Page 66 of Broken Dreams
“Good, we’ll call it a victory dinner after we survive this.”
I grin. “I hope you’re prepared because by the end of this, you won’t be able to feel your tongue.” And that’s putting it mildly. “Do you need some antiacids? We find it’s better to prepare your stomach before because things can get a little spicy.”
I also usually do it mid-contest just to sort of use a layered effect.
Grady shrugs. “Pffft. I don’t need to do that. I ate military food for years, I can handle a little chili.”
Oh, he has no idea the plan this town has, and I’m going to enjoy watching him try to keep it together.
fourteen
GRADY
When she said spicy, she was so wrong. Like legions wrong. This is not spice, this is an inferno.
My mouth is burning. I’m pretty sure I’m going to shit fire tonight.
There is not enough milk in all of Pennsylvania to make my tongue stop throbbing.
“You doing okay?” Addison asks with a brow raised.
“Great,” I say, or at least I think it’s what I say because the ringing in my ears and the swelling in my tongue are making it impossible to tell.
“Good, only have five more. I save the last four people for the end because they are the heaviest on the heat.”
Oh my God. It gets worse?
I blink, at least grateful I have use of my eyeballs, although I’m sure those’ll be next to go because I’m being eaten alive by pepper.
“Do you want the milkshake? It really helps.” Addison extends the cup and I eye it. I really didn’t want to look like a pussy, but there’s no way I can do another five and have it get worse.
“Thank you,” I say, taking a sip. Jesus, I can’t even feel the coldness. “Why exactly are all these recipes so hot?”
She smiles while tilting her head. “Did you look at the categories on your score card?”
Of course I did—not. I haven’t been able to focus on much as my eyes teared after the first freaking tasting. The rule on judging is that you can’t just have one taste of it, no, you have to eat at least three spoonfuls to get the full effect.
I look down at my card and if I had the ability to laugh, I would. It’s rated on four categories: presentation, smell, texture, and spice. Then there’s a comment section which is really what I’ve been using.
But now that I see they are graded on the heat level, I see why they’re trying to kill us.
“So the spicier the better?” I ask.
“Yes, but it’s also overall taste, so they have to balance it. How have you judged the previous ones?” Addison grabs my scorecard and laughs, trying to make herself stop until she gets to the fourth one.
She nods. “They get our cards at the end. Does this say what I think it does?” she asks as she holds up the last card.
I read it again, “I might have to have my stomach pumped after this to avoid an ulcer,” and then nod. “Yup.”
“Oh, they’re going to die when they see this.”
“See it?” Fuck. “I didn’t know this was the point.”
“Well, Mr. I-ate-military-food, you have more of this fun.”
I drain the rest of her milkshake, praying it’s magical or something because the idea of eating more makes me want to cry. Which I won’t do because I’m not a pussy, but I’m wondering if a judge has been able to recuse himself.
Because I might just fake an emergency if not.
