Voicemails for Isabelle

I did it!

Holy shit!

It…

was…

awesome.

Start from the top!

I walked into school this morning.

And then I see Colin Corwin.

Jill tastes like beef jerky.

I see you told everyone how you begged me to suck face.

-Classy! - Ooh!

Sorry, Jill, but I'm not gonna be your boyfriend.

- Oh! -Don't flatter yourself, Colin Corwin.

I regretted you the second your sweaty slug lips touched mine.

Hey, Jill, does your sister taste like beef jerky too,

or just… cancer?

- - Cold.

- -Fight!

Fight! Fight! Fight!

You're gonna be in so much trouble.

Mr. Corwin!

You cry like a little bitch.

He asked if I tasted like cancer?

That's it?

I'd rather have cancer than cystic fibrosis.

Boys are just so embarrassing.

Well, congratulations. You're suspended.

Again.

- -

Welcome to the culinary motherland, San Francisco.

Turmeric.

Pistachio, fruit of the gods!

- -

Back away, girls! Out of the way!

We shoulda had boys.

You see, the antibiotics aren't working as well as we'd hoped.

Hi.

Izzy, listen. It's Robyn.

- -

-Ready? -Ready!

Do you really need to go out? It's your last New Year's with us.

I know.

It's also my last New Year's with my friends.

-I know. -Bye, love you!

-Be safe. -Mwah! Bye!

You ready?

- 15 minutes to midnight, bitches! -

-I'm sorry. I have gotta go. I can't… -

- -

-I'm so sorry. -No.

That was so fun.

Three, two, one!

-Happy New Year! -

- -

- -

I have my knife skills test tomorrow, and there's just no way for me

to make it in time and I am so, so sorry.

Holy sh…

Don't worry, my lad.

Pretty soon, you'll be headed to the culinary motherland!

He thought it was gonna happen in 2029, 30 years ago,

so if we can just…

Oh, you're looking at my eye.

-Your eye? What? -Yeah. I look like Sloth from The Goonies .

-No, you don't. -I know.

-No, you don't. - Don't worry. It's…

It's just pink eye.

Well, I'm pretty sure pink eye is, like, super contagious.

No, that's just a common misconception.

No, really, I think it is.

Fake news made up by Big Pharma.

Trust me.

Your eyes, on the other hand, are super beautiful.

Your call has been forwarded to voicemail.

And then he smears butt particles all over my face.

My face is a butthole.

Call me tomorrow, please.

I'm up.

- -

- -

Bonjour!

Chef Bastien, who is your favorite chef?

Who is my favorite chef? That is easy.

It is ma mère.

She is so beautiful, she is dead.

Your performance on Top Chef changed my life.

Ow.

Geoffrey! Eyes on your cake!

- -Get!

Look at me. Don't look at me.

Look at me.

Never look at me!

Did you just look at me? Did you just make eye contact with me?

No, Chef.

- -

-Oh! -

Maybe try saying "corner" next time.

-You okay? -Yeah.

Eight hours deseeding and slicing kumquats?!

Culinary waterboarding.

I can't even remember the last time I actually made anything,

other than my brekkie burrito.

All I do is measure, deseed, slice, and pray for the sweet release of death.

An AI robot could do my job better than me.

You were built for this, my dude.

Let a mofo know.

I will let a mofo know I am homesick,

I'm almost out of savings, and there's nowhere for me to go

unless a baker quits or retires or dies.

All right, fine, you crazy son of a bitch.

I will fly to San Fran and murder one of the bakers with you.

How would we do it?

Well, obviously, we'd wrap my oxygen cord around his neck.

-Wow, you answered that so quickly. -

Wait, speaking of lack of oxygen to the brain,

I'm getting drinks with Equinox Ethan tomorrow.

Isn't that the guy who thinks that babies can breathe underwater?

He's neurospicy.

Have a little healthy self-love, my guy.

Eh…

You've gotta get on Hinge.

It's amazing.

Except for the part where you feel like a hideous, unlovable troll

that might match with Ted Bundy.

-I've never been drier. -

I think I'd rather just live vicariously through you.

Perfect.

-Hello? -Yeah. I'm here.

-Hi. -No…

I have to tell you something. Don't freak out.

What?

Test results came back.

-Why didn't you call me? -I literally just did.

They're, uh… listing me for a lung transplant.

It's lookin' pretty dire.

They don't know what they're talking about.

I mean, they've been wrong every single step of the way.

You're fine, because…

Because you're a superhero. Have they still not figured that out yet?

Yeah, I guess not.

-Tsk. I'm gonna come home. -No.

-I'll look up flights now. -No.

It's not because of the results. I miss you. I need to see you.

You're gonna be home in three weeks for turkey.

-For the weekend. -If you do, I will kick you in the tit.

You'll never make baker if you fly home every time they give us shit news.

-No, I'm-- -You are being so dramatic.

-I'm not being dramatic! -This is not A Walk to Remember .

But is it A Fault in Our Stars ?

Shailene would def play me in my biopic.

-But no. -Okay, fine.

But I'll see you in three weeks. Turkey!

Jill?