With the Fire on High by Elizabeth Acevedo
Impossibilities
It’s Wednesday and we are working on a new recipe. I’m glad a week has passed and people have stopped asking to taste my pudding. I tuck the ends of my scarf in. Putting on my jacket and head wrap always makes me feel like I’m a ball player in my full uniform stepping onto the court.
“Today you’re working with saffron. This isn’t a regular spice; it stains and it’s costly. A friend brought it back to me from Europe, so be precise with your knife work. Find a classmate; there’s not enough to go around to do this individually.” Chef Ayden claps his hands together.
I look around the room as people pair up. At Malachi’s station, Pretty Leslie squeezes his arm and smiles up at him. He catches my gaze, gives me a player’s shrug like, I don’t know why the pretty girl keeps touching me, and looks back at Leslie.
Chef Ayden notices I’m still alone. “Emoni, it seems we have an odd number in class today. Will you work by yourself, or do you want to join another team and make a threesome?” I shake my head. Chef Ayden keeps putting me in the most awkward situations with his comments. I can’t even be mad at the snickers.
“I’m fine working on my own.”
Chef Ayden wasn’t wrong. It does take almost the entire period, and we have only ten minutes left to plate our rice dishes and taste test.
“Good job, class. The chorizo on your cutting board wasn’t the highest quality, but when it is, this paella is really something special, and a staple in most Andalusian homes.” He clears his throat. “I have an announcement to make.”
We all look up. Dang, is he quitting already? It’s only been three weeks.
Chef is still talking. “As you all know from the course description, we are set to travel to Sevilla, Spain, for spring break in late March.” My heart begins beating fast. For years, I’ve watched reruns of Anthony Bourdain shows where he tries food from all over the world. I’ve listened to chefs on Chopped talk about training in Paris and London. I’ve imagined myself traveling to far-flung places that have ingredients I didn’t know existed.
“I didn’t want to bring it up until we had the budget confirmed. The administration has returned with the initial numbers and I now have a sense of what each student needs to raise. Each of you is accountable for eight hundred dollars by December fifteenth in order to attend the trip. We will, of course, plan fund-raisers to help reduce that cost.”
An ache shoots from my heart. Eight hundred dollars in what, a little over two and half months? I won’t work enough hours to make even half of that by the deadline. Sure, some kids will be able to afford that without a fund-raiser: Amanda, whose parents own a small accounting firm in Port Richmond. Talib, who stays over in Chestnut Hill with his lawyer father. I know for sure I, and probably Pretty Leslie who’s from the same hood, can’t just come up with eight hundred dollars, money that would be better going toward the light bill and groceries or new shoes for Babygirl.
A week in Spain would change my life; it’d be huge, it’d be amazing . . . it’d be impossible. My stomach feels twisted in knots. I want to go so bad, but I grab that hope between my fingers and crush it like the strands of saffron, praying it doesn’t leave a smudge.