Page 15 of The Baking Games

I walk into my room, which is thankfully painted a light shade of gray. Very masculine. Of course, I don’t care if ballerinas are painted on the walls. I’m still going to stay here and win this thing. Done and done.

“Hey, man. No hard feelings, right?” Connor says, walking over and reaching out his hand to shake mine. I don’t shake hands. I find it gross. I don’t know where his hand has been.

“I don’t shake hands.”

“What?”

“It’s just something I don’t do.”

Connor stares at me. “You’re a weird guy.” The camera crew is feet from us, capturing each and every word for TV viewers. This is strange. I couldn’t have imagined how weird and awkward it would be to have cameras in my face.

“Good that you figured that out all by yourself,” I say, walking past him to the last empty bed. I toss my duffel bag down beside it and lie down, looking up at the ceiling.

My other roommate is Nate, the talkative Southern guy. He seems nice enough, but I hope he doesn’t decide to chat me up all the time. No such luck.

“Hey there! I’m Nate. You’re Rhett, right?”

“Yep,” I say, not sitting up. Nate doesn’t get the message and continues standing beside my bed.

“Great name. My momma loved Gone With The Wind. Is that where you got your name?”

“No, actually. My mother got it from our family tree that stretches back to England. Apparently, it was a surname there.”

Yeah, it’s more boring than it sounds. I’m not nearly as interesting as Rhett Butler.

“Oh. Gotcha. I was named after my grandfather’s cat, if you can believe that!”

Yes, Nate. I can believe that.

I might be overly ornery today. Honestly, I wish I could fast-forward this game to the end so I could win the prizes and get back to my life, as dull as it is.

Like others here, I have some secrets—things I don’t necessarily want to get out, places in my life I’ve failed, and things I don’t necessarily want the world to see. This ought to be interesting.

CHAPTER 5

SAVANNAH

Well, this is hellish. While I think Maggie is wonderful and reminds me of my own grandmother, Lainey is awful. She’s like a caricature of herself. Why the Universe is choosing to punish me by having to share a room with her is beyond me.

No, I choose to think positively. Maybe I just haven’t gotten to know her well enough yet. Maybe she gets judged all the time based on how she looks, so she lashes out. Maybe we’ll become best friends and laugh about first impressions later.

Maybe.

“I want this bed,” Lainey says, standing beside the bed I rightfully picked first and am now sitting on, unpacking my suitcase.

“Excuse me?”

“I want this bed,” she says again, slower this time and emphasizing each word. Maggie looks at us from across the room.

“Well, I’m sorry, but I picked this bed, and I like it.” I’m not someone who enjoys confrontation, but I also don’t like bullies.

“I need to be on the wall.” Maggie has one bed on the wall, and then there’s a bed between her and me. That means Lainey doesn’t want to be in the middle.

“Again, I’m sorry but…”

She crosses her arms. “Why are you being such a witch about this? It’s just a bed.”

“Now, girls…” Maggie says, walking over, trying to be the peacemaker.

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