Disclaimer: I definitely don't own Total Drama Island. If I did, these scenes would be in it.
Out of the three + hours Chris gave the teams in If You Can't Take The Heat, we only saw about 15 minutes. What else happened in that kitchen?
"Three hours and counting guys!" Chris held up three perfectly manicured fingers to the 12 campers who remained in Chef's kitchen. Trent had already received his challenge-induced injury for the day, and Chris had seen Owen outside with a crate full of oranges on his way in. The host surveyed the room; everyone else seemed to be functioning at at least 50 percent, and that was good enough for him! And, more importantly, good enough for the network.
Upon hearing his statement, the teens immediately turned and began rushing around the kitchen stirring bowls, flipping pans, and performing various other cooking-related activities. Clanging metal battered around as Chris retreated from the overcrowded room with a little screech.
"Hey Bridge, where'd you stick the noodles?"
"No, Lindsey, you—wait! That's not how you do it! Stop!"
"You're just jealous of my superior chopping skills!"
The Bass had been told to remain on the left side of the room while the Gophers were assigned the right. Two cameramen stood at the front of the room, one to cover each of the teams, but they remained silent, faces bored. Duncan sat on a wooden stool, occasionally flicking a pecan or two at the camera guy set up in front of his team, while the rest of the Bass dodged around the tables preparing Chris' meal. Duncan lined up three more nuts on the table for his next assault and got down at eye level. Three, two…
"Duncan, what are you doing now?" Courtney turned from the sink where she was washing her hands for the umpteenth time and glared at the boy in front of her.
"Lining up my next attack, Princess," he said, rising from his seat; being tallest helped to give him a sense of authority, which was always useful when dealing with Courtney. "What are you doing?"
"Watching you bother our hardworking—" She shot a smile in the direction of the Wawanakwan intern, "—Camera guy! Why don't you make yourself useful and chop up two cups of your ammo?" She snatched a towel off of the counter and dried her hands, glaring at him all the while.
When she finished, she grabbed a 1 Cup Measurer out of a drawer and chucked it at his face, giving him an annoyed look when he caught it and deposited it on the table. "Hey," he said, "As much as I love knives, I really don't feel like cutting stuff today."
"Then preset the oven." Duncan shook his head. "200 degrees Celsius." He crossed his arms. "You have 12 seconds." He raised his eyebrow in a 'what-else-you-got?' sort of way.
Courtney stomped over to where he stood smirking and stood on her toes to get to eyelevel. "Look," she began. "You obviously don't have any culinary skills to speak of, so if you want to sit back and let me do everything and take all of the credit for my fabulous dish, that's perfectly fine with me. Just DON'T sit there being counter-productive, because that's what might cost us this challenge!"
"Hey," Duncan said, fighting to establish some dominance over the situation. "I have plenty of 'culinary skills'. I just won't waste them on desserts designed by you." Courtney's attempt at reverse-psychology apparently wasn't working that well.
"Oh, yeah?" Her hands clenched up.
"You heard me!" He picked up a pecan that hadn't been fired and shot it at her face.
She twitched as it bounced off her forehead at hit the floor—"Yee-ah, perfect shot!"—snatched a knife off of the counter, and shook it under his nose. Duncan somehow managed not to look the least bit perturbed by the murderous look on her face.
"Whoa, whoa, Courtney, Duncan, hold up!" Geoff popped up between the two and gently took the knife out of Courtney's hands. "There's no need to fight, guys!" Geoff turned to the smirking Duncan. "Duncan, dude, just chop the nuts." Duncan raised his eyebrow, but didn't argue. Geoff flipped to face Courtney. "And Courtney, why don't you, uh, not kill my main man, okay?"
Her gaze came away from Duncan's smirk and fixed itself on the smiling Geoff in front of her. "It's not so easy as you make it sound, Geoff." She gestured from the oven and back to Duncan and said, "The imbecile here evidently finds it too difficult to push a few measly buttons!"
"That's not true, Sweetheart," he said, a brilliant response formulating in his mind. He let a moment pass and then said, "I'm just too busy pushing buttons somewhere else!" He winked at her suggestively and busted out laughing while Geoff fought the urge to join him, knowing that it would not help to make progress with the duo.
"Ugh!" She rolled her eyes and stomped off, grabbing a bowl and furiously cracking an egg against the side.
"Dude," Geoff began. "You've got to ease up on that girl. She looked like she was ready to stab you!"
