Taste Test (21 page)

I stare at her, speechless. Since when is she a “huge fan”?

“Please, darlin’. Call me Rusty.” He leans over with a sort of swagger. “I gotta tell you, you two girls are some of the cutest I’ve seen in here tonight.”

I give him my most beatific smile as a flustered Gigi gestures to the chicken she’s pounded flat between layers of plastic wrap.

“Would you like me to show you how to—how we do this?”

“Absolutely. Lemme just get an apron.”

He carelessly tosses the carving knife into our sink with a clatter. Gigi grabs my arm, giving a little squeal. “I can’t even believe he’s actually talking to
us
!”

“Just don’t flirt so much that you forget to bread the chicken.”

She sticks her tongue out at me and I can’t help but smile.

Rusty comes back, a black leather apron tied around his waist; he looks like a horror-movie serial killer. I try to ignore him as he asks some idiotic question about raw meat. Instead, I keep one eye on Joy while I start stacking ingredients into piles. She’s stabbing at the keypad of the blender, but nothing happens. I try not to laugh as I watch her shake the base violently and smack the side a few times. I nudge Gigi.

“Not so perfect in Joyland.”

But my partner is
far
too busy explaining the intricacies of bread-crumb variations to our rock-star judge to pay attention to me. I look back at Joy, whose face is bright red with frustration. She crosses her arms and glares first at the pantry, where Christian is rummaging through ingredients, and then out at the rest of the arena. And that’s when she spots Rusty.

A slow smile spreads across her face. She puts one hand on her hip and smiles.

“Rusty, would you like to see how to make a rémoulade?”

To Gigi’s horror, Rusty sidles over to Joy. She continues to grin and, as he gets closer, she leans forward on the counter in a beckoning pose. I want to puke.

“First, you want to make a basic mayonnaise,” she says. She switches on the blender and nothing happens. Her smile falters and she tries again. Nothing. Gigi snorts back a laugh.

“Impressive, Joy,” she calls out. “You are a real expert.”

Joy glares at her as Rusty reaches over and tries to work the blender himself.

“I don’t think this is gonna work out, honey,” he says to Joy. Gigi seizes the opportunity to win back Rusty’s attention.

“You know, a rémoulade is easy to whisk together.” She walks over to Joy’s station. “We can just dump these ingredients into a bowl.”

She moves quickly, stealthily sliding between Joy and Rusty. Joy looks furious as Gigi reaches for the base of the blender.

“Um,
excuse me
, I really didn’t ask for your help.”

Gigi gives her a seemingly innocent smile.

“I just want Rusty to see how a real expert cooks.”

“Thanks—if I see an expert, I’ll let you know.”

Rusty is leaning back against the stove with his arms crossed, looking exceptionally entertained as Gigi and Joy grapple with the blender. The cameras caught on about thirty seconds ago and are beginning to crowd around the commotion. Sighing, I put my knife down on my cutting board. I guess
I need to go get Gigi out of there before she does something she’ll regret later. I’ve never really seen this side of her before. I don’t know if this competitive flare is a good thing or not, but it’s nice to see someone battle with Joy besides me.

I’m only ten feet away when Joy succeeds in pulling the blender from Gigi’s hands. With a murderous glare at Gigi, she plugs it in for the second time. Gigi then reaches for the outlet and both girls are gripping the plug. I watch as one hand—I can’t tell whose—pushes the START button on the base of the food processor.

And that’s when everything goes dark.

Chapter Thirteen

Playing the Blame Game

Back in Weston, my school used to lose power all the time. The building was built in 1949 and never renovated, so it wasn’t exactly up to code when it came to the electrical needs of a twenty-first-century school. In the middle of class, the lights would flicker, then go out and everyone would scream as though a blackout transported them to the Amazon without a weapon. At first, this is sort of like that, except without annoying freshmen shrieking like little girls.

