Abby

The buzzer goes off, and the contestants place down their dishes, stepping

back from their stations. The room is alive with murmurs, excitement from the

crowd as their eyes scan the three dishes on the stage. The judges step down

from their booth, their gazes inscrutable.

My hands tremble, still hovering over the tiramisu’s uneven surface— it’s a

mocking reminder of the chaos just moments before, but I could fix it, at least a

little. Maybe no one would even notice.

My dish is not even close to perfect, far from the image I had in my head, and

every fiber of my being screams to adjust the messy dusting of pistachios just a

Enter title…

little bit, just so I can make it look a tiny bit more presentable.

But before my fingers can act, I catch Logan’s cold glare, halting me, his

disapproval crystal clear. I quickly pull my hands away, feeling my face turn what

I can only imagine is the deepest shade of red ever.

We all stand back, the stage now eerily quiet. The judges begin to make their

rounds, and I can hear them before I see them.

“Delicious,” Logan says, slowly chewing a bite of none other than Daniel’s

“Truly delicious. You’ve

Logan,” Daniel says with a nod. His eyes flicker over to me,

something bubbling inside of me,

Daniel switch my spices? I wouldn’t

can’t quite make out what

expressions tell me that they like his dish. Vanessa

tastes the mascarpone, a subtle “Oh my god…” escaping her

She loves it. And now, it’s just me left; me, with my ugly

if they love the others’

the best for last.” Vanessa’s voice is sweet,

me out of

tense smile, nodding

of the

closing for a

ever

not a grimace, but

either.

you use any spices out of the ordinary,

feel the color drain from my face. “Just… Just

quivering.

as

of her head.

he approaches. I brace

unsettling suspicion of sabotage,

up when I added

loud; I should have checked it just to be safe,

out of

a spoonful. His eyes, a stormy gray color, never

he tastes

states flatly, putting the spoon

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