America's Next Reality Star

by Laura Heffernan

  “I didn’t know. When we were both up for elimination—”

  “She stuck to me like glue, followed me around, and wouldn’t let me have a single second alone. I swear, I think she would’ve jumped in the solo shower with me if I’d let her. She’s got a crush on me, yeah—or she says she does—and I’m trying not to encourage her without looking like an ass.”

  For a split second, my hopes rose. I wanted so much not to like him, but my knees still went weak every time our eyes met. And those dimples. Sometimes, I would say anything to get a glimpse of his dimples.

  “You may not have noticed, but I sought you out the other night, remember? I went to sit outside with you. I pulled you aside after the elimination. Does none of that mean anything?”

  I started to speak, but he cut me off.

  “But that doesn’t make it okay to set her up and do this whole big scene just to get a reaction out of me. If you wanted to know if I liked her, you should’ve asked. I don’t appreciate being played. By either of you.”

  My heart plummeted to the tips of my toes. I was such an idiot.

  Justin threw the last dart, avoiding my yes. Then he strode out of the room as it hit the bull’s-eye.

  I sank to the floor, head in my hands. Even when Ariana was wrong, she made me look like the bad guy. And I fell for it every time. Stupid.

  * * *

  Justin avoided me for the rest of the day. To keep busy, Ed and Birdie taught me how to make meatloaf; then we played cards until bed. The next morning, I wanted to go to Justin and apologize, but they persuaded me to give him space.

  “He can’t have too much space, you know. We live in a tiny house together. And plotting is part of the game.”

  “You can talk to him about the game,” Ed said. “And the vote.”

  Birdie said, “Talk about other things. Let him calm down. He’ll forgive you when he’s ready.”

  I opened my mouth, but Ed jumped in. They were tag-teaming me. No way to get a word in edgewise.

  “Then, you apologize when he seems open to it. If you push him now and force him to talk before he’s ready, when you leave this house, you’ll never talk to him again. Trust me—I know men, and I know relationships.”

  “You’re probably right,” I grumbled.

  “Of course we’re right! Always listen to the queers on matters of the heart. We know everything: what to wear, how to do your makeup, who to—”

  “I think she’s got the ‘who’ down, Ed,” Birdie interjected. “We know why. Let’s work on the how and when.”

  “After breakfast?” I asked. “Is it ready? It smells awesome.”

  Birdie carried a platter of steaming home fries to the table in one hand and a bowl of scrambled eggs in the other. She nodded toward the coffee pot. “It’s ready once you pour everyone’s coffee.”

  By the time I finished serving, everyone sat around the table. My heart leapt as I realized the only empty seat was across from Justin. I eased myself into it, half-afraid he would get up and go eat somewhere else.

  After a moment, I peeked at him cautiously. “Hi.”

  Those piercing green eyes held mine briefly, and hope surged before he looked away.

  “Hey,” he mumbled, picking up his fork.

  It wasn’t much, but it was a start. At least he was speaking to me. Now, if I could just get him to show me those dimples, I’d know I was on the right track.

  CHAPTER 17

  More scenes from the School Room, Week 5:

  Ariana: I didn’t know Mike was going to stick his tongue in my mouth. I shoved him away immediately. I can’t believe Birdie and Jennifer ganged up to try to make me look bad. It’s bad enough that Jen keeps talking *beep* about me to Justin when she knows how much I like him, but this is ridiculous.

  Rachel: You know, it’s really tacky to spend most of your time stalking and making eyes at a guy who’s into someone else while secretly getting it on with another man. Do what you want, but be honest about it.

  Justin: I don’t know how many more times or ways I need to say I don’t care who or what Ariana kisses. I’m here to win cash, remember? I have student loans. I don’t need a girlfriend.

  Friday afternoon, Bella announced the results of Thursday’s challenge: Abram and Rachel had the best overall score and were both immune from elimination. I didn’t even know that was possible. I shrugged it off, though. Justin and I played our best. Knowing about dual immunity wouldn’t have changed anything.

