by Jennifer Yen
The blood drains from my face, and I swallow the curse trying to claw its way out of my throat.
“Liza?” Kevin steps toward me. “Liza, are you okay?”
Without answering, I grab my things and make a beeline for the door.
“Liza! Liza!” Grace calls out. “Wait for me!”
I burst out onto the plaza with a gasp. My chest refuses to cooperate, as though an elephant is sitting directly on top of it.
Grace rushes to my side. “Liza, are you okay?”
“I can’t breathe,” I gasp.
“Oh my god. Should I call 911?”
Blaring sirens would only attract the one thing I don’t want right now—more attention.
I shake my head frantically. “Don’t . . . don’t do that. I . . . I just need to sit down.”
Grace scans the vicinity before tugging me over to one of the outdoor tables. She shoves me into a chair.
“Just . . . count to ten or something, Liza.”
I look down at the crumpled paper still in my hand. My head starts to pound.
“I can’t believe she did this to me! I knew she was determined, but this . . . this is a dating profile!”
“Maybe she didn’t realize that’s what it sounds like,” Grace suggests.
“She knew exactly what she was doing.” I put my head in my hands. “All those people inside . . . they’re going to think I agreed to this.”
“I highly doubt that, but if they do, so what? Who cares what they think?”
That’s easy to say when it isn’t her face plastered on every flyer in the city.
Every flyer.
I think back to the other morning, when Mom asked me to help with her makeup. The way she compromised and offered to let me judge. I thought maybe it meant things were changing, but now . . . this.
“Grace, she made hundreds of these,” I wail. “We’ve even got them in every bag at Yin and Yang!”
“People don’t pay attention to those things anyway. They probably threw it away,” she assures.
“I need to go home,” I say, standing up and searching for my car in the lot.
Grace grabs me gently by the arm. “What are you going to do?”
“I need to talk to my mom. She’s gone too far this time.”
I turn to leave, but as I step off the curb, the strap of my purse catches on something and yanks me backward. As I stumble, I grab on to the first solid thing I find.
“What the—”
I tumble against a warm body, and we hit the ground together. Footsteps come running up.
“Are you okay?”
I wince. I’d recognize that voice anywhere.
“Ben . . .”
Grace hovers just behind him, staring down at me with wide eyes. A pained groan reminds me of the person who broke my fall. I turn to utter an apology and come face-to-face with James.
Oh no.
I scramble to get up, and my knee accidentally hits him in the groin. He lets out a howl.
“Oh no. I’m so, so sorry!”
“Don’t move,” he hisses.
He grabs me by the shoulders and carefully shifts me off him before standing. Grace helps me up and dusts me off as James tugs his clothes back into place.
“You need to watch where you’re going,” he says gruffly.
“James, it was obviously an accident,” Ben defends. “She didn’t see you.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I didn’t mean to . . .”
My eyes drop down instinctively, and I jerk them away. My cheeks burn hotter than the ovens at the bakery.
“Are you hurt?” I mumble.
James shakes his head, doing an admirable job of looking unharmed. His deep brown eyes meet mine.
“What about you?” he asks.
Is that . . . concern in his voice?
“Depends on what you’re talking about,” I reply without thinking.
“What do you—”
Before I can make something up, Ben leans over to pick up the paper I’d dropped in my haste. I groan to myself. Why does this day keep getting worse? His eyes skim over the page, pausing when he hits the lower half. Ben looks up at me, then back down, and then back at me again. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.
James takes the flyer out of his cousin’s hand. “What’s so interesting?”
I pray for the ground to open up and swallow me whole. As he reads, his lips part when he hits my dreaded bio. It’s so bad all he can do is stare.
“Could I have that back, please?” I squeak.
James hands it to me. Silently, I fold it up and shove it in my pocket.
Then I dredge up my last bit of pride and square my shoulders.
“Please excuse me.”
Grace starts to follow, but I brush her off. Ben grabs her hand and tugs her to his side. I feel their eyes on my back as I walk to my car in a daze.
* * *
• • • • •
I barely notice the strange car parked outside as I unlock the door and step inside my house.
“Liza!”
“Jeannie?”
Her arms come around me and smother me in her embrace. Jeannie’s soft floral perfume tempers the bitterness of Mom’s betrayal. It’s a few minutes before I’m willing to let her go. As our parents walk into the living room, Mom freezes.
“Liza! Didn’t you say you were spending the afternoon with Grace?”
The sound of her voice sets my teeth on edge.
I scowl openly at her. “I need to talk to you in private, Mom.”
Jeannie glances between us. “Um, I’m going to go to my room.”
“Actually, why don’t you come into the kitchen with me,” Dad tells her. “You must be starving after flying all day.”
“Dad, I’m not really—”
“Come. Eat.”
His tone invites no argument. Throwing a glance over her shoulder, Jeannie smiles encouragingly before leaving with Dad. I wait until they’re out of earshot before marching across the room to Mom.
