Playing Cupid

by Jenny Meyerhoff

  As I read, a smile spread across my face:

  bacon me crazy blt

  Crisp seasoned bacon, roasted tomatoes, baby romaine & Cleo’s special sauce on toasted eight-grain bread

  fan me bánh mì

  Spicy grilled chicken, cucumber, cilantro, pickled carrots & hot chili sauce on a baguette

  grilled brieze

  Smoked brie, avocado & herb bouquet on grilled pumpernickel

  gobble me up

  Cajun-fried turkey, cran-apple rémoulade & stuffing on corn bread

  the greatest gatsby

  Shredded masala beef, sweet potato fries & mango chutney on French bread

  the chic greek

  Smashed chickpeas, kalamata olives, red onion, cherry tomatoes & feta cheese on pita bread

  desserts

  Almond cupcake

  Carrot-cake donut

  “You used the sandwich names I came up with!” I hugged Cleo, beaming. I’d been brainstorming for the menu revamp over the holiday break, and now the names were up on the board for the world to see.

  “It looks great!” Mei said. “And it makes me hungry.”

  “Then it’s already working!” Cleo said. “And I like the new sandwich recipe you texted me, Tessa. You’ll have to help me come up with a few more, now that we’re going to” — Gabe did a drumroll on the side of the truck, and Cleo flung her arms wide and cried — “Flavorfest!”

  I whooped as my aunt did a celebratory dance. “You mean we actually got invited?” I asked, feeling a surge of joy.

  Cleo waved a letter at me. “I just got it today!” She grinned like a cat who’d swallowed a whole flock of canaries.

  Flavorfest is the food-truck competition that the city holds every year, but it’s by invitation only. Hundreds of people, along with San Fran’s top food critics, come to the fair to sample the city’s best food-truck cuisine. A bad showing at the fair could end the life of a food truck, but a great one could secure it a permanent place on the map. Signor Antonio, the owner of Gelatta Love, the gelato truck parked one block down from us, is at Flavorfest every year. As a result, his gelato is so famous that people come from all over the country just to taste it.

  It had taken three long years without invites, but now, finally, the Tasty Truck had made the cut. “When’s the fair?” I asked.

  “February eighth,” Cleo said. “And that’s not all. The Bacon Me Crazy BLT is one of the nominees for the Flavorfest Best Award.”

  “Yum!” Mei said. “That’s always been my favorite sandwich.”

  “Mine, too, and it’s all in Cleo’s special sauce,” Gabe said, giving Cleo a sweet peck on the cheek.

  It was true. Cleo kept the ingredients for her BLT sauce so secret that no one knew what was in it, not even Gabe and me. When I bit into one of her BLTs, I tasted faint whispers of avocado and mayo, and a hint of mustard, but I could never figure out the rest. Whatever it was, the sauce was a mouthwatering masterpiece. It was my dream that someday I’d be able to cook up something as special as that sauce, too. That someday, I might be as good a cook as Cleo.

  Cleo rubbed her hands together. “We only have about a month to get ready, so we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  Suddenly, I felt a flash of inspiration. “Hey!” I cried, grabbing Cleo’s arm. “Maybe we could do a line of bacon desserts and bacon sides, to complement the BLT. Maybe bacon-bits brownies, or bacon fudge?”

  “Talk about bacon overload.” Mei giggled.

  “There’s no such thing,” I said indignantly. “Even if you don’t eat bacon, you want what it gives you. That cozy, home-cooked, warm-blanket feeling. We cook that feeling into food, and nobody can get enough of it.”

  “Well, considering how much Tessa daydreams about food, I think she’s got you covered in the new-recipe department,” Mei said to Cleo. “She almost broke her neck thinking up that sandwich she texted you about.”

  Cleo laughed. “Were you thinking about sandwiches this morning, too? You left your lunch on the front stoop on your way to school.”

  “I was wondering what happened to it! Bobby pin number two,” I said, sliding another one into my pocket.

  Suddenly, I spotted a wave of customers — including a bunch of kids from Bayview — heading down the hill, straight for our truck. We always had a crazy post-school rush at this hour, and it was time to get to work.

  Mei gave me a quick hug and said she’d be window-shopping right nearby. I turned and entered the delicious-smelling interior of the truck with Cleo and Gabe. Then I pulled on my apron, and we each took our positions at our stations. I was manning orders, Gabe was dicing and stocking fresh veggies, and Cleo was putting together the sandwiches. We’d switch off positions throughout the afternoon, depending on how busy things got.

