TTITLE: THE BEA TEAM
GENRE: YA Contemporary
ENTRY: #30
Seventeen-year-old Bea serves up Southern fried dishes to win a food truck competition. But falling for a competitor was never on the menu. The stress of the romance and competing stir up Bull, her bulimia voice. Now it'll take the perfect recipe not only to become the winning chef, but also keep her girlfriend, and defeat Bull.
[THIS IS MISSING THE MOTIVATION. WHY DOES SHE NEED TO WIN THIS COMPETITION? I WOULD ALSO PREFER THAT YOU TELL US WHAT INCITES THIS GOAL BUT IT'S NOT COMPLETELY NECESSARY. FINALLY, I'M CONFUSED AS TO HOW WINNING WILL HELP HER KEEP HER GIRLFRIEND SINCE SHE'S HER COMPETITION.]
I inhale the celery and onion [THAT'S] mixed with crabmeat and fried to a honey brown. The spices from Bea's Bite, my own creation [TELLING], add just the right zest and kick. Perfect. They're [THE 'THEY' HERE IS REFERRING TO THE SPICES. IS THAT WHAT YOU MEAN?] arranged on Nana's pink flower-patterned platter. I've set the table with the coordinating dishes as well-salad and dinner plates, sterling silverware, and the white linen napkins, the whole works. Normally Nana's china is reserved for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and when Daddy was alive, my parents' anniversary, but tonight I'm breaking the rules and hoping Momma won't mind.
She should be home in a few minutes. I go into the kitchen and get the salad and pitcher of sweet tea to carry to the table. After I set the bowl and pitcher down, there's only one thing left. I pick up the envelope with the same delicacy as if it's a sleeping baby [MAKE SURE SHE HAS A SLEEPING BABY IN HER LIFE IF YOU'RE USING THIS METAPHOR] and set it in between the two plates.
The manila envelope came this afternoon after six long months of waiting. I wanted to rip it open at the mailbox, but decided I didn't want to read the letter alone. Whatever news it's delivering needs a proper meal. Everything in life is better with a proper meal. [IS THIS HER BELIEF OR HER MOMMA'S? IF IT'S SOMETHING HER MOMMA OR DADDY TAUGHT HER, TELL US THIS].
The day I learned to ride a bike, Daddy and I made lasagna with homemade garlic sticks. He showed me how to make noodles. Closing my eyes, I can still hear his laughter when I rolled the first batch too thick, and he said I was destined to be like Julia Child.
[I REALLY LIKE THIS. THE ONLY THING THAT'S MISSING IS SOME KIND OF HINT AT THE BULIMIA. THE OPENING IS ALL ABOUT INTRODUCING YOUR MAIN CHARACTER SO IF THIS IS HER FLAW, I WANT AT LEAST A HINT ABOUT IT IN THE FIRST FEW PAGES. IT WOULD ALSO BE NICE TO GET A TAD MORE EMOTION ABOUT THE ENVELOPE. IS SHE NERVOUS? EXCITED? TOTALLY FREAKING OUT?]
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