Page 38 of Fall is Brewing

I swallow as my pulse hammers. Confidence isn’t about being right. It’s about trusting yourself. And right now—I don’t.

The doubt tips me.

I grip the whiteboard harder and erase what I had written down with the fleshy bottom of my palm. Then quickly scribble: Honeycrisp cross with Gala.

My hand trembles just slightly as I set the board down and Marcy yells, “Blindfolds off!”

The world floods back in—faces, phones, anticipation crackling in the air.

Brooks lifts his board first.

I look before I can stop myself.

Honeycrisp–Fuji hybrid.

The air leaves my lungs.

I lift mine.

Honeycrisp–Gala.

Marcy checks the card.

The pause is microscopic.

But I feel it like a crack in the earth.

“And the correct answer is…” she beams, drawing it out for maximum effect, “Honeycrisp–Fuji!”

The room gasps and is silent for a breath before it erupts in applause.

My ears ring.

Not because I didn’t know.

But because I did.

My eyes flick back to Brooks’ board.

Fuji. It was my first instinct.

My pulse pounds against the inside of my ribs like it’s trying to claw its way out. I wasn’t outmatched. I flinched. It should make me feel better, but it doesn’t.

Beside me, Brooks lowers his board slowly, his eyes sliding over mine. There’s no triumph in his expression. No smugness. Just something steady. Something almost… searching.

His eyes drop to my discarded white board. The messy erasure is still visible and it’s obvious he can see that I had written Fuji first in my haste to try to erase it blindfolded. Somehow, that might be worse than losing.

Marcy claps her hands together and runs over to Brooks, grabbing his arm and holding it up into the air in triumph, like a boxer who just won the heavyweight championship. “Which means Brooks Calder wins the blind taste challenge!”

I force my shoulders back and my chin up, trying to tip my mouth into a small smile.

But inside, the only thing louder than the applause is the echo of my own erased handwriting.

CHAPTER 9

Brooks

Winning is supposed to feel better than this. Yet all I can think about is the moment she second guessed herself and erased the right answer. It replays in a loop I can’t shut off—the moment she revealed her dry erase board and I saw the erasure marks.