Secrets were difficult; Huna remembered that. Back in the day, she'd had an enormous crush on her boss and had to keep that a secret. This was a bit like that, but worse. If her colleagues had found out then, they'd have mocked her; now...
With a soft splat and a long swish, the brain dropped onto the floor and slid under the Fry-U-Later(TM). As her colleagues scrabbled after it, voicing their claims, Huna gave a weak shuffle and noted in as dead and ineffectual a fashion as possible that they should give her the brain as: "My pants are on fire!"
As her pants were clearly not on fire (unlike Zouma's) they ignored her - except for Kublai, who pointed out that she was a liar, liar and that therefore maybe in a way her pants were on fire, and Huna sometimes wondered about Kublai - and got on with it. Eventually Zouma, pants still smouldering, secured the precious brain and, true to his word, shuffled off to count the meat.
Huna turned back to her work, plumbing the mysteries of the shake machine and thought again about her secret. That she remembered, wondered, thought.
Very carefully, she put a hand up under her paper hat and touched the soft, wrinkled surface of her very own, very secret, brain.