“True, and we’re doing pretty well so far.”
As we waited for the final station, Justin and I sat in the grass. “What are the odds being dizzy will help in the last exercise?”
I pretended to think about it. “Hmm. Slightly less than the odds of getting cast on a reality show in the first place.”
“In that case, we’re golden.”
Between falling down repeatedly, the laughter, the dizziness, and the presence of the PAs, our sexual chemistry faded into the background.
“Tell me about yourself. You’re going to law school?”
“Yeah, in Miami. I grew up there, and my sister still lives nearby.”
“Your parents?”
“Happily married for thirty years and still going strong. I hope to be that lucky.”
“Me, too.” During college, more than one purported psychology major suggested my spotty dating resume came from “daddy issues.” It made me hesitate to say more, knowing America watched and weighed my every word. “So you’ve lived in Florida your whole life?”
“Nah. I went to New Orleans for college, but my mom got sick, so I moved back after graduation.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Is she okay?”
“Yeah. She beat cancer. Twice, actually. Once when I was a little kid.”
“That’s wonderful. Good for her.”
“Fuck cancer,” he said.
He looked so sad for a minute, I wanted to lean forward and put my arms around him. Instead, I squeezed his hand, rubbing it with my thumb. My skin tingled from the touch. Our eyes met, and my breath caught in my throat at the longing I saw. Or maybe it was only my own need, reflected back at me.
I’d wanted to kiss him so badly earlier, and I could’ve sworn he felt the same. But he hadn’t made a move. He was here to win, and he was smart. He knew how to play the game. How could I know I wasn’t part of that? Was he hyper-focused on the tasks in front of us, or completely uninterested?
I’d been so sure of Dominic’s feelings. From the day we met, I never doubted his loyalty, his desire for me. And then I’d found out he wasn’t loyal at all, that desire didn’t equal love, and that the whole thing was a lie. Maybe one day I could trust again, but here? When we were all living an illusion? Hoping any of this meant anything felt naive at best.
I should just woman up, strap on some ovaries, and ask Justin how he felt. The show handed me the perfect opportunity by giving us this alone time, and I might not get another one. I dropped the grass I’d been absent-mindedly twisting with my free hand. “Hey, Justin?”
“Yeah?”
Before I could figure out exactly what to say, one of the PAs caught my eye and pointed around the wall separating us from the task. I forced a smile, hoping my voice didn’t reveal my disappointment at the interruption. “It’s time to go.”
The final station contained a three-foot cube sitting in the middle of a giant platform. That was odd. Were we solving a giant Rubik’s cube? That didn’t have any colors on it? Okay, maybe not.
The PA pointed at the giant cube. “Each side of this cube has a different puzzle on it, based on one of your fellow competitors. The pieces are in that pile over there. You’re allowed to carry up to one piece at a time each.” He gestured at two teetering stacks of cardboard about ten yards away.
“There’s a puzzle on each side of the cube, including the top and bottom. Your score is based on how long it takes you to put all the pieces together.”
As he explained, I bounced on my toes, clapping. I loved figuring things out! None of the other stations had been the type of thing I excelled at, but this looked easier than the “Polar Bear in a Snowstorm” puzzle my brother gave me for a college graduation present.
“It’s not enough to make the pieces fit. The puzzle has to make sense. When you’re done, hit the button.” He gestured to a large red button on the opposite side of the cube from the pieces. “If everything is right, it’ll turn green, and a bell will chime. If it’s wrong, go back and find your mistakes. Stand over here. When the light turns green, you’re on!”
A moment later, we headed to the cube. Slowly but surely, the puzzles took shape. One side included a yellow bird; another depicted tools and a Bible. We did all four sides first, then turned the cube to tackle the top and bottom. When I placed a piece with a woman on a stage next to the Brooklyn Bridge, I wondered what my puzzle looked like.
What did I represent to the other contestants? How did the producers see me? Was I just a big Space Needle or was there something more? A stack of hospital bills? An unemployment check?
