The Accidental TV Star Read Online Free PDF Page B

held a movie poster and an award statue. I read four of them, before I checked the clock. I had to stop or I’d be late. After a lingering glance, I hurried down the corridor, vowing to be early next class so I could look around more. Room 223. I joined the twenty or so other people inside, breathed in the smell of produce coming from the back, and took one of the tall stools behind a food preparation table. The thin dark-haired lady beside me nodded and looked away. The ages in here ranged from my age to ninety. My tablemate fell somewhere closer to my end of the spectrum. The ninety-year-old made me thankful I didn’t have to put off starting college.
     Ashley and I both had several college credits from our senior year classes, but this was my first official class with no connection to Trallwyn High. I was taking it at a movie studio. I bit my lip on the thrill the thought caused. From my packet, I knew that the studio sponsored all kinds of classes on site: ones for underage actors, ones for bad actors, and college classes like this for any employee interested in extra credits. I couldn’t imagine the Fry Hut offering an incentive to work there, much less an educational one.
    The Fry Hut managers weren’t stupid. They knew that if their employees got educated, they’d move on. I dropped my bag at my feet and sat up straight. This was day one of me moving on. The lady beside me turned and stared at me like I was her competition. I grinned. She was right.
    The professor came in last and shut the door. He had bleached blond hair tied in a ponytail, a dark orange tan, and he wore a teal, untucked shirt over beige linen trousers. Not a look I’d seen around the trailer park and we had a variety of fashion choices.
    He took his spot at the front, facing us. “There is no competition in life. We are one. One person’s successes reward all of us. That said, we’ve had a call for help. Our beloved production Scoop Out needs an assistant. A kitchen-hand.”
    I choked on nothing but air. Sara Sims, the Texas restaurateur, entrepreneur, and host of the food show Scoop Out was my hero! My hand shot up. “I’ll do it.”
    My neighbor glared and raised her hand. “I volunteer too.”
    Half the class followed suit.
    The professor chuckled and motioned for us to lower our hands. “We’ll decide this with a cook-off. Everyone grab a tray from the back and return to your stations.” He took a platter containing three bowls and placed it in front of one of the students, a burly, middle-aged guy. “Grab a potato, a stick of celery, and one radish. Then pass the bowls down. Select a knife from your shared utensil tray.”
    The lady beside me grabbed a butcher knife and grinned at me like she’d won. I pulled out each remaining knife, assessed its weight and balance, partly because I was picky, and partly as a psychological maneuver.
    “After I say go , slice, julienne, and dice. One cutting style per vegetable. Raise your hands when you’re done.”
    To think, I could go from being fired at the Fry Hut to assisting on Scoop Out . Meeting Sara Sims alone would make my summer. To assist in her kitchen and learn from her would make my career. No amount of tuition could buy this opportunity. Images swamped my brain of all the Scoop Out episodes I’d seen while my classmates asked questions. I jerked out of my reverie to pay attention.
    The ninety-year-old rubbed his chin. “Which style for which vegetable?”
    “Doesn’t matter.”
    Okay, speed was the goal. Slice meant cut. So I’d cut the potato, I’d julienne the celery, and dice the tiny radish.
    Next, the ninety-year-old asked, “How will this affect our grade?” Grey Hair had a competitive spirit.
    “After you complete the remaining seven or so episodes of this season’s Scoop Out, you will receive a passing credit. Should you quit, it will be as if you dropped the class. You will receive no credit.”
    A girl my age said, “I’m already taking this class