by Jennifer Yen
Mom drops her bag on the counter next to a pile of extra contest materials. Jeannie joins us shortly after without Nathan. She’s saved from interrogation when Mrs. Lee swoops into the room. Her armor of choice today is a sleek black power suit with a white ruffled blouse. Her shoes are red-bottomed, the heels ready to pierce the heart of anyone who dares to come for her. With Jeannie beside her dressed in a canary yellow short-sleeved jumpsuit, it’s easy to mistake them for mother and daughter.
“Mrs. Yang!” Mrs. Lee exclaims. “I love your dress. It looks so . . . comfortable.”
To her credit, Mom doesn’t flinch at the backhanded insult. She greets her co-judge with a blithe smile.
“Mrs. Lee, do be careful around the contestants today. They’re far less predictable than your fancy baking machines. I’d hate for any of them to ruin that beautiful suit.”
Dad’s lips twitch as he tries to hold in a laugh. Mrs. Lee’s eyes narrow, but she’s prevented from offering a scathing retort when BCCI’s director pokes his head in the door. Chef Anthony, an African American man with imposing stature but heaps of warmth, is emceeing the contest again this year.
“Ladies! Are you ready to kick things off today?”
Mom, who’s studying the treasured recipes in her red leather notebook, doesn’t hear him. Mrs. Lee sidles over to him with a flirty smile.
“It’s such an honor to meet the man behind Bayou City Culinary Institute! Many of my bakers are graduates from your program.”
“Is that right? Then I’m grateful to you for giving them a chance,” Chef Anthony answers.
“Have you stopped by my newest bakery yet? It’s been open for a month now.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Unfortunately, between the contest and teaching classes, I haven’t had time to make it out there.”
“You teach too? What an accomplished man you are.”
Mrs. Lee’s compliments are cloying to my ears, but he puffs out his chest.
She lays a hand on his bicep. “Make sure you let me know before you come by. I’ll give you a personal tour.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Lee. That’s so generous of you!”
Mom finally looks up and notices him for the first time.
“Chef Anthony, is everything ready to go?”
He straightens and tugs at his collar. “Oh, yes, Mrs. Yang. One hundred percent.”
“Mmm. I’d like to take another look to be sure.”
Over the years, Chef Anthony’s grown used to Mom’s neurotic tendencies. Despite this, his reply takes on a rough edge.
“You are welcome to do so if you feel it necessary, Mrs. Yang.”
Mom stiffens. Realizing everyone is watching to see what she’ll do, she puts a hand up.
“There’s no need. I’m confident in your attention to detail.”
A young woman wearing a polo with the school’s name stitched into it suddenly appears in the doorway.
“Chef Anthony? May I speak with you, please? We’re wondering where the camera crews can set up.”
“Excuse me one moment,” he tells us. “This is Gloria, one of the students helping out today.”
Everyone murmurs a hello before the two of them step out to talk. There’s still some time before the contest is to begin, so I excuse myself to use the restroom. In truth, I’m hoping to get a peek at this year’s contestants. My sneakers squeak on the linoleum floor as I stroll through the familiar hallways, arriving outside the bakeshop where the contestants are waiting to get started. Snippets of conversation float out into the hallway as I slowly ease my head through the doorway to try to catch a glimpse of who’s inside.
“I knew you’d be trying to sneak a peek.”
I spin around to find Grace grinning at me.
I smack her on the arm. “You nearly scared me to death!”
“Only because you weren’t paying attention. You should’ve heard me from a mile away.”
For emphasis, she taps her tan suede ankle boots on the floor.
“Sarah’s running late,” she tells me before I think to ask, “but she’s on her way.”
I nod before leaning back through the door.
She laughs. “Did your mom not show you who she picked?”
“Are you kidding? I’m almost positive she locked up the final applications in the restaurant safe. I looked all over for them.”
She purses her lips. “In that case, I think you’re justified in taking a look. Let’s go.”