The cameras have battery backup, so there are tiny red lights blinking throughout the room. Someone close by fires up a gas burner; it gives off a dull gold light. I can see a few people running between where I’m standing and where Joy and Gigi were fighting only moments ago. I try to squint through the dark and figure out what’s going on. Did we overload a breaker? It can’t be hard to do in an older dorm, no matter how recently renovated it is.

I prop myself up against the counter and take a deep breath. It’s just one more thing—every challenge now, something happens to throw us off our game. You know, I bet they did this on purpose. I’ll bet the judges flipped a switch just to mess with us, to see how we’d react under pressure. I wonder if they’ll taste half-cooked dishes and judge us on our progress. I really hope not, considering that will involve raw chicken in my case.

I’ve convinced myself that this is just another “twist” in the game, even after they bring in the flashlights. It isn’t until they hand me one that I realize what everyone’s beginning to see—in Joy and Christian’s station, there’s a figure slumped over on the tile floor.

Oh God. Gigi.

I take off at a full sprint. When I reach the alcove, though, I notice the shiny dark curls and expensive shoes. It’s Joy who’s lying motionless, surrounded by crew members trying to wake her.

My heart in my throat, I look around frantically until I find Gigi, crouched on the ground, tears streaming down her face. Rusty is standing next to her, looking pale. Kneeling down, I put my arms around her, watching as EMTs attempt to revive an unconscious Joy. I keep expecting to see her drag herself up off the floor and demand to speak to her attorney. Christian, his face waxy and pale, is gripping Joy’s limp hand. I feel a stab of envy, then an immediate rush of shame. The last thing I should be right now is jealous.

I pull Gigi up and away from the scene. She’s shaking so hard I’m afraid she might pass out herself. Most of the
contestants have gathered close by, horror etching their faces. I can’t see specific people, but I can hear someone crying in the dark. I can hear someone else whispering a prayer.

Once the paramedics have taken Joy out on a stretcher, the arena becomes strangely quiet. Those of us left just stare at each other in disbelief. As if timed by fate, the lights flicker briefly before blasting their bluish white haze over the room, the buzz from the fluorescent bulbs seeming deafening in the silence. We all stand there, blinking at each other.

“So, do you think she …” Gigi’s voice is shaky. It cracks on the last word. I give her shoulders a squeeze.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” I lie. I’m really not sure of anything anymore.

“We were arguing, she grabbed the cord,” Gigi babbles, becoming more and more hysterical. “She just kind of keeled over.”

I support her body as it begins to shake with sobs.

“Giada Orsoni?”

We turn to see two officers in uniform standing behind us. They both have grave expressions on their faces.

“We need you to come with us, miss.”

“Wh-what? Why?” Gigi is terrified, looking to me for help. I grab her hand.

“What is this about?” I ask the men, who proceed to ignore me. They pull Gigi by both arms away from me and toward the side exit.

“She didn’t do anything wrong!” I protest.

The door slams shut behind them and I lean against the cold metal, wanting so badly to follow and forcing myself
not to cry. I slide down to the floor and stare out into space, trying and failing to make sense of everything that just happened.

“You can’t be serious.”

Gigi looks down and away. She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, still in her pajamas. It’s almost three in the afternoon.

“They think I set it up—that I was trying to electrocute her or something.”

“B-but—” I sputter, unable to believe what she’s telling me, “I mean, you didn’t even—it’s not like you wanted—”

“Nora, I spent two hours trying to convince them it wasn’t my fault, that it was an accident. They need to review the tapes. I’m on probation until they make a decision one way or the other.”

I want to throw something, to go confront the judges myself. Gigi is a lot calmer than I am.

“How’s Joy?” she asks, her eyes concerned. I rub my forehead.

“Stable. Her parents flew in this morning. Benny’s assistant came to the room to clean out the rest of her stuff.”

“So, she’s done then?”

I nod. “I’m not positive, but I think so.”

