CHAPTER ONE

To the back roads...

The bell jingled as I pulled the door open.

"Hey, Chloe," I greeted the chocolate skinned lady as she stepped from an adjacent room.

"How far did you cover this time, Mrs. Usain Bolt?"

"Well, good morning to you too." I sought for the register on the counter.

"You know, my granddad's friend's son works in the NBA."

I smirked, knowing where this was going.

"How's that my problem?"

"He should know one or two persons in Diamond League or even World Athletics."

Entering my name on the register, I jawed, "Wow, you don't say."

"He could...you know, hook you up with some officials. And boom, you're signed in."

I chuckled.

"No, I'm serious. Such talent you've got shouldn't be wasted on the streets of Brooklyn."

"Benny shouldn't catch you gibbering this morning." I closed the thick book, ready to get into the kitchen.

"You've got to think 'bout it, Laura," she yelled at my retreating figure. "Opportunities are rare."

Having a belly laugh, I left my crazed colleague and strode to the kitchen. Two of my coworkers were already stationed, prepping their pans for the batter.

So much for a morning jog. Still, that wouldn't stop me from going on with my ritual: skipping—all in the name of running—from my apartment to the bakery, every morning. It was one habit I was proud of.

I greeted the ladies and settled my tote bag on the rack before slipping into my crisp white apron.

"Uh, Laura. Have you seen Benny today?" Carole, the copper haired one asked.

"No," I replied, reaching out for the bowls in the cupboard.

"Her van isn't parked outside?"

I shrugged. "How would I know?"

"Right," she whispered. "Not when you're caught up in your early morning work out."

Gosh, what was wrong with these people?

Before I could mouth a word, Grace—the petite brunette, who was seriously kneading a dough—chimed in:

"With all these spit y'all are gushing forth, the FDA is sure gonna shut this place down."

Grace, the bane of my stay here. She always found a way to cast gloom, even in the brightest of days, at any slight chance. It was one thing to have a nagging boss, it was another to have a killjoy as a colleague.

I did what I usually did whenever her demons surfaced– roll my eyes. Carole, on her part, wasn't going to take it light.

"And with what you just spat now, the poor people that'd get hold of your mess of a bread, are sure gonna have their tummies purged."

Grace's lips formed a perfect 'o' before they pouted to form a hiss.

Carole winked at me and continued whisking the eggs.

I went ahead with creating an apple cinnamon pastry. Neither Carole nor I spoke again, and it wasn't because of the little apple polisher that could rat us out. Rather, time was already ticking away. Sooner than later, customers would be trooping in.

The door swung open just as I was taking out the baked pies.

It was Chloe, with her arm resting on the door handle.

"Laura, Grace. You two are wanted ASAP," she said.

Carole and I exchanged looks. She was as curious as I was. However, I chose to be calm since Grace, our very own boss's treasure was being summoned as well.

Again, my gut wasn't ready to be put to rest. What if we were called for matters relating to wage? Grace was certainly going to have a raise. Then I, well, I wasn't sure of what was to come.

Grace was the first to bounce off, with me tailing the way. A cacophony met my ears before I got the chance to get into the mini office. Benny's laughter resounded more than that of a hyena. It wasn't much of a wonder, though, owing to the fact that she was a bag of flesh.

"Yes, you can say that again." She cackled.

Great, she was on the phone. I might as well stand close to an hour.

"This week, of course. Most likely, Friday." She paused, letting whoever it was on the line to speak, and at the she time, trailing her gaze at Grace and me.

I let myself stare at the middle-aged black woman slouching on her chair. The way her weaves glistened told me she'd visited a saloon during the weekend. Well madeup face, the nice hair and her bubbly phone conversation meant one thing: Benny had woken up on the right side of the bed.

"Hell, yeah." Another round of laughter followed. "Okay, talk to you later."

She dropped her phone and zeroed in her gaze at Grace and I. "Got a call from Allen's secretary. We'll be leaving for Bronx on Wednesday."

I could hear Grace gurgle with excitement. It wasn't every bakery that got the opportunity to be featured on a National T.V, let alone compete for a whooping sum of money.

"Grace," Benny called. "You're coming with me right after your shift. We've got to get those platters."

"Yes, Benny," Grace enthused.

"You know what to do, right?" She referred to me. "The toppings, glazing and all."

"Yeah..."

"We ain't going with the rainbow twizzler recipe no more."

I made to speak but she shot a finger up. "That's final. I don't wanna parade the cameras with some Disneyland shit."

Of course, how can I forget.

"You don't have to roll your eyes," she said. "Nothing's gon' change. We settle for the vanilla purple cake. Might as well spice everything up with some pistachio pastries."

"Uh, today's Monday," I said.

She cocked her gel filled brow. "So?"

So? Was she seriously acting as though the D-day wasn't two days away?

"Uh, the contest is on Wednesday?"

She signed. "Thursday, but we leave on Wednesday."

"As in next week?"

She had that signature look on her face: a combination of glaring and sneering. "The date on the brochure spelled March tenth. What does that tell you?"

"We just have today and tomorrow to get ready."

"Well, were you counting on eternity?" she snapped. "We're talking about ten thousand dollars, here. You're not only tested on creativity or the juiciness of your cake, your ability to be up and doing in the face of pressure is put to test as well."

Again, how can I forget.

"There shouldn't be any dulling whatsoever. We've come this far and I can't afford to be shoved to the last place, simply because you ain't ready, Laura Hamster," she concluded, dismissing Grace and I.

"So, you leave on Wednesday." Carole said, as we began coating the cupcakes.

"Awesomely, yeah."

She chuckled. "What's that?"

"I don't know...I just don't get it," I complained. "I can't work under pressure."

"Aw, it's okay." she cooed. "Not everyone's got the chance to appear on Allen's show."

I sighed. "You're right. I shouldn't be whining."

She smiled. "Just make sure you grab the prize. That'll make Benny happy, and save us the stress of having to cope with..." She stopped to steal a glance at Grace who was cleaning her workstation.

"With her shit," Carole completed.

"Yeah, right." I chuckled.

My phone buzzed from my pant pocket. Pulling it out, I realised it was a message from the vet doctor who stayed just across the street:

Your kitty is jumpy, and can't wait to see you.

A feeling of warmth washed through me as I stared at the message. Today wasn't that bad, after all.