The Secret in the Fryer

In my past life, I ran a food cart selling loaded French fries. The stall next to mine belonged to an older woman named Brenda who sold roasted turkey legs. Her legs were a huge hit, but I could tell at a single glance that they weren't turkey at all. They were cheap, discarded duck legs—and some of them were visibly covered in mold. I quietly warned the regular college kids not to get scammed. Instead of thanking me, they turned around, cursed me out for being a jealous hater, and snitched on me to Brenda. With red, teary eyes, Brenda put on a show: "I’m just an old lady trying to make an honest living! Why is she trying to ruin me?" "Does she really hate seeing poor folks get an affordable bite to eat that much?" I was cyberbullied relentlessly. My cart was completely trashed. I couldn't scrape together the money for my son’s life-saving surgery anymore. The night I went out desperately begging for loans, a heavy-duty truck plowed straight into me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to two years ago. Smiling warmly at the students, I said, "Auntie Brenda’s turkey legs are the best! You guys should buy extra today." The moment those words left my mouth, Brenda's serving spoon visibly froze in midair. She looked up at me, pure bewilderment flashing across her face before she forced a tight, wrinkled smile. "Well, well. Look who finally came to her senses." I caught the glance she shot my way. It wasn't gratitude. It was a cold warning. I said nothing, keeping my head down as I continued chopping my potatoes. "Whoa, Lauren, flipping the script pretty fast, aren't you?" A chubby college kid walked over holding a roasted leg, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Weren't you just trash-talking her yesterday? Saying she was selling fake, moldy meat?" "Now you're kissing up to her? Talk about a sore loser who can't stand seeing someone else make bank." A few other students around him burst out laughing. "Seriously. She just can't stand seeing ordinary folks make an honest buck." "Fatty’s totally right. People like her are just rotten to the core." My hands never stopped peeling the potatoes. "You guys are right," I said, looking up with an easy smile. "I must've seen it wrong before. Brenda's cooking really is amazing." Fatty let out a loud snort, took a massive bite of the leg, and strutted right in front of my cart on purpose. "Smell that? That’s what real, premium meat smells like. Unlike some people who only know how to be bitter." I didn't take the bait. A long line stretched out in front of Brenda’s stall, while mine sat practically deserted. The entire afternoon, I made only three sales. And one of them was my own lunch. Packing up that night, I crouched on the pavement counting the day's earnings: sixteen dollars. My phone rang. It was my mother-in-law. "Lauren, you seriously have the nerve to pick up?" Her shrill voice pierced right through the speaker. "The turkey leg lady next door called me today! She said you've been running around spreading filthy lies that she's selling fake meat!" "What the hell is wrong with you?" "You can't even handle a simple street cart, so how do you expect to pay for Toby’s surgery?" "Forty thousand dollars! Where the hell are you going to get that kind of cash?" My knuckles turned white as I gripped the phone. "Look at yourself, you pathetic loser. Ever since my son died, all you’ve done is—" "Mom," I interrupted softly. "I'll get the money together." "Get it together? How? With your pathetic potato cart? Do you even clear ten bucks a day?" "You're completely useless. No wonder people walk all over you!" A tiny, weak voice echoed in the background. "Grandma, please stop yelling at Mommy..." "Shut up, Toby! Grown-ups are talking!" After some scuffling, my boy's voice came through the receiver. "Mommy." "Hey, baby." I fought to keep my voice steady. "Mommy, I don't need the surgery." "Please don't be sad." "Grandma said it costs too much money, and you don't have it." "I don't want people to yell at you anymore. I won't get sick anymore, I promise. I'm okay." Hot tears splattered onto my apron. I took a deep, shuddering breath. "Toby, sweetie, put Grandma back on." "Mom," I said flatly into the receiver. "I will come up with Toby’s surgery money." "Oh yeah? With what? French fries?" "I'll get it." "Fine! I'll be waiting to see it. Just remember, Toby is your kid. If you don't pay up and he dies, that blood is on your hands!" The line went dead. I stared blankly