“But you can help her, right? You have publishing connections now.”
She snorts. “An unpaid internship is not ‘connections.’ ”
“Fine, so we’ll get her famous some other way. She’s good at lots of stuff, right? Help me out here. How do people get famous really fast?”
We gaze idly at the TV as we think. On the screen, twenty-four-year-old Jakarta dumps an armful of pregnancy tests onto the drugstore checkout counter. The mountainous woman behind the register looks totally unfazed as she slides them over the scanner one by one, painfully slowly. A voiceover informs us that if Jakarta wins the $200,000 prize for getting pregnant first, she’s going to open a combined dog and human salon called Primp My Pooch, where pets and their owners can be groomed to match.
“If I needed instant fame,” Natalie says slowly, “I’d do that.” She nods toward the television.
“What, buy a bunch of pregnancy tests?”
“Go on a reality show. Those people are household names, and they don’t even have any skills.”
It’s brilliant—I can’t believe I didn’t think of it first. And aside from the fact that my sister’s not exactly a fan of reality TV, she’s perfect for the screen. She’s beautiful, she’s personable, and she’s good at almost everything. Plus, she has some nice messy emotional baggage, which is like peanut butter in a mousetrap for producers.
“Natalie Phan, you are a genius,” I say.
“I know.” Nat reaches around and gives herself a pat on the back.
“No, you don’t even know how perfect that is. Last night, Miranda told me that Samir’s going to be on LifeLine’s new race-around-the-world show. He’d go crazy if Miranda got on some other show and stayed in the game longer than he did.”
“Oh my God, yes. I love this.” Natalie grabs her phone. “Let’s see who’s casting right now.”
“Miranda will never go for it, though. She thinks reality TV is, like, the entertainment equivalent of eating Twinkies.”
Nat looks puzzled. “Twinkies are delicious.”
“And this is why you’re my friend. But Miranda’s more of a crème brûlée girl.”
“Let’s just look, okay?” Her eyebrows scrunch together as she scrolls. “Okay, she’s not a lesbian looking for love. She’s not a single man who wants to lose fifty pounds. She’s not a trained bounty hunter, as far as I know. Ooh, how about Catwalk, the definitive pet fashion show? I’ve seen her make amazing Halloween costumes for Chester and Otto.”
“I’m not sure dressing up the cats on national television is the best way to prove she’s cooler than Samir.”
“Valid point.” Natalie’s quiet for a minute. “How about Hive Mind? ‘Contestants live together in a house and compete in cooperative challenges against groups of social animals, including meerkats and hyenas.’ ”
I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t really think that’s her style.”
“A bunch of these are team shows, like Jack of All Trades and Oregon Trailblazers. How about—” Her eyes suddenly widen. “Oh my God, Claire. Look.”
She passes her phone over. The text on the screen reads,
Ruby Harris Casting, in association with LifeLine TV, is holding emergency casting calls in New York City and Los Angeles this Saturday, June 8. We are seeking two last-minute replacement teams for Around the World, a new race-around-the-globe show to air during prime time. If you’re unmarried, between the ages of 18 and 35, and want to challenge yourself physically and mentally while competing for a million dollars, we want to see you there!
My jaw nearly hits the floor. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“This has to be it, right? The show Samir’s on?”
“I don’t know what it’s called, but she said ‘some race-around-the-world show on LifeLine.’ There can’t possibly be two of them.”
“It’s a sign,” Nat says. “The universe is trying to tell us that she has to audition for this show.”
“It’s perfect. But how are we going to convince Miranda to do it?”
“Convince me to do what?” My sister is standing at the bottom of the stairs in a Middlebury tank top and rumpled sushi-print pajama bottoms. There are dark circles under her eyes, but even after a night of tossing and turning, her hair looks artfully messy, like a stylist arranged each piece.
