Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
RHETT
After our little incident of slip-and-slide in the kitchen, Savannah and I went upstairs to get changed since we were both soaked all the way to the bone. Thankfully, they unchained us for a few minutes so that we could change our clothes and get a moment to ourselves. I don't know about her, but that was not only an embarrassing, but highly funny episode in the kitchen. Nothing like that has ever happened to me in my life.
I don't tend to live a very humorous life. I'm a pretty serious guy. I think most people would agree, but I just couldn’t stop laughing for some reason. I don't remember laughing that hard in my entire life. And then there was the falling on top of the beautiful woman who's supposed to be my archrival. That was unexpected. I want to say that I didn't enjoy it immensely, but I can't.
Thankfully, I got off her as quickly as I landed there, just so there was no miscommunication. Although I'm sure the viewers at home had a good time with it. I still hold to the fact that if we pretend to be in a relationship, we'll get further in this game, but I'm not going to press the issue with Savannah.
Maybe it was a crazy idea. Maybe I secretly have some feelings I don't want to admit. Either way, she hasn't said anything else about it, and I’m sure falling on top of her on the kitchen floor probably did not endear her to me enough to want to pretend to be in a fake relationship. Oh, well, it's a good memory anyway.
We have to get ready and go to the reward challenge now. So the producers chain us back together like a couple of prisoners as we head off to the industrial kitchen. Everybody is chatting away. I can tell they are making friendships that I'm not. Of course, I have to be friendly with Savannah since I’m chained to her, but I’m sure that after she gets disconnected from me, it will go right back to what it was before—her hanging out with Maggie and me hanging out by myself looking sullen, as usual.
There have been times in my life when I've wanted to be more interactive and social, but I'm always in my head. I can't seem to get out of there. I don't know if I ever will, but it is useful when we're doing challenges like this.
Today, Savannah and I have to work together in the same kitchen area. So far, that hasn't gone well, but we'll see how it pans out. As long as I don't turn on the faucet, we should be fine. Only a few nights sleeping next to each other, and this will be over. Of course, there could be some crazy twist where we’re chained together for life.
We walk into the kitchen, and everybody goes to their stations, waiting for Dan to come out and give us instructions. The three judges file in and sit behind their little table at the head of the room. The cameras and lights get ready, and taping begins. Today, Dan is wearing one of the tackiest suits I've seen so far. It's pink, which isn't a problem in and of itself, but on him, he looks like a giant bottle of Pepto Bismol.
"Welcome to this week's reward challenge," he says so excitedly that I can barely listen to him without covering my ears. "Today's challenge is that you're going to create a dessert that looks like a breakfast item. When we look at it, it should look like something we're about to eat for breakfast, but when we bite into it, it should be a sweet and tasty dessert. You will have just two hours to complete this task. Ready, set, go!”
He throws his arm up in the air like we're about to take off in a foot race, and everybody starts running around the kitchen. But we can't run around the kitchen because we're chained together, so we just stand there like two animals with their legs caught in a trap.
"So what should we do?" Savannah says, looking at me with those big doe eyes of hers. Why do they make me feel tingly?
"Where's my sketchbook?" I say, looking around.
"I don't know where your sketchbook is," she says.
Oh, no. I've left it in the room. I wasn't even thinking straight after the whole kitchen floor incident. I can't do this without my sketchbook.
"Are you okay?" she asks, looking at me concerned.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I say quietly. "I just didn't know I didn't have my sketchbook, and it's too late to get it now."
"Oh. It’s okay, Rhett. We can do fine without it," she says, trying to ease my nerves.
My sketchbook is like a child's teddy bear. If I'm cooking, I take it with me. It's the one thing I can count on. I know if I can draw it, then I can make it. Otherwise, I don't have nearly as much confidence in myself.
"Yeah, I guess so," I say under my breath.
She looks at me as if she realizes my confidence is fragile. "You know what? I have a great idea. Why don't we make a stack of pancakes out of sponge cake with mascarpone cream filling between the layers, and we'll top it with a caramel sauce that looks like maple syrup? And then we can add some macerated strawberries on top."
I just stare at her like she's a genius. Like Einstein himself is standing in front of me. How did she come up with that so quickly?
"That sounds like a great idea, actually," I say, slightly smiling. I'm kind of impressed with her right now. "I'll let you lead then because it’s your idea, and I don't have my sketchbook."
She looks over at me before she starts making the recipe. "You're more than just a sketchbook, Rhett. You need to remember that."