Finally, we placed the last piece and hobbled as quickly as possible toward the button. I hit it with all my strength.
Nothing happened.
We waited. Justin pushed the button. Still, nothing happened.
“One of the pieces must be wrong,” he said. “C’mon!”
The side facing us showed Birdie’s puzzle, which looked fine. They’d even colored the Twitter logo yellow to create a bird dominating the centerpiece. We moved on to Ed’s puzzle on the next side. Again, everything fit: the New England Patriots logo and a microphone.
Something about that jumped out at me.
“Justin? What does Mike’s puzzle look like? Is there a microphone?”
“Didn’t we give Ed the microphone because he’s a comedian?”
“We did, but maybe it’s not right. Mike sings, remember?”
Carefully, Justin shifted the cube until he saw the other side. “Right. Mike has a guitar. . .and a coffee cup. He likes coffee, right? Doesn’t everyone?”
“Yeah. Is it Starbucks or a California-based chain?”
“Nope, it’s Dunkin’ Donuts.”
The line from the commercials ran senselessly through my head. America runs on Dunkin. After a moment, I snapped my fingers. “That’s it! Dunkin’ Donuts is big in the Northeast. Let’s switch these two pieces.”
We made the change and raced back to the finish line. Well, we staggered awkwardly at the maximum speed possible. This time, when Justin punched the button, bells rang and a green light flashed. I whooped and bounced on my toes.
We did it!
CHAPTER 16
More scenes from the School Room, Week 5:
Rachel: So if both members of the losing team are up for elimination, does that mean both members of the winning team are immune? Abram and I killed it.
Birdie: For the love of God, just tell me I never have to spend another second of my life tied to Mike. Lie if you have to. #ICantEven.
Ed: None of my friends are going to believe I spent the last two days tied to a hot female masseuse. Nice scarves, though. Very sturdy. By the way, I’m taking them home with me. That’s cool, right?
Justin: Interesting challenges. What’s next? Duck, Duck, Goose? Spin the Bottle? Seven Minutes in Heaven?
After the challenge, the PAs took us one-by-one into the School Room. I hurried in hopes of catching Justin alone, still wanting to talk to him about what I’d felt during the challenge when he’d put his arms around me. When his breath sent tingles down my spine as he explained the basics of archery. When we tumbled to the ground together. I had to know if this was real or just some figment of my imagination.
On my way downstairs, I stopped to freshen up and check my makeup. Voices echoed while I stood at the sink.
No, not in my head. One of them sounded like Ariana. If I ever started to imagine voices, I certainly hoped they wouldn’t sound like Ariana. Anyone else would be preferable. Maybe Kim Kardashian or that guy who played the parrot in Aladdin.
Curiously, I stood to find the source of that noise. The voices came from above me. Aha! Someone had left the window open in the tiny restroom. Ariana spoke to someone on the porch underneath the room.
That porch was. Oh, um, well. We weren’t really supposed to talk about it. But, it was the designated smoking area. That patio was the only place in the entire estate without ca
meras, because the network wasn’t allowed to show us smoking on TV. When Joshua was in the house, Maria hung out there purely to get away from him.
I’d never noticed before, but apparently, the porch was also situated to allow a person using the toilet to overhear every word spoken on it, at least if you opened the window.
How did I miss that earlier?
Snatches of conversation drifted into my ears.
“. . .love me. . .”
Who is she talking to?
I needed to hear this better. Maybe if I stood directly under the window.
“. . .so gullible. . .”
Who is she talking about?
Argh!
I stretched on to my tiptoes, but got little more for my efforts.
“. . .viewers eating. . .hand. . .so easy. . .”
Ohmigod! Ariana is out there, telling someone how she is manipulating the viewers and lying to them and I. Can’t. HEAR. Her.