I jump up. “Hey! You’re awake! How do you feel today?” I wonder if I’ll be able to feel a shift between us this morning, now that we’ve spent all that time bonding over revenge and she’s seen how good I am at being her friend, not just her little sister. “Natalie got you a muffin.”
Her face brightens the tiniest bit. “Yeah? What kind?”
“Cranberry pecan.”
“Awesome.” She takes the bag and sits down next to me. “Thanks, Nat.”
“You’re welcome. Hey, Claire told me about Samir. That totally blows.”
All three of us jump as a piercing shriek and the sound of shattering glass come from the television. “What are you guys watching?” Miranda asks. She stares as slivers of mirror rain down on the used pregnancy tests around Jakarta’s bare feet.
“Speed Breed,” Natalie says, her mouth full of muffin.
“Seriously? You guys watch Speed Breed?”
It occurs to me that this isn’t the optimal show to have on while we try to convince my sister to become a reality TV star. I grab the remote and scroll through the cable guide until I find an old episode of Obstacle Kitchen. “I know, it’s dumb. But not all reality shows are like that—lots of them are about talent and intelligence and problem solving. See, look at this one. These people are gourmet chefs and athletes. Pretty impressive, right?”
Miranda watches two men in chef’s whites and Spandex shorts leap over a series of hurdles between two rows of stainless steel prep tables. Each of them clutches a large bag of onions to his chest. When they reach the cutting boards at the far end of the room, they grab enormous knives and start dicing at superhuman speed.
“I don’t get this at all, but if you guys enjoy it, more power to you,” my sister says, obviously confused about why I’m lecturing her on the merits of reality TV. “So, what were you going to try to get me to do?”
I take a deep breath. Now that I actually have to broach this subject with Miranda, it doesn’t seem quite as awesome as it did a few minutes ago. Natalie gives me an encouraging nod. “Well, we were thinking about ways to get revenge on Samir,” I start.
Miranda snorts. “I still like the lobster-in-the-engine plan.”
“We don’t think it should just be a prank, though. It needs to be something—” I stop when I see Miranda’s eyebrow shoot up. “What?”
“You’re being serious right now, aren’t you.”
“Well, yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Claire, we were just kidding around about all that,” she says. “Things don’t really work that way. Crappy stuff happens, and you wallow a little, and you drink wine and take a lot of naps, and after a while it starts to hurt less. People don’t actually get revenge on each other. That only happens in movies.”
And just like that, I know last night hasn’t changed anything at all between us. To Miranda, that wasn’t real bonding time—it was only a game. She was just humoring her baby sister. I feel like I’m playing Chutes and Ladders, and after climbing all the way to the top of the board, I’ve slid back down to the bottom with no warning.
“But we came up with something really good,” I say. “You could actually use this.”
“It’s pretty epic,” Natalie says, and I love her for backing me up.
Miranda sighs. “Go ahead, let’s hear.”
I’m even more nervous to present our idea now, but I forge ahead. “Okay, so, you know that race-around-the-world show Samir’s going to be on? We just saw online that they’re holding emergency auditions for two more teams—someone probably failed a drug test at the last minute or something. How awesome would it be if you went on the show and totally kicked his ass?”
“I know it’s not something you’d normally do. But come on, don’t you want to take him down in front of the whole world? Everyone would remember that. Every single time he went to an audition, he’d be ‘that guy who got his butt handed to him by his ex-girlfriend on TV.’ Nobody would ever respect him again.”
A complicated expression flits over Miranda’s face. “I’m not really in any state to go on TV right now. I don’t want millions of people seeing what a mess I am.”
“You don’t seem like a mess at all,” I say. “You never seem like a mess.”
“And you have so much travel experience,” Natalie chimes in. “You’d have no trouble navigating your way around. I bet you could beat Samir without even trying. Plus, there’s a million-dollar prize.”
Miranda still looks skeptical. “I am good at traveling. But how would I even get on a show like that? Don’t they only take super-crazy, over-the-top people?”
