“Well, you will.” He tucked the towel back into his pocket. “But that’s okay. I’ll be here.”
There were two faces looking out at me from the windows on the KoBra. Rose wiped her eyes, and Hamlet was openly crying. Oh my God, we were a freaking mess!
My dad rubbed his hands together. “Ready to do this?”
“Yes! But wait, why did you change your mind?”
“You have a persuasive, annoying friend,” he said drily, glancing at the truck.
As if on cue, Rose stuck her head out the window, her eyes miraculously dry. “Okay, cool! Everyone’s happy and made-up—we only have an hour and a half until judging!”
My eyes widened at my dad. “Can we do it?”
He nodded, jaw slightly clenched. “Yeah, let’s do this.”
We scrambled into the truck. My dad tossed a KoBra T-shirt at me, and I started unbuttoning my flannel to put it on.
“CLARA!” Three voices shouted at me. I looked up to see everyone with their backs turned toward me.
“Calm down, puritans,” I said while pulling on the T-shirt. “Hamlet, don’t pretend like you don’t love it.”
There might as well have been a giant anime sweat drop over his head. He laughed nervously, looking at my dad. Pai made a strangled noise and banged the pots and pans around. “When Clara’s done stripping, let’s make our game plan,” he said.
We immediately kicked into gear. Pai and I were in charge of meats, Rose was in charge of rice and sides, and Hamlet was tasked with drinks and assembly. The truck grew warm once we had the grill and burners on, and an unpleasant sense of panic washed over everything as we scrambled.
And then suddenly: “Ten minutes until judging!” Hamlet yelled.
My dad and I looked at each other. I’d never seen him so nervous. I tried to distract him as I stirred the sauce with a whisk. “So, do you know how the judging works?”
He nodded. “I did my research while you were gone. In ten minutes, they’ll be coming up to the trucks, one by one, and trying our food. Did you know Stephen Fitch is a judge?” His voice almost squeaked.
“I did. That’s why I entered us. We’re basically custom-made for that man. Inventive cuisine unique to the LA immigrant experience? Check andcheck.”
And then our ten minutes were up. My dad rushed around to make sure the dishes looked perfect, adding touches here and there. Wiping off the edges of the plates with a towel and peering down at each one with hawk eyes. I went over to where Hamletwas pouring drinks and moved a cup closer to his ladle so it wouldn’t drip. He looked at me, his cheeks flushed from the heat and the excitement. “Thanks.”
I winked at him. He turned redder, and I gave him a quick kiss, pressing my cool lips to his hot mouth.
“Hey, you two! No kissing while handling food!” my dad shouted.
And then an air horn blared somewhere outside, making me cover my ears with both hands. Someone spoke into a megaphone: “Time’s up! Judges will be coming by.”
We looked at one another nervously. I fanned my face with a plate. Rose smoothed her hair repeatedly. Hamlet picked up a pen and spun it on his fingers. My dad took a long swig of water from a Tupperware container.
After a few minutes, I stuck my head out the window to see where the judges were. There were about twenty trucks in this competition so this was going to takeforever.
My dad cleared his throat. “Well, everyone. I just wanted to say thanks. Thanks for helping me this entire summer, even if you were forced. And thanks so much for this.” He glanced at me. “I never would have done it if Clara hadn’t signed me up. She was right about that.”
I fanned myself with a paper plate. “I’m always right.”
“And humble,” added Rose.
Hamlet threw an arm around my dad. “You’re welcome, Adrian, although all I did was help today.”
My dad threw me a sly look. “You’ve helped in other ways.”
For Pete’s sake.
Suddenly, there was a rap on the window. We froze and Rose came to her senses first, rushing over with a huge smile, ready to charm. “Hi there!”
