“One hour and a half,” Mebel counters. Inside, she is crowing. This Caucasian man thinks he can outbargain her? A Chinese mother? Hah! Even his ancestors would be shaking their heads and saying,My dear boy, you need to know your own limits.
Sure enough, Chef Clarke seems to have realized this as well. With a defeated nod, he says, “All right. One and a half hours extra time on the day of the banquet.”
“And you give me brainstorm also.”
“That too, yes.”
They shake hands, and Mebel leaves the room feeling, if not quite victorious, then at the very least somewhat mollified that she has evened out the playing field a little.
Back in her room, Mebel sits at her desk and drums her fingernails on the wooden surface. For the first time, her tiny room feels big. She looks around the space and realizes what it’s missing: Gemma. If this were any other normal day, Gemma would be in here, rummaging through Mebel’s closet shamelessly, putting on her dresses and her shoes while talking nonstop. Mebel used to think it was irritating as hell, but now, the room feels painfully silent without Gemma.
With a sigh of frustration, Mebel gets up and goes to Bella’s room. She’ll invite Bella over for a cup of tea and a very animated discussion about Gemma’s sudden disappearance. She knocks at Bella’s door and hears footsteps. A moment later, Bella opens the door a crack.
“Oh, hey, Mebs,” she says.
“Bella, come talk to me. I want to come in.”
Bella opens the door wider, letting Mebel in. Her room is pristine compared to Gemma’s. She doesn’t own as much stuff, for one, and whatever she does own has been lined up neatly. “What’s up?”
Mebel perches on a chair while Bella sits at the foot of her bed. “Did you hear about Gemma leaving? Is very strange, right?”
“Yeah, I heard from the grapevine.”
“What grapevine?”
Bella shrugs. “I dunno, people were talking about it. Like you are.”
It hurts Mebel to think of people talking about this without telling her. Weren’t they friends? Fortunately, she has enough presence of mind to not ask that aloud, since it would most definitely make her sound like a petulant teen.Move on from this part of the topic, her mind warns her.
“Have you hear anything from her?” she says.
“Nope. And I’m kinda mad about it. She should’ve said something. Who leaves just like that, without even so much as a goodbye?”
“Is strange, right?” Mebel cries. “I try to message her and look, only one tick. I try to call her and it says her number is not in service. I am very worried, I think something happen to her.”
Bella blows out her breath through her mouth. “I dunno, Mebs. I think she’s just a flake. My guess is she got tired, she wanted to quit the school, and she was too embarrassed to tell us.”
“No, that doesn’t sound like Gemma. Why are you so—” Mebel shakes her head, trying to find the right words to call outhow uncaring Bella is being without offending her. Her gaze lands on Bella’s laptop, on which is a document. Without meaning to, Mebel reads it. She gets as far as “Venison with rosemary and truffle essence smoke” before Bella snaps the laptop shut abruptly, making Mebel jump.
“That’s private,” Bella says.
“Sorry,” Mebel says, flustered. She really hadn’t meant to snoop; her eyes had settled on the screen without her brain telling them to. But then again, why the big secret? It’s not like Mebel had stumbled upon a diary entry, for goodness’ sake. “Why so secretive?” she blurts out. “Is for the banquet, right? Who cares if I know what you are making? I am happy to share with you what I am making for my course.”
“Mebs,” Bella groans. “Do you really not get it?” She glares at Mebel, who looks back with all the innocence in the world. Grumbling, Bella says, “Look, you’re here on a bit of a lark, aren’t you?”
“What you mean?” Mebel is trying really hard not to feel offended, but it is somewhat of a challenge in this moment.
“Well, you’re here to learn to cook fancy dishes so you can win back your philandering husband,” Bella says.
“We been married forty years,” Mebel says. “Is it so bad that I want to win my old life back?”
“I mean…I wouldn’t have made that choice myself, but whatever, not the point. The point is,” Bella says, “you’re not here to become a chef. But the rest of us are. This is all I’ve got, Mebs. I was terrible at school. Failed all my subjects. I barely scraped by with my A levels. I don’t have any prospects. If I flunk out of culinary school, I’m fucked.”
Mebel gapes at Bella. Bella, who with her sullen nature andstraightforward, no-nonsense attitude, had led Mebel to believe that she is the most confident kid Mebel has come across. “Bella, you have such bright future ahead.”
“I really don’t. I took out loans to come here. My parents could’ve helped me out with it, but they didn’t, and you know why?” Bella crosses her arms in front of her.
Mebel shakes her head.
