Page 13 of Sugar and Spice (Glitter and Sparkle #3)

CHAPTER TEN

Our interviewer is the Australian man who practically knocked me over to get a good shot yesterday. We’re in a separate room, a workers’ lounge of some sort, and he said he wanted to interview Sadie and me together this time.

In just a few hours, we’ll see if we’re moving on or going home. Sadie’s anxious. She agonized over the judges’ critiques all morning, and I doubt she got a bit of sleep last night.

I know I didn’t, but I wasn’t worried about the show.

A girl named Sheila and her partner Clary dropped an entire batch of cookies on the floor, and then they were so flustered, they ended up overcooking the batch after that.

They only had two types to present to the judges, and one had black edges.

I wish them the best, but let’s be honest. They’re going home.

“Your hair is adorable today,” one of the hair and makeup girls says to me as she gives me a quick once-over.

“Thanks.” I touch it, self-conscious.

Lauren texted at six this morning, demanding Sadie and I coordinate both our hair and outfits.

She swore it would look cute on television, and since the viewers are part of our score, we need to put our best foot forward.

So now we’re both in white short-sleeved shirts, and our hair is up in elaborate messy buns, adorned with sprigs of holly berries.

We look like the best of friends, and I feel like a pond-sludge-dwelling toad.

If Sadie knew I kissed Brandon…

But they aren’t dating.

It doesn’t matter. I still feel like a vile human being—especially when Sadie is being so stinkin’ kind to me.

“Are you ready?” Mr. Australian Accent asks.

Sadie flashes me an excited, nervous grin, and then she nods. We did this yesterday, and it’s not too hard. He’ll prompt us with a question, and we’ll repeat the question in our answer, just as we did on elementary school worksheets.

For example: What’s your favorite cookie? Answer: My favorite cookie is a snickerdoodle.

That way, they can use our answers without it looking like we’re in an actual interview.

Before we begin, there’s a knock on the door, and Paula sticks her head in. “Tammy’s changing things up. She’s sent over a new set of questions, and she’d like Mason to do the interview on camera.”

“On camera?” our original interviewer says, perplexed.

Paula shrugs, silently saying the matter is out of her hands.

The cameraman rolls his eyes, and then he reaches for the instructions. His forehead knits as he reads. He looks at Paula. “Really?”

The producer looks uncomfortable as she nods. She slips out the door, and Mason appears in her place. He seems irked.

My stomach begins to knot, and I regret gulping down that second cup of coffee before they snagged us to come in here.

“Get up,” the cameraman says in his thick accent, waving at us with an impatient jerk of his hand. “We have to rearrange everything.”

Five minutes later, Sadie and I have stools, and we’re sitting opposite Mason, who they decided to leave standing. The festive background twinkles behind us, looking all merry.

Mason leans over and says in a low voice, “How badly do you want to stay in the competition?”

Startled, I glance at Sadie, who looks as sweet and innocent as a lamb. She smiles her best Alice smile.

I turn back to Mason. “Pretty badly.”

He lets out a breath, puffing out his cheeks slightly. “All right then.”

“Whenever you’re ready, Mason,” the cameraman says.

And we’re recording.

“It’s a big day. Did you girls get any sleep last night?” Mason asks in a surprisingly cheerful voice.

“I didn’t sleep at all!” Sadie gushes. “I was so nervous!”

“After listening to the judges’ critiques yesterday, how do you think you’ll do today?” This time he looks at me.

I give him my best student council smile. “We had a few missteps, but I’m confident in the cookies we presented to them.”

“Well, our viewers certainly like you. I can’t tell you your final score, but you came out on top of the viewer poll.”

My breath catches in my throat. So that’s why they brought Mason in for an actual interview. And I thought it was going to be something terrible.

Sadie clutches my arm, grinning.

“And according to Twitter and our Facebook page, many people were touched by the story of your grandmother, Sadie.”

My partner blinks, overwhelmed. “She would just love all this.”

She dabs her eyes, laughing so she doesn’t start to bawl on camera. When her emotions are already this high, it’s obviously hard for Sadie to talk about it.

And I feel for her—I do. But the show seems bent on playing up the emotional angle, and it’s beginning to bug me. Call me heartless if you must, but why can’t we just bake? Why do we need a backstory?

“You girls look like you’re very close. Tell us, how did the two of you become friends?”

A little warning goes off in my brain. I don’t know if it’s the way Mason says the question, or the wary look in his eyes, but something is amiss.

“Believe it or not, we didn’t even know each other before Thanksgiving!” Sadie says with a laugh.

“Really?” Mason says, mock-shocked. “How did you team up?”

“I’m dating Harper’s good friend,” Sadie says. “We heard about the auditions, and we both love to bake. One thing led to another, and here we are!”

Mason stares at me for several seconds, wrestling with himself. I go cold, and my hands begin to tremble.

He fakes a laugh. “You two must be the forgiving sort considering the circumstances.”

Sadie blinks, confused. Then she smiles, clueless. “I’m not sure I understand.”

Looking like he’s ready to crush the script in his hands, Mason stares at the wall beyond us.

Though he doesn’t meet our eyes, it will be impossible to tell from the angle of the camera.

“As I understand it, your boyfriend introduced you to Harper the very same weekend she was going to attempt to work out their rocky relationship. Apparently, she transferred colleges just so they could be together?”

