“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that.” It was something I had talked about when we were still in the planning stage of the restaurant. “I can’t believe you remembered.”

  “What do you think? We could go in there under the guise of looking for an apprentice. Then we can ask him questions about the students, the program, maybe how the budget works, if things seem to flow that way.”

  “What does the budget have to do with it?”

  “I don’t know, but we can just ask questions, and maybe it will seem more natural in the conversation.”

  “Alrighty, I will call him to set something up, but I also think we should make this happen and actually bring someone in. I think it would be awesome.”

  I thought back to the snickerdoodles I had at the art festival a few months ago from the Culinary Arts School booth. One of the students had made them. They were some of the best I had ever had. Even today, the craving for them was gnawing at me.

  I wonder if she was still a student there. We could really use that kind of talent here.

  “Great. I’ll let you handle the kitchen questions, and I can ask the business ones.”

  “It’s a plan then.” I nodded and stood to go prep for the day.

  Calling Duncan Jones would have to wait until this afternoon once the lunch rush had ended. At least it would give me some time to think about what we would want in an apprentice and how many we should hire. One pastry and one for the line, I think, could work.

  I was thankful they had year-round school, because it was summer, and most schools would be closed. They had different breaks than the more traditional school year. Since most of the students had troubled backgrounds, this was a good schedule, as it kept them busy. Well, at least gave them less chances to get into trouble.

  Hours later, the cooking was done, and Parker had come in for the evening shift. I had formulated a plan and now just needed to call Mr. Jones to ask him about it.

  I washed my hands and headed into the office. Cullen and Noah were discussing the day. I smiled, grabbed my stuff, and then headed out. There wasn’t much for me to do now that my team was running so well. I loved it.

  I stopped by the bar for a peach lemonade to-go, then I was on my way. In the car, I connected my phone to bluetooth and pushed the button labeled Duncan Jones.

  “Hello, this is Duncan Jones.” His voice came over the speakers.

  “Hi, Mr. Jones. This is Jessica Vasquez. How are you?”

  “Oh, Jessie, it’s nice to hear from you. I’m well. How are you?”

  “I’m good.”

  “So, what can I do for you?” He asked.

  “I wanted to see if I could come by and talk to you about something we are thinking about starting at the restaurant.”

  “Oh, that sounds interesting. What are you thinking?”

  “Well, my general manager and I think it would be a nice partnership with the school to start an apprenticeship. We would want one pastry and one line cook apprentice that would work alongside of my employees and learn from them.”

  “That would be amazing. It would open up a lot of opportunities for the students and maybe other restaurant owners would hear and be interested as well. Yes, Jessie, yes, let’s make this happen.”

  “Great. Can we set up a time for Noah and me to come by to discuss it with you? Maybe I can show him around a bit, and we can work out details with you.”

  “Definitely. Could you come by on Friday, say around 10 am?”

  I was sure I could get June or Parker to work my shift so I could go during school hours. Cullen was going to be doing a full shift that day for Noah, so I thought we could do this.

  “Yes, we’ll be there.”

  After another few minutes of small talk, we hung up. I hit the button for Noah.

  “Miss me already?” He laughed.

  “Um, yeah, that’s it.” I chuckled. “But I wanted to let you know I talked to Mr. Jones. He said we could come by Friday morning around ten. Would that work for you?”

  “Yeah, I was going to help April with something, but I’ll ask to meet her later.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, it wasn’t urgent.”

  “Great!”

  “See ya tomorrow.”

  After we hung up, I stared forward watching the cars, wondering if I should call Aunt Rita. I didn’t remember her ex-boyfriend, Martin Rivera, but Vee had a better memory of these things.

  But if I asked her, it would tip her off that something was going on. How would I explain why I needed to know? If she never dated a Martin Rivera who was a bank manager, it would be even tougher to explain.

  Maybe if we went to Sunday dinner, I would see if I could find time to bring it up, but over the phone wasn’t the right way.

  Chapter Twelve

  Noah met me at the school. I arrived as he was parking. I found a spot two down from him. Once I was parked, Noah walked to my car.

  “Good morning.” I greeted, as I gathered my purse and climbed out of my car.

  “Morning.”

  “You ready?”

  “Yep, are you?”

  “I think so. I’m oddly nervous about this. It feels deceptive.”

  I looked up at my alma mater. It looked oddly small and yet so very familiar with the weathered concrete exterior and dingy windows. It wasn’t exactly inviting from this view, but I knew how welcoming it had been to this lost kid once upon a time.

  “But it’s not. You are offering two students a chance to work at one of the most popular restaurants under you, an award-winning chef.”

  “Okay, true, true, but the rest of it feels … icky.”

  “Agree to disagree.” He said. “My friend was killed. I want answers.”

  I nodded as we reached the door. We were greeted by the school’s secretary, Shirley Wolfe.

  “Jessica Vasquez! I can’t believe it. We have a celebrity in our building!” She squealed and came around the counter to hug me.

  “Oh, it’s so nice to see you, Ms. Wolfe.”

  “Oh, please, call me Shirley.”

