Chapter 12 #2
Do I like being here?
I don’t know. I didn’t ask to be on the show. All I know for sure is that I didn’t want to come, but now that I’m here, I’m having a good time.
“I didn’t.”
“But now you do.”
His words aren’t a question but a declaration. He’s thoughtful for a minute before continuing. “You know, it’s hard to miss when you smile because it doesn’t happen often, but it’s been happening a lot more since you’ve been here.”
“I don’t smile.”
“You did today. And I saw one yesterday too.”
I scoff and head upstairs, putting distance between us before he can say anything else. His laugh chases me down the hallway.
I did smile today smack dab in the middle of the tent.
The catalyst is clear in my mind—Taylor across the tent, hair escaping her ponytail, laughing at something one of the hosts said.
It wasn’t performative or contrived for the cameras.
It was just pure, unadulterated joy.
And so was mine.
?????????
Dinner consists of Thai carry-out that we eat directly from the cardboard containers. Some of us remain standing around the kitchen island while others lounge across the living room furniture. Our conversations overlap, laughter edging with exhaustion.
I keep catching glimpses of tension I can’t quite place between Taylor and Lila. Taylor is quieter than usual, and Lila is chatting with everyone a little too loud. She’s animated and bright, the way she usually is when the cameras are on. It’s a facade that feels brittle if you look too closely.
When Lila laughs, it doesn’t reach her eyes.
Taylor notices it too. I see it in the way her smile falters, the way she keeps trying to reframe her focus on RaeAnn instead of interacting directly with whatever Lila is saying.
Okay, what the fuck happened here?
The tension in the room is almost suffocating, coiled beneath the surface like a rattlesnake.
If anyone else knows why, they don’t show it. Would Taylor tell me if I asked her directly? Maybe it’s personal and she’s planning to leave the rest of us out of it.
Truthfully, I don’t need the details to know I’m on Taylor’s side. She loves everyone on sight, so if she has a problem with anybody in this house, they must deserve it.
After an hour of forcing myself to be part of the group, I slip out onto the back porch, drawn by the need for air and a break from the incessant chatter in the house.
For solitude.
The night is cool for LA, and crickets chirp an a cappella rhythm in the grass. It immediately makes me think of summer nights back home, and I sink into one of the lounge chairs with a sigh, tipping my head back, staring at the dark outline of the balcony above.
Propping my arms behind my head, I recline with my eyes closed. I must doze off because an indeterminate amount of time passes before I’m jolted awake by the slide of a glass door closing above me.
A voice drifts down between the cracks of the balcony.
“Mom, it’s okay. Really.”
I freeze on the spot—it’s Taylor.
Is her room directly above the shared living space?
Too busy minding my own business, I never thought to scope out the other rooms. A mistake I plan to remedy immediately, because for some reason it feels like something I should know.
“I know… I know you tried.” Her voice drips with exhaustion, and something heavier. Resignation. Her footsteps are light as she paces the balcony.
“No, don’t apologize,” she continues. “No, Mom. No, it isn’t your fault that they don’t have overtime available right now. I can make it work, it’s fine.”
My chest tightens, guilt slamming into me for eavesdropping. I shouldn’t be listening to her private conversation, but I stay rooted in place, needing to know more about the girl who’s been running through my thoughts all day.
“Yeah, I’ll just drive back after judging every Sunday. It’s not that bad. Traffic should be better this late at night anyway.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“I don’t know,” she admits. “I guess I thought… I thought the show would help more. How else is everyone affording this?”
Doesn’t this show give a living stipend?
My brows furrow in confusion. I guess I never asked or paid attention to the financial implications of the show. It didn’t matter to me either way, but now that it’s hurting Taylor, I care more than I should.
I wonder if I can get Julian to look into it for me.
“Monday through Friday,” Taylor says. “I can be back in time for the weekend bakes if I leave straight from work.”
That’s insane.
That’s hours of driving every week. Exhaustion layered on exhaustion, topped with a generous helping of stress.
Where did she say she was from again?
“I’ll be fine,” she insists, but her voice dips. “It’s just like Gram used to say, nothing worth having comes easy.”
Silence stretches for a while. I assume it’s her mom’s turn to speak on the other end of the line.
“Love you too,” she murmurs.
After the call ends, I hear it.
A single shaky intake of breath and a soft cry. Soon, her footsteps pad across the balcony, and the heavy glass door slides shut, sealing her back inside the house.
I sit there long after, heart pounding, staring up at the now-empty balcony.
It clicks into place then—the unfairness of it all. The invisible advantages people like me have, where we get to focus solely on the bake, while others here are juggling survival.
And suddenly, winning doesn’t feel as clean as it did an hour ago. I thought coming here meant bringing home the win for Chet to drape around his shoulders like a victory flag, when in reality, I’m taking a win from someone who needs it way more than we do.
Fuck.
What do I do with that?
Still on the patio, lost to the ethical war playing out in my mind, I hear a door open and close, the drag of a suitcase across pavement, car keys jingling, and tires crunching over the driveway.
Taylor leaves immediately, in the middle of the night.
And I hate how it unsettles me. I don’t have a name to place on the feeling, but it’s a lot like losing something I never actually had.