“Well, never mind. There are always more potatoes.” He replaces the cubed potato back in the bowl and turns away.
Mebel is about to say something when the door opens once more, and several of her classmates stream into the kitchen,chatting with one another. They barely spare her a glance. Normally, Mebel would not move out of their way because she is the elder and they’re supposed to move out of her way, but then she recalls Gemma’s words, and as the youths walk in her direction, Mebel forces a smile and nod and steps out of their way. They don’t notice, of course, but it feels to Mebel as though she has jumped over a very strange hurdle. She catches Chef Clarke watching her, and when their eyes meet, he gives her the barest hint of a nod. She walks back to her table with a little smile, feeling far more accomplished this morning than the day of her graduation from USC.
When Gemma arrives, looking tired and out of sorts, Mebel waves at her.
Gemma’s entire face lights up. “Mebs, babe!” she calls out.
Heads lift, their classmates watching from the corners of their eyes with bemused expressions as Gemma hurries to Mebel’s side, loudly saying, “And how are you today?”
Mebel isn’t quite sure how she feels about “Mebs babe.” Part of her wants to admonish Gemma, but when she opens her mouth, what comes out is, “I’m fine, thank you, Gemma.” Because, in a very strange way, “Mebs babe” feels kind of badass. Someone named Mebel would only wear Chanel tweed, but someone called Mebs babe would rock a leather jacket (but only one from Gucci, because she has standards).
“My video came out fantastic. Thank you for your help,” Gemma chirps. She turns to the guy in front of them, who isn’t even trying to hide the fact that he’s listening in, and says, “Adam, Mebs here is helping me with my cooking videos.”
Adam glances at Mebel, and she sees that he’s blushing,probably because the beautiful Gemma is speaking to him. “Uh, cool,” he says in a way that makes it clear he’s trying very hard to seem cool.
Mebel is saved from having to come up with a socially acceptable answer by Chef Clarke clapping once for their attention. Everyone ceases their chattering and turns to face him.
“We have come to a very fun part of the class,” Chef Clarke says.
Ooh!Mebel thinks. She could do with a little bit of fun. Maybe they’ll make fresh pasta. That’s always been something Mebel fancied she might like to do. She likes the idea of rolling out the dough under her palms and scattering flour over it before cutting it into creative shapes.
Chef Clarke reaches down and lifts up a huge foam box. He drops it onto the kitchen counter with an ominous thump.
Uh-oh, Mebel’s brain goes.That does not look like it contains ingredients to make fresh pasta.
And indeed it does not. Chef Clarke opens it with a flourish and takes out a wriggling lobster. “Today, we are going to learn how to properly kill and cook lobster, as well as other seafood.”
Mebel’s hand flies to her mouth.
“Yes, Mebel? Did you have a question?” Chef Clarke says.
Every pair of eyes turns to Mebel. With some effort, Mebel tears her horrified gaze from the lobster, which is now frantically flapping its tail. “Uh…no. I love…lobster.”
Chef Clarke nods. He places the lobster on a chopping block and picks out his knife. “For this, you are going to use your chef’s knife. Hold it like so, and here is the most humane way to kill it—”
Mebel shuts her eyes, but she hears the crack of thelobster’s shell as Chef Clarke pushes his knife clean through its head.Oh god, she thinks.I’m going to be sick.
Then, from nowhere, another voice appears in her head.No you won’t, it says, quite calmly.You won’t be sick because you are here with a clear purpose: to win Henk back. So pick up your chef’s knife, damn it, and swing it right into that lobster’s head.
In a daze, Mebel watches as Chef Clarke dismantles the rest of the lobster, and all too soon, it is time for them to go up to the awful foam box and claim a lobster to murder. Twice, Mebel’s legs buckle under her and she almost falls over, but somehow, she manages to make it to the chef’s table. When she gets there, she finds that she can’t bear to look Chef Clarke in the eye, but then she glances down into the box—and that was a horrible mistake to make. It looks like a scene straight out of a nightmare, a box filled with crawling, flapping lobsters, their shells an ugly shade of bruised brown. Mebel can practically hear their mounting anxiety. The poor things probably heard their friend getting knifed outside the box. Chef Clarke is watching her with an expression that can only be described as “dubious amusement” and so, averting her gaze, Mebel reaches down into the box and grabs the nearest lobster. She flinches as her fingers close around its body, almost dropping it, but she manages not to.
“Ah, you picked the biggest one,” Chef Clarke says. “Good job.”
Mebel looks down in horror, but it is now too late to change her mind. She lifts the monstrous thing out of the box and, holding it as far away from her as possible, staggers back to her workstation, where she drops it onto her chopping board. The lobster, its claws tied up, scrabbles on the board, its tail flapping madly.Oh god, this is a nightmare.
“You all right, Mebs?” Gemma says.
Mebel doesn’t trust herself to answer without retching, so she just shrugs in reply.
“It’s all right,” Gemma says. “It’s very straightforward, really. Watch me.”
And Mebel watches as Gemma expertly dismantles her lobster. “How you are so good at that?”
“I’m a food influencer,” Gemma says simply. “Your lobster’s getting away.”
Mebel pounces on her lobster right before it flaps off the countertop. “Aduh,” she moans, “I don’t know how I do this. I am more comfortable eating lobster, not cooking it.”
“Yes, we know that. Don’t think too hard about it.”
