The day of the finals arrived like an unforeseen windstorm. There was no pitter-patter of rain, or no forming of the clouds to indicate its arrival. In the blink of an eye, the two nights passed and we woke up to the sound of insistent knocking on our hotel door. Being so used to such panic-driving and frightening pattern of knocking, I mumbled in my sleep and kicked Brandon to tell him to open the door.

Befuddled with the late night of planning yesterday, it took me a few insistent kicks to make him budge from his spot. He sat up, confused, and switched the table lamp on. Light flooded the room, and I covered my face with the blankets.

"Who is it?" Brandon called out, his voice sore and deep at the wee hours of the morning.

I tried to go back to sleep but Brandon was making too much noise, first with finding his bathroom slippers, then finding his shirt, then yawning a few times before he actually shuffled to the impatient person on the other side of the door. There wasn't any need for me to see anything to be able to deduce what he did. He was a walking commentator, talking to himself and cursing about lost slippers and hidden shirts.

Not feeling guilty for making him do the work, I shifted deeper into the blanket and sought more of that sweet and warm sleep I had woken up from. Tried as I might to do so, my thoughts kept drifting back to the last time Sarah had visited us two, and how Brandon had played a cruel joke on me. Suffice to say, he was still receiving his punishment by becoming my handmaid of sorts.

Honestly, though. What a girl was to think when amidst his confession of liking me and right before kissing me, he mentioned a wedding?

I know I had freaked out, flashed my eyes open in an instant, only to see him bending down to kiss me. The kiss had lasted mere two seconds when I had pulled him off me, my heart beating out of my chest, head spinning, and body burning up hotter than a furnace, and fumbled out the question, "What did you just say?"

I don't think he expected such a violent reaction from me. Or maybe he did. I couldn't be sure behind his veil of an overly smug face and satisfied expression.

Brandon had simply tilted his head and ruffled the paper in his right hand. "Wedding. We'll be making a wedding cake."

Kicking my legs out in frustration and delving deeper into the blanket, I tried to remove the image of the most embarrassing moment ever out of my head. I couldn't believe I had actually thought that Brandon was proposing to me. Why I had that wild idea? I have no clue. And the face that Brandon made when he realized what I had thought he had said.

Stop thinking! I kicked the blankets away and pouted again. After the initial laugh he had, my embarrassment had transformed into anger and it's sufficient to say that Brandon has been suffering its wrath ever since.

"Tyler," Brandon called out, wheeling a trolley in and reading a card he held in his other end. The trolley bumped with the side table, rattling the utensils, making Brandon look up from whatever he was reading. "They're serving us breakfast."

"In bed? We don't have to go to the buffet?"

He passed on the card. "Special service for finalists. The camera crew will be here in five, you might wanna dress up a bit."

"What?" I shouted, flying out of the bed and into the bathroom. As I did the chores of cleaning myself up, I talked to Brandon. "Why are they coming though?"

"They will film us the entire day."

"Are you sure?"

"Yup, says so on the card."

I opened the bathroom door, letting my hair loose from the rubber band and letting them frame my face. "This is not a trick, is it?"

"You think Alard is doing this?"

I nodded. "He must have sensed we are planning something."

"Even if that's so, we'll stay one step ahead."

"Oh, I wish," I concluded, sitting on the plush chair, and biting into a bagel. "At least we have good food."

A cameraman entered the room shortly, giving us a thumbs up and already starting rolling the tape to record us. Brandon took a seat at his command, picking up a delightful looking strawberry whipped cream cupcake, and licking its edges off. He groaned, wiping the smudged cream on his lips off with his finger and devouring it with his tongue. I sighed, shaking my head and yet, unable to look away...

There he went again.

Damn food porn.

An hour later, we were dressed and fed like pigs on their way to get butchered. Brandon had put too much of a good show with the breakfast, that even the cameraman preferred to shoot him instead of me. I was just worried that after this segment aired, Brandon would be getting a little too many offers to become a food critic, only if to watch him lick his fingers on television.

The excitement and the nervousness of the day ahead crept up my body with each step I took towards the minibus waiting for us outside. Brandon had gone quiet as well, sobering up, and slowing down.

We were right to be nervous. The whole day yesterday we had been in and out of the kitchen, rolling fondants, practicing layering them on cakes, tasting different flavours of frosting and coming up with a foolproof plan for whatever type of cake we were given to make. But Brandon and I both knew that we hadn't been as devoted as we ought to have been with the finals looming over our heads. The thoughts and strategies for Bella and Giulia's escape plan had become the main priority and remained so throughout the time spent in the kitchen and otherwise.

Brandon and I shared a confused look outside the hotel when instead of directing us towards the minibus, the cameraman started leading us away from it.

