The Icing on the Cake Read Free Page A

phone.
    I’m happy to see that Chef still looks like himself, though in this new studio he seems even more like a TV star than he did before. It’s funny to think of him that way now that I “know” him, but it’s been so many months since Frankie, Lillian, and I took his class with our moms that I bet he’s forgotten all about us.
    After the session ended last fall and Chef Antonio surprised us by bringing the entire cooking class to our middle school project night, we were supposed to all stay in touch and get together for a reunion over Thanksgiving weekend. But too many people had other plans, so we ended up rescheduling—and then rescheduling again—until suddenly it was the holidays, and everyone got even busier. We all exchanged e-mail addresses, but I guess it’s like that old saying“out of sight, out of mind,” because it’s been weeks since I’ve heard from anyone. (Except Chef’s son, Javier, who is our age and kind of hung out at our Saturday cooking class with us. Sometimes he texts Frankie, Lillian, and me stupid jokes or weird pictures he takes when he goes food shopping with his dad—he has a thing for trying to make the headless ducks hanging in Asian markets look artsy.)
    The main ingredient on today’s show is sweet potatoes. Chef Antonio has all kinds of plans for them: soup, chili, fries, a cheesy gratin , and, of course, pie. I wish my mom were here—she’s a sweet-potato freak—but she’s taking Cole for a booster shot right after daycare. I should be finishing my homework, but instead I’m having some leftover chicken pot pie and learning the difference between yams (they have skin that’s usually darker than their flesh) and sweet potatoes (they’re orange all over). Ever since we took the class, Mom has been on a roll, cooking all afternoon on Sundays soour fridge is stocked with meals we can just reheat and eat all week. I’ve actually been bringing my lunch to school rather than buying cafeteria glop, and even Frankie—whose dad packs her amazing stuff—can’t keep her fork away from my food.
    My phone buzzes. It’s Lillian texting me and Frankie at the same time. She’s watching Antonio’s Kitchen too.
    Chef looks HOT, Lillian says, which makes me laugh. If you only knew Lillian from her texts, that wouldn’t be particularly funny. But Lillian in person is much sweeter and shyer than Virtual Lillian, and Frankie and I always crack up at how not-shy she comes off in her texts and e-mails.
    Ikr. He’s loving that new kitchen, I reply.
    Yr mom watching? Frankie asks.
    No, not home. Y? I type.
    LOL. You know.
    Know what? I’m starting to get annoyed.
    I bet he’s making her pie, Lillian writes.
    What do u mean? I am really not enjoying this conversation with them.
    Lize . That’s Frankie. Lillian never uses nicknames. U saw them flirting every week.
    My cheeks are suddenly burning and I’m glad they can’t see me. Chef Antonio and my mom . . . flirting? I mean, they’re definitely friendly, and there was that whole thing where Mom taught Chef to make noodle kugel, but that’s not exactly flirting. Is it?
    On TV, Chef grabs some dough and a rolling pin and I turn up the volume.
    â€œFor this pie, I’m using an old recipe that was given to me by a new friend,” he says. “ Una amiga muy bonita.” I’m only in my second year of Spanish, but even a first-semester sixth-grader could understand “a very beautiful friend.”
    OMG. Frankie again. Lillian is right!
    GTG. I type, then immediately call my mom.
    She picks up without saying hello. “Good timing. Dr. Gordon just gave your brother a BatmanBand-Aid and an ice pop. He only cried for seventeen minutes this time.”
    I wasn’t in the mood to chat about Cole and his needle-phobia. “Mom, did you know Chef Antonio was making your sweet-potato pie on