Page 58 of Cherry Tree Ranch

The three judges position themselves in front of my table with clipboards in hand. I take a slow breath and remind myself what all this is for – to save the ranch. I square my shoulders and try to channel the tenacious energy of Daisy, who fearlessly rode wild horses, never failed to dream big and loved our ranch as much as I do.

I deliver my pitch with barely a fumble, telling them about the land my family has tended for generations, and the resilience of the cherry trees that grow where nothing else does. I tell them how I’ve adapted my grandma’s recipe, blending our unique honey with the sour cherries to create a new product, and hand each judge a pamphlet.

One of the judges scans the QR code with her phone. I’m encouraged to see her taking the time to look at the link containing the photos and video.

“Hmm.” She taps repeatedly. “It’s not working for me.”

The other judges pull out their phones, scan the code, and tap the link. It doesn’t work for them either.

My chest tightens. How have I messed this up? I move round the table and try the code with the man’s phone. When it doesn’t work, my hands begin to sweat.

“Mind if I look up the website instead?” I ask him.

“By all means,” he says kindly, but the other two judges glance impatiently around the tent like they’re over it.

I type my website into his search bar with damp fingers and misspell it, having to delete and try again. The site loads, but it’s painstakingly slow. “I’m sorry,” I say, handing him his phone. “It’s loading, but I wonder if the tent is blocking the signal.”

As the judges wait awkwardly, staring at the screen, I sneak a glance out the opening of the tent to see Kaylee beaming while answering questions. The crowd is eating it up, smiling and laughing. The contrast with the quiet, uncomfortable tent and prickly judges stings, and I feel my cheeks burn.

When I turn back, the male judge gives me a flat smile, indicating I better get on with the show. They can’t wait for videos to buffer all day.

“Well – maybe you can watch that later,” I say.

The judges watch as I twist the lid’s metal ring. It lets out a beautiful pop, meaning it was processed safely. Using Grandma’s antique spoon, I carefully scoop out three honey-laced cherries into a petite white dish, but my hands are shaking and my mind is fixed on what Kaylee’s saying to make everyone so enthralled. As I hand the first judge her dish, commotion outside catches my attention, and this time it’s not the Tilt-A-Whirl.

I hear, “Kiss her!” and turn to see a woman calling to Cash and Kaylee, who are now facing the crowd, looking every bit the picture-perfect rodeo couple. The interviewer has her phone in Cash’s face and their sponsor, Billy, in his ten-gallon cowboy hat, smiles smugly at all the attention.

Others join in, chanting, “Kiss, kiss!”

Billy gestures, almost forcefully, for Cash to go ahead. Kaylee flips her hair behind her shoulder and pops a booted leg up as she leans in. My heart races. I’m consumed with jealousy and humiliation and force myself to look away, feeling like a fool for so many reasons. I turn my attention back to the judges. Focus, I tell myself.

I reach shakily across the table to offer the next judge their sample, but the jar is heavy in my sweaty hand. There’s a split second when I know exactly what’s going to happen, but I can’t get my other hand there in time to stop it: the jar slips through my fingers. It falls to the table and rolls off. Glass shatters. Cherries erupt from the jar, their ruby syrup splattering all over me, the tablecloth, and the dirt floor.

Blood drains from my face. “I’m so sorry,” I say to the judges.

They aren’t looking at me, though – they’re all wiping juice splatters from their legs. I stand frozen, mortified to the ends of the earth. Mom rushes over, and Mildred brings a roll of paper towels.

I snap into action, tugging the tablecloth off to help them clean up. On bended knee, I take a large piece of the broken jar from the ground, hoping I can salvage some of the cherries, but it’s no good – glass shards are in everything. My eyes sting with panic.

Mildred puts a wet floor sign near the tent opening, and I notice the scene outside has changed. Cash is no longer at the booth. All I see are confused faces looking around. Billy pulls off his cowboy hat and looks up and down the sidewalk. He rants to himself and stomps his foot. Did Cash up and leave?

The male judge uses his finger to wipe juice off his clipboard and tastes it. A pleased smile crosses his face. He’s unbothered by Mom wiping down his khaki pants while he licks his lips. I might chuckle if I was able to feel anything but terrible.

“That was my only jar.” I pull a tear from my cheek and stand. I’m under a microscope as everyone in the tent looks my way. “I can go home and get more?”

“Unfortunately, we don’t have time.” The only judge who has a dish of cherries chimes in. “How about we each have one?” she says, giving me a reassuring smile and handing the others a toothpick to spear a cherry.

The judges chew slowly, and the man’s eyes pop wide. “Dahlia, these are delectable. We won’t deduct points for the accident, but I’m not sure we had enough of the sample to make a fair call. We’ll discuss, tally points from the public tasting and let all the contestants know the results within the hour.”

“Thank you very much,” I say, genuinely grateful.

As the judges walk away, Mom steps over the broken glass and stands before me. “Dahlia.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Are you OK?”

I wipe my face, my head spinning. “I don’t really know. Everything happened so fast.”

After an arduous clean-up, a pep talk from Mom and a painful wait, the judges make their way to the centre of the tent and the place goes silent. They give a spiel on how hard the contestants worked and begin announcing the winners.

“And the second runner up…” Mildred says, “winner of a five-hundred-dollar gift card to Buckaroo Billy’s, is Sadie White with her pickles. Congratulations, Sadie.”