  “Okay, thank you.” I smiled. “This is my friend and general manager, Noah Linwood. We’re here to meet with Mr. Jones.”

  “Oh, yes, yes, of course. Duncan mentioned y’all were coming in to talk to some of the students about an apprenticeship or something.”

  “Yes, that’s right. I thought it would be a good opportunity to help and mentor some of the students.”

  “Well, aren’t you the best. I’ll just need to see your license and get you checked in.” She jogged around the counter to her computer.

  I took her in. The woman who had been like a favorite auntie to us students. She always had candy on her desk or a spare umbrella if you didn’t have one.

  She had aged well for sixty-eight. Not looking a day over fifty. Hardly a wrinkle, dark hair, and was still quite quick and nimble.

  We handed over our driver’s license. She scanned it into a little printer, which I could see populated something on her screen while simultaneously printing out a sticky name badge.

  “I just can’t believe you are here! It has been so long.”

  “I know. I have been meaning to get over here, but the restaurant has kept me quite busy this past year. From getting it set up to running it the past five months or so.”

  “Well, we are just so proud of you around here. I haven’t made it out there to eat yet myself, but everyone raves about it, especially that alphabet soup.”

  “Yeah, that’s a favorite. You’ll need to come by.”

  “I will definitely make an effort to get over there.”

  “Yes, just let me know if you do. I’ll come say hi.”

  “I will.” She smiled, handing us each a badge and our licenses back. “Well, here you are. You know the way, I assume.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “My pleasure, and it was so good to see you again.” She waved. “Oh, and nice to meet you, Noah.”

  He smiled as we walked out into the hallway. I could smell a mix of things, from motor oil to hairspray mixed with a sweet banana smell.

  Oh, I hope they have banana bread or muffins.

  We arrived at the school’s culinary classroom. It was like stepping back in time. I immediately became that sixteen-year-old rebel who came here to avoid punishment. It changed my life and allowed me to find my passion.

  The students were huddled around one of the cooking stations where Mr. Jones was demonstrating how to cut up a whole chicken.

  “Then if you lift the chicken a bit, cutting downward through the rib cage and into the shoulder joints, which will separate the breast from the back.”

  The students took notes and then waited for the next step.

  “Um, hello.” I said before he started cutting again. I didn’t want to distract him.

  “Oh, Chef Jessica and Mr. Noah Linwood are here from the Crock Pot restaurant. I believe you all remember me talking about them, and how Jess was one of my former students.” Mr. Jones said.

  The students nodded. Some smiled, some simply stared.

  He smiled at us. “We are happy to have you both. Please pull up a stool and join us. We are just finishing up this lesson and then I’ll have them break up into groups to practice.”

  “Fun.”

  Noah and I pulled up stools near the station to watch from the sidelines. Mr. Jones showed how to cut the breasts and then cut them each into two.

  “And there you have it. A whole chicken cut down into ten pieces. As I mentioned, you can leave the legs and drumsticks together to make a leg quarter. Also, cutting the breasts into two pieces is optional. It just depends on what you are cooking.” He smiled over at me. “Now, please break up into your teams and practice. Chef Jessica and I will be available to assist where necessary.” He winked at me.

  “Yes, sir.” They said in unison and then divided up into three-person teams, moving to their assigned work station to begin working.

  “Remember this?” He asked, as he washed up his station, then his hands.

  “I do. It was right after this that I made my first pot of caldo de pollo. My granny was so proud that I had learned her recipe and even cut up my chicken like she does.”

  “That’s what I hope everyone of them can learn. To take these lessons and apply them to their real lives. Just like you, they come from rough family situations, food insecurities, family members on drugs or in prison. You know.”

  “Oh, yes, I do.”

  I was one of those with a family member in prison. No idea how different my life would have been had my father not killed that man. It was something I had thought about often when I was a teenager, but not as much now as an adult.

  “Let’s do a lap to check progress and then we can discuss business.”

  Noah followed us as we moved around the four stations of students. One group was arguing about the directions.

  I recognized one of the students as the baker of the snickerdoodles I had enjoyed so much at the festival. So, I stopped there as Mr. Jones and Noah moved on. I wanted to observe her a bit.

  She was the one doing the cutting, and the one that knew how to cut the legs off first. There were actually many ways to do it, but given the lesson, she knew to follow his direction.

  “He said to cut along here.” One was saying.

  “No, we need to cut the legs off first.” The snickerdoodle baker argued.

  “Chef?” the last girl asked me.

  “Well, you are both sort of right. Typically, with this method, we like to cut the legs, including the thighs, off first, and then you will cut along the ribs there.” I pointed.

  “Ooohhh.” They got back to work.

  She easily cut the leg quarters, then separated the breasts from the ribs. No hesitation, no fear. All skills. I definitely wanted her to come work for us, but I would need to see others. After a moment, I moved to the next station. Nobody caught my attention here, but the one cutting nearly lost a finger.

  “Whoa, hold.” I said. “Move your hand and curl that finger back. There you go.”

  “Thanks, Chef.”

  “Not a problem. Just keep an eye and focus. Nobody loses a finger, right?”

