Sarah J. Schmitt - Where Theres a Whisk

CRACKING MY KNUCKLES, I STAND MOTIONLESS as everyone else races around me, whispering frantically into their headsets. The thumping of my heart blends with the hum of electrical current coursing through the jungle of wires and cords. Anticipation and dread collide in this time and place. In a few minutes, my life is going to change forever.

Peyton Sinclaire, a woman says, her voice slicing through the din of production.

I jump at the sound of her voice.

She scans something on the tablet in her hand. Theyre almost ready for you.

Uh, yeah. Whenever. Im trying to be cool and relaxed, but what few nerves that have managed, up until now, to remain calm are starting to rev into high gear.

The production assistant, or PA as everyone around here calls them, nods but doesnt bother to look up. Ill walk you through whats going to happen. Dont worry. Youll do great.

Thanks. Im not sure how she could know whether Ill be great or not. Especially since Ive only been able to manage a total of four words in her presence. In a few minutes, the cameras will begin rolling, and they wont stop for an entire month. Everything I say and do will be fodder for the editing room. How can anyone be sure how great someone will be under those conditions?

The PA continues giving her instructions, eye contact not required. Youre going to be the first person to enter the set.

When I dont say anything, she looks up. This tiny gesture grants her my full attention. Arent you excited? she asks, her eyes narrowing. Do you have any idea how many people auditioned for Top Teen Chef ?

Um, yeah. Im super excited. Im also about to throw up all over her shoes.

You should be, she huffs in a way that makes me wonder if she auditioned but didnt make the cut. That would be awkward.

Top Teen Chef. Personally, I think the name lacks pizzazz for a teen reality cooking competition. I mean, were going to be battling for a full-ride scholarship to any one of the four American Culinary Institute campuses. I feel like the name of the show should include the words epic , smackdown , or maybe cage match . I grin at the thought of a round cage filled with every cooking gadget I can imagine. We would come armed with graters, strainers, and mandolines. The crowd would chant our names, and when we win they would shower us with marshmallowsflamb style. I dont realize that I let out a little chuckle until the PA clears her throat and I quickly force myself to stand at attention.

I dont think she would enjoy my reimagining of the show as much as I do.

It will be just you and the camera crew on set when you go through the doors, she continues. Take your time. You just need to walk in, look around, be impressedthat kind of stuff.

I know exactly what she means because Ive watched every episode of every cooking competition show that has ever aired on Food TV. Every show starts off with these confident cooks who are ready to take home the prize, but when they enter the hallowed grounds of the kitchen, they turn into four-year-olds on Christmas morning. Its cute. Now Im about to find out if those reactions are real or staged. I close my fist and open it, repeating the process until the tingling in my hands goes away.

The PA listens intently to something being said on her headset; then, after a moment, she raises her eyes from her tablet and turns her attention back to me. You ready?

One question.

She stares at me for what seems like forever before saying What? in what I can only assume is her trademark impatient voice.

What am I supposed to do after I look around?

What do you mean?

Like, once Ive seen everything and the next person comes in? Should I get out of their way?

Just stay on the set, looking around until the next person comes in. Well space out everyones arrival. It will probably take an hour or less.

Right, but what do I do when they come in?

I guess thats up to you, she says, still looking at me like she cant tell whether Im joking or serious. But if I were you, I would talk to everyone you can. No one wants to watch a group of newly graduated high schoolers standing around, staring at each other.

Not even if you play that old-time western showdown music? Maybe the camera guy could zoom in real close on our eyes. I can squint really well.

I thought my attempt at a joke was rather good, but she is not impressed.

Or she doesnt have time to answer because whoever is whispering in her ear must be saying something important, as her face is stern with concentration.

Theyre ready for you. She raises her hand and motions to the double doors in front of us. These are swinging doors, so dont pause when you enter, or they might swing back and hit you.