"Where are we going?" Brandon asked, following the cameraman who kept shooting us from the front, and walking backward. He didn't answer but motioned us to keep moving forward.

We turned the corner, and I saw familiar faces beginning to appear. Relieved to have not suffered the same fate as Giulia's and gone missing (the joke was so overused by Brandon now that it grew on me), it was a surprise to see the full cast of contestants standing there waiting for us.

The road was blocked for public view, barricades lined up to stop the public from entering the shooting area. The director and the cameraman sat in front, deep in their discussions and talks. I swept my eyes over all the contestants, hoping to see the familiar tall girl, but Bella wasn't there, and neither was Francis. Bea stood there in the far corner, her hand out of the stiff cast. I waved at her, and she waved back, giving me an all the best sign in the end.

I mouthed thank you, before joining the line of finalists. We were the second ones to arrive, the first being Patrick and his partner.

"Hey," I said to Patrick, happy to see him again in top five.

He nodded in acknowledgment. "Good to see you."

Our short conversation ended there when Sarah too reached the lineup and filled the area with hugs and loud laughs. Looking at her, I could see that she had easily befriended everyone in the competition and still made everyone feel special and welcomed.

Henry and Maya were the last ones to join us, and with the team complete, the shooting started.

The area fell silent, and most of us sobered up, attentive with our eyes and ears open. Florence, our--with too much makeup and overly extravagant outfits--host, stepped out from the shadows and took her position in the center in front of us. Her evening gown was even more over the top than before, with a deep low back cut and shimmering green material. It might have worked at the wedding, but she only looked straight out of the circus in the broad daylight.

Her opening speech started, too low for us to hear, but we smiled and clapped at the right places with the cue board flashing in front of us. We thought that would be it, but no, she turned, walking towards us, a microphone in her hand. I winced when she almost tripped over her floor-sweeping gown, but she caught herself at the right moment. With a dazzling smile, she started the interview. "Good morning, kids!"

"Good morning, Florence," an uneven chorus replied.

"How does it feel to be a finalist?" She shoved the microphone under Patrick's nose, half-coaxing, and half-demanding the answer.

"G-great," he mumbled out.

She nodded, satisfied with his answer. Stepping forward, she placed the microphone near my lips. "What will you do with the prize money if you win?"

I relaxed, that was an easy question to answer to. "My mom and I run a bakery. Maybe look into expanding it and opening more of them."

"Amazing! You have to invite me over." She laughed.

"Sure," I replied.

With that, she went ahead to interview the rest of the finalists. Brandon grinned, wiggling his eyebrows at my answer, and teasing me. Time stretched as Florence took her sweet time getting her makeup perfected and hair smoothed before moving on to the next segment.

"We have a surprise for you, finalists!" she shouted out, and instead of clapping and hooting like the other times, everyone went still, worried and nervous. Florence saw the look on our faces. With a laugh, she said, "It's a pleasant one!"

She read her cue cards, and then looked back to us. "Two of the teams can choose one more contestant to join them for the first round of competition today."

Heat rushed to my face, and Brandon squeezed my hand in understanding. We needed this, I thought, if we have one more helping hand, then our plan... I took in a deep breath, waiting for the 'but' in this clause, yet determined to win this opportunity.

"You remember our motto, don't you?" She wiggled her eyebrows. "Love never grows apart."

I groaned inside my head. What sort of weird task were they going to ask us to perform?

"The team with the best chemistry and understanding between them will win this opportunity," she explained, "To test this, we have a short game that you all will play."

Oh, shuck it. I was winning this game. Even if it meant embarrassing myself in front of the international television. This was a matter of someone's whole life.

Five sets of chairs were placed, each placed opposite each other, and ten cameras to record each contestant. Brandon and I sat face to face, a good two-meter apart. The producer monitoring us handed me a sketch marker and a slate-sized whiteboard. Brandon received the same. We exchanged curious glances, confused about the game. All around us, the contestants and their respective partners murmured in confusion.

At last, Florence explained the game. "Each one of you will be given a question. Example, what is X's favorite color? You have to write the answer down in thirty seconds.

"If your answer matches, then you gain a point. The two teams with the highest number of correct and matching answers can choose one player from our previous contestants to participate with them."

Dread filled me with the rules. I had only known Brandon for two weeks. Was it enough to win this type of hounding interrogative game? Did I know him enough? My worry was obvious with the way I frowned, and Brandon bent forward to say a quick message in my ear. "Write about whatever we have done together. Trust your memory. We can do this."

He pulled back, sitting back on his seat, and giving me a serious nod. I returned it hesitatingly, picking up my board as the producer got ready for the first question.

