“You left it in the staff fridge a couple days ago, remember? I tried one yesterday.” She grinned, showing the gap between her front teeth. “Girl, that thing was so good I almost cried. Where’d you learn to bake like that?”
“I’m self-taught,” I said, still nervous. “It’s just something I do on the side.”
“Just something?” Cookie laughed. “Baby, that’s a gift. Listen, I want to sell these as a special this week. Put them on the menu, see how they do.”
I blinked. “Seriously?”
“Dead serious. People come here for soul food, right? Well, these rolls got soul. They gotflavor. They’re different.” She set the container down. “How many can you make?”
My mind was already calculating. Ingredients, time, space. “If I have access to the kitchen after hours… maybe three dozen a day? Maybe more if I prep ahead.”
“Perfect. Let’s start small. Bring me three dozen Friday, we’ll price them at $12 each, and see what happens.”
“Sounds good.”
“But here’s the thing,” Cookie said, her voice dropping lower. “Let’s not tell Larry you baked them until they sell out. That way, he can’t take credit or try to lowball you on the price. Once they’re gone and customers are asking for more,thenwe tell him. Make it seem like his idea to keep them on the menu permanently.”
I stared at her, this woman who barely knew me, who was willing to scheme against our boss just to give me a shot.
“Cookie, I… thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Just bring me those rolls.” She winked. “You can use the kitchen after we close. Fat-ass Larry usually goes home around 9:30, or he heads to the strip club. Either way, you’ll have the place to yourself until about 6 AM when the morning prep starts.”
“I’ll be here,” I said, already mentally running through my recipe. “Tomorrow night. I’ll bring everything I need.”
“That’s my girl.” Cookie squeezed my shoulder. “Now get out of here. Go home to that baby of yours.”
I took the bus home, my mind buzzing with possibilities. If they sold well, if Larry agreed to keep them on the menu, if customers kept coming back…
This could be it. This could be the break I needed. I hated taking the bus, but my car needed new brakes. It’d been sitting for the last couple of months.
When I got to my building, I headed straight down the hall to Brandi’s apartment. I was so caught up in my thoughts about the Zinnamon rolls that I almost missed Yusef when Brandi opened the door. He was sitting on her couch, his backpack at his feet, looking small in a way that made my chest tighten.
“Hey, Yu,” I said, walking over to him. “You ready to go home?”
He nodded but didn’t look up.
That’s when I saw it. A dark purple bruise on his left cheek, the skin around it slightly swollen.
I dropped to my knees in front of him, my hands immediately going to his face.
“Yusef. What happened? Who did this to you?”
He pulled away, his jaw tight. “Nobody.”
“Don’t lie to me. Was it those boys again?”
“I said it’s nobody!” His voice cracked, and I saw the shimmer of tears in his eyes before he blinked them away.
Brandi stood in the doorway, arms crossed, looking grim. “It’s escalated, Zahara. Today they jumped him after school. Three of them.”
My blood went from cold to boiling. I knew about the bullying—the name-calling, the pushing, the stolen lunch money. I’d been dealing with it for months, calling the school, talking to teachers who did nothing, trying to coach Yusef through it. But this? This was different.
“Three? They put their hands on you?” I turned back to Yusef, my voice rising. “Baby, where were the teachers?”
“They waited until he left campus.” Brandi’s voice was gentle but firm.
“Nigel saw it happen. They were calling him the usual names—saying he talks funny, that he’s gay. Then one of them shoved him and he fell. That’s when they really got him.”
