Chapter Four
M agda stepped out of the Doubletree elevator at five fifty the next morning and reminded herself to breathe. Breathing was important.
She’d already been awake for nearly two hours, due in part to the habit of the early schedule she kept for her bakery, and in part to the crippling nerves that had made sleep impossible—and were now making her hands sweaty on the handle of her roller bag.
The producers had told her to be in the lobby at six with her hair done, but no makeup. The driver would pick her up. She was to check out and bring all of her things with her, but have a separate go-bag with two changes of clothes and anything she would need for the day. No patterns that would make the cameras dizzy. No logos for her business or other brands.
That was all she knew. That and “expect a long day.”
She was literally about to get into a strange van and go God knows where. All the contestants were responsible for getting themselves to Boston, but then they entered the “show bubble,” not to emerge again until they were eliminated.
Please don’t let me be first.
Magda rolled her bag across the shiny lobby floor toward the exit—and immediately spotted four other very nervous humans clutching suitcases and go-bags, standing in a little cluster just outside the revolving door.
There was no van in sight, but these had to be other members of the famous Cake-Off Baker’s Dozen. The show always started with thirteen contestants with varied backgrounds from all over the country.
Charlotte and Kendall had given her tons of pep talks about being mercenary and “in it to win it.” There was a quarter million dollars at stake, after all—but she still smiled tentatively as she stepped out into the predawn light outside.
It was hard to think of these people as her adversaries when they all had the same expressions of excited terror on their faces as she knew must be on hers. “Hey,” she said as she approached. “Cake-Off?”
A tall, angular Black woman with gorgeous box braids smiled. “That’s us.” She gave a little wave. “Leah. California.” Then she pointed in turn to the other three. “That’s Josh, Texas. Abby, Minnesota. And Eunice, Seattle.”
Eunice was petite, Asian, and incredibly young, with a bubbly smile. Abby had more of an Italian mom vibe, and Josh was wiry and Latino, with a soft, shy smile.
“Magda,” she said with an answering half-wave of her own. “Vermont.”
After everyone had exchanged tentative smiles and nods, Magda asked, “Does anyone know what happens next? Are we even baking today?”
A collective laugh rippled through the others, and then Leah, who seemed the least tongue-tied by nerves admitted, “We were hoping you knew.”
Magda shook her head. “Not much with the info, are they?”
An older man with a dapper grandpa aesthetic emerged from the hotel then—and the introductions started all over again. Walter. Florida.
By the time the van arrived, precisely at six o’clock, Caroline, North Carolina, had joined them and there were seven of them waiting there. Anxiously commiserating about how completely in the dark they were.
The driver wasn’t much help. He quickly checked them each off his list, confiscated their cellphones, and loaded all the bags into the back of the van, saying only that they had a long drive ahead and they might as well make themselves comfortable—try to get some sleep since it would be such a long day.
Though what that day would consist of remained to be seen.
The idea of sleeping seemed patently ridiculous—how could anyone sleep at a moment like this?—though four of her fellow-passengers immediately leaned against the windows and did just that. Magda, instead, caught Leah watching her and gave her a timid smile.
Leah leaned across the aisle separating them. “I don’t know how they can sleep,” she whispered. “I’ve wanted to be on this show for years . I auditioned five times.” She mouthed the last two words—as if they were shameful, and Magda felt a swift kick of camaraderie.
She held up three fingers. “Third time’s the charm.”
Leah’s relief was palpable. “Thank God. I thought I was going to be the only one who didn’t get in first try. I feel like the pity contestant. The one who badgered them until they couldn’t say no any longer, but who gets eliminated in the first episode.”
“Hey. No talking about elimination,” Eunice said, twisting around in her seat in front of them. “We’re gonna be the final three.”
“At which point I will show you both no mercy,” Leah said, grinning.
Magda grinned back. “I would expect nothing less.”
Leah scooted over to sit in the seat beside Magda, and Eunice faced them over the back of her seat. “So which week are you most scared about?” Eunice asked. “I am terrified of improperly tempered chocolate.”
Magda groaned sympathetically. “Bread. I have nightmares about faulty proving drawers.”
