We sit down to eat as a crew, all but Schmidt. Not that anyone seems fazed. The chili is passed around, Davies piling a heap on his spicy rice.
I take a small amount of chili and a ton of salad before refilling the water glass I drained immediately after sitting down.
When nobody makes a move to eat, Davies looks to me. “Fine, I’ll go first.” He shovels a huge mouthful of rice and chili into his mouth.
The entire table stares as his face turns red. He squints and chews, his throat moving in erratic movements.
Feeling like utter shit that Davies is the only one going through this, I shovel a mouthful in as every gaze shifts to me.
The moment the heat hits, I get it.
This is their way of initiating us.
It’s a prank.
I swallow the mouthful. There’s no way in hell I’m failing a damn hazing. I spoon another mouthful in, holding Sanderson’s gaze.
His eyebrows shoot to his hairline.
I try to swallow it down but gag.
I retch, and Owens shakes her head, hand over her mouth as her shoulders tremble.
Yeah, nah.
Mouth on fire and watering profusely, I gap it to the sink and spit it out. I tilt my head, running the cold water over my lips and tongue, swallowing down as much as I can catch.
Davies bolts for the bathroom, hand over his mouth.
The kitchen erupts into laughter as I stand back up and turn to face them, tea towel drying my wet face. Everyone is in stitches.
Everyone but Hammond.
He sits still, arms crossed, as he watches me.
I meet his intense stare, and I have no idea why, but I stick my tongue out like a complete child.
Owens all but falls off her chair. Sanderson claps his hands over his head, tossing his head back in a chuckle.
“What’s so funny?”
The laughter peters out as Schmidt comes to a stop by the fridge, tugging it open and pulling out a bottle of water.
“Only Sandy’s rank cooking, bud.” Owens stands and takes the pot back to the stove before sliding out a tray of roast chicken and throwing it in the oven. “Tennison, we have real food, if you still have an appetite.”
“Appetite, yes. Taste buds, nada.”
She slaps a hand on my shoulder. “Girl, you should have seen your face.”
She spirals into another fit of chuckles, tears welling in her eyes as she clutches her side.
Good, hope you have a stitch.I’m not going to be able to taste anything for days.
Davies returns, wiping sweat from his brow that I feel on my own, but I refuse to give them any more ammunition than I already have.
“What’s wrong with the chili?” Schmidt asks.
Sandy rises. “It’s?—”
