The Main Dish: A Novel

By Victoria Kimble

The Main Dish explores the bond of sisters and the pull of fame. It addresses what happens when the success of someone eclipses one’s own success.

Scarlet Williams is a sixteen-year-old violin prodigy on the verge of a major breakthrough, both in her musical career and in her social life. She wins a chair in the Summerset Festival orchestra and doesn’t hesitate to tell the world. Even her crush, Finn O’Neal, finds out. But then her younger sister Sadie gets cast in Young Gourmet, a nationally televised kids cooking competition, and Scarlet is forced to give up her chair to go with her family for the taping. Scarlet moves from the spotlight to the shadows and must find a way to keep the attention of her new friends.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Apr 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781642797800

Book preview

Chapter 1

Embarrassment was not a good look on me.

My best friend Jillian looked like an innocent model whenever she blushed. Me, on the other hand? My whole face turned splotchy and my zits shone like Christmas lights. I tried curling up in the hard, plastic chair to make myself small and unnoticeable, but that didn’t stop everyone in the community college lobby from staring. I couldn’t decide whether I should be utterly mortified or just plain annoyed. Knowing my face was now a disaster didn’t help either. The last thing I needed to worry about was how I looked. I needed to concentrate on the piece I had been practicing for the past two months.

If only Mom had let me drive myself. I was way too old to have my mommy drive me to auditions. If I had my own car, she wouldn’t always feel compelled to hang out and wait for me. Maybe she would even stop with the whole You’re a minor, Scarlet and I’m legally responsible stuff. It’s ridiculous.

I stood, straightened my skirt, and marched over to the table where Mom grilled the poor, harried-looking volunteer. I grabbed her elbow and opened my eyes wide, trying to communicate telepathically. As usual, she didn’t get the message.

I wished Mrs. Chen had been with me right then. She could have rescued me from dying the slow death of shame, brought on by my own mother. Mom always listened to her. But Mrs. Chen was gone. Her last speech still echoed in my mind: Scarlet Williams, don’t hide behind your violin. Speak up for yourself. You can talk to people with the same boldness you use to play that piece of wood.

Mom.

Mom turned and frowned. I just want to know why they’re running twenty minutes behind schedule. That’s not unreasonable.

The volunteer gave a tight smile and sat up straighter. It’s like I told you, Mrs. Williams. Sometimes they ask to hear a bit more from a musician. We have a great talent pool today, so it probably means they’re asking almost everyone to play something else.

I tugged on Mom’s arm and pulled her away from the table. I sent an apologetic glance to the volunteer who slumped in his chair and smiled back. He could read my mind, and we weren’t even related.

They should have put that information in the audition packet. Mom plopped down onto the plastic chair she had claimed when we first arrived and reached for the red folder in her black tote. Is it in the audition packet? Did you know, Scar? It’s not fair if you didn’t have that information.

I lowered myself into my chair, careful not to bump my violin on the metal armrest. "Mother, I have more than one piece memorized. If they ask for something else, I’ll play the Jurassic Park theme song."

Mom dropped the packet onto her lap and turned, her mouth in a half-frown. I sighed and rolled my eyes. See, I could read my mother’s mind. I knew exactly what she was thinking and exactly what she was about to say. She had said it a hundred times over the past few years.

Sweetie, they are looking for more than silly movie songs. They need to see your technique and your grasp of complicated music. You have that. You are good enough for this. If you want them to take you seriously, you have to play serious music.

Yep, that’s what I expected. Well, if she was going to say the same thing again, I would also say the same thing. Again.

John Williams is one of the most prolific composers of our time. Even if he’s not better than the old, dead guys, he’s definitely not worse. I carefully brushed my hair back over my shoulder. I really didn’t want it messed up before the audition. Any sudden movement might undo the hours of work I had put into taming my unruly brown curls.

I’m aware of his accomplishments. But these judges are probably old like me, and us old people like the old dead guys. Mom crossed her eyes. I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling. I didn’t want to encourage Mom’s corny jokes. Can’t you play that Beethoven piece?

