Page 21 of The Baking Games
Okay, okay. Most people might find some of that endearing, I guess.
“Come on, man! Didn’t you hear the intercom?” Nate stands before me, waving his hands like he’s landing a plane. Apparently, I was so lost in thought that I missed something.
“What?”
“It’s dinner time!” Nate darts out the door like he hasn’t eaten in years. I’m hungry, but there’s no need to get all excited about it.
I walk down the curved staircase, which makes me feel like I’m in a scene from Gone With The Wind. Yes, the irony of my name isn’t lost on me.
It’s weird to be in a house with a bunch of people I don’t know. Of course, I’m normally on boats with people I don’t know, but at least I know my crewmates. I know the people I work with each day. When I look at these people, they’re all strangers. Well, except for Savannah.
I don’t see her around. Maybe she quit when she realized she was going to be stuck here with me and her loser ex-boyfriend.
“Everyone gather around!” Our host, Dan, is standing at the door to some room I couldn’t get into earlier. He’s so over the top on the hosting thing that I kind of want to smack him. His teeth are even too much. His dentist really did him a disservice with those things.
“Are we ever going to eat?” someone says loudly, but I can’t see who.
“That’s what I want to talk about. First, I hope everyone is adjusting to the house and your new rooms. This is the last time you’ll see me until your first challenge.” Someone cheers, but again, I can’t see who it is. “Thanks a lot,” he says, flashing a fake smile toward the camera. “Anyway, we know you’re hungry, and it’s almost dinner time, so behind this door, we’ve had a whole meal catered by the area’s best chefs!”
The small, sad crowd cheers. Well, I don’t.
“From now on, you’re responsible for your own meals. You’ll find a fully stocked pantry and refrigerator. Our helpers will come in while you’re at competitions and refill things daily. You will also be called in for confessionals occasionally, so if you hear your name called, please go to the room over there with the red door.” He points down a side hallway. This house is huge and has the weirdest layout I’ve ever seen.
“Keep your mics on. You are being filmed at all times, except when you’re in the restroom. Aside from that, assume America can see and hear you. You’ll have access to the communal kitchen and dining room behind this door tonight. During competitions, we’ll use our state-of-the-art industrial kitchen with multiple stations, which has been built behind the house as a separate structure.”
I. WANT. TO. EAT.
“Finally, remember that America is watching. They get a vote, too.” He winks as if that’s a secret code we’re all supposed to get, and then he opens the kitchen door. Everyone runs in like a herd of buffalo. Haven’t these people seen food before?
As usual, I’m the last one in, and the only seat left is across from Savannah. She’s sitting beside Maggie, chatting away and laughing. She does have a nice smile. I didn’t remember that. During school, she just irritated me. I’m sure she’ll do it again as soon as the competition starts tomorrow, but I can appreciate her for tonight.
“Greene,” I say, sitting down across from her and putting a white cloth napkin in my lap.
“Don’t call me that,” she says through gritted teeth, a smile still on her face. See, I know she’s got a temper under all that positivity, and I’d love to see it. I’ve always wondered what it would take.
“Fine. I’ll call you Sunny then.”
She reaches over to take a yeast roll from a basket between us. “Why would you call me that?”
“Because you’re always smiling, and it’s annoying.”
She smiles even bigger. “It’s only annoying to grumpy people.”
I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t think so, but whatever you say.”
“Do you two know each other?” Tanya asks. She’s the single mom with the catering business, I think. I try to remember everyone. You should always know your competition.
Savannah rolls her eyes. “Unfortunately. We went to pastry chef school together.”
“Oh, so he’s the jerk you couldn’t stand in school? That makes sense,” Connor interjects from the end of the table where he’s seated himself like he’s the king of our group. I’ll be setting him straight on that soon.
“You called me a jerk?” I ask, smiling.
She smiles back. “Oh, I called you way worse than that. Trust me.”
I can’t help myself. I’m enjoying this barbing back and forth. Maybe I’m just tired, but I find it entertaining.
We continue eating the subpar lasagna they’ve served us as everyone chats amongst themselves. I stay as quiet as possible, opting to listen in to their conversations. People have no idea what they reveal when their defenses are down.