at the asphalt. Everything I suffered in my past life—I will never, ever let it happen again. In this life, I'm going to let Brenda climb as high as she wants, just so she can feel how hard the pavement hits when she falls.The next afternoon, I pulled up to the food truck alley on Campus Street. I froze. My cart was gone. No—it had been shoved into the dirtiest corner of the alley, right next to the overflowing dumpsters. Scribbled on the pavement in crooked chalk letters were four words: "CROOK GET OUT" Right next to it was a childish drawing of a face spitting. Brenda had already set up her cart. She was currently hanging a bright sign that read "Today's Special." When she caught me looking, she smirked. This time, she didn't even bother pretending to be nice. I pushed my cart against the trash heap and unfolded my prep table. A few surrounding vendors glanced over, their expressions mixed. Some looked sympathetic; others were clearly amused. Nobody said a word. I quietly went about prepping, but business was even worse than before. I only sold one basket of fries all afternoon, and that was just out of pure pity. Crouching behind my counter peeling potatoes, I tried not to look at the massive line queued up across the alley. "Oh, Lauren, dear." Brenda waddled over carrying a plastic bowl, wearing a sickeningly sweet smile. "Haven't eaten yet, have you? I simmered some stew this morning, so I brought you a bowl." She shoved the container right toward my face. A foul, sour stench hit my nostrils immediately. It was scorching hot outside. Leaving stew made this morning out in the sun meant it was completely spoiled. "Thanks, Brenda, but I'm good. I packed something." "Oh, don't be shy with me!" Her voice suddenly jumped up a few octaves. "You're a single mom raising a sick boy, it's not easy! My heart just aches for you." Every college student waiting in line turned their heads to watch. "Man, Auntie Brenda is so sweet." "Right? After all the nasty crap Lauren said about her, she's still bringing her food." "Talk about taking the high road." Brenda’s eyes welled up with theatrical tears. "We're all just trying to survive out here. Why hold grudges?" "Lauren, honey, I don't blame you for what happened before." She pushed the bowl even closer. I smiled, reaching out to take it. "Thank you, Brenda." The sour rot flared in my nose. I held the bowl, not moving an inch. Brenda stared me down. "Go on, drink it while it's hot." "I'll have it in a bit. Gotta finish prepping first." "Look at you... are you looking down on an old lady's cooking?" Her voice trembled with hurt, and the students began whispering among themselves. "Lauren is such an ungrateful bitch." "Seriously, Brenda brings her hot food and she turns her nose up at it." I took a deep breath, raised the container, and took a sip. The rancid, curdled sourness exploded on my tongue. My stomach heaved. Fighting the urge to vomit violently, I forced it down my throat. "Delicious," I said, smiling up at her. Brenda blinked in total disbelief, clearly not expecting me to actually drink it. "G-Good... glad you like it," she muttered awkwardly before turning away. The second her back was turned, I gagged, swallowing the bitter bile in my mouth, and dumped the entire bowl straight into the dumpster behind me. Once the afternoon rush died down and the students headed back to class, the street quieted. Wiping my hands, I pulled out my phone and pretended to take a selfie. I angled the camera directly at Brenda’s cart. She was unpacking a fresh shipment of meat. A few duck legs were sticking out from a plastic bag. Their skins had an eerie, greenish tint. I snapped several photos in quick succession. Zooming in, the patches of green mold were unmistakable. She always got deliveries on Tuesdays, and she never prepped them properly on the same day. She'd wait until the mold was far worse before doing anything about it. Actually, she never threw any of it away. In my past life, she had bragged to me that you just scrape off the fuzzy layer and fry the rest—nobody could ever tell the difference. I pocketed my phone. Right then, it buzzed. It was St. Jude Children’s Hospital. "Ms. Hall? We just got Toby’s latest lab results back." "His cardiac markers aren't looking good. We strongly recommend scheduling the surgery immediately. If you wait another month, the risk profile spikes dramatically." "How is the fundraising coming along?" I checked my banking app. Eight hundred and forty-six dollars. "I'm working