AN: Okay people…time to see what Race does with the power of veto! I won't keep you with my insane ramblings…just read on!
Specs
Only five more laps, and then I could quit. I pushed off the side of the pool, taking a deep breath before going under and swimming across the pool again. I finished my five laps and noticed Dutchy sitting beside the pool, rolling his pants up to his knees and dropping his feet in the icy water.
"How many laps today?" he asked. I'd been out here every single morning starting things off with a swim, and every morning he came out at just about the same time to relax before another full day.
"Fifty. I'm takin' it easy."
I jumped out and sat down beside him on the edge, and he scooted away from me to avoid getting dripped on.
"You think Race will use the veto?" I asked him, resisting the urge to shake out my hair and soak him.
"Don't know. What do you think?"
I looked over my shoulder to make sure no one else was outside or within earshot. "I think he might put up Cowboy. Maybe."
For a moment he was silent. Then he suddenly laughed.
"What's so funny?" I asked, and he shook his head.
"It's hard to believe it's been four days already. It's gone so slowly…feels more like a year."
"Yeah. I'm almost getting used to the cameras."
"Really?"
"No."
He laughed again, looking down into the water. "You know, for the past two days, I haven't seen Mush without Blink. And visa versa. What do you think is going on there?"
"I think they hit it off."
"Do you think…"
I looked at him, waiting for him to finish the sentence. "Think what?"
"Nah. I mean, Blink's not like that."
"Hey, there's always a chance that he just had to run into the right person."
Just as Dutchy opened his mouth to speak I heard the door to the house open, and Snitch walked out onto the porch.
"Are you two gonna eat breakfast?" He asked.
"Yeah, we'll be right there." Dutchy said, but as he stood up and started to roll his pants back down to his ankles, my mischievous streak took over. I reached up and shoved him forwards into the pool, and the look on Snitch's face made me glad that there were cameras all over- that picture would be worth a thousand words.
Dutchy came up, gasping for air and coughing on the water at the same time. At first he stood there in the pool, shivering and looking as if he had gone into shock. Then, with a glare of absolute maliciousness, he reached up and grabbed my arm, yanking me back into the water right as I was starting to get warm again.
Snitch just shook his head and went back inside, probably thinking we were completely insane. I swam to the edge and jumped out, reaching down to help Dutchy out- but I just ended up getting yanked back into the pool headfirst.
"You're insane. This water is freezing!" He said, his teeth chattering as he pulled himself out. I jumped out and grabbed two towels, throwing one to him and just smiling.
"It's your new wake up call, Dutchy."
"I'm not coming near you when you're in there anymore!"
We walked back into the house, ignoring the strange but amused looks from the other guys who were gathered around the table eating breakfast. I quickly dried off, changed, and joined them right before Dutchy came in, having changed into dry clothes.
"Did you two have fun?" Cowboy asked in-between bites of scrambled eggs. Really bad scrambled eggs at that. I glared at him, and he let that question die.
"Who cooked this shit?" Spot asked, pushing it around his plate as if it were still alive.
"I cooked this shit." Snitch said, obviously not caring that it was absolutely awful. "You guys told me to cook. You didn't bother to ask if I could."
"Can anyone here actually cook?" Racetrack asked
"I can." Skittery said, as if it were no big deal. For a moment, I thought he had to be joking.
"You can cook?" I asked in disbelief.
"I work in a restaurant every summer. It's part of my parole deal. I had to take a chef's course last year to get promoted."
Complete silence. Skittery just went on eating, oblivious to the fact that everyone was staring at him.
"Parole deal?!" Bumlets finally burst out, and Skittery shrugged.
"Yeah. I'm on parole."
"What did you do?" Dutchy asked, losing interest in dissecting his food.
"I stabbed a guy."
Oh, holy shit. Why did the Lord have to do this to me? All of us looked at each other with the same expression of absolute shock, but Skittery didn't even pay it any attention. At least we now knew who had the 'extensive criminal record'.
Skittery threw his fork down on his plate, completely calm. "So, do you want me to cook lunch today or what?"
"Um…sure. We'll give it a shot." Davey said after another moment of anxious silence.
"I'll need someone to help me out."
Oh, sure. He just admitted to stabbing a guy and he wants someone to be alone with him with an arsenal of knifes in his hands? Not happening. Hell, no.
"I'll help out." Racetrack said, starting to gather plates up. He had to have a death wish or something.
"Thanks, Race." Skittery said before throwing his plate in the sink and heading for the backyard. The group peeled off one by one, leaving just me and Dutchy sitting at the table.
"Remind me not to annoy Skittery." He said to me.
"I don't think you'll need a reminder. I'm gonna remember that pretty damn well."
RaceI don't know why I volunteered. Maybe I didn't want to look like I was afraid of him. Maybe I felt sorry for him now that no one wanted to be around him. Or maybe it was my subconscious telling me that this was a guy I needed to suck up to. Whatever the reason, I was in the kitchen at 11:30, ready to help him with a half hour of cooking a gourmet meal for the house.
"Okay, just hand me things when I ask for 'em. And whatever you do, don't get your hand near the cutting board or it might get chopped off. Got it?" he asked, and I nodded. He leaned back against the counter and thought for a moment, and then looked at me and said, "How does grilled salmon and chicken with a side of steamed veggies sound? Maybe some broiled seafood soup…and buttercream chocolate layered cake for dessert…what do ya think?"