  “Birdie and Mike,” Bella said. “I’m sorry to inform you that your team had the lowest overall score. As a result, both of you are up for elimination. Abram, Ariana, Ed, and Jennifer, on Monday morning, we’ll let you know who the voters chose. Any one of you might be eliminated this week.”

  Thanks. That’s comforting.

  The moment the doors closed behind Bella, Mike turned on Birdie. “You threw the challenge to get me sent home.”

  Birdie, who had been sitting on a beanbag chair, shot to her feet, hands on her hips. “What are you talking about? You’re #losingit.”

  Mike didn’t back down. “On the Donkey challenge, you grabbed the tail from me before they blindfolded us. You’re way too short to pin it.”

  “You’d put it between your legs and were twerking it like a rabid penis!”

  “Okay, guys.” Justin stepped between them. “I’m sure no one wanted to lose. Mike, Birdie knew if she lost the challenge, you would both be up for elimination. How would she benefit from throwing it?”

  “She’s got it in for me, man. You saw what happened yesterday.”

  “That was after the challenge,” Rachel said.

  “She set me up!” Mike whined. “First, she tries to goad me into untying the scarf.”

  At that, Birdie made a sound of outrage, but Justin hushed her with a glance.

  “Then she throws the challenge,” Mike said. “If that’s not bad enough, she makes a whole big scene to turn everyone against me.”

  “Right,” Birdie said. “I forced you to maul Ariana’s face with your tongue to make you look bad.” She stuck her tongue out and wagged her head in a rather unflattering imitation of Mike’s kissing abilities. “#Douchecanoe.”

  As the argument escalated, accusations flew. It became impossible to tell who said what. Finally, an ear-splitting whistle filled the room. Silence descended as we turned toward the noise. Abram stood in the center of the room with his pinkies in his mouth.

  “How did you do that?” Rachel asked.

  “I have four boys, remember? Everyone calm down. Mike, go for a walk. Take Ariana with you. Birdie, why don’t you go upstairs for a few minutes to compose yourself? I’m going to go for a swim. The rest of you are free to join me if you can be civil.”

  Cooling off sounded like a good idea. I almost said so, but Birdie grabbed my arm and charged toward the stairs. Surprised, I followed, mainly to keep her from dumping me on to the floor. I’d had enough of that during the challenge. She waved her other arm in front of her face as if running through spider webs.

  What was she doing? Pointing at the ceiling with both hands? When we reached the top landing, Birdie let go of my arm.

  “Sing ‘Shake it Off,’” she ordered as she removed her clothes. Under her breath, she chanted, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  “What—?”

  “I need a break from the audience. The show won’t pay for the #copyright. They won’t air profanity. They won’t show me naked. Sing.”

  I sang with a silent apology to Ms. Swift for butchering both her tune and her words. Birdie sank to the ground, sobbing and swearing. Both hands displayed the middle finger between her face and the cameras. Genius. This particular meltdown wouldn’t be broadcast to all of America. At least not without blurring her and silencing me.

  If only I’d done the same after my argument with Justin.

  After my third time through the song, Birdie’s tears subsided. She sniffled. “Thanks. You�
�re a good friend. Terrible singer, though. #NeedLessons.”

  I smiled. “You should have asked Mike to sing for you. He’s got a nice voice.”

  “HA!” We dissolved into giggles on the floor.

  When Ariana entered a few minutes later, we were still there. Her look of disgust only made us laugh harder.

  “Dorks,” she mumbled as she grabbed her swimsuit out of a drawer, slammed it shut, and left.

  Wham!

  Just as we’d nearly managed to contain our laughter, Ariana’s thunk against the glass wall at the foot of the stairs, confirmed by her muffled curse, set us off again.

  By the time we composed ourselves enough to get downstairs, Mike had calmed down. He sat with Ed in the kitchen, talking about performing live and how stage fright differed from being on TV.

  We walked out to the patio where Abram chatted in the pool with Rachel. The hot tub was empty. Ariana laid on a lounge chair, but when she saw us, she jumped up and went inside.

  “Well, she’s voting for me,” Birdie sighed, settling into the hot tub and leaning her head against the edge. I followed suit.

  “Of course she's voting for you—it’s you against Mike. Let’s wait and see who the third option is. But, honestly, after the past few days, Mike’s probably going home. He may have just eliminated himself with that stunt.”