  Nick Lee, who I knew from math class, came up to the truck window and ordered a Grilled Brieze. His girlfriend, Liz Abbott, wanted a Gobble Me Up. Next in line was another classmate of mine, Ben Warner, who always ordered the BLT.

  “Here you go.” I handed Ben the wrapped sandwich through the window. “With extra sauce.”

  Ben’s freckled face lit up. “Thanks, Tessa. You always remember.” He craned his neck, looking suddenly sheepish. “Hey . . . is Mei around? We were supposed to meet here after school.”

  They were? Before I could ask Ben to clarify, Mei appeared, her cheeks blazing pink. “I’m here!” she blurted.

  I stared at her for a second, wondering exactly what was going on. Mei and I had known Ben since elementary school, and usually Mei was busy faux-gagging at Ben’s gross armpit squelches, or slapping his hand away when he tried to snag one of her mom’s homemade dumplings from her during lunch. I’d never seen her blush around him before.

  “Um, we’re going to go,” Mei said haltingly to me. “I promised Mom I’d babysit the twins tonight so she could go to Dad’s cello concert, and Ben said he’d help.” She snuck an under-the-eyelashes glance at Ben, and they both smiled.

  “Oh,” I said, which was just about the only syllable I could eke out in my shock. Ben was going to help Mei babysit? That wasn’t just odd; that was epic. Now it was my turn to blush, because suddenly I felt awkward, like I was throwing everyone off balance just by being there. “Okay,” I finally managed, “well, I’ll call you later.”

  “Sure,” Mei said, but it was more like an afterthought, because she was already walking away with Ben, ducking her head in a shy way that looked suspiciously like flirting.

  My eyes lingered on Mei and Ben as I tried to puzzle through what had just happened. But a group of camera-wielding tourists had lined up at the window, and I had to focus on work.

  Cleo suggested we switch positions, so this time she shouted the orders back to me while I made sandwiches. My fingers flew, slicing bread, dipping into the containers of diced chicken and avocado slices, watching my ingredients stack higher and higher.

  The Tasty Truck is basically my happy place. From the first time I stepped inside three years ago, I fell in love. The steel counters, cabinets, and cooktops are sleek and shiny, and the fridge is always stocked. Some people get claustrophobic in food trucks. But to me, it’s a cozy nest filled with mouthwatering food, buzzing energy, and inspiration.

  Before Cleo and Gabe opened the truck, most days I came home from school to a nanny. Mom and Dad both work in finance, and sometimes it feels like they’re away more than they’re home. Dad was in Zurich last month, and now they’re both in Rome. Neither my parents nor the nannies cared much for my “kitchen experiments,” which is what I called my cooking when I was younger. But then Cleo moved into the upstairs “nanny quarters” of our town house. My dad made a deal with her that she could stay there while she got her truck business up and running, as long as she helped keep an eye on me, too. Cleo and I got busy turning the rooftop of our house into an amazing organic garden, where she gets all the fresh veggies and herbs for the truck. Cleo never scolded me for messes in the kitchen. Instead, she helped me make them. And sudden
ly, life didn’t seem quite so lonely. Especially on a day like today, when the Tasty Truck was hopping with customers and Cleo, Gabe, and I were in our groove.

  The line finally tapered off around 4:45, which was perfect, because we usually close around five. We were counting the register and locking the food away in the storage cabinets when I heard a little cough outside the truck.

  I spun around and glanced out the window, startled to spot Mrs. Rivers standing there, still in her Burberry raincoat. I’d never seen Asher’s mom at the truck before!

  “Um, would you like to order a sandwich?” I asked clumsily.

  “No, thank you,” she said politely. She gave me a small smile, then added, “Tessa Kostas, right?” I nodded, surprised that she knew my name; she must have remembered me from Asher’s birthday bash last year. “May I please speak to the owner of the truck?” she asked.

  “Sure,” I said, feeling a little nervous as I turned to summon Cleo. I wondered if there was some sort of complaint coming.

  Cleo hurried over to the window, and I pretended to be wiping off the counter while I eavesdropped.

  “I have a bit of an odd request,” I heard Mrs. Rivers say after she and Cleo had introduced themselves. “I wanted to talk to you about my son, Asher. He and Tessa go to school together.” She paused, as if the next words were difficult to say. “He needs an after-school job, and I thought this would be a good place for him to work. I was wondering if you needed help.”

