With the Fire on High by Elizabeth Acevedo
A Numbers Game
Those of us who have been in the kitchen prepping enter the back of the gym and join the rest of our classmates who were serving. Chef Ayden has just been announced and he walks onstage. He wipes his huge hand on his chef’s coat before shaking the principal’s. Although we are the ones who have been cooking, his coat has just as many puffs of flour and sauce stains as ours do.
“As many of you have been hearing throughout the night, in addition to being our annual Winter Dinner, this meal has also served as a fund-raiser for our Culinary Arts class, which will be traveling to Spain during spring break. They’ve been working diligently throughout the first two quarters to raise money, and this was their culminating fund-raiser.”
Principal Holderness opens an envelope. Richard throws an arm over Amanda’s shoulder. I squeeze my hands into fists and hold my breath.
“And the final tally for the evening is . . . two thousand dollars!”
I quickly tally all the amounts from the lunches and auction revenue with tonight’s money. At fifteen dollars a ticket we have about two thousand dollars left after we cover the cost of the food. With the new total each individual owes about two hundred seventy-five dollars.
That’s more money than I have saved, especially with the balance being due by the end of the week. I blink back the tears in my eyes. This is a happy moment, Emoni. Something to be proud of. Don’t let them see you cry.
“Please put your hands together for the students who fed you well tonight, Culinary Arts Class Section Three.” Principal Holderness gestures to us in the back and at once the dim room is flooded with light so the guests can see us. I squint to adjust my eyes to the light and now I can see the room too. ’Buela sits at one of the front tables, and when everyone stands and claps for us she bounces up and down on the balls of her feet as if she wants to jump. I see Ant and June from the barbershop in their T-shirts and jeans, clapping with enthusiasm. Julio must have reached out to them. Ms. Martinez from next door is nodding as if she knew we’d be able to accomplish this all along. Around the whole room I spot neighbors, block homies, ’Buela’s church friends, directors from the cultural center, shop owners, all here to support a dream.
Malachi puts his arm around me and Amanda grabs my hand. “We did this. We fed two hundred and fifty people and showed them why we deserve their time and attention and money,” she says.
I nod around the lump in my throat. I don’t know how I’ll come up with my portion of the money, but I’m glad my ideas made it easier for the rest of the class. And she’s right: we made something special happen here tonight.
The night ends soon after that, and although we need to go to the kitchen to finish cleaning up, most of the class is dapping up homies and saying hi to family members. I’m carving a path over to ’Buela when a woman steps in my way.
“Excuse me?” She looks familiar but I can’t place her face.
I nod at her. “Can I help you?”
She puts out her hand and when I grasp it her handshake is firm and her palm is rough. “Chef told me to speak to you? Emoni, right?”
I nod at her and let go of her hand. “I’m not sure if you remember me,” she says. And the moment she says it, I do remember. She’s the chef from the fancy restaurant ’Buela took me to, Café . . . Something?
“After you came to my restaurant I mentioned meeting you to Paul, Chef Ayden, and he could not stop saying how you’re a talented chef-in-training. I was happy to accept his invitation here tonight to try your food. He tells me you were in charge of the menu?”
I nod as if none of this is a big deal, although on the inside I’m a whirl of emotions. For a moment I forget about what money I have left to raise. Chef Ayden was boasting about me? I clear my throat. “Chef Ayden helped me a bit with the menu.”
The woman nods. “The food was delicious. I especially liked the bite of sweet-potato casserole.”
I smile at her. “If you thought that was good you should try an idea I have of adding chili aioli. The spice will layer well with the sweetness.” I realize I’m talking to her as if we are homegirls and immediately blush. I don’t want her to think I’m bragging.
She cocks her head at me. “Well, I’d love to try that one day. I wanted to give my compliments to the chef. Here’s my card. I think what you all are doing here is remarkable. Have a great time in Spain.”
She gives me the small square of cardstock. Lisa Williams, Owner and Executive Chef, Café Sorrel.
She gives me a little nod and moves in the direction of Chef Ayden. I stare at the card in my palm. I tuck it into my jacket pocket just as I’m swept up by ’Buela.
She hugs me so hard we rock back and forth. “I’m so proud of you, nena! This is amazing. The food was good and everybody looked happy. They all cleaned their plates. I could taste you in the sweet potato. You made those, right? They tasted like you. Even Baby Emma could tell.” I look at the stroller where Babygirl is licking the palm of her hand.
’Buela and I are still rocking on our feet, but she suddenly pulls back. “Oh, I’m being rude. Let me introduce you to someone.”
Behind her is a short, skinny man with one of those old-school fedora hats. He has glasses, and a huge mustache, and the sweetest eyes. “This is Joseph Jagoda. He works at Dr. Burke’s office. I went there to pass out flyers last week. The office made a donation!” I smile at Mr. Jagoda.
“Thanks so much for supporting us.” It seems Julio’s grassroots efforts have inspired ’Buela.
Then I’m being hugged up by Angelica, and Julio’s barbershop friends each give me daps and pat me on the back.
Babygirl smiles in her stroller and shakes her sticky hand at me. I break away from everyone and pick her up, letting her sweet baby scent ground me. I don’t know how I’ll get the rest of this money, but I know that I did more for this single day than I ever thought possible, and that’s something to be proud of.