THE MACGUFFIN MUFFIN [Sarah Lee] We sit in a cracked booth beneath the wan glow of an oddly hot hanging lamp. The cafe is questionable. I use one of the napkins to wipe away the thin layer of grime coating our wooden table. Ethan notices. “Yeah. Nasty.” I nod, and then spot the golden muffin on a plate in the middle of the table. It’s stale and probably as gross as the tabletop. It looks as if it’s made of metallic- gold dough, which is simultaneously disturbing and astounding. There’s a sign next to the muffin, which reads: “EAT IF YOU DARE.” “What’s so great about that muffin?” I ask Ethan, who is disinterested and reading his menu. In fact, I’m not sure he heard me. He says he probably wants to try the steak because that sounds amazing, and it’s been a year since he has had it. I think that sounds good too, but I find my eyes unable to be torn from the muffin. “I kind of want to eat it,” I tell him in a whisper. He laughs. “Then you should get a steak, too. I’m not sharing mine.” “No, not the steak—” I point to the weird muffin, shining under the glow of that eerie heat lamp “—that muffin!” Ethan looks up and sees the muffin for the first time. He looks closely at it and warns me, “I don’t think you should. There’s something about that thing—it’s probably been sitting there for weeks.” “You think it would make us sick?” I ask him just as the waiter approaches our table. Ethan orders his lemonade. Taken by surprise, I realize I haven’t even looked to see what kind of drink I want. I’ve been too busy ogling the muffin. I order lemonade too. When the waiter leaves, Ethan puts his hand on my shoulder. I turn to look at him. “Are you okay?” he asks. “We can go if you don’t feel good. I’m going to have to take my steak to go if we do that, so you’ll have to wait for a few minutes, but you can wait in the car.” I realize that my vision is swimming, as if that muffin has zapped all of my energy with its magnetic force. I realize how badly I want to eat it. “I’m fine, Ethan. We can stay here,” I tell him, but I appreciate how much my big brother cares about me. He nods and pushes away his menu. “You’re sure you want the steak then?” I ask him, smiling. He says he is absolutely sure, and then, his eyes fall on the muffin again. “I kind of want to eat it too, now.” He says slowly, “Do you think it’s okay? Maybe we should split it, and then we can stop thinking about it.” 19 PLAINS paradox