Duncan chuckled and looked over Geoff's shoulder at his partner. "That's just the way I like it." He held up his fist for pounding and Geoff responded with his own.
"All right man," he said, starting to walk away. "But if I were you, I'd sleep with one eye open tonight."
"Trust me," Duncan said, dumping a bag of pecans on the counter, not bothering to measure the two cups he'd been instructed to. He picked up a huge knife generally reserved for cutting meat and went to work. "When you've been in juvy, you sleep with one eye open anyway."
On the other side of the room, Beth stood with Leshawna, watching the confrontation from behind the safety of their splintery table. She grabbed a pineapple and turned to her partner, who was laughing under her breath.
Leshawna picked up a mango, carefully avoiding skin contact with the six remaining pineapples on the table, and began pealing it. "I can hardly believe those two," she said. "Going around pretending they don't like each other like there's no tomorrow!"
Beth looked up from her fruit, eyes wide. "You really think they're pretending? They th-eem to hate each other."
"Nah, that's just on the outside, girl." She shook her head and tossed a piece of mango skin into the garbage. "They just don't wanna admit that they like someone who's 'not their type'." She made air-quotes with one hand and started laughing again.
"Ohhh," Beth said. "That's makes th-ense. You mus-th know a lot about that kind of thing."
"Oh, I've been through my fair share of relationships, and seen even more go down." Her finger pointed in the direction she spoke of. She looked up at Beth, who avoided her gaze by returning to her pineapple. "You ever had a man?" she asked, already pretty sure of the answer.
"Oh, no, not really." Beth's chunky ponytail swayed behind her as she cut at the pineapple skin. "Guys aren't really all that…into me." She shrugged, trying to act not too incredibly concerned.
Leshawna turned to Beth and gave her a smile. She was a pretty cool little white girl, despite her outward appearance. It was sad, really, Leshawna always thought, that nobody ever really gave her a chance. "Well, consider yourself lucky, 'cause let me tell you, boys are nothin' but trouble!"
"Really?" Beth asked hopefully.
"Heck yes! Trust me, you are not missing a thing." And while that wasn't necessarily true, Leshawna felt that she'd be doing the girl a favor by making her feel better about her social life. And anyway, it wasn't like what she said wasn't legit! "Guys are tricky business, better left alone until you can handle their stupidity."
With that said, she got up to go grab a bowl to place her mango cubes in. Heather, however, blocked her way.
The head-chef placed a hand on her hip and attempted to stare Leshawna down. "And where are you going?"
"I'm going to grab a bowl for my mangos, so if you'll just move OUTTA my way—"
"Let me see them first." Heather held out a hand.
Leshawna took a moment to process this demand and came up short. "Ex-cuuuse me?"
"I said, let me see your mangos." Heather went on the offensive.
"Why?" Leshawna demanded in a tone that was always a sign of near confrontation and/or violence.
"Because I said so," Heather clipped.
"That's not a good reason!"
"Just let me see them!" Leshawna moved to shove her out of the way, but Beth poked in between them, holding the mango cubes on a cutting board.
"They're right here, Heather," she said, hoping to avoid another fight. Those two got into enough of them outside of challenges, where there wasn't the added stress of immediate competition. Heather took the board from Beth and picked up one of the little cubes, examining it like a precious jewel.
"Yup, knew it! These cubes aren't small enough. Go back and cut them all in half."
"There's no need to do that," Leshawna argued. "I'm just gonna grind them up in your mango dip anyway!"
"Look," Heather said, glowering at the girl opposite her. "Are you the one who's made this recipe a dozen times?" Leshawna narrowed her eyes. "Yeah, didn't think so. So don't ask, just do!" Beth quietly tugged on the larger girl's shoulder until she sat and picked up her miniature knife. Satisfied, Heather moved on from their table and went to reprimand Gwen on her batter-stirring technique.
"I can not believe that girl, making me cut each of these teeny little squares again! I bet she'll make me cut them into fourths after I'm done!" She mimicked Heather's voice saying, "Those aren't small enough, Leshawna, cut them again, Leshawna!" And then, returning to her natural tone, said, "Ugh! That girl is insufferable!" She'd spoken quite loudly, but Heather was either too busy to notice or chose to ignore her.
