Page 36 of The Baking Games

"Dang it," I whisper loudly, my voice cracking. Of course, the cameraman comes in for a closeup of my meltdown.

I slam my hands down on the counter, my shoulders heaving as I try to catch my breath. Tears threaten the corners of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Not here. Not on camera.

I also refuse to look over at Rhett. I'm sure he's enjoying this. The last thing he will do is come over here and help me again. The entire kitchen falls silent, and I can feel the weight of everyone's stares like a physical pressure on my chest. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the humiliating reality of the situation. I take a shaky breath, my hands still gripping the edge of the counter.

Everything is falling apart. It's just week one. My project is a mess. I have no composure. I feel like I'm crumbling under the pressure, and it's terrifying. I never thought my anxiety would hit me like this, and yet here I am on national television, basically having a panic attack in front of everybody.

"Savannah, honey, take a deep breath."

I suddenly hear Maggie's soothing voice cut through the haze of my panic. I don't know how she got to my station, but she's standing there looking at me with an expression of concern.

"I can't do this, Maggie. I just can't," I whisper. I don't know why I'm whispering since we have microphones, but I do.

"Yes, you can," she says, gently placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "You've come this far; don't let one setback make you quit."

I look at her, tears blurring my vision. "But everything's falling apart. I'm falling apart."

She looks around at the other contestants who are still watching us. “Hey, everyone, let’s get back to work. There’s nothing to see here." Her tone is firm, and everybody returns to what they were doing. Slowly, I hear the noise level in the kitchen start to rise again as everybody gets back to work.

She looks back at me, her eyes locking onto mine. "You're not falling apart, sweetheart. You’re just having a rough moment. We all have them."

I sniffle, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “I’ve already ruined everything. There's no way that I can fix this."

"Maybe not," she says, looking around at the mess I've made on the counter, "but you can start over. You're good at this, Savannah. Really good. Don't let one mistake take you out of the game."

"Why do you care, Maggie? You're competing with me,” I say, laughing.

She smiles softly. "Because I've been where you are, and I know how hard it is to keep going when everything feels like it's falling apart. You have to remember why you're here."

"You sound like a grandmother."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Maggie says, giving my shoulder a squeeze. "Now, why don't you get this mess cleaned up and then start working on how to salvage your project."

I take another deep breath, nodding slowly. "Okay. Thank you."

"Don't mention it," she says, handing me a clean bowl. "Now I've got to get back to work. We both have a competition to win."

As she walks back to her station, I feel a sense of gratitude and determination. She’s right; I can’t let one setback ruin everything that I’ve worked so hard for. I won’t give up, not right now. I take a deep breath and steady myself. I can do this for Sadie and for me. For all the dreams that we've put on hold for so long.

I start cleaning up the mess on my counter. The broken pieces of my project might be unsalvageable, but I'm not. I refuse to be.

I try not to, but I steal a glance at Rhett who's still working at his station, completely absorbed in his project. I have a competition to win, and I'm not letting anyone, including Rhett, stand in my way.

SAVANNAH

I had a temper tantrum on national TV. This is the thought that I keep reminding myself of repeatedly as I mentally kick myself in the shin while I wait for the judges to walk around the kitchen and make their judgments about each of us.

I might be going home. I can feel it in my bones. I don't see any way around it.

Everyone else at least has something to show for the last three hours of work. I, too, have something to show, but it certainly isn't something I would normally put out for all the world to see. I had these grandiose plans and ideas to make a movement sculpture out of a rose. I don't know what I was thinking. Flowers don't typically move all that much. My heart is thundering in my ears as the judges make their solemn procession around the kitchen.

I've watched a lot of those baking reality shows on TV. They always seem so happy and peppy. The judges are always friendly. Well, these three judges are not friendly at all. They are all business all the time. They barely crack a smile. They don't hand out compliments.

I suddenly flash to the early version of Simon Cowell, who was on American Idol. Everyone who stood before him was harshly judged, and sometimes, his comments made me laugh. These judges are the early Simon Cowells who don’t hold back on what they think. It’s not as entertaining when it’s pointed at me.

This is like being back in school, only with the worst set of professors I could have ever thought of having, but I have to stand here and wait for them to come to my station and tell me how much I suck. Then I can go upstairs, lay down in my bed, and sob for the rest of the night like a normal person.

I'm trying to look like someone with poise while I wait for my judgment, but I swear sweat is dripping down my back as they get closer and closer to my station. This intimidating trio is a team of the most formidable figures in the entire modern dessert world. I could only ever dream of reaching their heights if I worked the rest of my life. The worst one is Chef Alain. He's always got this stern look on his face as if it might break if he actually smiles. Next to him is Tessa, the social media queen. You would think she would be social, interactive, smiling, but no, she's very serious about her job.