I had no idea what he was talking about, but salmon sounded good, and no one in the house (as we found out) was against seafood. "Sounds good."
Skittery started rattling off a list of things he needed, and I scrambled to gather what he asked for. I noticed that a few curious houseguests- Cowboy, Blink, Mush, and Dutchy- had gathered in the doorway to watch him cook.
Skittery was concentrating on the cooking, and soon had twelve cuts of salmon on the grill- all at the same time. His hands moved so fast from one to the other that it was impossible for me to keep track of how many times he'd flipped that one, or how cooked the other one was on the underside- but he kept track of it somehow. And while the salmon were still grilling he starting chopping the vegetables and set the soup to boil, often having one hand flipping a chunk of salmon while the other one sliced through a whole row of veggies.
I could see why he wanted me to keep my hands back. That knife was moving so fast I was afraid he would cut off his own fingers.
Now we had a real audience. Almost every house guest was gathered in the kitchen, watching with abated curiosity as he flipped the salmon off the grill and onto the plates on the other counter- literally, flipped. As in they flew through the air and landed on the plates two counters away.
"Hey, Itey…if you're gonna stand there, put on some gloves and wrap that salmon in foil so it stays warm." Skittery said, and I handed Itey a pair of vinyl cooking gloves.
Skittery chopped up the chicken and threw it on the grill, and then put the vegetables in a hot frying pan and poured the soup into bowls. He handed the stacked bowls to Blink, who quickly distributed them to the table settings.
"Salt. Pepper. Now." Skittery ordered, flipping the vegetables in the frying pan with one hand while he used the other to salt, pepper, and flip the chicken- that had to be a world record: Three utensils in one hand and a frying pan in the other.
"Hey Cowboy?"
"Yeah?"
"Get outta my line of fire unless you want to get smacked in the face with chicken that's heated to 350 degrees!"
Cowboy jumped aside, leaving the 'line of fire' from one counter to the other open. Skittery proceeded to use the spatula as a catapult, firing chicken straight onto the plates.
He carried the vegetables to the plates, dishing out equal portions onto each plate. Then he shoved a box of aluminum foil into Mush's arms, telling him to wrap the plates so the food didn't get cold before lunch. With that, he cleaned up what he'd already used to cook the meal, and set to work on dessert.
Within thirty minutes he had twelve meals prepared and a cake in the oven, and he set a plate at each table setting and poured us each a drink. I was anxious to try the food, cause it sure as hell smelled good. I carefully unwrapped my plate and started eating.
"Skittery…this is awesome!" Blink said, cutting off another bite of salmon. I had to agree with him- this was some of the best food I'd ever had in my life. And I live in Las Vegas, home of some of the best restaurants in the world.
"Ok, people, it's official…we can't vote out Skittery. I'm not voting out someone who can cook like this." Snitch said, and we all laughed. It had been a joke, but even if he were serious, I would've agreed anyway.
"Well…not sure how much I can do with PB+J sandwiches." Skittery said, back to his mild-mannered self. While he was cooking I could've sworn he was a different person, with how he took charge and all.
Skittery stood up from his meal to go take the cake out of the oven, and he immediately touched it up and stuck it in the freezer to chill it and then he came back and sat down.
"That should be ready just about the time we finish." He explained.
"Skittery…did you really stab someone?" Mush asked after a minute or so, his voice quiet.
"Yep."
Mush seemed nervous about saying anything else, but he obviously couldn't resist. "Why?"
Skittery shrugged. "He had a gun. If I didn't stab him he was gonna shoot me."
"So why didn't you plea self defense?" I asked.
"Technically it wasn't, since he hadn't actually pulled the gun on me yet. I was thinking ahead."
That was a load off. At least he didn't stab the guy in cold blood. Maybe the court system didn't agree, but if someone had a gun anywhere on his person and I thought he might use it, I would stab him too. To me, that was justified. Maybe he wasn't as bad as we thought.
"So you're the one with the criminal record?" Itey asked.
"Guess so." Skittery answered, standing up and heading for the freezer.
"What else did you do?"
Skittery pulled the cake out and seemed to be thinking. "Um…assault…domestic disturbances…theft…disturbing the peace…resisting arrest…and arson. I think that's all. May have missed one."
Okay, I was wrong. He was as bad as we thought. Maybe worse. But at least he was honest.
He set the cake down on the table and sliced it expertly, putting a slice on each plate. I tried a bite of it and just about died right there.
"What is this?" Spot asked, this time not in disgust, but in amazement.
"It's chocolate and buttercream layer cake, topped off with chocolate fudge and chunks of Hershey's kisses."
I was in torn emotions here. The guy was a criminal on parole, and for that I wanted him out of the house. But he was cooking the best food I'd ever had in my life, and I didn't want to give that up. Oh, the decisions…but I didn't have to worry about it this week.
"House guests?"
The sound of Sarah's voice made us all jump, and I finished the last bite of my cake as she continued.
"It's time to meet for the veto meeting."
Oh, yeah. We'd forgotten about that. I could blame it on the food, I guess.
We made our way to the main room, and I stepped into the nomination room and got the brown bag.
"Okay, people…I have the power of veto this week. Which means that I could save Spot or Davey from the possibility of eviction."
I took a deep breath before tightening the strings on the bag. "But this week, I forego that power. I am not vetoing anyone."
I could practically feel the tension in the room shoot sky high as I turned and walked back into the nomination room, putting the bag back in its place.
AN: Next chapter- the eviction. Who will be leaving the house?