I heaved out the biggest sigh I could muster. I’ll do the Vivaldi.

Mom sat back and smiled. She didn’t say anything; she just stared at me, grinning. The feeling that she was about to kiss me or something grew strong. Embarrass Scarlet, round two. I shifted in my seat to put some distance between us.

What?

I’m just so proud of you. Look at you! You’re the youngest one here. She squeezed my arm.

I couldn’t stop the smile this time. The room was filled with musicians who all waited to audition for the Summerset Festival community orchestra. People came from all over the state of Colorado for the one-day festival that our town of Snowberry held every August. The concert the orchestra gave at the outdoor amphitheater in the evening was the best attended event of the year.

Oh, wait. She looks young. Mom nodded in the direction of the main doors.

I glanced at the younger woman on the other side of the room, then bit my cheek to keep from laughing. Mom. She’s probably thirty years old.

Mom wrinkled her brow. No way. She looks younger than that. How can you tell?

Her music bag has the University of Colorado logo on it. Only old people trying to look young carry around university stuff.

Well, she’s listening to music on her phone through ear buds. Only young people own ear buds.

I did laugh then, but no one seemed to care. Normal kids might have been intimidated by the thought of auditioning with adults who had been playing their instruments longer than they had been alive. Not to brag or anything, but I wasn’t. Playing the violin had always felt as natural as breathing, from the first time I picked it up in Mrs. Chen’s living room. She had been tough, but I sailed through the leveled books anyway.

Music was easy for me, but I often couldn’t figure out simpler things, like making friends with other kids. It was kind of a miracle I even had a best friend. I met Jillian Kumar at music camp when we were ten years old. Jillian played the cello and understood why I needed to spend most of my free time practicing. She was so excited for me when I told her about the audition. She even helped me prepare my audition piece.

I pulled my phone out of my bag and opened Jillian’s text:

Jillian: You’ll crush it! Txt me as SOON as ur done! <3 <3

Every time I read that text, my tight shoulders got a little looser. This audition would be my ticket into the in-crowd at school—or at least the orchestra in-crowd. Everyone would finally know my name, and I wouldn’t have to ride the coattails of Jillian’s bubbly personality anymore.

I slid my phone back into my bag and let my fingers mindlessly run scales on the strings of the violin while I gazed around the room. My arms were fidgety. Maybe I should have let Mom harass the volunteer. This was taking forever; I wanted to play already.

Scarlet Williams?

I snapped my head in the direction of the voice just as Mom sprang from the chair like she had heard the starting gun at the beginning of a race. I took a deep breath in through my nose and slowly released it through my mouth. Then I stood up and tucked my violin under my arm—gracefully, not like my jumpy mom.

Mom grabbed my wrist. Just do your best. I’ll be praying out here the whole time.

I gave a small smile. She could be a crazy stage mom sometimes, but at the moment, I was so glad she insisted on being there.

Right this way. A lady who looked like a teacher stepped back and gestured for me to follow her down a hallway lit by flickering fluorescent lights. Her flat, rubber-soled shoes squeaked on the scuffed tile. She looked like one of the power walkers who zoomed around the mall. I had to cough to cover a giggle.

We stopped at the end of the hall. The lady pushed a door open. Go on. And good luck.

I nodded and smiled at her, but she had already turned to start her power walk back to the waiting area.

The room looked like any other school music room. It had four different levels arranged in a tier, with chairs and music stands lining each row. Two men who looked old enough to be my grandfather and one woman about Mom’s age sat at a table at the lowest point of the room where the conductor usually stood. They whispered to each other and shuffled papers.

I made my way down to the lowest tier and waited. They kept their eyes down as they pointed to each other’s notes. The seconds felt like minutes, and I finally cleared my throat.

The woman looked up with a giant smile. "Oh, honey! They said you were young, but I didn’t realize you would be this young. How old are you?"

A curse of being super short, people often thought I was twelve. I stood up as straight as I could. Sixteen, ma’am. I’ll be seventeen in December.

The woman clucked her tongue. And so polite, too. Did you know you’re the only teenager trying out for the Summerset Festival?