“But, she’s going to be okay, right? I mean, she was
electrocuted
…”

“From what the doctors said, she’ll be fine. She’s going to need to be monitored for a while before she can go home for good. Something about a heart arrhythmia?”

Gigi gazes out the window. The bare trees glisten with a shellac of ice. She looks back at me sadly.

“Joy can be a heinous witch—you and I both know that. But Nora, you know I’d never, ever—”

“Of course not,” I interrupt, coming forward to hug her. “I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. None of us would.”

“Apparently someone would.” Her voice is muffled against my shoulder. She pulls away. “Clearly there is
someone
who wants people to get hurt, to get eliminated in any way possible.”

I shake my head. “You know, Gigi, before this happened, I’d be the first person to agree with you. I’ve been saying since the beginning that there’s something sketchy happening here—and that Joy and Prescott are behind it. But, Prescott’s gone. For now, anyway. And Joy was the victim this time.”

“I don’t know …”

“Trust me. I was sure there was someone behind the accidents. But now? I’m starting to think that it may all just be a hideous coincidence.”

Gigi looks skeptical. “Don’t you think that is a little
too
convenient of an explanation?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what if it doesn’t have anything to do with Joy and Prescott? What if it’s
someone else
? Someone who was banking on Joy and Prescott’s shady relationship as their cover?”

“Like who?”

“Think about it—who was around Angela and Joy before both accidents?”

“A lot of people—all of us were around them.”

“Yeah, but who was
closest
to them—who was there just before the accidents happened?”

I rack my brain for a link, a connection. Exasperated, Gigi stands up to pace the room.

“There is only one person who was around Joy the whole night, Nora. Only one person who stopped you from using that sink before it blew up.”

Christian’s face enters my mind like the sudden answer to an impossible question. I shake my head.

“No way.”

“Yes way!” Gigi explodes. “Christian’s station was right next to the sink—he had more time than anyone to mess with it.
And
he was Joy’s partner—he was with her, in the same area, with plenty of access to food processors and outlets and whatever else he needed.”

I squint a little, thinking. “But, that doesn’t really make sense. I mean, Joy plugged in the cord the first time and nothing happened. It wouldn’t even work. I really think it’s possible that it’s just a fluke. That this stuff just … happened …”

“I can’t believe you’re
defending
him—can you really say he didn’t do it? Can you really say he’s innocent?”

“I don’t … I just don’t think Christian would do this. I mean, he’s—he’s not that type of person …”

“Nora. Seriously? This is the same guy you pegged for a jerk the day we got here.”

I take a deep breath. “I know. But that doesn’t mean he’d try to sabotage the whole competition to win. Besides, Gigi, he’s already winning!”

“Sure, maybe
because
of his sabotage—maybe he’s doing a whole bunch of stuff we don’t even realize. Like the cleavers the other week, remember?”

I do remember. I’d thought Joy was behind those. But, then, I thought Joy was behind a lot of things.

Still, as cocky as Christian is, I know he’d want to win because he was the best, not because he hurt other people.

“So, let me get this straight.” Gigi stands up to face me, eyes blazing. “You were ready to take down a famous chef and his girlfriend, both of whom could probably have you blacklisted from every major culinary school in the nation, but you won’t even
consider
the possibility that Christian is the one responsible?”

I give an exasperated sigh. “I just think we aren’t getting anywhere by accusing people.”

“I can’t believe you—you are a total hypocrite. Whatever happened to the great conspiracy, Nora?”

“I guess I was wrong,” I say, shrugging. Gigi just shakes her head before walking to her door and opening it.

“I want you to go.”

“Gigi …”

“Just. Go.”

Her face is like stone, the skin near her eyes and mouth stretched taut. Blinking hard, I walk out of the room. The door slams behind me. I stand there for a minute, red faced and frustrated, wanting to bang on the door and give her a piece of my mind. Nothing seems good enough, important enough, to say. It’s the first time Gigi and I have fought and I’m completely flummoxed as to how to fix it.