Beth, while impressed with Leshawna's vocabulary, seemed a bit torn between her old loyalty to Heather and new loyalty to her friend. "Well, I don't know… it i-th her re-th-ipe." She tossed a pile of pineapple skin into the garbage and fell into silence while Leshawna muttered anti-Heather-y things under her breath.
"Okay, dude, you got this," DJ was saying to his not-so-bright friend. "She's right over there," he said, pointing to Bridgette, "And she's mad at Heather for bossing Leshawna around. Just go say something nice to her that doesn't involve looking like a mom and you'll be golden in comparison, a'ight?" He patted Geoff on the back.
"Got it, dude." He flashed his pal a thumbs up. "Operation Mend-The-Bridge is a-go!"
"Operation mend the…" DJ's voice trailed off. "Oh, geez." He put a hand to his head and leaned against the fridge, hoping that Geoff's brain was open to telepathy; he would be needing a little help today. Have faith in a brother, DJ, have faith! He tried to convince himself that Geoff knew what he was doing but failed rather miserably.
Bridgette was standing over the sink struggling to open a can of tomato sauce when Geoff bounced up next to her.
"Uh, heya Bridge." He fiddled with his cowboy hat.
She readjusted the old-fashioned can opener and tried to crank the handle again. "Hi, Geoff." Her voice was measured, but she didn't look hostile like a person would expect. But of course, Bridgette never looked hostile.
Geoff looked over his shoulder at DJ, who made a shoo-ing, 'keep going!' motion with his hands. Duncan stood next to him and gave him the universal signal for 'rock on!', along with the expected smirk.
"You, uh, doing well with that, uh… can?" he asked as Bridgette leaned her full body weight on the container in an attempt to get it open. He heard Duncan snigger from behind him, causing him to release a sheepish smile.
Bridgette looked up from repositioning the opener for a fourth time and sighed, noting his sincerity. "Not really, no." She held it up for him. "Open it for me?"
"No problem!" Geoff took the device from her and wiggled it into place, happy to have the chance to make himself forgiven. He hadn't even realized that Bridgette was mad at him until DJ took him aside and explained the whole 'Evan's Mom' situation, but better to fix it late than never! Returning to the task at hand, he cranked the can opener handle, but it wasn't budging. Bridgette raised her eyebrows, a tiny grin playing on her lips.
Grabbing a towel off of the counter, he wrapped it around the handle and tried again, but had no luck. "Just, uh, hold on Bridgette." The outdated kitchen tool definitely wasn't moving; maybe faulty cooking equipment was the reason behind Chef's nasty cooking!
Geoff brought the can close to his chest and, with a burst of energy, gave the can opener one last, massive crank. Pop! Air rushed out of the can as the top fell in, little drops of tomato sauce bursting out half a meter in different directions.
From the opposite side of the kitchen Geoff heard Duncan cracking up, and DJ saying, "Aw, man!"
He let out a loud, "Woo-hoo!" of victory over the can and punched his fist into the air. "Here ya go, B. That's one tough can right there." He smiled as he handed it to her, and then noticed a large speck of the red sauce between her eyebrows. "Whoa, sorry, looks like I nailed you between the brows, dudette!"
"Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess so." Bridgette moved to wipe her face, but Geoff got the dishtowel in his grip and gingerly wiped the sauce off before she managed to. Her eyes moved up toward his hand and she smiled. "Thanks, Geoff."
"Sure thing, Bridge! You and Deej are, uh, doing a great job with the pasta. Keep it up!"
"Sure thing," she replied, imitating his words. "I'll let you know if I need you to open any more cans for me." She flashed him a smile, and Geoff became certain that all was forgiven. He turned to Duncan and DJ for confirmation, but they were nowhere to be seen. He realized that they were probably busy preparing for phase three of Make Harold Stop Leaving His Underwear Everywhere. Nice!
"Oh, by the way Bridge, sorry if you, like, break out right here or something." He lifted up his hat and pointed to the area between his eyebrows on himself.
"Come again?" Bridgette looked unsure of the purpose of Geoff's statement, so he went to clarify.
"I mean, I just hope that the tomato sauce doesn't, like, clog up your pores or something. I don't want it to be my fault if you get a gross pimple right there." He shrugged and smiled at her again, not realizing that he'd just made a mega-sized blunder.
Bridgette narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out if what he'd just said was what he'd meant to say. "Right… Well, I think Harold needs your help now, Geoff." She hadn't looked at Harold at all, but that boy always needed help in one form or another.