I nod imperceptibly, and then we start moving together around the kitchen. It's like we're perfectly in sync all of a sudden. We haven't been chained together all that long, but it seems like if we had to do this for a lifetime, we would be okay. Not that I would want to be chained to anybody for a lifetime. It's incredibly hard to change your clothes or go to the bathroom with another person chained to you, even if she's pretty. Even if you need your hormones to be medically turned off.
We continue moving around the kitchen and then we stop to start assembling the ingredients. I reach over to grab the powdered sugar that we've set on the counter in front of us, and Savannah reaches for it at the same time I do. Without warning, our hands are touching, mine over the top of hers. Her hand is so small and warm. Her skin is very smooth and soft. I feel like I have a giant mitt covering up her tiny, dainty hand.
Both of us just freeze in place and stand there for a moment, looking at each other. It's like one of those silly scenes out of a romance movie. I don't know what's happening here. Is she feeling something, or is she just concerned I'm about to break her hand?
"Sorry," she says, pulling her hand back like she's touched a hot stovetop.
Yeah, she's not interested. I'm just making all of this up in my mind. I really need to go out on some more dates. Obviously, I'm not getting enough female attention, and now I'm assuming that every woman who accidentally brushes her hand against mine is suddenly in love with me.
"It's okay," I say, brushing it off.
But is it okay? It doesn't feel okay. When the competition is finally over, which includes a reward of finding out what the main competition is ahead of time and getting fifteen minutes of extra practice, Connor wins.
Connor, that idiot, somehow wins even though our pancake stack looks just like real pancakes. If I saw it sitting on a counter, I would walk over and think I was eating pancakes. The judges seemed to like it, but they liked a lot of people's creations today. I think we were at the very bottom, in fact. I needed my sketchbook.
It’s not that Savannah’s idea wasn’t great—it was. It looked good. It just wasn't intricate or complicated enough to win. It’s my fault for not bringing my sketchbook so we could design something more elaborate together.
Connor made a stack of waffles that looked like real waffles with crumbled, candied bacon on the top. He also made a side yogurt parfait with crumbled pieces of toffee. He went over the top, and he won. That's a note for next time. Go over the top, be intricate. Be “extra”, as the young kids say. That's the only way to win here.
SAVANNAH
"Sorry again that we didn't win," I say as we leave the industrial kitchen. I don't know how many times I've said it so far, but it seems excessive, even to me. Rhett shakes his head.
"Again, it's not your fault. We were a team."
"I know, but I came up with the idea…” I start to say.
He holds up his free hand. "It's not your fault, Savannah. Connor won fair and square, as much as I hate to say it. It actually makes a little bile come up in my throat."
I laugh. Rhett is making me laugh. That's weird.
"He's talented, I'll give him that. He's just a horrible person."
"Yes, that's very true from what I've seen."
"Excuse me, Rhett and Savannah?" One of the producers walks up to us. She's the one with the perky bosom and blonde hair. I glance over to see if Rhett notices the perky bosom. If he does, he doesn't show it.
"What's up?" he says in his normal deadpan-sounding voice.
"We would like to get you both in for a confessional." The confessional is where the producers pull you into a soundproof room and ask you questions. We’ve realized that the questions they ask often come in from social media. This is how they add drama to the show, but it’s something that we have to do multiple times a week, if not daily.
"We'll follow you," Rhett says, pulling me along by our chain.
We enter the room and sit on the small, sleek, modern sofa they have set up with a green screen behind it. I don't know what they put behind us on the TV, but it doesn't really matter.
"Okay, let's get started," the producer says. They never waste any time because this is a reality show, and it's supposed to seem real. They can't interact with us or ask us how things are going unless cameras are rolling to catch it. They can't have normal conversations with us. It's all about the show. "So, Savannah, how do you feel after another loss today?"
"Well, that makes me feel good to hear you say,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Connor won fair and square. His dessert was better than ours. Plain and simple." I try to brush it off, but what I really want to say is that Connor is a jerk, and he should win nothing and be kicked off the show and kicked out of the United States and maybe kicked off the planet. But I just smile.
"What about you, Rhett? Do you feel like working with Savannah caused you to lose the challenge?" I can see Rhett's face turning a shade of red I haven't seen before. I feel his pinky nail dig into the side of my leg. I don't even know if he realizes he's doing that. I mean, we’re sitting close together.
"No, absolutely not. Savannah had a great idea, but we were just beaten by a better idea. It’s really as simple as that.”
"So we saw something interesting from the two of you earlier today." Here it comes. The dishes, the water on the floor, the giggling like two children.
"Oh, yeah. What's that?" Rhett says.
"It seems that you overflowed the kitchen sink and ended up in quite a predicament on the floor." She smiles like she's got inside information. It's not inside information. It was broadcast online in real-time and will likely be on tonight’s taped show for TV viewers to enjoy.