on it." "Please hurry, Ms. Hall. The boy doesn't have much time."Forty thousand dollars. I was still short thirty-nine thousand. In my past life, I couldn't get it together before it was too late. In this life... Across the alley, Brenda was sitting on a stool happily counting a fat stack of cash. Suddenly, she glanced over at me. "Hey, Lauren! Come over here a second. Let me talk to you about something." I walked over. She leaned in, dropping her voice to a low murmur. "Look, I over-ordered on meat this week. A bunch of it is going to spoil if I don't move it fast." "How about you help me cook it off at your cart?" "Cook it how?" "Well..." She glanced around shiftily. "It smells a tiny bit off, but if you drop it in the deep fryer with a heavy coat of Cajun spice, nobody will ever taste it." "I'll give you thirty bucks a day. What do you say?" She gave me a greasy smile. "You're just sitting over there doing nothing anyway. Help an old lady out, yeah?" Looking at her smirking face, I turned her down flat. "I only sell loaded fries. I don't know how to cook meat, so you should find someone else." The smile froze right off Brenda’s face. "What is that supposed to mean?" "It means I can't help you." "Take that meat to someone else." "You ungrateful little bitch." Her tone instantly dropped below freezing, the wrinkles around her eyes sharpening like daggers. I went back to washing my potatoes, completely ignoring her. "Who the hell do you think you are, putting on airs over a bucket of potatoes?" She stalked closer, hissing, "You think you're special? Everyone on this block answers to me!" "You're totally right, Brenda. I'm just a girl selling fries." "Fine. You want to play hardball?" She spun on her heel, her apron ties whipping behind her with a sharp snap. I paid her no mind. My phone vibrated a few times. I didn't bother checking it. By five o'clock, classes let out, and waves of hungry students flooded the street. Still, nobody came near my cart. Suddenly, Fatty came sprinting down the sidewalk clutching his phone, looking absolutely giddy. "Holy shit, guys, did you check the campus confession page on Twitter?" A small crowd swarmed around him. "'Greedy Single Mom Tries to Extort 60-Year-Old Vendor'..." "Wait, Lauren tried to shake Auntie Brenda down for cash and threatened to smash her cart?" "Are you serious? That's sickening!" My hands paused over the cutting board. I pulled out my phone and opened the local campus board. The top pinned post was anonymous: "Local French fry vendor, insanely jealous of the sweet turkey leg lady's booming business, first spread lies that she was using fake meat, and now she’s trying to extort cash from her!” “Brenda is sixty years old, working her fingers to the bone, and this bully is trying to shake her down. Does this woman have a soul?" Attached was a photo of me standing by Brenda’s cart earlier. The angle was malicious. It captured my deadpan face, making it look like I was aggressively towering over the old woman. The comment section was an absolute dumpster fire. "No wonder she's dead broke, what a garbage human being." "Doesn't her kid have heart failure or something? Karma's a bitch." "Yo, that's messed up, leave the sick kid out of it." "Why should we? With a mom like that, the kid's probably a menace anyway." I took a slow breath, locked my phone, and put it away. Then I went back to slicing potatoes. "That's her!" Fatty came charging straight toward my stall with two other frat-looking guys. I looked up. Three college kids, one of them carrying a five-gallon bucket of filthy mop water. "Who the hell do you think you are, extorting an old lady?" "She's sixty! Have you got any shame?" I stayed completely silent. "Get the fuck off our campus block!" The bucket swung forward. A tidal wave of foul, dirty water hit me dead on. It drenched me from head to toe. Greasy, foul-smelling liquid dripped from my hair. My clothes were soaked through, and the sharp sting of cheap chili oil burned in my nose. Students all along the street stopped and stared. Some were filming on their phones. Others started laughing and cheering. "She had it coming!" "Pack your trash and get out!" I wiped the greasy water from my eyelashes. And then, I smiled. "I'm sorry," I said, looking straight at the guy holding the empty bucket. "I'll be more careful. I won't bother you guys anymore." The guy froze, completely thrown off that I was actually apologizing. "Y-You... stop acting!" "Yeah, cut the fake innocence, freak!" I didn't