“Oh God! Me too!” Leah grabbed her arm, groaning. “Like poor Alan from the British version! Did you see that episode? I cried.”
Eunice reached back to grab her hand. “Me too!”
Two hours later, after talking and laughing through a hundred miles of highway, Magda had two new best friends. Or several. About an hour into the drive, the other bakers started waking up, and joining their conversation.
Kendall and Charlotte would always be her ride-or-die, but there was something so incredibly comforting about meeting someone who geeked out about the same things she geeked out about. Who got excited about flan and could share the absolute agony of a failed soufflé.
She’d never been able to just sit around and talk about baking without boring her friends to tears, but these were her people. Even if she did get eliminated in the first episode, this feeling of connection might just be worth it.
By the time the driver picked up his walkie and told someone on the other end that they were ten minutes out, the group in van B had bonded and were determined that none of them would go home first. There were always thirteen, so there had to be at least one more van—and sadly one of those folks was going to have to go, because Magda and her new soulmates were in the competition to stay.
She was a little surprised there hadn’t been cameras positioned to catch their conversation—but this at least explained how the bakers always seemed to have such strong connections going into the first episode, with people they’d never met before that day.
As the van began to slow, Magda looked around for the first time in hours. She’d been so caught up in talking that she hadn’t really noticed where they were going. It was just countryside—similar to the landscape where she’d grown up in Vermont.
Incredibly similar.
And then she realized why.
“Are we at King Arthur?” she asked, suddenly—and all of the bakers oooh ed.
Every baker worth their sugar knew about the King Arthur Flour Company. The Vermont institution had started out just selling flour but had become a baking academy and tourist attraction.
It was also where Magda had taken her first baking class when she was eighteen.
The van stopped and Magda and her new best friends piled out into the very familiar parking lot of King Arthur, where signs announced the building was “Closed for a Private Event.”
Her heart lifted. It was a sign. She’d been meant to come on this season. And yes, maybe she’d only been picked because they wanted a local girl for the Vermont season of Cake-Off , but it didn’t matter why she was here. She was here . And she was going to make the most of it.
The producer who had conducted Magda’s most recent pre-taping interview was standing outside waiting for them, a tablet in hand and a smile on her face. As soon as they’d all unloaded from the bus and collected their go-bags—who knew what was happening to their other suitcases—the producer’s smile broadened as she looked at each of them in turn.
“Welcome to The Great American Cake-Off .”
Magda couldn’t help it. She whooped—and all of her new friends laughed, as they cheered as well.
It was happening. She was here.
“Are you excited to be in the Cake-Off kitchen?”
“Very,” Magda gushed, and then flushed, stammering, “Sorry. Full sentences. Repeat the question. I remember.”
Julia, the producer who had conducted her last audition interview and was now assigned to help her capture her confessional footage, gave a reassuring smile. “You’re fine. Just relax. Editing can work wonders. Just keep going until you get in the flow.”
“Right,” Magda said, squirming in the director’s chair.
She’d been separated from her cohorts from van B shortly after they arrived. They’d each taken turns getting their makeup done and their hair touched up, signing even more paperwork, and being whisked away for their introductory confessional interviews. It was now after ten in the morning and she still hadn’t laid eyes on the kitchen—or gotten any sense of whether they would be baking today.
And no matter what Julia said, Magda was pretty sure even the magic of editing wasn’t going to be able to disguise her awkwardness. She was just so nervous . She’d already answered questions about her background and why she’d wanted to be on the show, but each response had felt more stilted and stumbling than the last.
“Go ahead whenever you’re ready,” Julia coaxed.
“I forgot the question,” Magda admitted.
“Are you excited to finally be in the Cake-Off kitchen?”
She knew what she was supposed to say. Dream come true. Been waiting my entire life to get into that kitchen. Can’t wait. So excited. Chance of a lifetime.
But all that came out was “Are we baking today?”
Julia’s smile stayed reassuring but added a note of compassion. “I know it’s torture not to know what’s going on, but I’m not allowed to give you any hints. They’re very big on making sure everyone learns the competition details at the same time so there’s no appearance of favoritism. But I will say that you will be told more about the competition soon—and you should take the chance to grab a snack when we get back to the green room.”