I wave the flyer in her face. “How could you do this to me?!”
It takes a second for things to dawn on her.
She juts her chin out. “You agreed to teach the lessons.”
“No, I didn’t! You asked me if I thought private lessons were a good idea. You never told me you wanted me to do it!”
“I thought it was obvious,” she says, busying herself with the books on the coffee table. “I’m swamped at the bakery, and Mrs. Lee has her own business to run. As the technical judge, you’re the only other person qualified to do it.”
What kind of mom logic is that? The lessons don’t even happen until after the contest is over. Besides, she’s taught me everything I know about baking.
Calm down, Liza. Remember, this is for culinary school.
I suck in a deep breath through gritted teeth. “Okay, fine, but why did you have to write that bio?”
“What’s wrong with it? I thought it was nice.”
“You thought it was—” I pause, aghast. “There was no reason to mention how many languages I speak or my class rank! Why would anyone need to know that?”
She shrugs. “People need to know you’re qualified.”
I position myself directly in front of her so she has to look at me.
“Then what about my hobbies? What do reading and nature have to do with my ability to judge a baking contest?”
Mom says nothing, not that it matters. We both know why she really did it, though it’s obvious to me now she’ll never own up to it. That’s it. This is my life, and I’m not going to let her do this.
“Take it back. Tell everyone you made a mistake, and I’m not teaching the lessons.”
“I will do no such thing, Liza!” She cr
osses her arms over her chest. “We have less than two days until the contest begins, and I’ve confirmed almost all the contestants.”
“Take it back or I quit!”
Mom rears back. I’ve never shouted at her like this before.
She glowers at me. “I will not, and you will be at the contest. That’s final.”
I twirl around and storm out of the room. The walls rattle as I slam my bedroom door closed. Shortly after, quiet murmurs seep in from the hallway, but I don’t bother eavesdropping. Then someone knocks on my door.
“Liza? Can I come in?”
It’s Jeannie. I ignore her, but just like everyone else in this house, she walks in anyway. She closes the door behind her and comes to sit next to me on the bed. I stiffen as she tucks my head into the crook of her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Liza.”
After a second, I relax. “Why would she do this to me?”
Jeannie sighs. “I don’t know. I think she believes she’s helping.”
“Well, she’s terrible at it,” I say, burrowing against her.
Jeannie’s chuckle rumbles through her chest. “That we can agree on.”
I raise my head to look at her. “What am I going to do? I can’t face these people.”
“Then what would you rather do?”
“Run away?” I answer with a hopeful expression.
“I doubt that’s going to work.”
We sit side by side, staring out the window with our heads propped against the wall. Eventually, I roll my head to peer at Jeannie.
“I wish I could move out of state like you.”
“Trust me. It’s not as fun as it sounds. I miss having someone cooking and cleaning for me all the time.” Jeannie smooths a hand over the blanket. “I have to do everything, plus go to school and model.”
“So . . . wanna trade?”
She smirks. “Not on your life.”
Laughter bursts from my lips like water from a broken faucet. When I catch my breath, Jeannie tugs me close.
“We’ll figure this out. You and me.”
“Pinky swear?”
She loops her finger through mine. “Pinky swear.”
Chapter 14
I spend the next two days before the contest in self-imposed exile. Thankfully, Grace volunteers to be my lifeline. She delivers tea from Boba Life, and even brings Sarah around one afternoon. It’s the stories she regales me with that cheer me up the most, though. Apparently, people have been claiming to see me around Chinatown.
I guess that makes me the new Bigfoot.
Unfortunately, when the morning of the contest arrives, I have to make a real appearance. With all the extra attention this year, a few of the news channels are coming to cover opening day. After tossing and turning the night before, my eyes are duller than a bun without egg wash. So, I ask Jeannie to help me with my makeup. The last thing I need right now is to look like I crawled out of a grave. I sit patiently as she applies it all with a precise hand. At some point, she steps back with a faint smile.
“Take a look.”
I turn to face the mirror and suck in a sharp breath. It’s a miracle! Instead of a circus clown, I’m staring at a better version of myself. My eyes are bigger and brighter, my cheeks are rosy pink, and my lips are shaped like a bow. I meet Jeannie’s nervous gaze in the mirror.
“What do you think?” she asks. “Do you like it?”
If my eyes could form actual hearts, they would. Instead, I throw my arms around her neck.
“I love it!”
I release her to examine her work more closely. How did she turn so many products into something that looks so natural?
“You’re like my real-life fairy godmother, Jeannie.”
She chuckles. “In that case, let me work my magic on your wardrobe.”
She sifts through the hangers in my closet and tosses what she likes onto the bed. Then I put on an impromptu fashion show so she can decide what looks best.
“No, not that one. It’s too long.”
“I don’t like this. It makes you look bigger than you are.”
“Where the hell did you get that?!”
By the time she settles on an outfit, I’m ready to go back to sleep. I don’t know how she does this for a living.
