Cryptid Keepers 3: Joanie
“Something’s wrong with her chili? Dude, don’t even joke,” Bash said. He turned the spray nozzle from the sink against the convex inside of his bowl and succeeded in splattering himself with water and food. “Dangit!”
“Why not?” Joanie asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I shared some of that last batch with my dad and he took it to the county chili cookoff.”
Not good. Not good at all. Joanie tried to think. She needed more information. She took the bowl from Bash and handed him one of the baby-blue dishtowels her mom gave them for Christmas. “Why on earth would he do that?” The main thing she knew about Bash’s father was that he’d sold Bash’s bike when Bash was fourteen, after Bash tricked it out with metallic stickers in an Iron Man scheme. He’d been endlessly proud of the bike but to Joanie it sounded like the dorkiest thing she could imagine.
“Two reasons,” Bash said, waving off the towel. Instead, he took off his shirt.
“One, he thinks your mom hates him, and he figures she’d appreciate the trophy. Although I don’t know why he thinks she’ll like the fact that he entered it in his own name.”
“And B, he’s determined to beat Gretchen Cosgrove for once.”
“What, your dad has a nemesis?”
“Listen, do not even mention Gretchen around my dad unless you’ve got a comfortable chair to sit in, ‘cause you’re in for the long haul.” Bash stretched both arms out and Joanie wondered at his physique. The guy ate like a teenager whose parents were in Europe, and to hear him talk he’d been King Nerd as a kid. But Joanie hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him when she saw him at Zilker Park.
She shook her head. She needed to focus. “How much chili did your dad take, anyway? I only gave you that one quart.”
“You know how much I liked it. And I need brownie points with your mom, too. I asked her for more and she gave me three containers.”
Joanie sighed. She was definitely going to have to have a talk with her mom.