Jessica warns us that our prep time will end in one minute. I jot down everything I need to get, but as I am relegated to one aisle, the shopping part should be quick and easy. When the timer sounds, we stand in front of our stations, lists in hand. The cameras fire up, ready to follow us as we dash around the pantry. We each have a buggy, or, as Jessica says, a cart, to help us get all our items safely back to our stations.
“Remember,” Jessica says, “you must check out during the ten-minute window. If you check out and have money left while there is time on the clock, you can return to the store. Anything in your cart at the end of the ten minutes must be checked out. If you go over your budget, you will have to give up some of your items.”
I tap my foot, anticipation building. Can we get to the cooking, please? This challenge feels unique because it’s far out of my comfort zone but also kind of familiar at the same time. I take a breath. It’s bad enough we have to use limited ingredients, but we also have to get through checkout and spend no more than six dollars. I’m not sure I could buy a bag of frozen chicken for six bucks, let alone everything else.
I twist my hands on my cart, preparing to make a quick dash to the frozen food section. I doubt I’ll have to fight too many people off, though. My biggest challenge is going to be thawing everything out, especially the chicken. I run through everything I need to do when I get back to my station and keep repeating to myself: The sooner I get all my items, the sooner I can get things on the stove.
As soon as Jessica tells us to go, it’s a madhouse. Carts crash into each other and run over people’s heels. Lola almost runs down a camera guy, and although she claims it was an accident, I’m not so sure. I have to do a few substitutions of items and buy other items I don’t exactly need, like a mixed bag of frozen peppers because I need the red ones, but overall I am able to find everything I needed. By the time I’m through checkout, I have three minutes left to spare and forty-five cents in change. I’m stunned. Things really were cheaper in the good ole days.
I get several pots of water on the burners to boil. Working with frozen food can be tricky. I need to thaw out the chicken before cooking it, but I don’t want to overcook it, either. Grabbing a plastic bag, I drop the chicken inside and gently lower it into one of the pots. I check the shopping clock and discover I still have about a minute left to buy things. I make one more trip through the tundra zone of the store, looking for something that might add another layer to the dessert. I lean down and far in the back I see a package of pie dough. I look for a price tag but don’t see one.
I look at the shelves above and realize what happened. Somehow, probably during the stocking, a package of dough slipped behind the other shelves, landing on the bottom. I pull it out and look up and down the row, hoping I can get a clarification, but I don’t see anyone. I walk to the end of the aisle and spot Jessica near the cashier’s line and approach her. The timer buzzes just as I get to where she’s standing.
“Everyone, stop what you’re doing and report to the cashier’s station. If you have already checked out and have started your dish, keep going. Hurry up. You’re using your cooking time.”
She looks at me and the pie dough in my hand. I think she’s going to call me out for having it, but she doesn’t. Instead, she ushers me into the line. “Check out, Peyton,” she says, but I resist.
“I just need to know if I can use this,” I say, holding up the package.
“Was it on the bottom two shelves of the freezer section?” she asks, looking past me to make sure the other chefs are leaving the pantry.
“Yes, but—” I begin, but she cuts me off.
“Then it’s fine. Get through the line.”
I feel a twinge of guilt, but I tried, right? I tried to get confirmation, she gave it to me, and now I have pie crust and can make a deconstructed strawberry-rhubarb pie à la mode for dessert.
Once I’m back in my station, I put the thought out of my mind. I did try to ask. And, as Jessica pointed out, the crust was on the bottom shelf. I need every advantage I can get here, and if Jessica says it is okay, then I’m going to take this inch and run with it.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
“HOW DID YOU GET THE CRUST?” ANGELICA ASKS as she races up to my station. “I thought you were supposed to only use items from the bottom two shelves.”
“It was on the bottom shelf,” I say quickly.
“No, the only frozen pie crust was at eye level,” Angelica says, eyeing me with suspicion. “I checked myself.”
Of course, because you’re a heinous pain. “I found it on the bottom shelf,” I said. “Since it was the only one, I asked Jessica if I could use it, and she said if it was on the two bottom shelves it was fair game.”
Angelica turns her gaze to the host. “Is this true?”
Poor Jessica looks like a deer caught in headlights, and it’s a feeling I know all too well. I feel bad about throwing her under the bus, but I’m also not going to be reprimanded when I tried to make sure I could use the item.
“She did ask me,” Jessica admits. “It was during the final seconds of shopping.”
Billy tries to play the mediator. “Well, it sounds like it was an honest mistake.”
“You can check the footage,” I say quickly. “You had to have some camera on me. They’re everywhere.”
Angelica still doesn’t look like she believes me. “Hugh, can you confirm what Peyton is telling us?”
And just like that, the disembodied voice has a name. “Give me a sec.”
This is great. When they watch the tape and see I didn’t do anything wrong, I’ll be cleared. The only problem is there is a good chance Angelica is going to hold it against me for the rest of the competition. I glance over to see her, Billy, and A. J. in a hushed conversation at the judges’ table.