say another word. I just knelt down on the wet pavement, picking up the spilled raw potato wedges that had been ruined by the dirty water. Completely contaminated. Unsellable. I raised my gaze toward Brenda’s cart across the alley. She was standing there with her phone raised high, recording me. When she saw me look up, a wicked smirk crossed her face, and she slipped the phone back into her pocket.By eleven that night, I finally packed up. I’d made two sales all day. Sixteen bucks total. I lost money just buying the cooking oil. I pushed my heavy cart down the dark street, clothes still damp and clinging uncomfortably to my skin, shivering against the night chill. "Excuse me! Miss!" A voice called out from behind. I turned around. A girl wearing round glasses and clutching a tote bag came jogging up to me. "Wait, please!" She stopped, catching her breath. "I saw them throw that dirty water on you earlier." Her voice dropped to an anxious whisper. "I... I know you're not like that." My chest tightened. "I've actually been watching her cart for days," she said, adjusting her glasses. "Her turkey legs are completely shady. The color is off, and they smell weird." "My roommate ate one last week and had severe food poisoning for three days, but nobody believed her." I stared at her, silent. "I want to help you," the girl said firmly. "I'll keep tabs on her. If she pulls anything else, I'll document every single thing." I opened my mouth, but a lump in my throat choked back the words. "Aren't... aren't you scared they'll harass you too?" "No," she said without hesitation. "You didn't do anything wrong. Why should you be the one who's scared?" In my past life, this was the exact same girl who had stood up to testify for me when the entire campus was out for my blood. Tragically, by that point, it had been too late. "Thank you," I rasped, my voice thick. "Are you setting up tomorrow?" "Yeah." "Then I'm buying fries from you tomorrow!" She flashed a bright smile and turned to run back toward the dorms. I kept pushing my cart along the sidewalk. The yellow streetlights stretched my shadow long and thin across the asphalt. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Brenda: "I'll give you one last chance tomorrow. You helping me or not?" I left it on read. Another buzz. "You're just a broke-ass widow. Who the hell do you think you're fighting?" I shut the phone off completely. Looking up at the night sky, the stars were burning bright. Go ahead, Brenda. Keep digging your own grave. Before setting up the next morning, I met up with the glasses-wearing student. Her name was Sarah, a senior, and she’d given me her Snap the night before. "I need a favor," I told her, showing her my phone. "Keep a log of her daily traffic. And find out anyone who got sick after eating there." Sarah pushed up her glasses and nodded vigorously. "I already started, Lauren!" She pulled a thick spiral notebook from her bag, packed with scribbled notes. "Last Wednesday, two kids complained about severe stomach cramps. Friday, three more. Yesterday, a freshman had to be rushed to the campus clinic." Scanning the detailed entries, a plan crystallized in my mind. By ten in the morning, I rolled my cart into place. Brenda’s stall was already up, buzzing with customers as usual. I kept my head down cutting potatoes, ignoring the smug glances she sent my way. Around noon, a scrawny boy stood by my counter, staring at my menu board for a long time. His frayed hoodie cuffs were worn to threads, and his sneakers were falling apart at the seams. "Want an order?" I asked gently. He patted his empty pockets, looked down, and shook his head to leave. "Here, on the house," I said, handing over a hot, freshly fried basket. "No, really, I can't..." "Take it," I pressed it firmly into his hands. "It's free." He stood there, stunned. "My little boy is sick in the hospital right now," I murmured, my nose stinging. "I know what it feels like to have completely empty pockets." The boy ducked his head, his voice muffled with emotion. "Thank you so much." "Whenever you're hungry, just come by. I'll always have something for you." He took the fries and walked off, turning back three times to look at me. Old Man Miller, who sold Philly cheesesteaks two stalls down, leaned over and muttered quietly, "Giving away food like that... how are you supposed to make a living?" I just smiled softly. "Doesn't matter if I make a profit right now. If I can help one person, it's worth it." That afternoon, two