  * * *

  For the second time, when they announced the result of the viewer vote on Monday morning, my mouth dropped: the viewers chose to put me up for elimination. Again. What was I doing wrong? We’d done well in the challenge.

  Am I not dramatic enough? Even after last week?

  I couldn’t move off the couch. I just sat there, trying to figure out what happened. Maybe the viewers were so attached to Ariana, they didn’t appreciate me showing them what she was really like. I cursed myself for letting her get inside my head.

  “Hey,” Ed climbed up and put his arm around me. “Don’t worry about it. With two people having immunity this week, your odds sucked.”

  “Besides,” Birdie chimed in as the other contestants trickled out of the room, “it doesn’t matter. Mike’s going to be #eliminated.”

  “You think?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Ed said. “The viewers cemented it. Mike was trying to convince people to vote for Birdie. Now, you’ll split the vote, because you’ve got the same friends here.”

  “But—” I protested weakly.

  “Look at the numbers: there are eight of us left.” He ticked off names on his fingers. “Ariana would’ve voted for Birdie, but Jen, she hates you. So that’s one vote. Then, we’ve got four guaranteed votes for Mike: me, you guys, and Abram. If Ariana, Mike, Rachel, and Justin all vote together, they’ll force a tie. But what are the chances?”

  I thought about what he said for a minute. “I bet Rachel will vote for Mike. Justin’s hard to read, though.”

  Birdie chuckled. “He’s only hard to read if you’re secretly in love with him and won’t admit it. He’s an open book to everyone else.”

  I stuck my tongue out at her. “Cut me some slack. I’ve had exactly one boyfriend, and he turned out to be secretly married. I’m in uncharted waters here.”

  “You’re a grown woman, Jen. It’s time to chart those waters.”

  Before I could respond, Ed interrupted. “The point is, Mike’s got at least five out of eight votes against him.”

  “Fine. I’ll check with Rachel. Someone may need to talk to Justin.”

  Birdie said, “No. You need to talk to Justin.”

  “And not about the vote,” Ed said.

  A groan escaped me. I hated when they were right.

  * * *

  At the end of the day, I decide to take the straight approach with Rachel. If I buttered her up or flattered her, she’d see right through me and be annoyed.

  Because fate has a sense of humor, Rachel sat in the hot tub with Ariana. Of course. Steeling myself, I eased down the steps and let the warm water envelope me. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, wanting a moment to relax and compose my thoughts before I said anything. Maybe Ariana would leave, so I wouldn’t have to have this conversation in front of her.

  After a moment, water splashed. I cracked one eyelid. Rachel swam away from the hot tub, toward a raft.

  That wasn’t part of the plan. I’d have to follow her without making it obvious.

  Ariana noted the direction of my gaze. “Don’t bother. She knows Birdie set up Mike to fail. She’s not likely to vote to send him home. Besides, he’s the only unattached, straight male left.”

  Well, now, that didn’t sound right. “Isn’t Mike attached to you? No offense, but I don’t think Rachel wants your sloppy seconds.”

  “Why not?” Ariana smirked. “They’re good enough for you.”

  I blinked at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, come off it,” Ariana said. “Everyone sees you panting after Justin. It must kill you that I got there first. I don’t blame you for still wanting a piece, though. He’s got very talented hands. Oh, and that tongue. Mmmmm.”

  My blood ran cold. I forced myself to breathe. She’s lying. Has to be. She’s an actress.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The night after the audition, we hooked up. He couldn’t keep his hands off me.” Ariana shrugged. “Don’t believe me? Ask about the birthmark on his shoulder.”

  It’s a glass house. We swim every day. I’ve seen that birthmark a hundred times.

  As the wheels turned in my head, Ariana smirked and crossed her arms. “We had a good time. When we first got here, I hoped we could pick up again, but I’m over it. There are plenty of men who appreciate me.”

  Oh, God. I saw all her movies. She’s a terrible actress. She has to be telling the truth.

  I didn’t listen to another word. Instead, I dove across the barrier into the pool, swimming violently from one end to the other.

  She slept with Justin. How? