America's Next Reality Star

by Laura Heffernan

  Rachel snorted. “For cryin’ out loud. Skye argued every clue and got us lost. If I had my druthers, she’d be the one—”

  Skye stepped toward Bella, cutting Rachel off. “Whatever. Bella, she didn’t make the slightest effort to answer any of the questions. Maybe I was wrong, but at least I’m not some blond bimbo who lets others do all the work. I vote for Rachel.”

  Rachel clenched her fists. “I may be blond, but I’m not a bimbo! I did 4H for ten years and earned the most badges in my county! Just because you’re jealous—”

  “Ladies, please.” Abram spoke quietly, but he had such a presence that everyone turned to look at him. “Why don’t we hear what Mike has to say?”

  Mike’s head had been swiveling back and forth between the two. He leaned forward, consuming every word. When Abram said his name, he threw his shoulders back and rubbed his bald head. He looked disappointed that Rachel and Skye weren’t going to roll on the ground, pulling each other’s hair.

  Watch out for him, I warned myself. He could be trouble.

  “Yes, Mike, what do you think?” Bella asked.

  “Skye,” he said finally. “She says Rachel didn’t help, but she never had the chance. Skye read each clue and charged off before anyone could say anything.”

  “You’re just saying that because I wouldn’t have sex with you!” Skye accused.

  “That’s a flat-out lie!”

  “Okay, okay, everyone,” Bella said. “You each get one vote. Raise your hand if you think Rachel should be up for elimination.”

  Both of Skye’s hands shot into the air.

  “It’s one vote per person, Skye.” Sunlight glinting off the metal in Skye’s face somehow made her glare seem more menacing. “And who votes for Skye?”

  Rachel and Mike had their hands up almost before she finished speaking. Abram’s hand moved only a hair slower. Three to one.

  Raj and Skye faced elimination. For the moment, I was safe.

  * * *

  One thing I never knew about reality television was how filthy everything could be. When twelve people lived in a two-bedroom house, things got dirty. Messes were made. Dishes piled up everywhere, both in the kitchen and out. Some of the other women wore so much makeup that, after a couple of days, it caked every towel in the house. Washing helped a little, but the cloths would never be white again.

  On Saturday, Birdie and I begged the producers for bleach. When it arrived, she informed everyone that, if they needed her, she’d be in the laundry room. I collected as many towels as I could carry before joining her.

  Upon opening the laundry room door, a wall of steam hit me. Fog obscured the glass walls. Even after stepping into the room, I didn’t see Birdie anywhere.

  After I called her name, she revealed herself by standing up in the far left corner. “Here,” she said sheepishly.

  “How did you do that? There’s no place to hide, right?”

  “There are cameras.” She pointed at three black devices on the ceiling that covered the entire room. “But here, no one can see you from the door. I’m hiding from the other contestants, not the viewers. Hi, America!”

  Curious, I went to stand in the corner. Although we were behind the kitchen, the backs of the appliances stood against the connecting wall. One of the dryers stood between us and the door. Ariana and Mike had been in the kitchen when I walked through, but neither of them was visible from my vantage point.

  “It’s good no one does laundry. If the others knew they’d find privacy, they’d be here making out faster than I can say, ‘raging libido.’”

  I laughed. “Well, I won’t tell anyone. Especially if you don’t mind if I sneak in here once in a while when I need some peace myself.”

  Birdie shook my hand. “Deal.”

  Together, we finished and folded the towels. “You really don’t think anyone else will ever do laundry?”

  “I’m not sure some of them know how to do laundry,” Birdie said, rolling her eyes. “Abram’s wife does all his, and Ariana lives with her rich daddy in his penthouse on the Upper West Side.”

  “Oh, really?” My ears perked up.

  “Yeah, you were in the School Room when she told us. Her dad is some big shot, so she and her daughter live with him.” She paused as if mentally composing a separate tweet. “She works a couple of days a week as a massage therapist and mostly mooches off him.”

  Ariana didn’t mention being an actress.

  If she didn’t want us to know, that information could come in handy later. I filed it away. “Massage, huh? I guess that explains her chiseled arms. What else did she say?”

  “She tried to convince us again she’s some kind of super genius. Claimed to get an art history degree in two years.”

  “Do you doubt her?”

  “Honestly, I don’t care. I’m more interested in how she plays the game than what she knows or doesn’t know.”

  The rest of the weekend passed uneventfully. On Monday morning, Bella brought the results of the first viewer vote: Maria had been nominated for elimination. No one exhibited surprise, not even Maria. She mostly sat on a chair on the back patio, tanning, while the rest of us got to know each other. She hung back from conversations, listening instead of engaging.

  A week after entering the house, I knew nothing about her other than what she said in her introduction: Her name was Maria, she taught third grade, and she lived in Texas. She also didn’t seem to be a threat. Which meant it might be in my best interests to keep her around. Maybe I should vote to send home someone with more personality.

  If only Joshua didn’t have immunity. He had loads of personality.

  Before the vote on Tuesday, the production team took over the games room and covered the glass walls with sheets. When they finished, they called us in one at a time to vote.

  The room had been transformed. A shimmering blue and green cloth covered the pool table. Three fishbowls sat on the cloth, each with a picture of Skye, Raj, or Maria on the front. A set of shelves with different colored containers designed to look like fish food hung on the far wall. My name printed on a green bottle told me which to choose.

  The speakers in the corners crackled, and one of the production assistants spoke. None of them other than Leanna had introduced themselves, but it sounded like the one I thought of as “Tall.” He towered above everyone except Abram.

  “Jennifer, take the fish food with your name on it, and ‘feed’ the bowl with the picture of the person you want to be eliminated.”

  Okay. As usual, I directed my response at the ceiling. “Got it. Thanks.”

  I grabbed the green fish food and held it over the bowl with Skye’s picture. It must’ve been taken at the audition: she glared at me from under green and purple spikes, not the brown and pink Mohawk she currently sported. I preferred the original look.

  Pretty much everyone agreed her team’s loss had been Skye’s fault. The container tipped, and I tapped the side. Green glitter drifted into the bowl.

  Crackle. “A little more, Jen. Make sure we can see it.”

  “Oops. Sorry.” I shook my wrist, dumping green glitter into the bowl with a thud.

  Am I still too nice for TV, Skye?

  Later that night, Bella brought us the results: Skye had the most votes. The viewers hadn’t saved her. Everyone gathered to say good-bye, pretending to be sad to see her go as those of us remaining breathed a collective sigh of relief. One competitor down, ten to go.

  I’d officially survived my first week.

  CHAPTER 9

  Jennifer in the School Room, Week 2:

  I’m so grateful to have made it through the first week on The Fishbowl. I had fun during the first challenge, and I can’t wait to see what else they have in store for us!

  Sure, Joshua’s a jerk. I can’t figure him out. Is he just a belligerent imbecile? Or is he playing the part he thinks America wants him to play? And if so, what does that say about what he thinks of
the American people? Honestly, it’s almost like we’re all acting out Romeo and Juliet, and he’s playing Puck from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. So bizarre.

  Yes, Ariana is obnoxious. I think she’s got a thing for Justin. She sees me as a threat. That’s ridiculous. I’m not here to hook up. I’m here to win $250,000. If she wants to waste her time on a non-existent rivalry for a guy, that’s fine with me. I’m focused on winning challenges.

  They said we’d be getting our first mini-challenge today. I’m not sure how it will be different from the main challenges, but here’s hoping for puzzles.

  Wednesday morning the producers blared a car alarm through every speaker in the house. Fury and confusion flowed as everyone scrambled for their clothes, occasionally smacking into the random wall in the rush of activity. Three or four thuds sounded, followed by exclamations.

  Everyone except me, that is. Always an early riser, I sat in the backyard doing Pilates in the early morning sunlight, gathering my thoughts. Luckily, I managed to witness the chaos without being part of it, because I’d already grown tired of slamming into glass walls. I kept reminding myself to slow down and pay attention to my surroundings. Otherwise, they could air an entire episode of me walking into giant sheets of glass.

  Okay, that might be funny.

  As each person reached the foot of the stairs, one of the production assistants wearing earmuffs pointed toward the living room. When the blaring stopped, I took it as a cue to head inside. Leanna waited in front of the couch with her headset and clipboard.

  “Okay, everyone. This week, the challenge is going to require preparation, so you need to start today. This isn’t a mini-challenge. You must participate in order to get the information you need to complete your challenge tomorrow.

  “For this one, it’s every man for himself. There are no teams this week. We’re testing how well you listen to each other and retain information. Early in the audition process, you each answered a series of questions. We recorded your responses. For the rest of the day, your job is to talk to the other contestants and find out what answers they gave.”

  Easy enough. I’d always been a good note-taker.

  “We’ve removed all writing implements from the house. You’ll have to remember what the other players tell you.”

  Okay, no notes. Check. Still, this shouldn’t be too tough. Some of the others looked a bit worried, but I could handle this.

  “Tomorrow, you’ll use the things you learn today.” She paused and gazed around the room meaningfully. “You may not refuse to talk to your fellow contestants. You don’t have to interview other contestants, but you must answer any question you are asked. Anyone who doesn’t do the interviews will suffer serious consequences. So—let’s pair up and start talking!”

  Ten minutes later, I sat across from Joshua while he pondered the answer to my first question.

  “Sparkle Puss.”

  I tilted my head and rubbed my chin. “You named your first pet Sparkle Puss?”

  Joshua didn’t reply. Mentally, I shrugged. Maybe he had sisters or something. Okay, next question. “Where did you go to school?”

  “The Goldberg Academy of Privileged Assholes.”

  I showed him my teeth in what couldn’t really be described as a smile. “You know, I really believe that. You were probably at the top of your class. What’s your favorite color?”

  “Rainbow glitter.” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, crossing his ankles in front of him.

  At that point, I dropped all pretense of being polite. He was totally messing with me. This jerk wanted me get all the questions wrong so I’d be eliminated.

  “Your favorite color,” I said, “is rainbow glitter?”

  “Yup. That’s right.” His arrogant smile, the tilt of his head, even the way he sat back and crossed his legs dared me to defy him. My hand itched to slap that smirk off his face.

  “That’s what you wrote on your interview sheet during the auditions?”

  “Absolutely! You don’t believe me? Whatever. Haters gotta hate.”

  The list of questions crinkled as my hand reflexively closed into a fist. I focused on not throwing the pages at him and forced myself to take deep breaths before responding.

  “No, it’s just interesting that since every inch of your body screams ‘homophobic redneck farm boy’ and your entire personality screams ‘homophobic jackass gangster’ your favorite color would look like a gay pride flag. Is there something you want to tell me?” I leaned forward, patted his knee, and lowered my voice. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Rachel. She’d be crushed. But you should think about coming out on your own. Being gay is nothing to be ashamed of. Some of my closest friends are gay.”

  As I spoke, Joshua’s face turned almost purple. He struggled between his desire to make me lose the challenge and his irrational fear of being labeled gay in front of all of America (most of whom would care more that he’s a dick than about who he sleeps with).

  Finally, he gritted his teeth. “Yellow. My favorite color is yellow. Hello!”

  “Excellent,” I chirped, all sweetness and smiles. “Glad to hear it. Now, what’s your favorite food?”

  The rest of the interviews were fairly straightforward. The questions themselves weren’t that revealing. Ed cracked me up with some of his responses, but he was genuine. No one else radiated Joshua’s level of hostility.

