Page 76 of XOXO

"What do you mean?"

"I dunno. Could just be me, could just be based on limited experience with him, but he doesn't look at you the same way he looks at everyone else. His eyes go all crinkly at the corners, like you're..." She cocks her head, searching for the right word. "Fascinating to him. Or something. Does that make sense?"

"No," I admit. No, it does not. I spent a day under his gaze and felt nothing but ice and loathing.

"Well, I'm not the only one who noticed," she adds, lifting her eyebrows. "And no, I will not reveal the other sources — plural — who agree with me."

My jaw drops. "What the hell, Danielle? What have people been saying about me?"

"Oh, nothing bad," she assures me, ripping off another piece of bread. "Just that, you know. Miles um... notices you, and not in a bad way."

I groan, my shoulders slumping again. Fuck. What a bomb to drop on me at... I check my watch... ten thirty, on the night before an elimination round. "Does everyone think I'm getting preferential treatment, or something?" I mutter, now confused for entirely different reasons.

"What?" She pulls back. "Hell no! That's not what I've heard at all. And your baking speaks for itself. Anyway, it's getting late. What's your game plan for tomorrow? Confronting him, I hope."

I bite my lip. "I'm gonna have to, aren't I?"

"Yep," she says solemnly. "And I'm gonna tell you right now, sweetie. I'm a people person. I love helping people. I'll listen to their problems until the cows come home, but it really chaps my ass when people prefer complaining over simple fixes." A beat . "You know?"

I spread my palms. I read her loud and clear; until I talk to Miles, I have no room to whine. And honestly, I agree. That's the point of this whole thing. To embrace change... to start fresh. What's the damn point if I'm still dwelling on the past?

"You're right," I announce, clearing my throat. "I'll go see him tomorrow after filming."

Danielle beams. "That's my girl."

After a night on scratchy hotel beds, my fellow contestants and I all board the production bus and head to set. Today, we're filming our signature bake round, which also means an elimination is on the horizon. I'm worried about the fates of Darius and Suruthi, two contestants I barely know, who finished in the bottom at yesterday's bake.

From beside me on the bus, Danielle gives my hand a firm squeeze. You can do this, she mouths, nodding to the trailers out her window. Miles' is clearly labeled, his name in blocky font. These trailers are a hell of a lot nicer than our rooms, a little fact I only learned after looking around the hotel — and I'm not saying we've got bad accommodations, but I understand why the hosts aren't staying on hotel property.

I give her a silent nod. She’s right; I can do this.

“What’s your plan of action?” Danielle murmurs under her breath.

I thought about this all night long. “I am… going to study him today,” I say, as delicately as I can.

“Study him?”

I draw a deep breath. I’m horrible with confrontation. If I’m going to confront him, I need proof, beyond a reasonable doubt, that he really is as much of a dick as I think. Then, tonight, I’ll confront him with everything I have.

It seems like a solid plan… A very solid plan. The only question is if I’ll have the balls to go through with it.

The bus reaches the parking lot with a squeak of the brakes. “Well, fair enough.” Danielle gives my thigh a final squeeze. “Do what you gotta do! Hope I don’t see you on the way back tonight!”

"I can do this," I whisper back, hoping that if I say it enough times, I'll believe it.

My plan is confronting Miles after we stop rolling today, then ordering myself an Uber back to the hotel. What could go wrong?

As it turns out, this plan was doomed from the beginning.

An hour later, we're all standing at our baking stations, makeup and smiles plastered to our faces. Charles gives a rough overview of today's events before handing the whole thing over to Raul, a process which will never not be a mind fuck. With the cameras rolling, Raul repeats everything Charles said, but acts like he invented it all himself.

For the first hour of our two-hour challenge, I genuinely lose myself in baking. Yesterday was bread; today is cake, with an elimination to boot. I'm laser-focused on mixing the ingredients correctly, on sifting the right flour, on—

"SHIT!" a pained voice cries out across the room; I jerk towards it on instinct to see Suruthi, one of the two bottom contestants from yesterday, sinking to the ground behind her baking station. Before I can rush over to help, there's a flurry of activity. A throng of production people surround her, and someone calls for a medic.

With that, I turn back to my baking.

I don’t intend to be cold-hearted. Far from that, in fact. I’m just someone who's had to call an ambulance for my mother countless times. I know that the best course of action is not getting involved unless asked. I don't know what happened to Suruthi, but a medical emergency is embarrassing on an average weekday — not to mention when being filmed for national television. The last thing I need is to add to the spectacle.

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