Magda’s brain went into overdrive. Did that mean they were going to bake right away and she’d need her energy? Or that they wouldn’t be baking for hours and she shouldn’t make herself so crazy with nerves that she forgot to eat all day? Either way, she knew she should take the advice, but how did you eat when your stomach was busy twisting itself in knots?
“Magda?” Julia prompted gently. “Are you excited to finally be in the Cake-Off kitchen?”
“I feel like I’ve been waiting my entire life to get into that kitchen.” Even though the words could not have been more true, they still came out robotic and stilted. How did people do this? How had she done it? She’d been good during her audition. She knew she had.
But she’d also been pissed. She’d been angry at Mac—the only time she was ever rash and impulsive. It had felt like he was trying to steal her dream and she’d been electrified. And now she was the one here and he wasn’t. She’d won.
And she didn’t know what to do with herself.
Just don’t be yourself.
She could be Charlotte. Or Kendall. Or one of her many sisters. She could play the part—anyone but boring, quiet, invisible, too-nice, too-accommodating Magda.
But before she could channel any of those so-much-more-interesting humans, Julia lifted a hand to her earpiece, indicating she was listening to something, and flashed Magda a quick smile. “Here we go,” she said, rising from her own director’s chair.
“Go?” Magda echoed. “Are we done?”
“We’ll do more later,” Julia promised. “Don’t worry. You’re going to have so many hours in that chair you’ll start dreaming of confessionals. But right now we need to get you to the Proving Room—time for some of that information you were waiting for.”
Magda’s heart skipped a beat at the words Proving Room .
She’d seen that room on so many episodes of Cake-Off . She’d seen the confessionals too, but strangely this was the moment it started to feel real. The Proving Room was where the bakers would gather and wait and chat before and after the challenges. Where the best bakers would “rise” to the occasion—and others would fail to.
Julia ushered her into the room, where Magda was reunited with her van B cronies. She sent them nervous smiles and finger waves as the producer pointed her toward her mark and scooted behind the cameras. Julia flashed her double thumbs-up as Magda took her spot beside Leah—until one of the producers frowned and shuffled them all for a more aesthetic clustering.
Magda was in front of Leah now, next to Eunice—but there were still only seven of them. Where was van A? Where was the rest of the famous Baker’s Dozen?
She glanced around, as if searching the room for the missing bakers, but then the head producer—Stephen, a man with a huge presence and an even bigger voice—called everyone to order.
The Cake-Off was all sugar and smiles, but Stephen had an impatient, businesslike air, and there was something cynical about his eyes that made her uncomfortable—though that might have been her standard-issue crippling nerves.
“All right, folks, let’s get through this fast so we can get to the baking!” he bellowed. “To my left you see our lawyer.” The woman in the gray suit waved. “She’s here to make sure we’re adhering to the standards and practices designed to ensure this is a fair show. None of you have been given advance information about the competition tasks, is that correct?”
There were vague affirmative mutterings, but Stephen went on as if the idea of anyone being tipped off was impossible. “In a few minutes, you will be let into the Cake-Off kitchen for the first time, and meet our host and judges. This will be filmed. From here on out, assume that anything in the kitchen, the Proving Room, or the confessionals is being filmed. There will then be a challenge—”
Excitement rippled through the van B group, and Stephen paused to give it time to die down.
“The judges will lay out the show structure and announce the details of the challenge. If you have any questions, you can ask them after the hosts have introduced the parameters of the challenge for the cameras. If you forget to ask or freak out and draw a blank, there are a list of challenge requirements taped inside the top drawer of each station for you to refer to. Do not try to take them out or open the drawer to look at them before the judges introduce the challenge.”
Magda tried to focus on the words that were coming at them rapid-fire, but part of her brain kept spinning.
Were there really only seven of them this season?
“There will be cameras roving around the kitchen—just pretend they aren’t there unless a producer, host, or judge asks you a question. If a producer asks you a question, remember that they will not be seen by the home audience and you are to always answer as if you’re just spontaneously talking to the home viewer. Don’t give me any ‘yes’ or ‘no’ bullshit. And don’t ruin my audio by swearing. If we have to bleep you, I will personally fine you double the cost of covering up your language. This is a fucking family show, people. Be classy.”
