The day that Mom and I were leaving for the Southern Living Cook-Off in Charleston, everybody was waiting in our town house’s small front yard to show their support and see Mom and me off to the airport.
Aunt Liz brought me a Benedictine sandwich in a brown paper sack, in case I got hungry on the plane.
Dad and Suzanne—and Baby Robert—brought a mini fire extinguisher with a big red bow on it, which was, they said, in case I forgot something in the oven during the cook-off. We all laughed. (I left my fire extinguisher at home.)
Keene held flowers, and I might’ve thought they were for Mom, except that they were purple. I thanked him. And then he hugged me, which made me think, Hey, maybe he likes me. But then again, probably not. How could he? I decided not to think about that any more. Today.
Zach showed up and brought me a new—musical—alarm clock.
Miyoko was there, too, with Mrs. Hoshi—who gave me a Japanese cookbook I could read if I got bored on the plane.
Mom was snapping pictures of Miyoko and me when I overheard Mrs. Hoshi, standing off to the side, talking to Keene.
“They’re an unlikely pair, aren’t they?” Mrs. Hoshi said.
“Are they?” Keene said.
“Yes,” Mrs. Hoshi said certainly. “Miyoko’s a very serious girl—she leaves for Super-Scholars Camp tomorrow.”
I looked over at them: Keene seemed impressed.
Mrs. Hoshi said, “Meanwhile, Fizzy is off to some cooking contest.”
Keene’s brow furrowed and he turned to stare at Mrs. Hoshi.
She looked at her watch and then fanned her face with her hand.
I imagined myself walking over to them and saying, You look so nice today, Mrs. Hoshi . . . like, really, especially nice—you must be wearing your Big Booty Judy Bloomers—right? That made me smile—a real smile—and I heard Mom’s camera click, capturing my expression at this thought forever.
Then I heard Keene say, “Miyoko is a remarkable young lady.”
I glanced back at them and Mrs. Hoshi was nodding in agreement.
“But Fizzy is remarkable, too,” Keene added. “If you think otherwise, you’re underestimating her, believe me. This isn’t just ‘some cooking contest.’ It’s the toughest cooking contest in the country, and Fizzy’s worked hard to qualify for it—competing against adults, many of whom are professional chefs.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mrs. Hoshi stand up a little straighter. “Of course,” she said.
I smiled at Keene.
He smiled back.
Zach slipped in behind Miyoko and me and tried to photo-bomb Mom’s pictures by making funny faces and holding up bunny ears behind our heads. Mom kept snapping away. She snapped pictures of everybody until it was time for us to go.
We hugged everybody again, said our good-byes, and promised to call as soon as we had news. I really hoped it would be good news, because even though I appreciated everybody showing up like this, I also felt obligated to do well—for them—since they’d made such a fuss over me. Even bigger than the fuss was the fact that members of both sides of my family had knowingly, voluntarily shown up in the same place at the same time—while smiling!—for me.