Yes, ma’am. My violin teacher felt I was ready.

One of the grandpa-men peered over his glasses. Well, Miss Williams, we’re always happy to see young people audition. Auditions are an essential part of a musician’s career, and it’s good to expose yourself to the pressure. It’s also important to learn how to handle the results. Just know if you don’t make it, it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try again, okay?

I gave them a polite nod. Every adult I met in the music world had something to say about my age, so I was used to that. It made me eager to show them my skills. I’ll be playing ‘Concerto Number Two,’ the third movement, by F. Seitz.

The three judges gave the smile adults offer little kids who want to show off a poorly done cartwheel. I raised the violin to my chin, then closed my eyes for a moment. I took another deep breath in through my nose and slowly blew it out through my mouth. Then I put the bow to the string.

Mrs. Chen always tried to get me to describe what I felt or even what I thought about whenever I performed, but I never came up with a good answer. When I performed, it was like my body took over. All I could hear were the notes I played. Mom always joked that if a fire alarm went off, I wouldn’t hear it until the end of the piece. I didn’t quite understand it myself, but I never thought too hard about it either. I just let my fingers and my arm move the way they wanted. I may have been shy around other kids my age, but I wasn’t shy playing the violin. I was myself when I played.

The three judges stared when I finished. I bit my lip and tried to remember if I had missed any part of the piece. My fingers felt complete, so I was pretty sure I had nailed it. It always unnerved me when no one said anything right away.

The other grandpa-man cleared his throat. Do you have anything else prepared?

I nodded. I opened my mouth, then made a flash decision. "I’ll play the theme from Schindler’s List by John Williams."

The judges looked at each other, and a smile lit up the woman’s face again.

Ambitious, young lady, Grandpa-Man One said.

He’s my favorite composer. I know he’s not one of the old greats, but he’s my inspiration, I said.

"Honey, did you know the orchestra will perform John Williams’s American Journey for this year’s Summerset Festival?"

I gasped. Shut up! I love that piece!

The judges all broke into laughter. Go ahead, Miss Williams. We’d love to hear what you have next.

I rested my chin on my violin and repeated my breathing ritual. I was pretty sure I already nailed the audition. Now I could just play for fun.

Chapter 2

Snowberry, Colorado, sits at an elevation of 8,215 feet, so we drove home with our windows up and the heater blasting, even though it was late May. Mud splattered the side of the car since the slowly melting snow kept our dirt driveway in a permanent state of wet. I got out of the car and breathed in the cool fragrance of earth and pine mingled with the scent of sautéed onions. I stood still for a minute to let the familiar smell bring me down from the audition high, then ducked into the backseat to get my violin case. My stomach growled as the onion smell grew stronger. I frowned as I banged my head on the car’s frame, trying to get out too fast.

Ow! Sadie better have closed my door. I don’t want my room smelling like onions.

Mom chuckled. I think you mean to say, ‘I’m so glad Sadie is cooking us dinner.’ I know I am.

I hurried in the house and up the stairs. My door was standing wide open. I growled and slammed it shut behind me. It was too late. The heavy onion stench was already present in every corner. I opened my window, even though my room would turn into an igloo as soon as the sun set. That odor needed to be gone before bedtime. I always had a hard time sleeping if I could smell food.

I tossed my black audition skirt on my chair and peeled off the panty hose I wore for formal performances. Mrs. Chen had always insisted I wear hose. She would fold her arms and glare at my knees. No one will hear your violin if they are blinded by your bare legs, Scarlet Williams. I put on my comfy jeans and a faded blue long-sleeved t-shirt and gathered my long, curly hair into a messy bun on top of my head. It was a ritual of mine, the unwinding after the hard, tense work of performing.

I hadn’t had a chance to wipe down my violin properly after the audition, and I couldn’t relax until I had gotten the extra rosin off my strings and bow. I opened my case and worked more quickly than I normally would have. The scent inside my violin case was my favorite smell in the entire world, and I refused to let the pungency of dinner taint the soft, red velvet.

