Flint noticed the onions.
“Thought you said onions were basic,” he called.
“I said sad onions were basic.”
“What makes those different?”
“They’ve had an education.”
His eyes creased at the corners.
I looked away before that tiny reaction became more distracting than an open flame.
Caprice clapped once. “Places. Round Two intro in three, two—”
“Wait!” a woman called from the access path.
Mandy Klein came into the clearing with four kids trailing behind her like a snack-fueled weather event. Mandy wore hiking shorts, a camp T-shirt, and the easy, brisk expression of a woman who could locate bug spray, bandage a knee, and detect contraband candy at fifty paces.
“Sorry we’re late,” Mandy said. “Benny had a sock situation.”
Benny, the tallest of the group, lifted one foot. “It had a burr in it.”
“It had drama,” said the girl with dark pigtails and purple-framed glasses.
“Lily,” Mandy warned.
“I’m providing context.”
Caprice strode toward them, headset wire bouncing. “Mandy Klein, perfect timing. You’re on release forms, right?”
Mandy gave her a look. “You emailed them three times and texted once in all caps.”
“Great. Love a paper trail.” Caprice crouched slightly to address the kids. “You four are our guest taste-testers for Round Two. Honest reactions, clear words, and no grabbing hot food.”
A boy with a camo backpack studied Flint’s station. “Is that bacon?”
Flint nodded. “It is.”
The boy turned to Mandy. “I can be honest about bacon.”
“That’s Tyler,” Mandy said. “Honesty isn’t his problem.”
The smallest girl, Genevieve, waved at me. “Are you the lady with fancy s’mores?”
“I prefer gourmet campfire-food chef,” I said, “but yes, tragically, I’m also the lady who lost to a marshmallow.”
Lily pushed her glasses up her nose. “Mandy said the marshmallow had structural integrity.”
I looked at Mandy.
Mandy smiled with too much innocence. “Children value truth.”
Flint made a low sound from his station.
I pointed a pair of tongs at him. “Don’t enjoy this.”
“I’m not.”
