Chapter 23 The Commis Contest
The Commis Contest
BY THE TIME SYLVIE AND THE OTHER KIDS STEPPED BACK OUTSIDE, the sky was dusted with pink and orange hues. Shimmering banners hung across the trees, sparkling like strings of Christmas lights: WELCOME TO brINDILLE’S ANNUAL COMMIS CONTEST.
Rows of colorful tents dotted the courtyard and flyers drifted through the air. Grown-ups wearing visitor badges were streaming through. A little boy giggled as his dad hoisted him onto his shoulders.
Sylvie was now marching with Georgia, and the other first-year students, in rows of two toward the Brindille gates, where the parade would soon begin.
Her elbow pressed against the bag in her pocket.
The only reason she was here, taking in this scene, was because of Flora’s quick thinking.
In the cellar, Kitty had proven to be more than just a quirky instructor.
When poked too hard, she turned into a protective lioness.
After Bass and his agents had cleared out, Sylvie had prepared herself for an onslaught of questions.
But instead, Kitty had launched into a speech about Jingles, an amazing tabby cat—turned frog—of unknown breed.
At the end, she reminded everyone that greatness doesn’t come from your background.
Like a recipe, it’s made one step at a time, action by action.
But the lack of suspicious questioning had somehow left a void.
Now, it was filling Sylvie with guilt. What if Bass is right?
What if I am wrong? Part of Sylvie wanted to toss the woad away.
To make a different choice. But then what?
Bass had left no doubt about his intentions.
The game was rigged. He wanted Sylvie out.
“So, how exactly does this licorice stick thing work?” asked Georgia, waving the FizzleFott’s Fire Wand.
Sylvie blinked. “Sorry. What was the question?”
“This thing that looks like licorice, how does it work?” Georgia stared at the crimson rope with the same look of curiosity and suspicion she’d given the cwtch.
Funny, until now Sylvie hadn’t even noticed. It really does look like a piece of licorice. Red and twisted. But there was one major difference. This had sparks bursting in the center, like tiny fireflies.
“It’s a FizzleFott’s product,” said Sylvie. “Remember the candy company I mentioned? Anyway, they make loads of wacky stuff. Fizzing fruit candies. Edible chocolate banners. Sour Stick pins … flavored fireworks.”
Georgia paused. “Flavored fireworks?”
Sylvie nodded. “They actually let you taste metal salts… . I like Galactic Grape best… . The Fire Wands may look like licorice, but they taste more like Hot Tamales.”
Georgia pinched the stick tentatively between her fingers. “And I thought the fire bit was just because of the flames inside… . Spicy foods make me sweat.”
“Seriously? Hot Tamales aren’t spicy,” said Sylvie, as they wound their way across the grounds.
“Maybe not to you,” said Georgia, eyeing a girl who was setting up her booth.
Orange orbs floated over her head like a string of jack-o’-lanterns, forming the words: Latika’s Laddoo.
“Don’t worry. We’re not eating these today. They also work as sparklers,” said Sylvie, pulling her gaze back toward their marching procession. “Once we toss them into the air, they’ll fuse together, like a giant bundle of shimmering sticks.”
“Ah! The Brindille school symbol … I get it now,” said Georgia.
The line of students came to a halt in front of the iron gates.
Kitty, who was standing at the front, turned to face them.
“The parade will begin here shortly. Once it does, we’ll wind our way back up the path.
Your partner is the person marching next to you.
Please be mindful of your Fire Wands. They are designed to fuse together when tossed.
However, last year, we had someone trip.
His fused around his leg. I’d rather we don’t have a repeat of that mess.
Now, on my signal, each pair of students will throw their wands into the air, like this.
” Kitty released the two she’d been clutching.
They spun upward, splitting into pieces and then reforming in a dazzling display.
“Wow!” exclaimed Georgia. A giant bundle of shimmering sticks floated into the sky like an array of balloons. “The sparklers we have back home just throw a few sparks, then fizzle out.”
Sylvie had to admit, “This is cool.”
“Now, we’ll begin with you two,” said Kitty, pointing to a scrawny boy with glasses and a girl with a thick tawny braid.