  Mr. Jones used to say that to us. I think of it sometimes while I chop. It always puts a smile on my face.

  “Yes, Chef.” He said.

  He went to cut, and the knife slipped. I got the feeling that I was making him nervous, so I moved on. After I had observed each group, I joined Noah and Mr. Jones by the teacher’s station.

  “What did you think?”

  “That table has potential, especially the tall girl in the middle.”

  “Shayla. She’s good.”

  “She’s the one who made the snickerdoodles at last quarters art festival, right?”

  “She is. Here, let me show you something.” He gestured for us to follow him.

  We walked to the cooking area. Here were piles of banana bread. I knew I had smelled banana bread.

  Each had a name tag in front of them, but I couldn’t quite read them all. He selected one from the counter, cut a few pieces from it, and then handed it on a napkin to both Noah and me.

  I looked it over, smelling it, feeling the texture, and then took a bite.

  “Oh, wow. That’s heavenly. It is dense but light and moist. Just enough banana but not overpowering and you really get a nice vanilla taste. Nothing fake about it.”

  “That’s Shayla.”

  “Impressive.” I looked over at the students, but specifically at Shayla. The students had switched who was doing the butchering. Shayla was coaching the girl on their team. “She has some leadership skills.”

  “Yes, definitely. She is her section lead and mentors the less experienced or those struggling.” He looked at me. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

  “Well, I couldn’t let them struggle.” I chuckled. “Noah, you had questions, right?”

  My mind had gone blank on things we’d discussed. I just knew I wanted Shayla to come to work with us. She would be a wonderful addition. I could see a lot of potential in her.

  I shoved another piece of the banana bread in my mouth as I listened to Noah ask about the program. After random questions about the school and program in general, he got to the meat of why we were truly here, and my ears were wide open.

  “So, forgive me for this next line of questions. It is just the accountant and manager in me. It must take a lot of funding to run this place.”

  “Oh, yeah, it does. That’s why we fund raise. It helps supplement the school’s budget.”

  “Are you in control of the budget allocation? Meaning, do you have control of the spending?”

  Oh, Noah went for it. I tried to keep my face neutral, as if I wasn’t really listening or interested, but if I were sitting, I would be on the edge of my seat.

  “I have some input, but the way it works for our school is the school board holds the budget and manages allocation. It is primarily controlled by the superintendent, along with the city council. I put in my requests each quarter, depending on what food we need to order, etc. and then they approve it.”

  “Ah, makes sense. What about your fundraising money? How does that work?”

  “I have all the control of that money. We use it to help fund field trips and to allow us to go to competitions.”

  “Perfect.”

  “What other questions do you have?”

  “I don’t have any others, but I think we are both ready to discuss details for the apprenticeship. Like, what do you need from us and who do you recommend?”

  “I’m so excited about this. I love this idea.” Mr. Jones glowed. I knew he wanted to expand their impact and reach within the community. “Basically, I thought that this could be an after school job situation. I don’t want them missing school time. But I would give them extra credit and more responsibilities. They could come teach the others some of what they are learning.”

  “That sounds good to us.” Noah said, then looked at me for confirmation. “Chef?”

  “Yes, I think it is a win-win-win. Win for the school, win for us, and big win for the students.”

  “Now what do we do?”

  “I already know I’d like to extend an offer to Shayla.” I whispered her name, not wanting to give the students a reason to look at us. Thankfully, they were still busy with their chickens. The last member in each team was working through their chicken. “But is there another one or two that you think we should talk to?”

  He studied his students for a moment.

  “Yeah, I know two I think I’d recommend, but definitely Shayla. She’s my top student. Nobody else comes close.” He kept his voice low. “Jacoby and Brooklynne are my next two strongest, but they could use some additional guidance and I think you’d be the perfect mentor for them.”

  “Okay. I trust your judgment. When can I talk to them?”

  “Right now. It looks like they are done.” Mr. Jones walked back to the students and started inspecting their work. “Great. This looks impressive. Shayla, could you show Mr. Linwood and Chef Jessica to my office?”

  “Yes, sir.” She gestured for us to follow her. She gestured into this office. “Here you are.”

  “Thanks. Actually, we wanted to talk to you. Join us?” I said, motioned for her to sit as we took seats ourselves. She eyed me as she sat. “It’s good, I promise.”

  “Okay, Chef.”

  “We have been talking to Mr. Jones about an opportunity to hire students from here as apprentices. It would mean learning and working with me and my team.”

  I paused to give her a chance to respond or ask questions. She simply nodded, but her face remained stoic. What is her story? I hadn’t seen her smile yet. Poor girl.

  Perhaps she had been let down one too many times. Maybe she had to grow up too fast. Whatever it was, I hoped to change her life like mine was.

  “Anyway, I wanted to offer you one of the two spots. You would work mostly with Natalie, who is my current pastry chef, but you would have chances to work at the other stations, too. Oh, and you would get paid by me and extra credit here at school.”

  “Really? You want me to work for you?” Tears formed in her eyes, causing my eyes to well up, too.

 

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