I raised my foot, prepared to stomp the ground in frustration. When I realized she might hear me, my foot stopped an inch above the floor. Instead, I braced it against the glass wall. My rubber shoe slipped on the smooth surface. Couldn’t climb up that way. I lowered the lid of the toilet and climbed on to it instead. The window was still about a foot over my head. The words became only a little clearer.
“. . .don’t have. . . daughter . . .”
I examined the window. A tiny rectangle sat a few inches from the ceiling, about six inches wide and two or three inches high. Sticking my head through it would be impossible. Instead, I braced my hands on the edges and placed one foot on the toilet tank.
Another voice, lower, drifted through the window. “So you weren’t raped when you were fourteen?”
“Jennifer? What are you doing?”
The voice came from the ceiling. Naturally, the producers would choose this moment to check the camera in the toilet.
Tinkling laughter—the kind that makes you want to strangle the person making it—reached my ears. For a second, her voice got louder. “That’s ridiculous. I seduced my father’s driver. Poor guy never had a chance.”
“Shh! Are you getting this?” I hissed. “She’s lying to the viewers to get them to vote for her!”
The lower voice rumbled again. Because the producers distracted me, I missed most of his response. “. . .love triangle?. . .”
“You need to get down before you hurt yourself,” the voice said.
“Give me a minute!”
I gripped the window ledge with both hands and hauled myself on to the tank. With one foot wedged against the far wall of the tiny chamber for support, I pressed my face against the window. Not surprisingly, I couldn’t see anything. Dark mesh covered the porch on all sides, including the roof.
I held my microphone necklace toward the window and shoved my ear into the opening. Finally, I heard complete sentences. The producers better be picking this up.
“Don’t be silly,” Ariana purred. “You’re the one I want.” Wait a minute. Was she out there with Justin?
“I’m just playing up the Justin thing for the ratings. America loves drama.”
“Oh, yeah?”
He sounded skeptical. Now that I’d squished my head between the ceiling and the window, the voice had a familiar low, musical quality.
“Why not play up the in-house romance between us? The viewers love that shit. And you have to admit, we are smokin’ hot together. We’d steam up TVs all over America.”
It was Mike’s voice. What were they doing out there?
Lip smacking and a murmur of pleasure drifted through the window.
Oh. That’s what.
“Romance doesn’t build ratings the way drama does. I want the viewers to want to keep me in the house. So, I tell them that Jen is bullying me and trying to steal the man I have all these feelings for, and they see her sucking up to him, and then they vote to send her home. It’s perfect.”
I KNEW IT!
I’d never forgiven Ariana for making me look like the bad guy at dodgeball, and this was my chance to get even. Finally, America would recognize my nemesis as a vindictive liar.
In my excitement, my back straightened, and my head snapped up. I wasn't in the best position to adjust my position. The foot I’d braced against the wall slipped. I teetered on top of the tank before finding myself hanging by my fingertips from the window. My toes smacked against the toilet bowl, creating an unfortunately loud clanging.
“. . .hear that. . .?”
Ariana. Crap. She heard me.
“. . .nothing. . .don’t worry. . .”
For several moments, I hung there, taking deep breaths to calm my beating heart. A door closed downstairs. Footsteps clattered up the stairs. In seconds, a PA would drag me out of the room. I yanked at the ledge, trying to hear more, but gained no ground. Not enough upper-body strength. All that reached my ears was more lip smacking, followed by a low moan. They’d apparently decided to abandon their conversation. I had no reason to hang around.
No pun intended.
I dropped to the ground, determined to get the lying sneak eliminated. Time to find Justin.
But first, the producers wanted an explanation.
Quickly, I relayed what I overheard. The producers understood. It probably helped that Ariana treated them as her personal servants. If I’d needed a reminder in the importance of smiling and saying “please” and “thank you” to people in supportive roles, this was it.
Crossing my fingers behind my back, I swore not to scale any more walls. They let me go.
I tore into the kitchen, praying that it wasn’t too late to catch Ariana and Mike together.