The set is so silent that when the disembodied voice, I mean Hugh’s voice, bounces around the set, several people are visibly startled.
“We’ve reviewed the tape,” he says. “It looks like Peyton did get the pie crust from the bottom shelf and she did attempt to get clarification from Jessica.”
“She should have checked the shelf,” Angelica says, sitting back in her seat. “She would have known those ingredients were off-limits.”
“Why don’t we vote on it?” A. J. offers.
Angelica gives him a strained smile but doesn’t object.
The outcome is two to one in favor of my dish being accepted for judging. Once the vote is taken, Billy turns to the other judges and says, for all to hear, “There’s no reason to mention this issue once that camera starts rolling again, right?”
A. J. nods, but Angelica, her arms folded across her chest, says nothing.
“Angelica?” Billy asks, his voice making it clear that he’s not really asking her.
“Fine,” she snaps. “I just don’t think it’s fair to the other contestants, that’s all.”
Billy takes in a deep breath and turns to me, a forced smile on his face. “Do you need a minute, Peyton?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m ready.”
And with that, the cameras get into their spots, and the PAs stream in with trays of my food. By now the ice cream is starting to melt and I can only imagine how soggy the crust will be. The crust that would have been fine ten minutes ago.
Maybe it’s because Billy and A. J. felt bad about Angelica’s attempt to get me disqualified, or because my dishes actually managed to impress them, but somehow I manage to land in the middle of the pack this time, which means that I am once again spared from elimination. However, my luck turns and my accomplishment is bittersweet because Inaaya is eliminated for her overcooked chicken croquettes. Everyone says their quick goodbyes, and I squeeze her in a hug for so long I thought a PA was going to come tell me to let go—then she is gone. Jessica wraps up the show as we stand quietly, and I try not to look devastated as the cameras pan over us.
Like after the last elimination, the bus ride back to the penth
ouse is silent, and back at the apartment I stand in front of the open door to our room, which I guess is just my room now.
“It’s weird, right?” Malik says as he stops beside me. “Having the room all to yourself?”
“I feel guilty. Like it should have been me.”
Malik chuckles, but there isn’t any humor to it. “Trust me,” he says. “I know exactly what you mean.” He clasps a hand on my shoulder. “But you are here, so make it count.”
“You heading to the roof?” he asks.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say, following him to the kitchen to make the sweet tea.
Dani and Lola are the last to arrive for our toast to Inaaya. Much like last time, the mood is somber, but Malik does his best to keep it positive.
“To Inaaya,” he says. “She always had a kind word for everyone.”
“True,” I say. “She could always make me laugh, even when I’d had a bad day in the kitchen. And she loved food as much as anyone I know.”
This got some laughs. As we go around the group, everyone agrees that Inaaya was a kind, thoughtful person. If there had been a “Miss Congeniality” on this show, she would have won hands down. When the toast ends, I don’t feel like sticking around, even though Hakulani and Paulie both try to convince me to hang out for a while. All I can think about is going to sleep so this day will finally end.
When I step into my room, the first thing I see is that Inaaya’s side is completely bare. Not even a scrap of paper or hair-tie remains. I grab some things from my side of the room, swiping the tears from my cheeks, and head straight to the shower to rinse off the grime and sweat from the kitchen. Between the running around for the grocery game and the stress of Angelica accusing me of cheating, I reek. As the water peppers my back and I rinse the tears from my face, slowly the aches of the week are replaced by the anticipation of the one still to come. We only have two weeks left, and I have to survive the remaining elimination challenges.
Now just five people separate me from the scholarship that could change my entire life.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
SATURDAY MORNING DAWNS BRIGHT AND CLEAR as I wake up to a half-empty room. With no filming planned for the weekend, Caitlin has scheduled time for each of us to meet her in the confessional over the next two days. Other than that, we can do what we want as long as we don’t leave the apartment.
On the way to the kitchen, I stop to knock on Hakulani and Paulie’s door to see if they want to play pool or watch TV. The door is slightly ajar, and I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but something about the hushed urgency in Hakulani’s voice sucks me in.
“Alaina, stop,” he says.
I start to turn around, but his next words stop me.
“It’s not like I really like her. It’s just for the show. You are my girl. But…”
Then I realize that he must be on a phone. The PAs took our phones on day one—something about how it was in our contracts and it was supposed to prevent anything from getting leaked—so how does he have one? The second thing that pops into my head is that the “her” he is talking about is me. To someone who he really cares about. His girlfriend, maybe? As he continues to talk, I suddenly get this feeling of sudden clarity, and everything starts falling into place as my face gets warmer and warmer by the second.
In all the time we’ve been hanging out—in all the time he’s been flirting with me—Hakulani has never mentioned anyone back home. Come to think of it, outside of his family and surfing, he doesn’t talk much about his life back home. He always seemed to deflect or steer the conversation back to my life, which I was never going to talk about, so I’d change the subject, and—oh my God, I’ve been catfished in real life.