I turn on my heel, but I’m rooted in place when I spot two familiar faces walking toward us.
“Ben? James?” Grace says, eyes darting over to me before she smiles.
“Hey, Liza!” Ben gives me quick hug. “You look great today!”
James, in typical fashion, stands there without a word. Grace moves to stand next to Ben, their hands joining together like two pieces of a puzzle. They’re disgustingly cute, and I love it.
“What are you guys doing here?” I ask.
Ben grins. “Grace, do you want to tell her?”
Wait. Grace has something to do with this? I level a glare that she deflects by nudging his shoulder with hers.
“You tell her.”
“Okay.” He turns to me. “Remember the other day when we ran into you outside Boba Life?”
“Uh, yeah. Vaguely,” I lie.
How could I forget? It’s only just the most mortifying day of my life so far.
“Well, after you left in such a rush, I asked Grace what was up with the flyer.”
“I explained everything,” she fills in. “How it’s your mom’s contest, that you wanted to compete but she wouldn’t let you, and—oh!—how she wrote that bio hoping to find you a boyfriend in the process.”
I shoot her a look—seriously?!—but she’s lost in Ben’s eyes.
“Anyway,” Ben continues, sweeping a loose strand of hair off his brow, “since Eastern Sun Bank is one of your sponsors, I had my dad pull some strings and get me and James into the competition. You know, so you’ll have two less guys to worry about.”
I’m not quite sure what he means by the last part, but there are more pressing matters to worry about.
I glance between them. “Can you guys actually bake?”
“Don’t worry about us. We’ll make it work.”
Ben’s eyes slide over to his cousin, who obviously wants to be anyplace but here.
“I’m sorry you got pulled into this,” I say to James.
“What are you talking about?” Ben scoffs. “He’s the one who came up with the whole idea in the first place.”
My eyes boomerang from him back to James. “Really? It was your idea?”
“Well, I . . . that is, there’s . . .”
His cheeks splotch with color as he drags a hand through his hair. James mumbles something under his breath. I lean in to make it out, but he jumps back.
“I . . . I need to . . . check on something inside,” he sputters. “Excuse me.”
He twirls around and sprints into the bakeshop. I turn back to Ben and Grace with a puzzled expression.
“What just happened?”
They look at each other and burst out laughing. I want to ask what’s so funny, but my phone goes off. I groan as I read the text message.
“Mom wants me back in the prep room.”
“I’ll go with you,” Grace offers. “See you later, Ben?”
He brings her hand up and presses a kiss against the back of it before letting go.
“Can’t wait.”
As soon as he heads inside, she sags against me. “Ugh. Could he be any cuter?”
I roll my eyes and drag her down the hallway. We’re greeted by a flurry of activity the second we step foot inside. In the best lit corner of the room, Mrs. Lee is being interviewed by a TV crew. Dad and Chef Anthony are
going over the schedule one more time, while Jeannie is nowhere to be found. Mom rushes over as soon as she spots us.
“Ah, there you are! You said you were going to the bathroom!”
“Sorry, Mrs. Yang! I ran into Liza on her way back,” Grace states, hugging her briefly. “It’s my fault we lost track of time.”
If the situation were reversed, Mom would be ripping me a new one. Instead, she immediately forgives Grace and points at her bag.
“Will you hold on to it for me until Jeannie comes back, Grace? Liza will be busy judging, and my husband is very forgetful.”
“Of course! I’ll get it right now.”
She hoists it over her shoulder just as Chef Anthony gets off his cell.
“Okay, everyone! All the contestants have arrived! Let’s get this show on the road!”
The reporters rush out ahead of us to get set up in the bakeshop. Chef Anthony then leads the way, with Grace and me following in the back. My heart pounds harder with every step we take, a fine sheen of sweat gathering at my brow. As we near the door, Jeannie pops out and gives us a wave. Grace hugs me briefly before heading inside with Jeannie.
The walls on either side of the door are lined with the camera operators, each working out the final recording angles in the room. Chef Anthony waits for them to finish before strolling in and starting his rehearsed speech.
