I move to place my pizzelle behind my name tag, which happens to be right next to Lila’s disaster. When I set my plate down, the impact shakes the table, and a few of Lila’s pizzelle jiggle in response.
Oh no, that’s definitelynotgood.
Curiosity overrides any sense of urgency to go meet up with the others, so I linger and survey the rest of the cookies on the table.
Movement from the side entrance to the tent startles me.
A production assistant I don’t recognize approaches the table and replaces Lila’s plate with one filled with beautiful pizzelle. The replacement is flawless, easily the best on the table and not something that comes out of a technical challenge under this much pressure, and definitely not from Lila.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice light. “What’s going on?”
The assistant hesitates, eyes shifting my way. “Just helping things along.”
“That wasn’t what she turned in.”
She exhales through her nose, like I’m being difficult. “Lila’s got a big audience. Viewers like her.”
“Okay, but what difference does that make?” My stomach twists. “She messes up and gets a do-over? I’m sure people loved Ace, too.”
Out of nowhere, Joe steps up behind me before I can say more, his smile already in place. “This isn’t the fight you want.”
“But it’s not fair,” I say as I turn to him. The word feels childish as soon it leaves my mouth, but it needed to be said because Lila shouldn’t get special treatment just because she has a social media following.
That’s not how competition works.
Joe leans in, voice low. “This is television, Taylor. Not a meritocracy.” Then, softer, like advice: “Don’t make waves if you want to stay in this.”
He subtly angles his body, blocking me from the cameras without drawing attention to it. His gaze meets mine, imploring me to keep my mouth shut. I see the warning for what it is as he steps aside, clearing the path to the exit without looking at me again. Unsure if I’ve been dismissed or saved, I take a step back.
“Okay…” My voice trails off as I stumble in that direction.
I’m distracted when I join the others.
How can they just replace Lila’s bake with something better? Every single one of us has struggled with something here. She’s no different, no better than the rest of us. I don’t care how many followers she has; the most talented bakers should be the ones moving on.
But what am I supposed to do with this information? Clearly, the production team knows about it since they're the ones doing it.
Is there any point in telling the others?
Probably not, it won’t change anything. I press my lips together, brows furrowing.
“If you were concentrating any harder, you’d have smoke coming out of your ears,” RaeAnn says as she nudges into my shoulder. “Penny for your thoughts?”
I shake my head, deciding in that moment not to tell her what I saw, and force a smile. “Just reliving that whole technical, you know? Just when you think you know what’s coming, it’s something else entirely.”
She hums her agreement. “You looked like you did okay.”
“I’ve definitely done worse, that’s for sure.”
We laugh together at that because almost nothing could be worse than my first bake in the tent. It isn’t long before we’re called back in for judging. And, to everyone’s surprise but mine, Lila wins the technical.
Her shriek of excitement hits me like a punch to the chest. She knows that wasn’t what she turned in to the judges.
She knows, and she doesn’t care.
?????????
The house is quieter than usual when we get back, the kind of quiet that only happens when everyone’s drained andpretending not to think about judging. Lila’s already in our room when I push the door open, sitting cross-legged on her bed with her phone propped up.
