Chapter 15 Stuck in the Same Food Truck
Stuck in the Same Food Truck
BY THE END OF CLASS, ALMOST EVERYONE HAD CROWDED AROUND Sylvie and Georgia to congratulate them on their win.
“That trick with the blow-dryer really made all the difference,” said Georgia. She glanced over at Darius, whose macaron shells were still raw in the middle.
Boris shook his head. “Sorry, Mr. Maxwell, but I’m afraid your team is in last place. That’s what happens when you try and skip a step. You can’t bake macarons until the top layer forms a skin… . Better luck next time.”
Sylvie leaned over and whispered to Georgia, “I bet now he’s wishing he’d spent more time studying.”
Georgia stifled a giggle.
Big Shawn, who’d finished in third place, was staring appreciatively at their cookies. “You two get to be part of the Commis Contest. That’s so exciting.”
“Thanks.” Sylvie popped a macaron into her mouth. “Third spot is pretty good too. Want one?” She held out the platter.
“Sure.” Shawn stuffed one into his mouth and stared at his watch. “I just hope my parents don’t find out that I finished third. I doubt they’ll call it pretty good.”
Before Sylvie could say anything, Adara rushed over. “Georgia! Congratulations! I suppose there’s a silver lining: Get paired with a cheater, you win. But don’t worry…” Adara gave Georgia a sympathetic smile. “I don’t think you cheated.”
Georgia frowned. “But we didn’t cheat.”
Adara glanced doubtfully at Sylvie. “Uh, sure.”
Sylvie had been in this position before. Why believe the good when it was so much easier to believe the bad? By now, it had become an unpleasantly familiar sensation, like an itch trapped beneath a cast.
Georgia folded her arms across her chest. “I’m serious, Adara. I was standing next to Sylvie the entire time. So, either you believe me, or you don’t.”
“O-of course I believe you,” Adara sputtered. She turned to Sylvie and forced a smile. “C-congratulations.”
“Thanks,” said Sylvie. It was good of Georgia to stick up for her. Sylvie had almost forgotten what it felt like to have someone believe her. She scooped up her belongings. “I’ll see you guys in the cafeteria. I’m starving.”
“Not so fast, Miss Jones.” Boris lifted two paper bag lunches off his desk. “I believe you and Miss Shaw are on cleanup duty, which means you’ll be eating in here.”
Ugh! Between Godard’s Bubble poor thing probably wandered in from the garden.”
Thunk! The grate broke free.
Another sharp wail punctured Sylvie’s eardrums. She took a step back. “Have you seen what’s growing in that garden? What if it’s a snake—or worse, a snake gourd?”
“Snakes can’t wail, and neither can gourds,” said Georgia.
Sylvie stared up at her. “How do you know all this?”
“Everyone knows snakes don’t have vocal cords … at least they usually don’t.”