“Contestants, welcome to the Fifth Annual Yin and Yang Junior Baking Competition! I am Chef Anthony, and I welcome you to Bayou City Culinary Institute. This year, we had a record five hundred applications in total! From that, we’ve narrowed it down to ten of the most talented junior bakers Houston has to offer. This will no doubt be our best competition yet, and we’re very excited to see what you are all capable of.”
He pauses for dramatic effect, and looks toward the door as he continues.
“Before we begin, let me introduce our esteemed panel. First up, we have the woman who single-handedly changed the landscape of baking in the city, co-owner of Yin and Yang Restaurant and Bakery in Chinatown, Mrs. Janet Yang.”
Mom sweeps into the room like royalty, a welcoming smile painted on her lips. Chef Anthony waits until the applause has died down before continuing.
“Next, we are incredibly lucky to have a celebrity judge this year. Known for making it possible for hungry people to eat delicious pastries across the world, all while looking fabulous, please give it up for the Mama Lee herself, Mrs. Teresa Lee!”
As I watch her waltz in with an air of confidence I’ll never achieve, my hands start to shake.
Pull yourself together, Liza. Mom’ll never forgive you otherwise.
Just like that, my brain stops spinning. Nothing’s more motivating than the fear of disappointing your tiger mom. Besides, if I mess this up, I can forget about ever convincing her to say yes to culinary school.
“Now, if you tuned in to Space City Live this past week, you know there is another exciting change to this year’s contest. For the first time, the technical challenges will be co-judged by three-time champion of the Houston Junior Baking Competition—”
Please don’t say it. Please don’t say it.
“—Liza Yang.”
I don’t believe it. No embarrassing introduction? No rehashing of that humiliating profile? I’m so stunned I forget to move, but Mom’s glare ultimately propels me forward. I enter the bakeshop at almost a sprint, so I force myself to slow down for the last few steps. As I move to stand beside her, Mom gestures at my mouth with her eyes. It takes a second to understand she wants me to smile. I stretch my lips tightly across my face as cameras focus in on me. It’s only then that I sweep my eyes over this year’s contestants.
“Holy s—”
I bite back the rest of the curse when Mom clamps her hand around my forearm.
“Don’t you dare embarrass me,” she hisses in my ear.
Me, embarrass her? Is she kidding? I glance back out at the bakeshop. Behind every station is an Asian boy. Most are staring openly at me, their eyes raking over my body and making me shudder. I steer my own eyes toward Ben instead, who grins and mouths a hello.
You know, so you’ll have two less guys to worry about.
Gratitude fills me as his words finally click. Somehow, Ben knew this would happen and went out of his way to help me. Although . . . didn’t he say it was James’s idea all along? I lean slightly to the side and peer past him to where James is stationed. He’s busy organizing the supplies on his workspace, but perhaps feeling my gaze on him, he turns. When our eyes meet, he glances away.
I turn my attention to the rest of the room. In addition to the camera crews, we have a live audience for the first time. Three staggered rows of chairs line the left wall, and nearly every seat is occupied. Besides my family and friends, the boys’ families—or more correctly, their mothers—have come to cheer them on. They’re no easier to deal with, inspecting me like some prize cow.
Great. This is going to be so much fun.
Chef Anthony clears his throat. “Now that the introductions are done, we’ll move on to the rules.”
My mind wanders as he gives the contestants a rundown. As much as I appreciate the guys for joining, Ben sounded less than confident when I asked about his baking skills. Neither seems like the sort who can tell the difference between a spoon and a spatula. That goes double for James, who looks far from enthused about getting his hands dirty. It’s going to take a miracle to get them to the end of the competition. Chef Anthony’s booming voice startles me out of my thoughts.
“Now for the moment we’ve all been waiting for! Let’s meet our contestants!”
I close my eyes and pray for salvation.
