Lexi Morrison swept through the doors of Stovall Middle School along with a gust of spring wind. She waved at the secretary as she sailed down the hall to the cafeteria to volunteer in her sister’s class. She hated being late, but it couldn’t be helped. Professor Thompson had kept her behind to compliment her work. It would have been unspeakably rude not to listen, especially since she was counting on him to give her a reference once she’d completed her MBA.
“Lexi, there you are,” called Mrs. Geffen as Lexi shouldered her way through the double doors into the cafeteria.
“Sorry I’m late,” she whispered to the teacher. The second the words left her lips, Lexi realized the room was silent, which was unusual when over thirty teenagers were assembled in one place.
Then Lexi saw why. At the front of the room was a tall man with dark hair and striking blue eyes. He wore a navy shirt with Black Jack’s emblazoned in red on the pocket. He must be the guest chef who was scheduled to demonstrate today.
“Mr. Westcott was just telling us that he learned to cook in the C.I.A.,” Mrs. Geffen told her in a voice everyone could hear.
Lexi nodded and understood what he meant, but she couldn’t imagine the students would catch on. No doubt they assumed he’d been in the Central Intelligence Agency.
She quickly glanced around the room to locate her younger sister, Amber. Volunteering once a week in Amber’s culinary arts class was the commitment Lexi had made to encourage Amber with her studies. This cooking class was an elective and the only subject that interested her. Unlike Amber, Lexi had always been in advance-placement classes and loved school as much as her sister hated it.
She spotted Amber in the front row. Her sister was always so eager to get to this class that she’d probably been waiting for the doors to open. Her honey-brown head tilted slightly toward the guest chef, then turned and caught Lexi’s eye. “Hot,” she mouthed.
So that’s why her sister had been in such a rush to get here. Lexi thought the guy looked arrogant. He was frowning at her. She’d obviously interrupted and he didn’t appreciate it.
“Class,” Mrs. Geffen said as the group began to whisper, “Mr. Westcott was telling us about his training. Let’s listen to what he has to say.”
The teacher was short and packed into a moss-green suit that she’d worn almost every Wednesday that Lexi had volunteered.
“Someone asked where I learned to cook,” the chef repeated.
Lexi recalled Brad Westcott was the owner and executive chef of Black Jack’s, one of the most successful restaurants in Houston. It was also one of the few that didn’t purchase produce from City Seeds, Lexi’s gourmet-vegetable operation.
“Like a lot of you,” he said in a voice that indicated he was at ease with inner-city kids, “I used to think cooking was tossing something in the microwave.”
The students chuckled and elbowed each other, especially the boys. Many of them came from Mexico or South America and regarded cooking as women’s work. They were in this class because their other elective choices had been filled.
“Then I went into the army,” he continued.
That statement got the boys’ undivided attention. Many of them would join when they were old enough.
“I was assigned to the officers’ mess hall. That’s what they call the kitchen—the mess hall. Mostly I peeled potatoes, carrots—”
“What about the C.I.A.?” yelled one of the boys.
“The army is where I became interested in cooking,” Brad continued, ignoring the interruption. “When I got out, I had enough money to enroll in the C.I.A. The Culinary Institute of America right here in Houston.”
Lexi smiled, but it took a few seconds before the light dawned on the rest of the students. The girls giggled while the boys rolled their eyes or elbowed each other.
Their reactions didn’t bother Brad Westcott. “Over half the students at the culinary institute were men. Top chefs in many restaurants are men. Lots of the celebrity chefs on television are men.”
The boys seemed more interested. “A good chef can make a lot of money,” Brad continued. “Plus, you meet lots of interesting people, especially women.”
Now they were impressed. Money was a never-ending concern in the inner city. The word money got the boys’ attention, but mentioning women didn’t hurt. They might try to deny their interest in the opposite sex, but they didn’t fool anyone.
“Something to think about,” Brad told them with a canted smile that made him look mischievous. “Today, I’m going to show you how to make an easy treat. Has everyone washed their hands?”
Lexi was sure they had. It was required before any class where food was to be prepared, and special monitors at the door checked the students. In addition, the tables had been covered with clean butcher paper to prevent spreading germs.
“You’re going to learn how to make chocolate truffle balls.”
There were a few snickers from the boys and Lexi groaned inwardly, but not for the same reason. No doubt they thought truffles sounded like a sissy word, even though most of them probably had no idea what it meant. Lexi knew her little sister adored desserts—especially chocolate.
Amber had been diagnosed with juvenile diabetes when she was just seven. She realized sweets weren’t good for her, but she often ignored the doctors’ warnings. The girl loved to cook and she especially liked to bake.
Lexi and Aunt Callie had tried to encourage Amber to prepare healthy food, but since Aunt Callie’s death, she had become more difficult. She indulged her sweet tooth even though she was aware of the health risks. If a hyperglycemic attack resulted, her blood sugar would suddenly spike, and she would need a dose of insulin or a trip to the E.R.
Amber resented Lexi being named her legal guardian. Lexi couldn’t understand her younger sister’s attitude. After all, since the death of their parents, Lexi had been more of a mother to Amber than Aunt Callie. Their aunt’s death and the judge’s decree had merely formalized the arrangement. But at fourteen, Amber believed she was old enough to take care of herself.