Before I found Justin, I ran into Birdie. She was in the kitchen, grinding up vegetables and pounding them into paste. What an interesting way of burning aggravation. I skidded to a halt.
“What on earth on you doing?”
“All these veggies that will go bad if we don’t eat them, so I’m making #pasta.”
People can do that? I could barely add water to instant soup without help. “Wow. Okay. That’s cool. Have you seen Justin?”
Birdie examined my face closely. “What happened?”
After a split second’s consideration and a quick glance around, I told her what I overheard. Birdie stopped the grinder, wiped her hands on her apron, and marched toward the back door.
“You, sit. Grab a glass of wine. Not a word to anyone else.”
“Where are you going?”
“To have a cigarette, of course.” Birdie winked at me.
“But you don’t smoke.”
“I do now.”
The small redhead strode out the door and around the corner of house toward the patio. I was dying to follow her but knew better. Instead, I poured a glass of wine and went to find Ed. If what I suspected was about to happen, I wanted to be far from the patio when things blew up.
Ed, Abram, and Rachel were playing pool while Justin threw darts. I’d barely settled into a chair to watch when Birdie marched in, dragging Ariana by one ear. Mike followed sheepishly.
Lipstick smeared across the side of his face. Ariana’s shirt was buttoned crookedly. Her hair was mussed. It was the first time I’d seen her not looking perfect.
Rachel saw them first. “Birdie! What are you doing?”
“#Caughtintheact!” Birdie crowed triumphantly. “I found Ariana making out with Mike on the smoker’s porch.”
Ariana flushed and glared around the room. “Please. What is this, second grade? We’re all adults. I was upset that everyone here always gangs up on me, and Mike stopped to comfort me. It was totally innocent. Nothing happened.”
Even if I hadn’t overheard the conversation, the state of her clothing belied her words. If they hadn’t been making out, Birdie had saved them from a puma attack in the side yard.
As usual when confronted, Ariana turned on the waterworks. “Now let go of me!”
She yanked out of Birdie’s grip and ran toward the kitchen. Mike took off after her. I didn’t care where they went. Everyone else stared at Birdie in shocked silence.
“Jen, tell them what you heard.”
“She was on the back porch, telling Mike about her plan to get me eliminated. She made up having a sick child to get viewer sympathy. And she fabricated a love triangle to create drama.”
Justin tilted his head. “She admitted that?”
Across the room, Rachel inched toward the door. Birdie stepped back to let her pass.
“She didn’t actually say she has no feelings for you, but she made it clear she’s catering to the viewers, yeah,” I said.
“Did Birdie hear it, too? Is it on camera?” Justin asked.
Where’s he going with this?
Abram followed Rachel. Then, he stuck his head back in and cleared his throat. After a few seconds, a long arm reached back in and grabbed Ed’s wrist. As the arm pulled him toward the door, Ed grabbed Birdie and took her with him, leaving me and Justin alone. The door clicked shut.
Palpable tension filled the room. A small, hard pit formed in my stomach.
“No.” I stared at my toes.
“So what you’re saying is, all we have on tape is you throwing around accusations, and Ariana telling everyone that you’ve got a vendetta against her?”
Shit. They also have footage of me scaling the wall in the bathroom. For, as far as they can see, no reason.
The pit grew as I wracked my mind for something to say. “Did you know that she’s a professional actress? I think she was planted—”
He waved one hand. “What does that have to do with anything? Yeah, she had a couple of bit parts. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re throwing around statements you can’t prove.”
“But I heard them talking. And Birdie—”
“Birdie accosted Ariana and Mike after you whispered in her ear. Are you trying to give Ariana immunity for the rest of the summer?”
My knees shook. “I just wanted you to see. . .”
“I know what she is. Do you think I have feelings for her?” Justin shifted the darts from one hand the other, staring at me intently.
America's Next Reality Star Page 17