more students drifted past looking completely broke and hungry. I gave them free fries too. One of the girls started crying after taking her first bite. "You are so sweet, thank you..." I didn't say much, just went back to chopping potatoes. I knew word of mouth would do the heavy lifting soon enough. Brenda strolled past holding a travel mug, smirking maliciously. "Well, well, Lauren. Heard you're giving away food for free today?" "Yeah. Some of these kids are having a rough time." "Tsk, tsk. Look at Mother Teresa over here." Her voice was thick with venom. "I could give away free food too if I wanted. Anyone can do that." I didn't dignify that with a response. She scoffed loudly and strutted off.At four that afternoon, three grown men in casual street clothes strolled down the alley. They definitely weren't college students. They stopped dead in front of my cart, arms crossed, staring me down. "What can I get you?" I asked evenly. The bald leader flashed a sinister grin. "You Lauren Hall?" A cold knot formed in my stomach. "Yes." "Someone wanted us to tell you to stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong." Before the last word left his mouth, his heavy boot kicked straight through my folding prep table. Raw potatoes spilled everywhere. The deep fryer wobbled violently, tipping over and splashing scorching oil across the back of my left hand. The burn was agonizing. I bit my lip so hard it bled, refusing to scream. The other two thugs immediately started tearing my stall apart, flipping counters, smashing condiment bottles on the asphalt, and kicking my cart onto its side. "Hey! What the hell are you doing?!" Miller rushed out from his cheesesteak cart to intervene, but a rough shove sent him flying backward into the wall. Students screamed, scattering in terror, while a few pulled out their phones to film from a distance. The bald man crushed the last seasoning jar under his boot heel and dusted off his hands. "Remember this. Stick your nose in other people's business again, and next time we smash your face." The three of them sauntered away without a care in the world. I crouched on the filthy ground, picking up the broken pieces. The severe oil burn on my hand was already blistering, screaming with throbbing pain at the slightest touch. A few minutes later, my phone pinged. A message from Sarah: "Lauren! Look at Twitter! Someone just posted a video claiming you staged the whole attack for clout!" I clicked the link. Sure enough, the footage of my cart being trashed had already been uploaded. The caption claimed the 'crazy fry lady' was desperate for attention after her extortion plot failed, so she hired actors to wreck her own stall. "This psycho will do anything to go viral." "So fake it hurts, who trashes a cart in broad daylight?" "Karma! She tried to shake down sweet Brenda, she deserved this." However, a few dissenting comments stood out: "Wait, did you guys even look at her hand?" "Real or fake, smashing someone's livelihood is crossing a line." "Yeah, she's still a human being trying to make a living." "Mommy!" A weak, fragile voice called out from behind me. I snapped around. Toby was standing ten feet away, dressed in a faded hospital gown, his face deathly pale and his hair soaked in cold sweat. "Toby?! How did you get out here?!" He stumbled toward me, freezing in horror at the shattered glass and spilled oil all over the ground. "Mommy... your cart..." "It's okay, baby. Mommy's okay, I promise." "I don't want the surgery anymore!" He suddenly burst into hysterics, his voice shrill and breaking. "I don't want people hurting you anymore! Mommy, let's go home, stop selling fries, I don't need the doctor..." He threw his tiny arms around my legs, sobbing so hard he could barely breathe. "Mommy, please don't die! Don't let them kill you, please..." I sank to my knees and wrapped him tightly in my arms. The tears finally broke through the dam. It was the very first time I had cried since waking up in this second life. I sobbed until my entire body shook, so choked up I couldn't form words. But I only allowed myself thirty seconds of weakness. Drawing in a ragged breath, I wiped my tears, cupping his tiny, feverish face in my hands. "Toby, look at Mommy." He hiccuped, staring at me with red, terrified eyes. "Mommy isn't going to lose this time." "You have to be a brave boy and go back to the hospital, okay?" "Mommy swears to you, I will get the money. I promise." Toby nodded through his tears. Sarah came sprinting down the block, out of breath. "Lauren! I... I'll watch what's left of your cart. Take him back to the pediatric ward right now!" I scooped Toby up into my arms, the severe burn on my hand oozing blood and fluid against his gown. As I rushed past the curb, I saw Professor Vance standing by the lamppost. The biology professor adjusted his spectacles, silently looking from my demolished food cart to the frail, sick child clutched against my chest. He didn't utter a word. