Page 16 of The Interception
“You thought about me?” His tone is definitely teasing now.
I try to distract myself with looking over our handwritten recipe. “Like I think about a pebble in my shoe.”
“So, all the time then?”
My face heats with blush and I shake my head. “Can we get our heads in the game, Langley?”
“I thought we agreed you’d call me Ender?”
The announcer saves me by reminding us we have five minutes to organize our stations before the inspection. Once we set out everything, we walk through one more time. Part of our score is based on prep time, so it has to be seamless.
“I’ll make the cheese stuffing while you prep the meatballs, then you’ll stuff and I’ll make the funnel cake batter. Once that’s done, I’ll fry them while you prep the sauce, right?” I look up at Ender to confirm our task list, to find him clenching his jaw. “Are you okay?”
He relaxes and acts like nothing happened. “Yeah, sure. I’m focusing. That sounds good.”
“We’re set then?”
He nods and we take our places behind the table while we wait for the judges’ inspection. With over fifty tables, it takes some time. The field will be slashed by half after this round, but I’m confident we’ll make it through.
Ender bobs back and forth on the balls of his feet with his eyes closed.
“Uh, you sure you’re okay?” I ask while tying my apron.
He blinks open his eyes and stops shuffling. “Oh…yeah, sorry. I was getting in game mode. Praying, you know.”
I press my hands to my cheeks, hiding the embarrassment. Of course. It’s his pregame focus routine. I should have known that after watching Andrew do it hundreds of times. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m sorry.”
“Want to join me?” he asks, offering his hand. It’s prayer, and if we need anything right now, it’s a little guidance. I take his hand and let him lead a quiet, inspiring prayer before the judges reach our table. When he’s done, we refocus on the task in front of us.
It only takes a few more minutes for everyone to be approved, then the clock is set. The announcer counts down from three, and we’re off. Ender leaps right into making the meatballs, butI remember the fryer. It takes me a second to get it started, but the cheese filling doesn’t take long, so we stay on track. Once we’re both done, we shift tasks and I’m mixing for my life. Ender has a rhythm going while stuffing the meatballs, so I grab some skewers and help him when I’m finished with the batter.
Before long, he’s done and moves around me to get to the barbecue sauce ingredients. I check the oil, find it simmering and ready, and start dipping and frying. We’re so in our zone, I don’t even see what’s going on around us. People mill about, but I’m focused on winning this round, or at least staying in the game. I’ve even forgotten about the cameramen moving about to get close-ups of our work.
Ender comes from behind and settles a hand on my waist, leans down, and whispers. “People are frantic. Most of them look like they’ve never worked with another person in their lives. We’re killing this partnership thing.”
He releases my waist and sets the sauce on the table beside me. I check the clock and notice we’re way ahead of schedule. We really are killing it.
When I’m done cooking all of the meatballs, Ender plates them up along with a little bowl of sauce. They look nice, but could use a little more flair. I have some batter left over, so I drizzle it in the oil and make real funnel cakes for the side. Even with my little detour, we’re still one of the first teams to finish and ring our buzzer.
An organizer comes to pick up our meal and takes it to the judges. All we can do now is wait.
“Good idea adding the funnel cakes as a side. I didn’t think about having something to balance the plate. It looked good.”
“Thanks. Sorry it took a few minutes from our total time.”
He shakes his head. “It’s fine. I knew exactly what you were thinking, and I agreed. I would have stopped you if I was worried about the time.”
I try to soothe my frazzled nerves, which held off until that organizer came to get our plate, and watch others scrambling. There are loads of dishes that look amazing, and I begin to worry we didn’t do enough. There’s no going back now, so I try to keep my head in the game.
Soon, the announcers call time. Half a dozen unfinished plates go to the judges, and those six teams are immediately cut. With the others going up before the time limit, they have already been tested and judged.
“If you will turn your attention to the big screen,” the announcer says, “we will post the dishes in order of most to least favorite. The top twenty-five will move on to round two!”
A round of applause erupts from the audience as the list posts. I had all but forgotten we had half a stadium full of people watching until their deafening cheers went up. We scan the list and my eyesfinallyland on Rossi/Langley. We’re in fifth place. I’m not sure how to feel about it, so I look to Ender for some idea.
He looks down at me and grins. “We live to fight another day, partner.”
“Fifth place…is that okay?” My forehead scrunches and my heart races.