  My easiest interview by far was with Justin. We sat outside next to the pool, chatting and sipping iced tea until the sun went down. It was only when the others wandered outside that I remembered I still needed to talk to Maria and Raj.

  No one told any deep, dark secrets. There wasn’t any way of knowing whether the information was true—the producers would only see whether it matched.

  Everyone could be lying or playing a role.

  * * *

  The next morning we gathered again in the living room to learn about the full challenge. Once we settled into our usual places, Bella sailed through the front door in a gauzy blue sundress and silvery sandals, trailing the scent of baby powder in her wake. She reminded me of a commercial for feminine wash.

  “Good morning, Fishies!”

  “Good morning, Bella!”

  “Are you ready to hear about your challenge?”

  We responded with a resounding “Yes!”

  “That’s great! You spent yesterday getting to know your fellow contestants. Now, we’re going to see what you remember. One at a time, you will be taken to a board with twenty questions about the other contestants. The answers are printed on a stack of cards.

  “Read each question on the board, find the card with the correct answer, then climb up the ladder to hang the card next to the matching question. You may only carry one card at a time; however, once the cards are on the board, you can move them around without climbing down.

  “When you’ve got it, race to the buzzer. If the answers are correct, the board will light up. If they’re wrong, go back and try again. Whoever finishes in the least amount of time is the winner and is guaranteed to remain in the Fishbowl for another week. The two contestants who take the longest will be up for elimination, along with a third contestant that the viewers choose.”

  They got shots of us nodding and agreeing, and Bella left. They didn’t want any of us getting too friendly with her. She probably sat in her chauffeured town car playing on her phone until the challenges ended.

  The producers came in and out every ten minutes or so, taking people one at a time down to the site they’d constructed. I wondered what they were doing with everyone who finished—no one came back to the house.

  I stretched in the back of the room while mentally reviewing the information the others gave me. Rachel and Joshua whispered in one corner. Ariana lay on the couch, apparently napping. Mike strummed the air as his lips moved silently. Too bad they wouldn’t let him sing.

  When my turn came, I sized up the area. A sheet covered a giant
board. A ladder ran up the left side. A large bin a few feet away held a bunch of square cards. Those must be the answers.

  Running back and forth would take up the most time. The best strategy was getting all the answers on the board and then rearranging them. That way, I’d get to read everything at once instead of spending half my time flipping through cards.

  The sheet dropped, revealing a list of white questions on the black board, and a green light flashed. I darted to the bin and grabbed the first answer card. Without even looking at the questions, I ran to the board and climbed to the top of the ladder. I placed the card next to the highest question, jumped to the ground, then ran back for another card.

  By the fourth or fifth trip, my breath came in pants. Once I’d finished hanging about half the cards, I ran out of steam. The good news was that all of the highest spots on the board were full. I didn’t have as far to climb. I allowed myself to pause and read the next card while walking back to the board.

  “Mexican.”

  That was Raj’s favorite food. He’d commented that everyone expected him to prefer Indian. He asked if Maria had been required to list tacos or flan. (Incidentally, she liked chimichangas. Yum!) No, Indian was Ariana’s favorite. I took an extra second to find “Raj’s favorite food,” which was thankfully located near the bottom of the board. I hung it up and lowered myself carefully.

  The short respite was enough. Knowing I’d gotten one answer correct gave me a burst of energy. In a flash, I got the rest of the cards on the board. Then, I read and swapped them. Justin liked blue; Mike’s favorite music was rock (which he played and sang). Being a good listener was finally paying off.

  I wasn’t surprised when the remaining two questions were about Joshua. Those were the ones I couldn’t answer. No card read “rainbow glitter,” or any of the other nonsense responses he gave me. Obviously, his favorite food must be pizza, since “skiing” didn’t make sense. I placed the last two cards, jumped the ground, and ran to the buzzer. When I got there, I mustered every ounce of strength left to smack it as hard as I could.