“About every twenty feet, you’ll see a white marker.
That signals the next pair to toss their Fire Wands up.
” She pointed to Sylvie and Georgia. “Except for you two. Pips will release their wands at the very end, once Godard is on the stage. Understood?”
Sylvie and Georgia nodded. Somewhere in the distance, music started to play.
“Good. Now, that’s our cue. Remember. Walk. Smile.” Kitty gesticulated. “Wave and toss. Here we go!”
With that, they were off, marching back in a festive procession. Sylvie did her best to smile and wave as the school song started to play.
Stronger when we stand together.
In sunshine or hazy weather.
Lines of parents stood proudly on the perimeter of the path. Sylvie spotted the little boy she’d noticed earlier, still on his dad’s shoulders. His mouth hung open as he pointed toward the bundles of sticks forming in the sky.
Sylvie tried to feel happy in this moment, but Bass’s words crept back, like mold spreading across a wedge of cheese.
Secretive. Dishonest. Self-doubt now seeped into the corners of her mind.
What if I’m making a mistake? In cooking, you always needed polarity.
Salt. Acid. When things were too much alike, the flavors fell apart.
Maybe that’s what I’m doing? Taking something bad, adding more of the same, and making it worse.
A heaviness settled over her. She really needed a sign, preferably one as big as a billboard, spelling it out. Do this. Not that.
“Penny for your thoughts,” said Georgia. Her smooth profile and crown of glossy curls were now silhouetted against the darkening sky.
A flawless yin to Sylvie’s imperfect yang.
“I’m just wondering if I’ll ever get to do this again,” said Sylvie. “Be a part of a Brindille school festival. I always thought I belonged here … but what if Bass is right?”
Georgia chewed on her lower lip. “My mama doesn’t know the first thing about cooking, but she knows people… . She runs a hair salon, Lulu’s Style Studio. All the ladies go there.”
“Salon?” Sylvie raised a brow. “You know, that explains a lot. No wonder you’re always primping.”
Georgia rolled her eyes. “Anyway, there’s one lady … AnnaMay Jenkins. Well, she thinks she’s so highfalutin.”
Georgia must’ve noticed the look of confusion.
“It means she’s full of herself … always walking around with her nose in the air, talking down to others, just like Bass. One day, Mama told her, ‘AnnaMay, you cover your grays and put your pants on one leg at a time, just like the rest of us. So, come off it!’”
Sylvie snorted out a laugh. “She didn’t really say that. Did she?”
“Yup! Cross my heart,” said Georgia. Her eyes narrowed. “Bass may act like he’s something special, but he’s no different than the rest of us. Someone just needs to knock him off his high horse.”
Sylvie eyed the display case as they marched past the counter for Felix’s Fantasy Fudge: Any Flavor Your Mind Can Conjure.
Dense chocolate cubes continuously morphed, picking up on the tastes and desires of everyone who gazed at them.
Chocolate ribboned with peanut butter and flecks of gold leaf.
Toasted marshmallow and bursting Pop Rocks.
“You’re right,” said Sylvie, pulling her focus back. “But beyond these walls, he’s the one with all the power.” She couldn’t help but think of August Strange. A few days ago, he’d had a home. A good job. Now, he’s hiding like an outlaw.
Georgia nodded. “Then maybe it’ll take someone younger to stand up to him… . We’re more fearless than grown-ups.”
Sylvie smiled. “True.”
The marching stopped as they reentered the courtyard. Sylvie spotted a large stage where she assumed Godard would soon be speaking. Two silver curtains hung in front of it like shimmering ghosts.
Georgia gave the crowd another wave. “Bass is probably hoping I’ll give up on finding a scholarship, but if I pass the test, I’m not giving up. I don’t care how long it takes.”
Sylvie wanted to say more, but Godard was now making her way toward the stage.
Georgia pointed to the woman trailing behind the headmistress. “What’s she doing here?”
Sylvie stopped cold. Carrying a stack of booklets, her hair pulled back tightly into a bun, was Ms. Honeycut? “I d-don’t understand,” Sylvie stammered. “Godard got our letter. She even said she wanted to speak to Bass. Ms. Honeycut should be packing her bags.”