Geoff glanced over his shoulder. "Whoa, you're right! Talk to you later, Bridgette!" With that, he ran over to help Harold gather up the sausage links that had begun spilling uncontrollably out of the box.
Black and white stripes over pink moved into Bridgette's peripheral vision, the owner asking, "Oh my gosh, did Geoff just tell you that you get gross pimples between your eyebrows?" Sadie cocked her head to the side and held up her pointer finger. "Because that is SO not okay."
Bridgette scrunched her mouth to the side and back. "I really have no idea what Geoff just said," she told the girl honestly. "And I'm even less sure of what he'd meant to say." She shrugged and picked up tomato sauce can number three and set to work opening it, deciding to attempt to give Geoff the benefit of the doubt. He's running out of Get Out Of Jail Free cards, though, she thought, while Sadie prepared to recite a relevant article or two out of her favorite magazine.
"Lindsey." Gwen stood by the oven, trying to get the blonde's attention. "Lindsey. Lindsey!" The girl was completely focused on something going on with the Bass—again. Gwen glanced though the oven's peephole; the cake was almost finished, and Heather had been incredibly clear that leaving it in there for one second too long would result in dire consequences.
Gwen glanced at the timer, which was ticking down from 18 seconds. "Whoa, look," she called to Lindsey sarcastically. "It's Tyler!"
"Tyler! Where?" Gwen rolled her eyes at the means she had used to break into Lindsey's concentration.
"Nowhere. Now pass me those oven mitts." She pointed at the charred, grey mitts sitting on the table. Eleven seconds left on the oven and Heather was staring at her, daring her to leave the precious cake in for a second too long. Gwen ordinarily would have just left it to burn, if only to spite Heather, but this was an actual challenge with actual consequences, and the epitome of evil would NOT be receiving an extra reason to want Gwen gone that week.
Upon noticing the mitts by her right hand, Lindsey picked them up and handed them over just as the timer went off.
"Finally!" Gwen pulled the oven door open, releasing a wave of heat and the smell of Upside-Down Cake [soon to be] Flambé. She slipped the mitts on, carefully removed their creation, and set it on the counter.
"Oooh, that smells soooo good!" Lindsey squealed, clapping her hands. After she finished, her left hand shot up into the air. "I call decorating it!"
"Lindsey, we're not decorating it." The poor girl looked inexplicably heartbroken. "It's going to be on fire." She looked exceptionally confused. "That's what the 'flambé' part means." Gwen rolled her eyes for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.
"Ohhhhhh." Lindsey's eyes widened in understanding and she nodded her head. "Well, can I decorate it anyways?"
Gwen blinked at the blonde but didn't dare to say anything.
"Glen, did you hear me? I asked, Can I decorate it an—"
"Yes, Lindsey, fine!" Gwen flattened her hand against the table. "You can decorate it! Go for it. Have a cow. Knock yourself out. Please."
"Ooh, yay!" Lindsey bounced around the table, picking up random ingredients left over from Leshawna and Beth's pineapple/mango concoction, including a couple of things that wouldn't be very tasty on a cake, even if it did happen to be set on fire.
Gwen watched as Lindsey made a full circle around the table and ended back up where she had started. The paler of the two snatched a cup of yogurt and a bottle of Tabasco sauce out of the tanner one's hands. "All right Lindsey, let me put this simply." Gwen held up the cup of yogurt and looked at the label. "Peach flavored yogurt is not good on cake." In the other hand, she held up a bottle whose label depicted a burning skull. Yummy. "Spicy liquids are not good either." She held the yogurt up again—"Yogurt is for mango dip,"—and then raised the other bottle, saying, "And spicy sauce is for ribs. Okay?"
Gwen picked up a mango a shoved it at Lindsey. "Cut this up and put the slices on top of the cake, yeah?" Then, figuring that it probably wasn't very wise to trust the bubblehead with a knife, said, "Or you know what? Here. Have an orange." She picked one up out of the crate and gave it to her. "You can peel it and put the slices on the cake all by yourself."
The blonde stared down at the orange in her hands. She poked at the fruit and tried squeezing it a little, but eventually gave up and asked, with complete sincerity, "So, how do I peel an orange?"
"Oh, just give it to me!" Gwen snatched the fruit from her and removed the skin, then set about finding the flambé liquid for the cake. However, upon locating it, she realized she had absolutely no idea how one was supposed to go about setting a cake on fire.
