“No offense, Mrs. Jones, but that’s easy for you to say.” Georgia gnawed on the bits of nail that had grown back. “You’ve already got your Blade.”
“And this is your shot,” said Sylvie’s mom. “Remember, it’s just cooking.”
It was so much more thanjust cooking.Still, Sylvie felt her body loosen. Somehow her mom always knew what to say. She glanced over at Georgia. Sylvie couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty. Georgia wanted her mom there too. But Scullery still weren’t allowed inside CCS headquarters. So, Georgia’s mom and stepdad were stuck at home, with Sylvie’s dad and little brother.
“Sylvie Jones? Georgia Shaw?” A young man holding a clipboard stared at them.
Sylvie tried her best to ignore the fizzing sensation in her stomach. “Yes?”
He gestured down the hallway.
Sylvie took one last look at her mom.
“You’re going to do great, Sylvie.”
Sylvie forced a smile. “Thanks.”
People turned and whispered as they passed.
“Those are the girls,” said a man in the hallway.
“Mind if we snap a selfie?” asked the woman pushing a cart full of sausage rolls and butter mints. Before Sylvie could respond, she’d whipped out her phone. Everyone was talking about what happened at the Golden Whisk. In fact, if Fernand hadn’t been imprisoned, Sylvie couldn’t help but think he would’ve been pleased by the publicity.
Warm air wafted toward Sylvie as she stepped into a room.
A slender inspector in a gray jacket stood near the door. “Ladies.” He gestured toward two small kitchens with orange wallpaper and linoleum floors. Despite their pristine appearance, they definitely lacked the modern sheen of the skyboxes.
Sylvie and Georgia exchanged nervous glances.
Butterflies seemed to sink back into Sylvie’s stomach.
The inspector pointed to Sylvie. “You can take the kitchen on the right. You’ll find your test inside. Just follow the instructions.”
Sylvie took her spot in front of the stove.
“You’ll have forty-five minutes,” said the inspector.
The glass partition slid down, separating her kitchen from Georgia’s.
Sylvie turned to the sheet of paper, resting on the counter, her hands shaking.
Flesh and blood.
Steel and stone.
Mold this recipe,
Make it your own!
Sylvie stared at the final sentence.Make it my own?Weren’t tests black and white?Pass. Fail.
A frown spread across Georgia’s face. She seemed just as confused.
Sylvie’s eyes moved farther down.
Hacklet Meatloaf
Ground chuck
