Johnathon's Arc

Chapter 4 of 31

The morning came clear. Johnathon packed his knives, his sauce jar, and the folded charcoal sketch that showed the plate. He knelt and rubbed Elsa behind the ears. She purred against his hand. He stood, kissed the top of her head, and grabbed his bag. "Wish me luck," he said to the kitten. Then he opened the door and stepped out. Lexi waited on the walkway. She held her phone in one hand, the screen almost black. Her pink purse hung from her shoulder. Since ninth grade she had shown up for him without being asked. When his mother was in the hospital, she brought soup and a sandwich, the exact food he could stomach. Now she stood outside his door, ready to follow him to the biggest day of his life. He felt his chest tighten. He was glad she was there. That scared him too. "I said I'd come," Lexi said. "So I'm coming." They walked to his car. He drove. She read the address off a slip of paper he'd written the night before. He turned where she said. The road grew quiet. The buildings thinned. No competition hall. No cars. Just a locked warehouse and an empty lot. Johnathon checked his phone. His stomach dropped. "This is wrong," he said. "I wrote it down wrong." The real venue was across the city. His phone showed the time. Twenty minutes to check-in. He gripped the wheel. His hands shook the way they had over the knives. "Give me the phone," Lexi said. He handed it over. She pulled up the map, found the right hall, and set the route. "Drive. I'll count us in." He drove fast. She called the turns. Her phone died in her hand halfway there, but she had already memorized the last steps. "Two more lights. Then right. Then you park and run." Her voice stayed flat and steady. It calmed him more than any speech could. He parked crooked at the curb. He grabbed his bag. Lexi grabbed the sauce jar so he wouldn't drop it. They ran to the doors together. A woman with a clipboard looked up. "Name?" "Johnathon," he said, breathing hard. She scanned her list. "Last call. You've got three minutes to your station." She waved him through. He turned to Lexi. She held out the sauce jar. He took it. "You should be back with the audience," he said. "I know," she said. "Go cook. That's all I'm saying right now." He went. He set his station. He laid his knives in a row. He unfolded the sketch and smoothed it flat. The judges walked the floor. He had made it. He was in. But the near miss still buzzed in his hands, and the clock above the room already counted down his cook time. He picked up his knife and started.