Alexis and the Missing Ingredient (6 page)

“Oh. Am I the only one who doesn't know, though?” asked Ava.

I waved from across the room. “Nope. I don't know either.”

“Oh. Okay,” said Ava.

“We're clueless together!” I added, and Ava smiled.

Mia went to take a shower, and Ava and Katie started a little side conversation about cooking, and I just sat there and listened. Luckily, Mia called out for who was next to take a shower, and I jumped up and ran in.

Later, after we were all changed and taking turns primping at Mia's white vanity table, her dad came home, and we all went out to say hi.

Mr. Cruz is very handsome, with black hair and flashing dark eyes; thick, black eyebrows; and these stylish black-rimmed glasses that would look majorly nerdy on my dad but are supercool on him. “Girls!
Hola!
How is everyone?”

Mia reintroduced me and Katie, since he doesn't see us much, and he made a big show over Ava, calling her “my old pal” and making her feel special. It probably felt a little awkward for Katie, but I thought it was nice of him to make sure Ava didn't feel left out.

We followed him into the kitchen, where he spied my pastry box and asked, “What's all this?” I explained, and he was really happy, saying, “Pastries are my kryptonite!” and patting his tummy. “Thanks, Alexis, that was very thoughtful of you.”

I felt special and generous, so I added, “Well, they're from all of us.”

“Thanks, girls. Now who's ready for Omen?”

“We are!” we squealed, but my dread increased as we went to find our shoes and jackets. I wished desperately that Katie hated sushi too, but I knew I was alone in this one.

We took the subway to SoHo and bustled through the sidewalks to the restaurant, which was up a few stairs in an old building. Inside, it was as Ava had described it, with simple wooden tables and chairs and somewhat dim lighting and exposed brick walls. We were led right to our table in the back and settled in.

“We usually see a celebrity,” whispered Mia.

I craned my head around to look, but Mia reprimanded me. “You have to act natural! They don't like it if you stare. I'll let you know if I see anyone.”

I felt a flash of annoyance, as I am rather current on minor celebrities, due to my celebrity ballroom dance obsession, but I couldn't very well turn in my seat and watch the door for the evening.

“Now, should I order for the table . . . ?” asked Mr. Cruz, looking around.

I skimmed the menu and gulped. Steak was thirty-eight dollars. Organic chicken was twenty-eight dollars. This place was expensive! And I didn't dare make trouble by wanting something different from the others. Well, maybe they wouldn't notice if I didn't eat much. I was still okay from the churro, though surprisingly, the feeling of fullness
was starting to wear off. Maybe it was the delicious smells coming from the kitchen.

The waiter came over to say hi and recognized Mr. Cruz. They began chatting, with Mr. Cruz asking what the waiter's recommendations were for the evening. They agreed on miso soup all around (I knew what that was! We have it at school sometimes!), then everything became unintelligible to me: mixed sashimi platter and shabu-shabu. Oh, whatever, I figured. I'd just deal with it when it arrived.

We chatted while we waited for our food, and Mia told her dad about our trip to City Bakery and our plans for the next day and night. Ava wouldn't be able to sleep over tomorrow because she had ballet, and frankly, I was relieved. I held myself back from yelling, “I call sleeping in a bed!” as Ava had done earlier, though I knew it would have cracked up me and Katie.

Mr. Cruz told us about his job and some cool accounts he was working on, and then he told us about all the art shows and performances he'd seen lately. He made it sound fun to be a grown-up living in New York. Maybe once you're older, it's not as intimidating. I don't know.

The soup was good, and the waiter also brought
some edamame, those little salty green soybeans you pop out of pods into your mouth. I am good with veggies, since that's practically all my (health nut) mom feeds us. But instead of making me feel full, the soup and the beans acted like teasers, leaving me almost hungrier than before I started. The others started to get excited for the sashimi, and I was in full dread-panic mode.

Finally, the waiter distributed small plates and white shiny chopsticks, and then another two waiters arrived with an enormous platter of what looked like little pastries or candies. But they weren't. It was all raw fish, cut up and folded into intricate designs and little sculptures, in different shades of white, pink, black, and gray. Some pieces had pale pink dust scattered over them, some had little tiny black or red eggs, and some even had tiny purple flowers on top. It was beautiful-looking, but my mouth just couldn't make the leap to wanting to eat it.

“Why don't I serve it out?” asked Mr. Cruz.

Katie, Mia, and Ava were practically levitating in their seats, squealing and pointing out things. I wasn't sure if I should copy them and act all excited or just play it cool. Which would make it less obvious that I had absolutely no plans to put any of this stuff in my mouth? I just plastered a fake smile on
my face, like I was stunned by the artistic skills on display (I was), and left it at that.

When Mr. Cruz handed me my plate, there were five little items on it. I inspected them to see what they were, but I hadn't a clue. I do eat quite a bit of fish at home, but it's always cooked by the time I see it, so I couldn't even tell if these were things I'd normally eat cooked.

The other girls were oohing and aahing, so I kind of hammed it up a little too. I figured they all knew what everything was, so I was relieved when Katie asked Mr. Cruz to explain each of the items.

“It's almost too pretty to eat!” I said, and everyone laughed.

They dug in while I began to stress. I could feel my face turning pink, and I began lecturing myself in my mind.
It's just food. One bite won't kill you. Be a good sport. The Beckers try harder.
But in the end I copped out.