Seeming to realize Lexi was thinking about her, Amber turned and flashed playful green eyes that were exactly like Lexi’s. Then she turned back to the two boys who would be her partners for the cooking assignment. How could Amber be so sure of herself? Lexi wondered.
Lexi was almost ten years older than her sister and had excelled in school, especially in math. Amber never worried about her grades or about having diabetes. She took everything with an “oh, well,” attitude. She didn’t seem to realize—or care—that they lived one step from being homeless.
When Aunt Callie died, she’d left them the house. It no longer had a mortgage, but there were property taxes and utilities, plus college tuition, to be paid. Lexi worked two jobs to make ends meet while she attended college. The last thing she needed was for Amber to become ill from an improper diet.
“Do you sell vegetables to Mr. Westcott?” whispered Mrs. Zamora. She was one of the mothers who regularly volunteered to help Mrs. Geffen on cooking days.
“No. I think Black Jack’s is more casual, less gourmet,” Lexi responded, although she wasn’t really sure. She couldn’t afford to eat out, so she’d never been in the trendy restaurant.
“That’s too bad,” Mrs. Zamora said almost wistfully with a glance at the visiting chef.
Lexi didn’t need to look at him again to know that most women—not just girls Amber’s age—would find the guy attractive. He was tall and powerfully built, with a ready smile and blue eyes that radiated a certain sparkle.
“Black Jack’s probably doesn’t serve baby vegetables and exotic greens,” she told Mrs. Zamora. Lexi was justifiably proud of the unusual vegetables she raised in the backyard behind the house they’d inherited. It was in an older part of Houston where homes had large yards. Most of the neighboring houses had been split into multi-family homes with shared rear yards.
Luckily, Aunt Callie had kept the family home intact and used the yard to raise market vegetables to sell. After her death, Lexi had realized there was more money to be made in smaller “baby” vegetables that could be sold directly to restaurants.
“I was at Black Jack’s once,” Mrs. Zamora said. “For my husband’s company’s party. Great ribs.”
“Right,” Lexi responded, her eyes on the chef. Ribs and steak. Texas food.
Right now, Brad was showing the class how to roll the chocolate mixture into small balls. “Does anyone know what a truffle is?”
Lexi doubted many of the students would, but to her surprise Amber’s hand immediately shot up. Brad nodded at her and Amber answered, “A truffle is in the mushroom family. It’s brown and grows mostly in deep forests. Pigs hunt them by sniffing them out. They’re very expensive.”
The class laughed uproariously, as if Amber had just told an off-color joke.
“That’s right,” Brad’s voice cut through the noise. “Truffles are hard to find and rare. That’s why they’re so expensive.”
Amber must have read about wild truffles in one of her cookbooks. Why she couldn’t devote as much attention to her other studies mystified Lexi.
“We call this chocolate a truffle because it’s brown and roundish,” Brad continued. “You don’t have to roll a perfectly round truffle. Just make them about the same size.”
Lexi, Mrs. Zamora and Mrs. Geffen walked around the room helping any students who were having problems. It was a simple assignment. The only ones who asked for help really wanted attention. Lexi often found this true when she volunteered.
After they formed the truffle balls, the class was shown how to roll them in cocoa powder and place them on cookie sheets for cooling in the commercial-size refrigerator. Everyone seemed to be having a lot of fun. Of course, that meant the noise level in the cafeteria shot into the stratosphere.
Brad Westcott didn’t seem to mind. He made his way around the room to speak encouragingly to the students. Lexi caught him looking at her several times.
“I hear he’s one of the chefs being featured on a television program about rising stars in the restaurant business,” Mrs. Geffen whispered as the students lined up to put their cookie sheets into the refrigerator.
“Really?” Lexi said, but she wasn’t surprised. Black Jack’s had opened to rave reviews and become an overnight sensation.
What Lexi didn’t understand was why the chef had chosen to demonstrate chocolate truffles. Mrs. Geffen’s class was supposed to feature healthy food.
Many students, like Amber, had chosen culinary arts as an elective because of their previous experience in Recipe for Success back in elementary school. The program had given them an appreciation for growing and preparing food.
“How many of you know about my restaurant, Black Jack’s?” Brad asked after the students had gone back to their seats.
Most of the group raised their hands. Lexi considered it tactful of him not to ask how many had eaten there. Fast-food places were the extent of most of their dining experiences.
“Good,” Brad said. “We’re known for ribs and steaks, but also for fabulous desserts. I’m sponsoring a contest for middle-school students organized by the Chef’s Association. The grand prize will be a thousand dollars and a summer internship with my pastry chef for the student who creates the best new dessert.”
“An internship is an opportunity to work alongside a professional,” Mrs. Geffen told them. “You learn by doing.”
“You won’t get paid for your work,” Brad added.
There were some moans from the boys, but most of the students were interested. Especially Amber. She was beaming and whispering to the students seated beside her.
Great. Just what Lexi needed. Summer was her busiest season in the garden and her most profitable. She wanted Amber to go to summer school to boost her grades and help with City Seeds in her free time. Spending hours in the kitchen creating a new dessert would be catastrophic for her health and no help in raising the money they needed so much. Besides, as far as Lexi was concerned, the world had too many desserts.
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