Magda heard Leah snort behind her, but her heart was starting to beat so fast she couldn’t remember how to be amused. This was happening. This was really happening.
“Those of you who are still in the competition at the end of the day will be taken to the Cake-Off house. There is no Wi-Fi. You will have noticed that you do not have your cellphones. No, you will not be getting them back—unless we want to film you telling your wife or your adorable child that you won a challenge.”
It was hard to focus on anything that came after “those of you who are still in the competition at the end of the day.”
Someone was going home.
Please don’t let me be first out.
“The schedule will be grueling,” Stephen powered on relentlessly. “You will be exhausted. In addition to the challenges, you will have interviews and promotional spots and anything else we want you to film. The hours will be long. You may break down on camera—even if you’re certain right now that’s something you would never do. Don’t worry. The viewers will love you if you let yourself be real. That’s all you’ve gotta do. Be real. And bake fucking amazing food.”
A nervous chuckle rippled through the bakers, but Stephen didn’t pause for it. “We want you all to have a good time, but anyone found to be in violation of the rules—which you all signed this morning—will be eliminated from the competition.”
Magda’s stomach churned. What if she forgot a rule?
“Be personable. Be charming. Be energetic , but most of all have fun. And good luck, everyone!”
And with that blisteringly fast monologue, Stephen disappeared through the door.
“Where are the rest of us?” Leah asked, but the producers didn’t answer, ushering the bakers toward the door Stephen had just gone through.
Were there really only seven of them?
Magda swallowed hard, her stomach doing a series of backflips. She definitely should have taken the chance to eat a PowerBar in the green room when she had the chance. She was going to pass out—or run in the other direction. Which was not how she wanted to start her Cake-Off career.
Everything was happening too fast.
Yes, she’d been waiting for this moment since four in the morning—or, more accurately, for three years—but all of a sudden everything was rushing forward at warp speed and she just wanted to scream Wait! I’m not ready! Just give me five minutes to process all this!
But there was no time to process. Eunice was squeezing her arm excitedly. “It’s happening!” she whispered.
Magda wondered if they would stop the show if she puked all over another contestant. Was that why they’d all been told to bring two changes of clothes? Did that sort of thing happen a lot on day one?
Her body was moving—but she was having an out-of-body experience, floating above herself as the group half-walked, half-trotted into the kitchen for the first time.
Only it wasn’t her first time.
The King Arthur Baking Company teaching kitchen had been refitted with Cake-Off logos to look like the famous Cake-Off kitchen, but she knew this space. She’d been here before. She knew those rows of workstations. Those neatly lined-up ovens.
Suddenly she was back in her body, a sense of calm washing over her.
At the front of the room, the host, ultra-suave Jeffrey Flanders, stood lined up with the familiar judges. Sweet, grandmotherly Joanie. And, of course, impossible-to-please Alexander Clay.
Magda’s heart began hammering, but this time with eagerness. It was really happening. She was here. She was going to be on Cake-Off .
The bakers, each in their crisp scarlet Cake-Off aprons, reached the front of the room and stood on the marks the producers pointed them toward. Eunice grabbed Magda’s hand and she squeezed it hard, excitement glittering brightly in her chest.
Then another door opened.
And another group of bakers—these each in bright blue Cake-Off aprons—began to file eagerly into the room, rushing toward their own marks—a dozen feet to the left of the red-apron cluster.
Behind her, Magda heard Leah gasp—and her stomach, already touchy, sank down to her toes at the sight of those blue aprons. Why had they been separated into two groups? Were they going to be competing against the Blue Team? Cake-Off had never done that before.
She was busy panicking, so it took her far longer than it should have to see him—his auburn curls wild without his usual baseball cap pinning them down. She almost never saw him without a T-shirt from some Broadway musical, but today he was wearing a simple gray Henley, pushed up to display his muscular forearms. And a blue apron.
Mac.
He was here.
Dread swallowed Magda, even before she heard the smooth, smarmy host voice of Jeffrey Flanders.
“Welcome! To the first-ever Archrivals Edition of The Great American Cake-Off! ”
Behind her, Leah whispered a word the producers would have to bleep.
Magda’s sentiments exactly.