Natalie puts on her patient face. “Why do you think producers like those people?”
I raise my hand high in the air. “Ooh, ooh, I know this one.”
Natalie points at me. “Yes, Claire?”
“Because producers love drama.”
“Exactly. And what’s more dramatic than a girl trying to take down her cheating ex on national television?”
“Nothing,” I say. Natalie leans over and high-fives me.
Miranda absentmindedly breaks her muffin into pieces. “It’s not actually a terrible idea. But if I am going to audition—and I’m not saying I will—I’ll need a teammate, right? I guess I could ask Aubrey … she managed to talk the conductor out of kicking us off the Eurostar that time we bought the wrong tickets. Or maybe Vivian would go with me? She’s pretty badass.…”
As Miranda lists her Middlebury friends, my mind starts wandering. I see myself behind the counter of Jojo’s Joe, lonely and friendless, fighting with the perpetually broken espresso machine. And then I imagine myself bonding with my sister—really bonding this time—as we race around the world together, getting revenge on the person who hurt her. If there’s one thing I know inside and out, it’s reality television. I could teach Miranda how to handle the constant presence of the cameramen, how to avoid being manipulated by the producers, how to craft a good sound bite. For once, I’d actually be the leader. Even if we didn’t make it very far on the race, this might show my sister what a competent person I’ve become.
Before I can change my mind, I say, “What about me?”
“What about you?”
“I’ll audition with you.”
My sister’s eyes widen with surprise. “Seriously? You want to audition?”
“I mean, I think I could be helpful. I know a ton about reality TV.”
“Producers love sister teams,” Natalie adds. “Especially ones like you two, ’cause you’re so different from each other. And oh! I could go to New York with you for your audition, since my internship starts a few days later, and we could all stay with my aunt Layla and do New Yorky things! It would be awesome.”
Miranda doesn’t look remotely convinced. “Are you sure you can handle that, Clairie? You can barely even speak in front of strangers.”
Her comment feels like a slap in the face. Maybe that was true when I was eight, but I can’t believe Miranda still sees me that way. Yeah, I’m still shy at parties, but that doesn’t mean I spend my entire life timid and tongue-tied. I’m sure I could survive a few minutes of answering a casting director’s questions, especially if my sister were right next to me. The race itself would be scarier—on this kind of show, pausing even long enough to psych yourself up for something can get you eliminated. But I can tell it’s going to take something drastic to show my sister I’m not a child, and who knows when I’ll have an opportunity like this again?
“I could do it,” I say. My voice comes out a little sharper than I intend.
“I’m not trying to be mean or anything,” Miranda says. “You know I think you’re awesome just as you are. But I don’t want to get all the way to New York City and have you freak out and change your mind at the last second.”
Maybe she’s not trying to be mean, but that still stings. “I don’t back out of things at the last second.”
“Well, sometimes you do. Remember when you were on the bus to sleepaway camp and you made it stop again halfway down the block so you could get off? Or the time you were an eggplant in that school play about nutrition and you refused to go onstage?”
“I was eleven when the camp thing happened, and I was six in that school play!”
“But it’s not like those were the only times, Clairie. I mean, I took you to a party yesterday and you hid outside the whole night, just like you always do. And that’s fine, that’s the kind of person you are. But maybe it means you’re not cut out for this kind of thing. If we actually got on TV, I wouldn’t be able to take care of you. I barely have the energy to take care of myself right now.”
Part of me wants to yell, No one’s asking you to take care of me! But I swallow my frustration, since losing it will only make me seem even more childish. Telling my sister I’ve grown up isn’t going to do anything, anyway. I have to make her see it.
“I’ll definitely be nervous,” I say. “But I’m not going to let you down. It’ll be a stretch for us both, right? I don’t know anything about performing, and you don’t know anything about television. We’ll help each other.”
Miranda takes Natalie’s phone and reads the casting notice. “You’re really serious about this?”