As soon as I finished, I slid the case underneath my bed, hiding it from the Onion Monster. I bounded down the stairs and clomped into the kitchen.

Sadie, how many times have I told you to make sure my door is closed when you cook? I put my hands on my hips and stared at my ten-year-old sister’s back.

Sadie didn’t even turn. She kept digging through the spice cabinet. She pulled out two small bottles, then dragged her stool over to the stove and stepped on it to peer inside a pot. Then she took a wooden spoon and stirred, studying the contents of the pot as if they might speak to her. Only after she was done did she acknowledge me with a glance over her shoulder. Wanna taste?

Sadie!

Sadie shrugged. Sorry. I forgot. This ragù takes two hours to cook, and I wanted to get it started.

I crossed my arms and rolled my eyes. This fight had been on repeat ever since Sadie started cooking lessons at the rec center last fall. When Sadie cooked, she forgot about the rest of the world. I walked over to the stove and looked into the bubbling sauce. My stomach growled. I reached over and ruffled Sadie’s short, brown curls.

"I guess I have to forgive you again. So, is this like spaghetti sauce?"

Sadie ducked away from my hand and wrinkled her nose. "Spaghetti sauce? Only amateurs call it that. It’s ragù: slowly simmered onions, carrots, and celery and ground beef, veal, and pancetta. It only has a few tablespoons of tomato paste. I will serve this over pasta, but not spaghetti. I’m going to try to make my own fettuccine again."

I raised an eyebrow. The last time Sadie had tried to make pasta from scratch it had all clumped together. Nobody finished their chewy, pasty balls. Okay, but do we have any spare in the pantry?

Chef Dan showed us how to make pasta again yesterday. I saw what I did wrong. I can do it. Sadie dragged her stool over to the cabinet and stepped up to open the door. She stood on her tiptoes, trying to reach the pasta maker on the middle shelf. I shook my head and pulled the heavy machine down for her.

Does Dad know you need that? You’re not supposed to get these things without him or Mom.

Sadie scowled. He’s been sitting at the table the whole time. He just left to go to the bathroom or something. I’m sure he’ll be right back.

I shrugged. Okay. I guess I should let you pull this on your head then.

Sadie stuck out her tongue and reached for the flour jar. I wasn’t in the mood to get flour all over my shirt, so I went to the family laptop in the corner of the kitchen. I had been begging my parents for my own laptop for ages, but they were all about internet safety and accountability, so we had to use the one in the shared family space—their words, not mine. I pulled up the site for the Snowberry Summerset Festival. The audition packet said the results would be posted as soon as the judges had made their decisions. Two hours was enough time, wasn’t it?

Dad stepped into the kitchen. Sadie, you were supposed to come get me when you needed the pasta machine.

Scarlet got it for me! Sadie kept adding ingredients to her bowl without even looking up.

Dad folded his arms. Safety first, kiddo. I don’t care how delicious your food is. If you can’t be safe, I can’t let you cook.

Sadie put down her eggshell and stuck out her lower lip. Sorry, Dad. I won’t do it again.

Don’t worry, Dad. I won’t let her get smashed up or set the kitchen on fire. I hated it when Sadie got in trouble more than Sadie did sometimes. She was born when I was six years old, and she spent the first month of her life in the NICU. Back then, I didn’t quite understand what was happening, but I knew Mom spent every day at the hospital and cried a lot. Sadie looked like a fake plastic doll the few times I saw her, with tubes taped all over her body. Ever since then, I felt like it was my job to make sure Sadie stayed happy.

Dad sniffed the air and sighed. I don’t know how you do it, Sadie-girl.

Sadie gave a triumphant smile and continued kneading her dough.

How’d your audition go, Pimpernel? Dad leaned over my shoulder. What are you looking at?

I thought they might have posted the results. It’s been two hours. I clicked to another page, then let out a big puff of air when I didn’t find any news. I spun around in the chair. My audition went pretty good.

She was the youngest person there. Mom entered the kitchen and walked to the sink. And she nailed it.

I grinned.