She stood next to Lindsey and looked from the liquid to the cake, and back again. "Any idea how to use this stuff?" she asked.
Lindsey shrugged and waved her painted fingernails around in a way that conveyed 'how should I know?' "Glen, I never even heard of flamday liquid before today. How should I know what to do?"
Gwen snorted and looked for directions on the container. "Good point." Why was she even asking Lindsey for help? Working with the blonde was obviously damaging some of her brain cells. "And it's flambé. Flahhm baaay."
Giving up on looking for instructions that weren't there, Gwen said, "Well, I guess we just pour it on and it lights itself." Lindsey shrugged again.
"So, three…" She lifted the container. "…Two…" She prepared for the cake to set itself on fire. "One!" She dumped all of the liquid onto the cake and Lindsey ducked under the table.
A second later, she peeked over the edge and asked, "Did it work? Is it on fire? It didn't mess up my hair, did it?"
Having no idea how setting the cake on fire (or not setting it on fire, as the case had been) would affect Lindsey's hair, she just said, "Your hair's fine, Lindsey. The cake definitely isn't on fire, though."
"Maybe you should ask Heather," the blonde suggested.
"We're not asking Heather." Asking Heather for help was like inviting a pit-bull to eat you.
"Are you sure? Because you're right, the cake's totally not on fire."
"We're not asking Heather," Gwen repeated.
"I don't know, I really think we should, because—"
"Fine! Go ask her, just make sure you leave me out of it." Gwen closed her eyes and blinked them open again.
Lindsey smiled happily, pleased that her partner had taken her suggestion, and went to go find the head-chef.
Gwen put her own head in her hands, Heather approaching a moment later to meet Lindsey. Ready to demonstrate her cake flambé-ing superiority, Heather snapped, "What's wrong?"
Under her breath, in a silent attempt at rebellion, Gwen muttered, "Shoot me now, please!" Too bad the only person who could have made her change her mind was stuck in the infirmary.
"Okay, Bass," Geoff called, "Reel it in!"
Each pair in a different stage of meal preparation, the six members dropped what they were doing and assembled around the wooden table in the middle of the room. An assortment of mumblings could be heard, including Bridgette's easygoing, "What's up?" and Courtney's "Again, Geoff? Really?", followed by Duncan's, "Oh, shut it Princess." He grunted as she elbowed him in the ribs.
The Bass team was familiar with the procedure by this point, seeing that they had gone through it twice already; when Geoff pointed at Sadie and Harold and hollered, "Status report, Team Appetizer!" they responded with military precision.
"The olives and cheeses for the antipasto are ready, but we're waiting on the sausage," Harold announced, still clad in his cowboy pajamas.
"Because, like, if you cook sausage too early it can get all cold and stuff, and then it's just gross!" Sadie added. "I mean, who wants to eat that?"
"Not me," Harold declared. "You know, I read this book once about some of the microorganisms that sometimes start producing on cooled meat. It's pretty interesting, really. Like, there's this one species of archaebacteria called—"
"All right Antipasto!" Geoff cut him off. Harold's stories generally resulted in someone puking, and that would not be good for his team's rep with the Chris-meister. "You've got half an hour to finish. Doable?"
Harold saluted while Sadie nodded enthusiastically and said, "Oh, totally!" The pair spun back around to the counter where they had been preparing the sausage links and returned to work.
"All right, Team Dessert, status report!" He turned to his most aggressive pairing and found that they were too busy beating each other up to hear his call; Duncan stepped on Courtney's foot in response the previous elbow in his ribs; she kicked his shin. Duncan prepared to retaliate but was cut off when DJ punched his shoulder and Bridgette tapped the brunette from behind.
"Yo, guys, Head Chef wants a status report!" DJ jerked a thumb at Geoff.
"Oh, sorry Geoff." Courtney cleared her throat and said, "So the custard's all ready, but—"
Duncan cut her off with "We're not going to put it in the pastry too early—"
"Or else it will get soggy—" Courtney pressed on.
"And that's just nasty."
She glared at him. "So I'm going to give it about 15 more minutes, then squeeze in the filling." Courtney shot an aggravated look at the Mohawked boy while Duncan stood next to her, a curiously smug look on his face.
"So…" Geoff tried to think through all of the words that had just been fired at him.