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw him pull out his smartphone and quietly take several close-up photos of the broken bottles and the crime scene.That evening, Sarah messaged me saying another thread had blown up on campus social media. Someone had posted evidence showing the thugs who trashed my cart were paid off by a third party. The comments instantly descended into chaos, opinions splitting down the middle. I glanced at it once and put my phone away. The breaking point hit Wednesday afternoon. Three students were rushed to the campus health clinic almost simultaneously, suffering from violent vomiting, bloody diarrhea, and dangerously high fevers. The doctor quickly diagnosed acute food poisoning caused by severely rancid meat. The news spread through the university like wildfire. Within thirty minutes, an angry, terrified mob of students surrounded Brenda’s cart. Brenda stood in the center, weeping hysterically, tears streaming down her wrinkled cheeks. "How could I ever sell bad food to you lovely children?! I'm just an old woman trying to make an honest living!" "Someone is framing me! It has to be!" Suddenly, she whipped her head around, pointing a trembling finger straight at me. "It was Lauren Hall! She was insanely jealous of my business! She must have poisoned my meat prep when I wasn't looking!" Instantly, dozens of suspicious, hostile eyes locked onto me. "Wait, she did say the turkey legs were fake before..." "Holy shit, it was her! It's revenge!" "That's fucking evil! Poisoning innocent students just to settle a petty score?!" Fatty shoved his way to the front, screaming in my face, "Are you even human?! Kids are in the hospital right now, are you happy?!" I slowly set down my potato peeler, stood up, and walked calmly over to Brenda. "Brenda," I said evenly. "You're claiming I tampered with your food. How about you and I walk down to the security office right now and pull the street camera footage? Do you dare?" Every drop of color drained from Brenda’s face. "Y-You... you monster..." She dramatically clutched her chest, her knees buckling as she slumped backward. "You're trying to kill an old woman... I have a heart condition! I'm sixty years old, why are you doing this to me?!" Several panicked students rushed forward to catch her. "Lauren, back the fuck off!" "You're giving her a heart attack, you psycho!" "Get the hell out of here!" I didn't budge. I just stood there, staring coldly at her pathetic theatrical performance. "Brenda, the surveillance camera is mounted right on that traffic pole. It takes three minutes to pull the tape." "If you're really innocent, let's go clear your name right now." "Or could it be..." I paused, locking eyes with her. "You don't dare?" Brenda’s hand clutched over her chest began to tremble uncontrollably. Murmurs started rippling through the crowd. "Wait... she's right. The street cam overlooks both carts." "Yeah, checking the footage would settle it instantly..." "Settle what?! Can't you see Brenda is literally collapsing?!" Fatty yelled back defensively. Right at that moment, an authoritative voice cut through the noise from the edge of the crowd. "There's no need to walk over." Professor Vance stepped forward, flanked by two uniformed campus police officers. He held up a black flash drive. "I’ve already pulled and reviewed the footage from the past seventy-two hours." The remaining color on Brenda’s face vanished into ash. "Ms. Brenda Miller," Professor Vance said, his voice ringing with cold authority. "Would you care to step inside and watch it with us?" I watched as her legs gave out completely. And then, she collapsed flat onto the pavement. Everyone froze, staring at her. The air hung dead silent for two full seconds. Suddenly, she snapped her head up, her bloodshot eyes glaring at me with unadulterated venom. It was the exact same murderous glare from my past life. "It's you!" Her voice went completely shrill, screeching like grinding metal. "You ruined me! You should have stayed dead in the first place!"