Johnathon's Arc

Chapter 12 of 31

Morning came fast. Johnathon woke before the alarm, showered, and pulled on his black jeans and a t-shirt. He rolled his sleeves so his arm tattoos showed. He grabbed his sketches from the desk and slid the notebook into his bag. He did not open it. He had promised. Cook first, then read. A producer knocked and led him down to the black car. The car dropped him at the finale studio. Inside, the counters gleamed under hot white lights. Cameras rolled on tracks. Bowls of tomatoes, herbs, and lemons waited on the center island. Crew members moved fast, checking mics and angles. Johnathon found his station and set down his knife roll. His hands were steady. He knew the dish. He had drawn it a hundred times in his head. Then he saw her. Lexi stood past the barrier at the far rail, behind the guest seats. She wore her pink shirt and her cat eye glasses. Her blonde hair was pulled back. She had been the one who told him he didn't have to choose between cooking and drawing. She had helped him find this stage when he had the wrong address. Now she was here, and a line of crew and a low barrier stood between them. He raised his hand. She saw. She raised hers back. She mouthed something. He couldn't hear it. He shook his head, pointing at his ear. She held up two fingers and pressed them to her chest, then pointed at him. He understood the shape of it, but not the words. A guard stepped between them and waved her back toward her seat. "No contestant contact," the guard said. "You'll talk after." Johnathon nodded and turned to his station. His chest was tight. He wanted to walk over and ask what she'd said. But the lights swung toward the center. A producer counted down with his fingers. Three. Two. One. Music swelled. The three judges walked out and stood at the front counter. The lead judge, a woman in a dark blazer, lifted a card and smiled at the cameras. "Welcome to the national final," she said. "Tonight, our finalists cook for the one who saved them." She paused. "And tonight's dish will be judged on one thing. Truth." She read the card. "Chefs, your theme dish is set. You will each plate a single course that tells us who saved you and why. You have ninety minutes. Your time starts now." A bell rang. The clock on the wall flipped to 90:00 and began falling. Johnathon looked once more at Lexi. She was already leaning forward, watching him, her hands folded on the rail. He knew what he was cooking. He knew who it was for. He grabbed a lemon and reached for his knife. The waiting was over. The last dish had begun.