“Absolutely. I’m willing to give it a shot if you are.” I try to look confident as I hold out my hand to her. “What do you think? Want to destroy the douche bag together?”
My sister still doesn’t look convinced. But after a long pause, she reaches out her hand and gives mine a firm shake. “Okay,” she says. “If you think you can do it, we’ll give it a try.”
I grin at her. “You won’t regret this,” I say.
I can only hope I won’t, either.
Two days later, Miranda and I are at the W Hotel in New York City, joining an enormous line of people waiting to audition for Around the World.
The W is sleek and austere, all white marble and polished wood and minimalist flower arrangements. It’s the kind of place that makes you want to whisper, even in the middle of the day. The décor is the exact opposite of my internal state—I’m insanely nervous, and my stomach feels like it’s on a spinning teacup ride. But I’m supposed to be in charge today, so I hold my head high and try to look strong and confident for Miranda.
My sister hasn’t said much this morning, and I worry she’s still annoyed about last night. Natalie’s aunt Layla wanted to take us out to a drag bar, but I convinced Miranda we needed to prepare for our audition instead. My sister had never even seen a race show before, so I was excited to teach her how much strategy they involve. But she was restless and unfocused the whole evening, fidgeting and complaining that she felt like she was back in a theory class. When Natalie and Layla finally came home at one in the morning, giggling about their six-foot-four waitress named Uvula, Miranda barely said a word before she shuffled off to bed. I haven’t mentioned it to her—I know how upset she is right now, and I don’t want to make things worse. But it still sucks that I finally had a chance to shine and she wasn’t even paying attention.
“You okay?” I ask now as we get in line behind a team of ponytailed girls.
“I’m fine,” she says automatically.
I’m about to reach out and touch her shoulder, tell her that I’m here for her and that she’s going to do great, but she turns away and says, “Save my spot while I run to the bathroom.”
As she walks away, two guys get in line right behind us. One of them is wearing a gray knit hat despite the fact that it’s about ninety degrees, his brown hair sticking o
ut the front in a way that looks both messy and artful. He starts playing a game on his phone while his teammate, an Asian guy who towers over him by six inches, opens a copy of War and Peace. After a few seconds, Hat Guy nudges Tall Guy. “Hey, was it a weasel or a mink that bit that kid’s finger off on Paws of Fury last season?”
Tall Guy sighs. “Do I look like the kind of person who watches Paws of Fury?”
“Are you kidding? That show is awesome. I totally remember that episode, too … some idiot thought he was buying his kid a ferret, and the thing went crazy. What was it, though? Crap, I’m gonna lose this round.”
I usually avoid talking to strangers in lines, especially when I know I’ll have to keep standing next to them for ages. But just like at Miranda’s graduation party, I find I can’t help myself. Trivia is my downfall.
“It was an ermine,” I say.
Hat Guy glances up at me, surprised. His eyes are a bright, startling shade of blue. Now that I’m looking at him more closely, I notice that his T-shirt has a picture of zombies and says GOT BRAINS? He looks back down at his phone and taps the screen, and there’s a cheerful pinging sound. “Nice!” he says. And then those piercing eyes return to me. “You’re good.”
His gaze is really intense, and I feel my face heating up. “One of my many useless talents,” I say.
“It’s not useless at all. A bunch of friends and I are training for the Pop Culture Olympics—there’s a huge prize if you win. So far I kind of suck at it, though.” He shows me the trivia game on his phone, which is asking if he wants to start a new round. “There’s a two-person setting. You want to play?”
“Okay.” Competitive trivia is sure to take my mind off the audition. But when I move closer to him so we can both see the screen, some sort of spicy boy smell hits me and my brain threatens to stop functioning altogether. “I’m Claire, by the way,” I manage.
“Pleasure to meet you, Claire.” He says it in this warm way that makes it sound like more than a formality. “I’m Will Divine.”
For Real Page 3