Spying an innocent young woman with blond hair entering the restaurant, I pointed her out shamelessly. “Hey, isn't that Taylor Swift over there?”

When everyone turned (nice job acting natural, people!), I slid a piece of fish off my plate and into my napkin.

Phew. One down and four to go.

I pretended to chew.

“No, I don't think so,” said Mia, disappointed.

“Oh. Sorry. I guess I have celebrity fever,” I said.

I toyed with another piece on my plate while the others wolfed theirs down.

“Do you like it?” Mr. Cruz asked me.

“If she doesn't, I'll have hers!” said Ava with a laugh.

“Oh, yes!” I lied, and nodded as I picked up piece number two and took a bite, because everyone was looking at me and I had to. The texture was odd, and the temperature was not what I'd expected, but rather than tasting fishy, the morsel tasted like the deep ocean—fresh, cool, salty, healthy. Huh. I couldn't say I liked it or wanted more, but for now, I had to say it wasn't awful.

A waiter, bless his heart, passed by with a steaming vessel of something, and everyone turned to watch him. Bingo! Piece number three went into my lap. I felt like a heel for wasting the fancy food, but I just couldn't face the shame of not being a sashimi eater in this group. Pretending to chew, I reached for my water and knocked the glass slightly, splashing water onto the side of my plate.

“Quick! Your napkin!” said Mia.

Right. Lifting the ball that was now my
fish-filled napkin, I knew it was decision time. Quickly, I opened it below the table and let the fish fall to the floor against the wall (sorry, Omen) and used the napkin to blot the plate. Phew. But the others declared my remaining two pieces of sashimi ruined.

“That's okay, I'm—” I couldn't decide if I should say I was full or saving room. It all depended on what the heck shabu-shabu was.

Luckily, the waiter arrived to clear our plates for the next course, and Mr. Cruz speared one of my sashimi as the plate was lifted. Only a few pieces of food wasted. I didn't feel too bad about that. It was a small price to pay for saving my reputation.

Well, it turned out shabu-shabu was beef strips you cook yourself by dipping them in scalding broth, and that was something I could really enjoy. By the end of the meal I was happy and chatting and feeling so relieved that I actually declared Omen my new favorite restaurant, causing Mia and Ava to squeal and hug me from either side. I felt like I'd passed a test, and it felt great.

“Well, I hope you saved room!” cautioned Katie as she and Mia exchanged a meaningful look.

“I am going to weigh three hundred pounds by the end of this weekend!” declared Mr. Cruz
with a laugh as he signaled for the check.

As we thanked the restaurant staff and left, I glanced back to see the waiter stoop to pick up my fish from the floor. I gulped, sending him an ESP message of thanks.

Outside, Mr. Cruz asked in a spooky, joking voice, “And now . . . are we ready to learn our futures?”

We all cried,
“Yes!”
We set off for the palm reader's on the next block.

I just hoped that my future contained major success and very little raw fish.

M
    adame Khalil's Palm Reading Emporium was down a flight of stairs on another side street in SoHo. I would never have discovered her because there is no way I would have gone in there on my own. I am pretty brave when it comes to making contact with new people (I will always pick up a phone to make a call or whatever), but there is no way on Earth I would have gone down into this spooky little place.

As it turned out, neither had Mr. Cruz, originally. He'd been at a friend's party at a belly dance–themed restaurant nearby when Madame Khalil had arrived by prearrangement to read palms. She'd handed out business cards with hand maps on the reverse sides that showed how to find your lifeline
and stuff, and Mia had been so enchanted when she'd seen it later at his apartment that Mr. Cruz had made an appointment and brought her.

I liked the idea of a palm reader with a good head for marketing and who also kept to a schedule. We were off to a good start, Madame Khalil and I, even though I am not at all one for these touchy-feely kinds of nonsense.

On our way, when Mia had asked who wanted to go first, I felt the need to redeem myself from the sashimi debacle, so I volunteered. The other two girls squealed and said they were scared, which made me feel good and brave. However, when we got inside, I started to have second thoughts myself.

The waiting area was dimmer than the brightly lit street, and heavily scented like smoked flowers. There were big, fluffy fake plants, and Indian artwork, and plump chairs covered in heavy tapestry fabric. There was quiet drumming playing over the sound system. I felt like I'd entered a foreign country until I noticed Madame Khalil had a computer and printer at her desk and also a credit card machine, so that made me relax a little. I could see for sure that I was dealing with a fellow businesswoman.

After the bell on the door jingled our arrival,
there was a pause, and then a beaded curtain was pushed aside and out came a beautiful woman in a long, intricately decorated tunic, with jewelry on all of her fingers, wrists, ears, neck, toes—you name it. Her eyes were heavily made up, and she wore a small turban that covered the top of her head, while thick black hair hung down her back in loopy curls. She was beautiful but intimidating.

Mia smiled nervously, as she was the closest to the curtain.

“Hello and welcome, my friends,” said Madame Khalil in a deep but melodious voice. “I am happy to see you.” She nodded at Mr. Cruz, and he nodded back with a smile. “So it is just the four girls who will see me tonight, not the daddy, correct?” she asked.

“Correct,” he said. “I know all I need to know for now.”