Courtney sighed and declared, "We'll be ready in half and hour," at the exact moment that Duncan said, "Just give us 30, man." They gaped at each other for a moment, realizing they'd practically said the exact same thing. Courtney quickly returned to her dessert to hide her embarrassment and Duncan followed to make fun of her for it. A little chuckle came from Bridgette.
"Awesomeness!" Geoff called to the pair, but they were too busy arguing to hear (or maybe just too busy to acknowledge him.) He shrugged and turned to the final group. "Team Entree, status report!"
Bridgette didn't look like she'd be providing an answer, so DJ said, "The sauce and the pasta are on the stove keeping warm. We'll be ready whenever you are, Chief." He noticed that Bridgette looked unusually peeved and decided to use this next half hour to figure out why, and to fix it. Geoff had probably said something stupid again. Damn his not-working powers of telepathy...
"All right Bass, doing awesome! Half an hour, and then it's party time!" Geoff's team responded with a chorus of shouts and whoops as they returned to their stations to put the finishing touches on the dishes.
Upon hearing that there was half an hour left, Heather went about instructing her team as well. They, however, weren't quite as receptive to her demands as the Bass were to Geoff's. To the Gophers' credit, though, Heather wasn't as friendly with her instructions either.
"Gwen, more orange slices on the cake. And they should look, oh, I don't know, good?"
"Hey, don't look at me." Gwen glanced up from the icing she was mixing, remembered Heather's nonexistent eyebrows, and started giggling for the third or fourth time that hour. She would get busy doing something and forget about the little explosion (which she was quite proud that she'd helped to cause), so it was always a surprise when she looked up at Heather's bare face again. She got her laughter under enough control to say, "That was Lindsey's job!" before she broke out in another fit.
"Quit your snickering, Weird Goth Girl!" Heather stomped her foot and looked out of the door for Owen. Where was that boy? It was NOT hard to go pick up a make-up bag, and she had a desperate need for one!
She decided to exercise her authority over the one person who was guaranteed to listen. "Lindsey! The distribution of those orange slices is totally off balance. Fix it."
Lindsey's eyes got wide and her bottom lip stuck out. "Awwww, I—I tried Heather, I really, really d-did! I don't know how to make them any evener! I tried my hardest!" Heather realized that her minion was about a split second from bursting out into tears, so she ditched her attempts with Lindsey and called for Leshawna.
"Oh, just forget it. Leshawna, fix the oranges!"
"Did she really just tell me to fix the oranges?" Leshawna asked Beth, who nodded. She faced Heather again and said, "Are you frontin' me? You made me cut the pineapples, so I'm cutting the dang pineapples! So don't you come over here and expect me to drop what I'm doing to rebalance your cake! I've already got the rash! I'm finishing the job I started!"
Leshawna's sudden outburst paralyzed the Queen Bee for a split second, but she quickly recovered and sniffed disapprovingly. "Fine then. Beth will do it, won't you, Beth?"
Beth glanced down at her finished mango sauce and failed to think of an excuse to disobey Heather. "I…I… gue-th so," she said grudgingly. "But only because no one el-th will!" She walked over to the cake and stood examining it with Lindsey, trying to spot any imperfection in the orange placement.
Owen burst into the kitchen then, hardly recognizable through all of his insect stings, carrying Heather's make-up bag. "Don't just stand there! Give it!" Heather held out her hands for her make-up bag. Owen tossed it to her haphazardly as he fell to the floor, and there was just enough room in that toss for a Screaming Gopher rebellion…
About 15 minutes later, Chris came in announcing that it was time for the taste-testing to begin. Each of the Bass members carried in their platters with their partner, their chatter accented by Geoff's enthusiastic whooping. Leshawna took charge of the Gophers and instructed Owen to stay behind with the team's meal.
"Princess, just let me carry the plate. It's not like your scrawny arms could hold it up anyway."
"Those Gophers need to prepare for a ninja-sized beating!"
"Hey! I'll have you know that all CITs are required to be able to do at least four pull-ups. I have plenty of upper body strength!"
"Wooooo-hoo! Dudes and dudettes, are we ready?"
"…Yeah!" It took them all a moment, but they responded.
"Here goes nothing!" Geoff led both teams into the kitchen where Chris greeted them with an animated, "All right. Let the Taste-Test Challenge… begin!"
And so it did.
I hope you all enjoyed-I know I had a great time with the writing! The Bass are definitely my favorites, but all of the characters have their own personalities. They practically write the dialogue themselves.
Thanks for reading! Please review. :)