Chapter 15
I drag myself to the first station with Mom and Mrs. Lee. Contestant one stands about five foot five, which means his eyes land right at my chin. With shaggy black hair and shiny metal braces, he’s definitely memorable. My smile falters as I notice the dirt under his nails.
“Contestant one, tell us a little about yourself,” Mom encourages.
He scratches his head. “Uh . . . my name is Harold Chang. I’m seventeen, and I go to Memorial High School.”
“Welcome to the competition, Harold! How long have you been baking?”
“Uh, I don’t know,” he mumbles. “Maybe a few months?”
I’m sorry, what? Did he say a few months? I glower at Mom, who steadfastly avoids meeting my eye as she presses him for more information.
“And what are you most excited about baking?”
Someone pushes a camera into his face, and he stares into it, lips opening and closing like a goldfish in a bowl. Mrs. Lee clears her throat, but he doesn’t stir.
“Um . . . we’ll get back to you, Harold!” she says. “Let’s move on.”
At station two, we meet Jay Huang. Dressed all in black, he’s lanky, and his hair is shaved at the bottom and pulled into a ponytail at the top. His nails are painted to match his outfit, making it impossible to tell if he’s any cleaner than Harold.
“Are . . . are you sure you’re Jay?”
He half shrugs. “Yeah.”
“But your picture . . .” Mom swallows. “You look very . . . different in that one.”
“What picture?”
“Um, you were wearing a white shirt and a black tie.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s, like, from way back . . . last year, maybe?” he admits with a roll of the eyes. “It’s the one we send to my grandma every year for Christmas because she has a bad heart. But this is who I really am.”
Mom is aghast, and she struggles to come up with a suitable reply.
Serves you right for trying to set me up.
Thankfully, Mrs. Lee steps in with a composed smile.
“Well, Jay. How do you think you’ll do in the competition?”
He picks up a measuring spoon and frowns. �
��I’m sure I’ll be the first to go. I’m only doing this because Mom made me.”
“So . . . you haven’t done much baking, then?”
“Only if you count the good stuff,” he quips with a waggle of the brows. “You know, like brownies?”
Someone in the audience lets out a loud squeak. We turn to see a woman—I presume, Mrs. Huang—waving a finger at him. When the camera pans to her, she ducks her head and plays with her earring.
Jay rolls his eyes. “I’m kidding, obviously. My body is a temple.”
Mom can’t decide if she should laugh or frown. I do my best to avoid the former as Mrs. Lee ushers us to the third station. Contestant three is wearing a button-down shirt almost the exact shade of blue as my dress. He’s tall, at least two inches more than me, with thin-framed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. His brown eyes sparkle as he smiles, and I admit, he’s cute in a geeky kind of way.
Not that I’m ever going to tell Mom.
“Good morning, judges.”
He sticks his hand out for each of us to shake, though he hangs on to mine for a second longer than necessary.
Mom visibly relaxes. “Your name is Edward, is that correct?”
His eyes dart briefly to the camera over her shoulder before answering.
“Yes. My name is Edward Lim. I’ve just graduated high school, and I’ll be studying pre-med in the fall at Rice University. I’ve mostly baked for fun in the past, but I plan on doing whatever it takes to win.”
Edward utters the last part while staring hard at me. Lim . . . Lim . . . wait. Is he related to Reuben somehow? I take a closer look. Nah. He’s too . . . normal.
“Wonderful!” Mrs. Lee replies. “It’s so lovely to meet you. We look forward to seeing what you come up with.”
Next up is a pair of twins, David and Albert Kuan. Honestly, I don’t know who’s who. They’ve shown up in identical clothes and parted their hair in the exact same spot. Mrs. Lee graces them with her signature smile.
“Hello, boys.”
“Hello. We’re really happy to be here, Mrs. Lee, Mrs. Yang, and Liza.”
They talk as if they’re one person, not missing a single syllable. I shudder at the major The Shining vibes. Mom must have picked them thinking she’d have twice the chance of success. I’d say she’s twice as likely to fail.