Sadie’s face goes completely blank. She turns to me, stunned.

Mason growls and tosses the script on the floor. “This is repulsive. I’m not doing it.”

I feel nauseous. How did Tammy know? It certainly wasn’t in our admission essays.

Unless Mason told her. The thought makes me ill. After all the time we’ve spent together in the last few days, I thought we were becoming friends.

Serves me right for letting myself get swept away.

The cameraman shakes his head, looking disgusted himself.

“Ask them the original questions,” Mason mutters, and he walks out the door.

The crew exchange looks, and then the cameraman sighs in a way that makes me think he doesn’t get paid enough. “Sit down. We’ll try to make it quick.”

“I’m sorry Sheila and Clary, but you’re going home,” Mason says.

Sadie and I stand, nearly emotionless, as the two women nod. They put on brave faces and head for the exit.

I probably look callous with my cold, hard expression, but it’s the only way I can keep it together.

I’m so mad at Mason; I can’t even look at him.

As soon as they’re gone, Mason introduces our next theme: packaged cherry cordials. As the other teams dash for their boxes, Sadie and I walk at a normal pace. She’s still in a stupor. I can tell she wants to ask me if it’s true, but now’s not the time, and we both know it.

No matter how I try to focus on the challenge, my mind wanders. People all around the world are going to see that interview. People I used to go to school with…friends…my family. Brandon’s family. His parents.

Sadie sets the box between us, and we both stare at it.

“So, uh, what about cherry cordial brownies?” she asks.

I nod. “And cherry chip cookies. We can chop up the cordials and fold them into the dough.”

“We’ll need something pretty for the last one to give us an edge.”

“What about cherry chocolate cheesecake cookies?”

“Okay.”

We get to work, barely talking as we bake. Our station is wrapped in silence, but it’s madness around us. Teams are scurrying about, and cameramen are everywhere, trying to film as much as they can.

Our home economists are flitting about the room, attempting to stay out of the camera crew’s way as they assist contestants with the most basic of things—like how to lock the food processor in place or turn on the blowtorch without lighting something on fire.

Personally, I don’t think you should be allowed to use the blowtorch if you can’t figure out how to turn it on. But maybe that’s just me.

I have the cherry chip cookies on a tray, ready to go, and I slide them into the oven.

“Harper!” Tammy hollers from across the room. “You need a camera on you! Take them out—do it again!”

“Right, sorry,” I mutter.

Our Australian friend rushes over, camera on his shoulder. He gives me a nod, and I slide the cookies in as if it’s the first time, pretending I didn’t just lose a precious minute because they just have to catch the oven scenes on film.

Mason comes over halfway through our ninety minutes with a cameraman following him like a puppy. “How’s it going over here?” he asks, sounding a touch more genuine than he did with the others.

I meet his eyes, trying to look impartial, but the truth is I’m hurt, and it’s difficult to hide that. He looks right back, his gray eyes soft with understanding.

“Fine—good,” I say, wiping my hands on a dish towel.

“What are you making?”

I give him the rundown. Sadie’s next to me, working in silence. Because he must engage with both of us, he turns to her.

“What are you working on, Sadie?”

She doesn’t look up. “I’m piping chocolate gift boxes for the cherry chocolate cheesecake cookies.”

“They’re looking good.”

“Thanks.” She’s as loud as a mouse. I have no idea how she’s going to get through the judging.

Another wave of anger sweeps through me. This time, it’s directed at the network. How dare the producers bulldoze their way into our personal lives? Especially when it comes to something so private.

The minute we’re booted off the show, I will be giving Tammy a piece of my mind. Unfortunately, we signed confidentiality contracts, so I can’t shout about the injustice to the world.

One of our timers goes off, and I excuse myself from Mason and his camera. I pull the cookies out of the oven, waiting this time to make sure they get it on film. To my great relief, they look perfect.

As I close the oven, Christy barrels past me, accidentally— or not —hitting me in the shoulder as she goes. Hard.

“Sorry,” she calls, sounding about as repentant as my brothers did the time they crawled on the counter and ate all Mom’s dark chocolate.

I stumble forward with the tray of cookies held precariously in my mitt-covered hand. Just when I think I’m going to go down, cookies and all, familiar, muscular arms wrap around me.

It takes me a moment to steady myself, and then I look over my shoulder, right into Mason’s eyes. He holds me for several seconds. Each one seems longer than the last. Before he lets me go, he whispers, “I didn’t do it, Harper. I swear, I told no one.”

I search his eyes, looking for some sign of deceit. Call me stupid, but I think I believe him.

“Okay,” I murmur.

He gives me a small smile, one that makes those little rogue butterflies flutter.

Which is wrong on so many levels. What is my problem? Last night I kissed Brandon, and now I’m fluttering for Mason?

We stare at each other for a moment too long, and I move out of his arms, murmuring a thank you.

“Anytime.” He steps back as soon as he’s sure I have my balance. Then, finally realizing half the room is watching us, he clears his throat and nods toward the hot cookie sheet. “It would have been a shame to lose those.”

Feeling ill at the thought, I turn back to my station. As I go, I happen to glance at Chrissy and Christy. Like evil plastic-enhanced twins, they watch me with beady eyes and pinched mouths.