The Chicken Sisters - K.J. Dell'Antonia Page 0,141

let’s start with you. Who’s the winner of this Food War?”

“Mimi’s,” said Cary Catlin, and Amanda froze. It didn’t matter. Of course it didn’t matter. She cast a glance over at Nancy and saw that she, at least, was managing to look as though it really didn’t matter, although Barbara was beaming and Frankie looked so much like she would cry that it was all Amanda could do not to rush over to her.

Sabrina pointed again. “James Melville, your vote?”

“Frannie’s.”

The room seemed to hold its breath. Rideaux would decide it, then. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, she told herself—but her racing heart and pounding head were telling her that it did.

Rideaux smiled straight into the camera and raised his eyebrows—then turned to Amanda. “You,” he said. “Does this mean chicken will be your life, then?”

Shocked, Amanda let her mouth drop open, then shut it with a quick breath. What? He was supposed to say who won, and instead—he was waiting, a challenge in his eyes.

Amanda met them and was surprised to feel support, not ridicule, there. But Sabrina, who followed up, had mockery in her tone. “Yes, Amanda, does this mean you’ve decided to stick to chicken after all?”

No, you witch, it does not. Amanda spoke to Rideaux, ignoring Sabrina. “No,” she said. “I’m going back to school.” She pointed to the sign, which still filled her with pride. “That’s my contribution for now. Mae, Nancy, my mom, and Andy are going to run the show.” With Jay as executive producer, but they had decided no one needed to know that. Why complicate things? “There will be plenty of time to sort out what happens after that.” After she graduated. After she finished what she started. After she made some choices of her own.

“Excellent,” he said. “Well, we’ve discussed it among ourselves.” He glanced at his fellow judges, and they nodded. “We’d like to do something new and offer your new venture—the Chicken Sisters—our ideas for taking the best of both Frannie’s and Mimi’s.”

Amanda didn’t think he was done, but Sabrina managed to cut him off, holding up her hands as though besieged on all sides. “Hold on, hold on,” she said. “This clearly means great things to come, but first, we need to declare our actual victor. Will it be Frannie’s? Or will it be Mimi’s? Will the sister returning from Brooklyn and bringing New York flair to her small-town roots triumph, or will it have paid to stay home and build a business and a life here in Merinac from the very beginning? Simon, your vote?”

He grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “The winner is”—big pause—“everybody. Just as Amanda said.”

Sabrina stared at him, then quickly gathered her face together and turned to the camera. “More when we come back.” She beamed, holding her pose for one short interval, then dropped both the hand holding the microphone and her delighted expression.

“What the fuck is this?” She turned on Amanda and Mae, then on Simon Rideaux. “This is not how we end Food Wars, and this is not what you signed up for. What was all that yesterday, if you’re all lovey-dovey today? What the hell kind of Food Wars ends up in a truce? Simon, you do not abstain. You vote, and somebody wins. That’s the deal.”

Rideaux stepped up and put an arm around Sabrina’s shoulders, and suddenly Amanda knew something she had not known before. She raised her eyebrows at Mae, who nodded confirmation. They were together, Sabrina and Simon. That didn’t really explain anything, but it was somehow satisfying. No one deserved each other more.

“Now, love,” he said, and Sabrina kicked him in the shin.

“Don’t ‘now, love’ me,” she said. “We can start this over, and we can do it right, because you all agreed to provide conflict, and conflict is Food Wars’ bread and butter. I don’t care what stupid shit you do on your own time. You can nail your two crappy chicken shacks together, for all I care. But this is not what the network wants, and it’s not what we’re giving them.”

Jay stepped forward, smiling as though he wanted nothing more than to meet a famous television personality having a tantrum worthy of a three-year-old. “Sabrina, so nice to meet you.” He extended his hand, and Sabrina took it as if she didn’t know why she was doing it. “I’m Jay Mallick, Mae’s husband. I thought you might be a little distraught that things aren’t working out as you’d planned, so I went ahead