The next morning,I meet Bailey in the hallway. We’re going to grab breakfast at a nearby café before taking a car to the convention center. She’s wearing her Docs, black skinny jeans, a big, olive green parka type coat with a faux-fur lined hood, and a purple and black knitted scarf. Despite the fact that I know it’s 40 degrees outside, I scowl at the scrap of yarn.
“Did Slipper Dick knit you that scarf?”
She fingers the edges with a smirk. “Yup.”
I grunt and turn on my heel.
“His name is Jesse,” she says as we walk to the elevators. “I’ve known him since sophomore year.”
“Don’t care.”
“He’s pre-med,” she adds.
“Cool.” I jab at the button for the elevator.
“He’s a literal genius. His IQ is like 160 or something crazy like that.”
“Awesome for him.”
She climbs into the elevator with me, and I watch her in my periphery.
“Yeah, he’s a great friend.”
My ears perk at friend, and I flick my eyes to her, but she’s looking down at her phone. I should leave it at that, but I’m an idiot, so I don’t.
“A friend...?”
“Mhm.” She sounds bored. “Me, Ivy, Jesse and Kelley. Friends.”
When the elevator door opens, she skips past me into the lobby, and I don’t catch up to her until we’re stepping out onto the sidewalk.
“There’s a Dunkin’ right there.” She points down the block, then starts walking, but I reach out and grab her shoulder.
“Nah. We’re going to one of my favorite cafés. Locally sourced ingredients, fair trade coffee, and an 80’s theme.” I don’t miss the sparkle in her amber eyes.
“That sounds great, but also hipster expensive.”
“On me.” I don’t give her a chance to protest.
Three blocks later, we’re walking into a café with 80’s movie posters and cultural paraphernalia lining the walls, rustic tables with mismatched vintage-looking chairs cover the floor, and a fucking model DeLorean is suspended from the ceiling.
“Holy shit.” She bounces a few times on her toes. “This is freakin sick.”
“Wait till you see the menu.”
I follow her toward the counter and watch as her eyes scan the chalkboards on the wall.
“Whaaat? Everything is named after an 80’s movie character. This is awesome.” She scans the items and flashes me a smirk. “You said you’re buying?”
I smile. “Yep.”
She orders a latte, a scone, and the most expensive sandwich on the menu. The Biff, it’s called, and because I know she wants it, I roll my eyes and fake offense. I could buy her the entire menu multiple times over if she wanted, but I’ll let her think she’s irritating me by making me buy a twelve-dollar egg sandwich.
“Poetry,” she says randomly between bites of her breakfast.
“What about it?” I folded my napkin into an origami frog, but it’s too floppy to bounce.
“If I owned a café, I would want it to be themed after poetry. Or writing. Books.” She takes a sip from her latte, and I study her. “This 80’s theme is awesome, but mine would have words and quotes and books instead of movie posters and toys.”
“What kind of café?”
“Like this one. Bakery and coffee shop. Easy lunch and breakfast food. Kinda like Bakery On Main, I guess.”
“But with a poetic atmosphere for writers.” I finish, and she gives me a smile that quickens my heartbeat and sparks flashes of memories.
“Yeah. Or readers. Or anyone, really.” Her voice is optimistic in a dreamy way. “With a homey sense of community, like a family, and cupcakes.”
It’s like a switch flips. Like at the mention of cupcakes, she remembers who she’s with and why she hates me, and the light happiness of her features is wiped clean. In its place is a blank, emotionless slate.
“Right,” I grumble. “We should probably get to the convention center anyway.”
At the convention center,we’re given packets, folders, nametags, and welcome gift bags, then we’re told to take a seat.
Bailey and I are two of twenty-four contestants—twelve teams. We’re told that the contest runs Monday-Friday, and each day, a certain number of teams will be eliminated. Tomorrow is the biggest chopping block. They’ll send home four teams at the end of the day. Then every day after, two teams a day will get the boot until Friday, when only two teams are left to compete for the ten thousand dollars.
Then they get into the challenges. Monday and Tuesday, we’ll be given a common bakery item and ingredients. It’s up to us to make up a recipe on the fly, because we’re not told anything ahead of time. We’ve been assigned a country in our packets, and that’s what we focus on for Wednesday, assuming we advance. Wednesday, we’re to make a dessert item that’s popular in our assigned country, and we’re allowed to do a little prep ahead of time. We can even tell the judges if we need any special ingredients for our recipe and practice making the items outside of filming.
Bailey and I flip to the backs of our packets at the same time, and our shoulders fall at the same time, too.
Bangladesh.
I know absolutely fucking nothing about Bangladesh, except that I think it’s in South Asia. I was hoping for a softball toss here—maybe France or Italy—but didn’t get it. France and Italy I’m familiar with. Bangladesh is going to require some serious internet searching.
Thursday is another surprise bakery item, and Friday, for the final two teams, is a theme to be revealed on Wednesday. The two teams on Friday will have to bake three items that fit the given theme, and one of those items has to be a re-creation of something from the past week.
It’s...a lot.
I glance over at Bailey and can tell she’s feeling it, too. This is overwhelming, but I guess they have to have us do more than chocolate chip cookies to offer ten grand.
The people leading the orientation go over the rules and expectations. We’re not allowed to use our phones on set, and we’re not allowed to post details about the contest on social media. We even have to sign NDAs. Fine with me. The whole competition is being filmed for a two-night holiday special on one of the local cable channels. Five days of filming and they’re going to condense it down into two hours total. Crazy how that shit works.
Once again, I’ll be on television doing something that isn’t baseball related, and the risk makes me fucking jittery. I barely made it out clean last time, what with Zay seeing the cookie competition on The Morning Show. If the guys somehow see this one... Or Dad...
Shit.