"Accidents happen," Rhett says, crossing his arms and pulling my arm straight up in the air. When he realizes what he is doing, he drops his arms back down by his sides, the edge of his hand brushing against my bare leg. It gives me a shiver that I hope people can't see through their screens.
"Would you call it an accident, Savannah, or do you think maybe Rhett purposefully overflowed the sink so you two could roll around together on the floor?"
I stare at her with my mouth hanging open. "What? Why would anyone do something like that?"
"Our audience seems to think there's something romantic going on between the two of you. They're quite mesmerized by it, to be honest." This is interesting. The producers aren't supposed to tell us stuff like that; at least, I didn't think so.
"Again, there is no romance going on between me and Rhett," I say, looking over at him. He doesn't make eye contact. He wants there to be a fake romance, but I don't see the point.
"Are you sure? You two seem to have some great chemistry."
"I don't know how anyone is seeing that. It was just funny that we slipped and fell in the water. It was pretty soapy."
"Still, it seems like something might be going on between you two. Why don't you want to admit it?"
Rhett has finally had enough. “Look, Savannah says nothing is going on, which means nothing is going on." He stares at the camera. There's a long, awkward silence.
"Okay, then, well, I guess we're finished here," the producer says, looking down at her notes. We both stand up, walk out of the room, and head straight up the stairs. I can tell Rhett is bothered but can’t say anything. The confessional is private. Only the audience at home sees it. We can't talk about what we said in the confessional on camera. We can't talk about much of anything on camera.
Suddenly, he takes a detour into one of the hallway bathrooms.
"Do you need to go?" I ask.
"Yeah, come on," he says, pulling me into the bathroom with him before the cameraman down the hallway can spot us. Sometimes, we’re being filmed just by moving cameras on the walls. Other times, there are actual camera people following us around, depending on what shots they need to get. Somehow, he managed to get us into the bathroom without us being seen by one of those people, but I'm sure the cameras on the wall just caught that.
Usually, we get one of the producers to unchain us before going to the bathroom. But this time, he pulls me in with him and shuts the door.
"What are you doing? We can get unchained. Wait, is this like an… emergency?" I say, scrunching up my nose.
"No, I don't have to go to the bathroom," he says after taking his mic off and reaching around to take mine from my lower back. My skin prickles.
"Then why are we in here?"
"Because I need to talk to you," he says, pulling us closer to the corner. Now we're standing face to face, just an inch or so between our noses.
"Did you hear what they were asking us?"
"Of course I did. I was sitting right beside you."
"Do you see how they're focused on thinking we're in some sort of a relationship?"
"Yes, I know. The audience has a vivid imagination, apparently."
"Well, I still think that you need to consider us playing into that. We will definitely get further in this competition if we do."
I stare up at him. "You're very talented. We don't have to play games to get further. We don't have to pretend something that's not real."
"This isn't just about talent, Savannah. This is about popularity."
"What do you mean?"
"The audience at home is voting on these main challenges. We can already see that the judges are not a huge fan of yours."
"Gee, thanks."
"You haven't won any of the challenges yet. This is a chance for you to get further."
"Well, maybe I don't want to get further unless it's on my own merit."
"Savannah, you’ve got to get in the real world with me."
"Excuse me?"
"Again, this is a mixture of talent and popularity. And maybe I'm a little bit worried about myself."
"How so?"
"I'm not exactly the most likable guy. On my own, I'm not going to make it far in this competition. I'm going to say something snarky, and the audience will vote me off."
"Oh, so you want to use me to your own benefit?
"In a word? Yes. And I want you to use me."
My face heats up. "What does that mean exactly?"
"Not what you think. Get your mind out of the gutter. What I mean is that with your personality and my talent..."
"And my talent," I interrupt.
"Of course, you have great talent. I thought that was a given."
"Well, it wasn't."
"Okay. Anyway, with your personality and both of our talents, I think we can get to the end. But alone, I'm not so sure."
"So you're saying that people will keep voting me through even if I don't win the challenges just because they want to continue watching our supposed romance?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying. And they'll keep me here despite my terrible personality because they like you and want to see this romance."
"Why would they want to see this?" I'm completely baffled by all of this.
"Because there's nothing better than a romance trope where the woman is sunshine, and the man is dark clouds, and she changes him."
"I think that's a very stereotypical way of looking at romance readers."
"Well, I'm sure if you looked at the sales of those kinds of books, you would see what I mean."
"Either way, Rhett, I don't think we need to do this. Deceive the audience? It just doesn't seem right."
He laughs. "And this is why you're all sunshine. You see everything as the glass half full."
"And you don't?"
"I don't even see the glass."