“Now go get changed.” Jeannie piles everything into my arms. “You don’t want Mom yelling at you for being late, do you?”
Alone in my bedroom, I crash from the momentary high of my makeover. My stomach churns as I pull the navy blue swing dress over my head, a gift from Jeannie for my sixteenth birthday. Next is the long chain necklace she’s lending me for the occasion. The weight of the pendant lies heavy against my rib cage.
Jeannie also left me a pair of low heels to put on, but I trade them for my nicest white sneakers. I instantly feel calmer when I put them on. Everyone’s waiting outside, so I head to the garage after a quick once-over.
Mom cocks an eyebrow in my direction as I walk out, the canvas bag with her notebook of recipes clutched against her chest like it’s her greatest treasure. Jeannie whistles and winks at me. Once we’re all in the car, Dad glances back at me through the rearview mirror.
“You look very nice, Liza.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
* * *
• • • • •
When we pull into the campus for Bayou City Culinary Institute, I squeeze my eyes shut for a second. Mom’s grating voice rips through my last moment of peace.
“Get out of the car, Liza! We can’t be late!”
“There’s plenty of time, laˇo pó,” Dad interjects with a hand on her shoulder. “No need to rush her.”
I resist the urge to scream and trudge behind my parents as we cross the large but mostly unoccupied parking lot. Jeannie loops an arm through mine, bumping hips with me until I break into a smile. We’re at the top of the front steps when someone calls her name. She turns, her lips parting.
“Nathan?”
He jogs the last few feet to greet us both with a toothy grin. “Surprise!”
Jeannie’s eyes flit to where Mom and Dad are standing over her right shoulder.
“What . . . what are you doing here?”
“I saw your Insta post from last night about the contest, and I was in the neighborhood. Besides, I promised to come visit, didn’t I?”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. There’s no denying he wants out of the friend zone now. Why else would he fly all the way down to Houston just to see her?
She smiles tentatively. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Well, I booked a job down here anyway, plus I’m taking a photography class at the University of Houston while I’m here.” Nathan leans toward me and winks. “Maybe I’ll practice taking pictures of you while you’re baking.”
He might be into Jeannie, but I still flush beneath his gaze.
“Who’s this?”
Mom’s voice teeters between intrigue and suspicion. The blood drains from Jeannie’s face, but she has no reason to worry. Nathan is smoother than Yin and Yang’s famous milk cream.
He flashes a brilliant smile. “You must be Jeannie’s mom, Mrs. Yang. My name is Nathan. I’ve heard so much about you from her, but she forgot to mention how young you look.”
“Oh! Well, thank you,” Mom stammers. “How did you two meet?”
“At a fashion show. Jeannie and I were walking for different designers, but we ran into each other backstage.”
She turns to Dad with stars in her eyes. “They met at work! Isn’t that wonderful?”
He makes a noncommittal sound in reply before pinning Nathan with a firm look.
“And what brings you down here, Nathan?”
“I came down for work, but I remember Jeannie telling me about your contest. I thought I’d drop by and w
ish Liza good luck.”
“You are too sweet! Thank you,” Mom answers, reaching up to cup his cheek. “And so handsome too.”
Jeannie gasps. “Mom!”
“What? What did I say? It’s true. He’s very handsome.”
Jeannie looks to Dad for help, but he just shrugs. No one gets between Mom and a potential husband for her daughters.
“Thank you, Mrs. Yang. That’s very kind of you,” Nathan states without batting an eye.
“You two should go grab seats before we get started!” Mom shoves Jeannie toward him. “Jeannie, why don’t you show him where the bake room is?”
Nathan’s head dips. “I’m afraid I can’t stay. I have to get across town for my class.”
It’s hard to say who’s more crestfallen—Mom or Jeannie. Mom pulls herself together first.
“Then we’ll be sure to save you a seat in case you have some time to come back. I certainly hope you will.”
Nathan glances at his phone, seeming to reconsider.
“Actually, maybe I can come in for a quick tour, if Jeannie’s willing.”
“Of course she’s willing,” Mom answers for her. “You two go and have a good time.”
“Thank you again, Mrs. Yang. Mr. Yang. Liza.”
He nods at each of us before offering Jeannie his arm. We enter the building together—Mom and Dad up front, me in the middle, and Nathan and Jeannie at the rear. Mom whispers into Dad’s ear as we move down corridors covered with framed awards and posters advertising student organizations. It’s hard to make out what she’s saying with the click of her heels echoing down the halls. Nonetheless, I’m guessing it has something to do with plans for Jeannie’s upcoming wedding.
We bypass the bakeshop where the contest will be held. I crane my neck to peek through the open doorway. Though the room is still empty, the stainless steel tables are already set up with the tools and ingredients for today’s bake. Jeannie takes Nathan inside while the rest of us continue on to the faculty break room that’ll serve as our backstage area. Metal lockers line one wall, and small appliances sit atop a row of kitchen cabinets. In the back corner, a refrigerator hums.