"Question one to Brandon. What is Tyler's favorite movie?" he asked him, motioning me to write the correct answer on my board. "You cannot discuss. Write the answer in thirty seconds."

Brandon narrowed his eyes, thinking hard. I bit my lip. What should I do? There were a dozen Korean movies I loved, but he wouldn't be able to name a single one! Worried, and still contemplating the answer, a memory struck me. Hoping for it to match with his answer, I wrote it down.

"Time's up. Reveal your answer, Tyler."

I squeezed my eyes and flipped the board. With a faltering voice, I croaked out, "Real Steel."

The producer nodded. "Brandon?"

He maintained a straight expression. I was desperate for him to hurry up and flip the damn board already, but he went the long route, slowly twisting it, creating airtime tension. I craned my neck forward, impatient about the answer. At last, he smiled, flipping it casually. "Real Steel."

I sighed, sagging back on my seat.

"One point," the producer called out.

"Question two to Tyler. What is Brandon's mothers' first name?"

Panic struck me. Did I even know her name? Brandon had casually written down the answer since there wasn't anything to brainstorm about it this time. For me, I twisted in my seat, glancing at the producer who was clearly amused by my discomfort. This was going to air everywhere, I rushed in my head, she was my mom's new best friend and my boyfriend's mother! How the heck I didn't know her name?!

It was a matter of pride now, I couldn't write Mrs. Sawyer and be done with it. Making a little more use of my grey cells today, I thought hard to the times my mother could have mentioned her name. Something with L...

Unsure, but with no other option, I wrote a familiar sounding name.

"Brandon. Reveal the answer."

He twisted the board, gauging my reaction with a concerned look. I broke our eye contact and look at the board. "Lisa Sawyer."

"Oh my god!" I shouted, twisting my board to show LISA written on it in a scrawl. Brandon grinned, and I danced in happiness, having saved my grace and pride. Phew, that was a close call.

We breezed through the next two questions. Brandon answered correctly about my favorite flavor of the cake; chocolate. And I guessed right about his favorite swimming technique; underwater swimming. Amongst the others, we had a tie with Maya with full four points. The last question would either be a tiebreaker, or we both would win, or Sarah with three points would catch up to us.

Patrick and Henry left their seats, joining the sidelines to cheer for us. It was down to the fifth question, same for all of us.

The producer announced, "The year you met each other."

I smiled. This was easy. About to write the current year, 2015, a memory flashed in my head. A certain English class back when I was in sophomore year. Didn't Brandon attend that class? We might have exchanged a few words too... Troubled by the unexpected memory, I looked up to Brandon. I raised my eyebrows, surprised to see him staring at me with an unwavering intensity.

I tried to read his mind, and likewise, he tried to read mine. Did he remember me? Or was it just me? Should I stick with 2015? The time was running out, and my nervousness grew with each passing second.

What should I do?

Brandon gave me a small nod as if transmitting the answer through his eyes was possible. I didn't understand a freaking shit those smoldering eyes were trying to convey. With five seconds to the timer, I wrote the answer.

We went in turns. "Maya, reveal the answer." She turned her board, 2012 written in bold letters. Her partner revealed his board, his head down as the numbers 2013 shone in the bright sun. A series of disappointed sighs and expressions followed. Then, the producer called out our name.

"Tyler and Brandon, reveal your answer at the count of three." He started the countdown, and I squeezed my eyes shut, turning the board as he said three.

"Five points!" he announced, and I opened my eyes, adrenaline rush pulsing through my veins.

We got that right?!

The truth was in front of my eyes. 2013 written in a neat and concise manner on Brandon's board. I looked down to mine, looking over to my own 2013 scrawled on the corner of the board.

Brandon was grinning, his eyes carrying that light similar to a kid receiving his Christmas present. He mouthed, "You remember me?"

Unable to believe myself, I nodded, fuelled by his excited expression.

Next to us, Sarah got her answer wrong. With Brandon and I leading with five points, Maya at four, and Sarah at three, it was no-brainer that we were getting an additional player into our team.

Florence took over again, congratulating Maya and me for the win. "So, the two winners can choose one contestant or their partners for help."

I looked over to the hopeful and kind expressions of all of them. Performing in the finale was a big deal. And I knew that most of them were honest and hard-working, having one of them join us would definitely be an asset.

Even with a not-so-clean past record, I knew there was only one person who could help us the way we needed the help. So, when Florence came up to me with her oversized microphone and shoved it under my nose, it was a matter of seconds in which I answered her question on who I wanted my additional contestant to be. I twisted back to the small figure standing in the corner, and with a smile, spoke, "Bea. I choose Bea."

*****