadn’t been stuck in an elevator before, a tiny, rickety elevator it was easy to believe was seconds from plunging down the elevator shaft. Stuck in Grandma Esme’s elevator had felt like a scene in a disaster movie. This elevator was shiny and spacious and sturdy and being stuck in it right then felt like a gift. Like the Earth had stopped turning and I was getting a time-out, but not the bad kind, the kind the Knicks get with two seconds left in a game they have no prayer of winning just so they can pretend a little longer that there’s hope.

  It was pretty obvious that, unlike me, Keya wasn’t feeling all warm and fuzzy about being stuck in that elevator. She’d gone from hitting just L to pressing all the buttons and shouting, “Help!” The hand that wasn’t madly punching buttons was gripping tight to the railing that ran around the elevator.