“It’s not like that,” Hakulani tells the other person on the phone, and I’m pulled back from my thoughts. “It’s just for the show—it’s like acting.”
The other person says something. A lot of something, based on the long silence before Hakulani speaks again.
“You don’t understand. They just want a story, and I have to give them a story or I’m gone.”
Silence.
“Yes. They will, just like that. It’s already happened to a guy here. First week. Out of nowhere, he was cut. No one knew why, but I saw him arguing with Caitlin, you know, the producer, the night before, and then bam. He was on the next flight back to the West Coast.”
More silence.
“No, it’s true. Caitlin told me that’s why he was cut. They wanted him to do something, he refused, and then he was cut.”
Adam. My heart slams in my chest, and a knot forms in my stomach. If Caitlin really did cut him because he refused to play by the show’s rules, then me making it through that first elimination was all a lie. I feel all the heat leave my face as my heart drops, and I get a little light-headed—maybe the reason I wasn’t eliminated during the last few challenges wasn’t because of my cooking or because the judges saw something special in me, but because the show wants ratings. And if that’s true, then doesn’t that mean that it’s not necessarily skill or cooking the best dish that keeps you safe from elimination? So, if the real rules are play the role you’re meant to play or go home, then do I have more or less of a chance to win? Was Dani right this whole time?
I want to walk back to my room and pretend this never happened, to stop the questions from swirling in my head, but I’m stuck in this spot, unable to move.
“Alaina, please,” Hakulani says, pleading. “I swear, I didn’t mean to hurt you or for you to feel like you can’t trust me. I’ve missed you so much, and I didn’t want you to see the show later and think that I was keeping this from you or being unfaithful. I promise, you have no reason to doubt me.”
More silence.
“I can’t quit. I’m doing this for us, remember? For our future. If I don’t win, you know what’s going to happen? Best case, I get a job working in some tourist trap kitchen. We’ll be living the same life as our parents, barely scraping by while the haoles keep taking over more and more of the islands.”
He pauses.
“But I want us to have more.”
He pauses to listen.
“Then think of this as a part in a movie or play.” He laughs ruefully. “The only thing that’s really real about this show is the cooking, and even most of that isn’t as real as it looks.”
Then I jump about a mile high when I suddenly hear from behind me, “Hey, Peyton.”
I turn and Paulie is standing in the hallway with a soda in hand. “Um, why are you hanging out in the hall by my room?”
Damn it. Leave it to Paulie, of all people, to bust me. Instead of answering, I walk past him, slip into my room, and shut the door. I’m resting my forehead against the wood and trying to keep my thoughts from racing, when a minute later there is a gentle knock on my door.
“Peyton?” Hakulani says softly. “Can we talk?”
I think about opening my door and facing him, but then all my anger and fire drains from me, and I’m left feeling confused and sad. “You know, I’m actually going to take a nap,” I say, trying to force my voice to sound carefree and light. “Later?”
“Promise?”
“Sure,” I lie. If his rooftop words don’t mean anything, why should mine? I turn and lean my back against the door and wish Inaaya was still here. At least there would be someone to talk to. Instead, I lie down on my bed and stare at the ceiling until the twinkly lights grow fuzzy and then fade to black.
Later that afternoon I venture to the kitchen, my stomach insisting that I find something to eat. I grab some fruit before leafing through the take-out menus, settling on a local burger joint. After placing my order, I check the time and realize that my confession session with Caitlin is in five minutes. Great.
I turn the knob slowly and push to see if it’s locked or anything, but it’s not, so I open the door and step into the room.
“Hello, Peyton,” Caitlin says from the chair behind the camera. “Please, come in.”
“Hey, Caitlin,” I say with a slight wave, letting the door shut behind me.
She motions to the other chair. “Sit down and we’ll get started.”
I do as she says, my stomach beginning to tighten. I’m glad I have to wait for my dinner until after this confessional. I’d hate to waste a good meal.
Caitlin presses a button on a remote, and the camera comes to life. “The way this works is I’m going to ask some questions, and then you’ll answer them.”
“What kind of questions?” I ask.
She smiles sweetly. I know that smile, and it’s the opposite of sweet. “Oh, a little this, and a little that.”
“So anything is fair game?” I ask.
She smiles. “Anything.”
Great.
“Now, let’s talk about how things are going so far this week. You seem to be getting along with everyone. Well, you and Dani seem to have some issues, but that’s to be expected—not everyone can get along with everyone—but you seem to have developed a couple of good friendships. Especially with Hakulani and Paulie. Care to tell me more about getting to know everyone?”
“There’s not much to tell. I’ve known them for a week. We get along all right.”
Caitlin pauses the video. “Okay, Peyton. I need a little more dish from you. I need you to give me something I can work with.”
“Okay,” I say, not sure what I’m going to say.
Caitlin flips the camera back on. “Okay, so Paulie. You guys seem like you’ve been friends forever.”
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