Kitty lifted a hand, signaling it was almost time for them to do their bit.
“Unless Ms. Honeycut was able to change Godard’s mind,” said Georgia, running through scenarios.
“I don’t think so,” said Sylvie, watching Ms. Honeycut smile as she handed out Commis Contest booklets. “Godard must know something we don’t.” She turned to Georgia. “But what?”
A familiar figure stepped between them. “Well, well, look who we have here. The misfits!” Belinda Bass stood there, like an eclipse blotting out the sun.
Sylvie glared up. “You better move before you get in trouble for ruining the parade.”
Belinda smiled. “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t be the one to ruin it.” She reached down and snatched their Fire Wands.
“Hey!” Sylvie tried to grab them.
“Give those here,” said Georgia, taking a swipe.
Belinda lifted her arms higher. “I told you I’d get even. Now, it’s payback time.” A wicked glimmer flitted across her eyes. “You want them? No problem!”
Two red twists came slamming down on their wrists like slap bracelets.
Red ropes, bright and sparkling, exploded out, snaking through the air as they groped for one another.
Sylvie tried to pull her arm back, but the Fire Wands were too fast, twisting and turning until they found one another and fused.
Belinda gave a laugh and slipped back into the crowd, just as Kitty lifted her hands and mouthed, Now ladies! Now!
But they couldn’t toss their Fire Wands. In fact, they couldn’t do much of anything. Sylvie’s right hand and Georgia’s left were now glued together by a bundle of sparkling twigs.
“Welcome to the Thirty-Second Annual Commis Contest,” said Madame Godard, from the stage.
Georgia stared at their wrists. “Well, they do make an interesting set of bangles, but this wasn’t the ending I’d imagined.”
This wasn’t the ending Sylvie had envisioned, either.
But if there was a silver lining, it was this.
Sylvie had been looking for a sign, and she’d gotten one.
It wasn’t quite as big as a billboard, but with her loud belly laugh, it had been sizeable.
Every ounce of guilt and doubt Sylvie had been feeling vanished.
Kitty bustled through the crowd, pushing her way toward them. “What happened?”
Sylvie raised her arm and Georgia’s too. “Belinda Bass is what happened!”
Five minutes later, Sylvie and Georgia were sitting on the sidelines, while Kitty had a word with Belinda. Sylvie stared at the two of them speaking just a stone’s throw away.
A smirk spread across Belinda’s face as Kitty turned and moved back toward Sylvie.
“Well, unfortunately, she claims the whole thing was an accident,” said Kitty.
“Accident?” Sylvie slouched. “You can’t possibly believe that.”
Kitty shook her head. “I’d say it’s about as likely as a python accidentally swallowing a mouse… . Unfortunately, it doesn’t matter what I believe. You have no proof.”
“What about one of your pies?” said Georgia. “Couldn’t you get it to spell out what really happened?”
“Pull Belinda out of the Commis Contest to try and pin this unfortunate, but minor, predicament on her? Her father is already furious about Godard’s rule change.
It isn’t wise to poke an angry bear.” Kitty sighed.
“I’m sorry, girls. But you’re just going to have to wait this out.
The Fire Wands will dissolve in a few hours. Then—”
“A few hours?” Sylvie sat up straight. “You mean, we’re stuck like this?”
Kitty waved a hand dismissively. “Three … four hours at the most. It’s best to let these things dissolve naturally.”
Sylvie blinked. Three or four hours? She didn’t have that kind of time to spare. By then, the contest would be over, and her chance to make the Devils on Horseback recipe would be lost.
“Well, so much for me trying to make a fashion statement tonight.” Georgia cast a sidelong glance at Sylvie’s outfit. “No offense, but it’s like having a pair of old pajamas glued to me. In the future, I really think we’re going to have to coordinate outfits when we’re partnered together.”
“Sure,” said Sylvie, not really listening.
Life had just thrown her a lemon, but she was determined to make lemonade. Sylvie turned to Georgia. She knew what she had to do next.