  “Asher wants to work at our truck?” I blurted, before I could stop myself. Cleo and Mrs. Rivers both glanced at me, surprised.

  Then Mrs. Rivers shook her head. “Not exactly, but he doesn’t have a choice. It’s part of a punishment I’m giving him, a lesson in learning to appreciate things a bit more.”

  Suddenly, I remembered how Mrs. Rivers had scolded Asher outside the school earlier that afternoon. Having Asher work here was probably the fallout from that. But there was no way Cleo was going to hire Asher. The truck was a tight fit for three people, let alone four.

  But then, Cleo shocked me by saying, “Actually, Gabe and I were just talking about hiring more help for the next few months.”

  They were? I swallowed, and my heart hammered.

  “This will work out perfectly,” Cleo continued. “When can Asher start?”

  “After school tomorrow,” Mrs. Rivers said. She extended a hand to Cleo. “Thank you so much. Asher’s had a rough year, and I think this will be a wonderful change, and challenge, for him.”

  Gabe nodded. “We’ll be glad to have him.”

  Mrs. Rivers nodded once more, gratefully, and then hurried off toward her parked car.

  The second she was gone, I spun to Cleo, a steady dread simmering in my veins. “But . . . but Asher can’t work here!” I sputtered. I quickly painted a picture of his personality for my aunt, hoping the birthday-party story would discourage her. Then I added, “There’s not enough room in the truck for four of us, and I’m sure he doesn’t know a thing about cooking or food, and we have so much to do to get ready for Flavorfest already. . . .” And he’ll ruin everything, I almost said, but didn’t.

  Cleo smiled. “It’ll be fine,” she said as she finished buckling the veggie containers into their seat belts for the ride home. “Like I told Mrs. Rivers, Gabe and I were talking about hiring some extra help anyway.”

  Gabe nodded while he locked the cabinets so nothing would fly open. “I’m going to be busy working on my grad thesis for the next couple of months, and there’s an evening horticulture class Cleo wants to take at Berkeley.”

  “Besides,” Cleo added, “having Asher around will give us more time to work on our Flavorfest menu.”

  Doubt must have been all over my face, because Cleo laughed and tweaked my nose playfully. “Come on, Tessa. Just cut him some slack, and I’m sure your cooking instincts will rub off on him in no time. Okay?”

  I sighed, but because I love Cleo and didn’t want to argue with her, I reluctantly bit into the inevitable. “Okay,” I said. “But if he gives all of our customers botulism, don’t blame me.”

  Cleo laughed so hard she snorted, which is one of the things I love best about her. “Done,” she finally said.

  Cleo’s reassurance didn’t help, though. I was sure of one thing: There were about to be way too many cooks in the Tasty Truck kitchen.

  Photo by Mindy Garfinkle

  Jenny Meyerhoff is the author of the young adult novel Queen of Secrets and several books for younger readers. Jenny lives in Riverwoods, Illinois, with her very own Perfect Match and three perfectly imperfect children. You can visit her online at www.jennymeyerhoff.com.

  When you’re stuck with the name Beauty, people expect beauty and grace and courage from you. And when you’re a prince, you’re supposed to be athletic and commanding and brave and tall. But when Beauty and Prince Riley’s lives turn upside down, Beauty has to figure out just who she wants to be. And Prince Riley has to learn that even a beast’s appearance can be deceiving.

  Amanda and Leo know something about birthday magic. When their friend’s little sister, Grace, falls into a strange frozen state on her birthday, they’ll have to travel in time to fix whatever’s wrong. As they journey back to each of Grace’s birthdays, they start seeing all sorts of patterns … which raise all sorts of questions. Amanda and Leo will have to travel much further than they ever imagined to save Grace.

  Tessa loves working at the trendy food truck her aunt runs in their native San Francisco. But her dream turns into a nightmare when popular, arrogant Asher starts working at the truck! He can’t make a sandwich to save his life, and he’s frustratingly cute. But when the city’s big food festival is canceled, the future of the truck is suddenly at stake. Can Tessa and Asher set aside their differences and work together?

  Copyright © 2016 by Jenny Meyerhoff

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First printing 2017

  Cover photo © Paula Daniëlse/Getty Images

  Cover design by Jennifer Rinaldi and Yaffa Jaskoll

  e-ISBN 978-1-338-09923-2

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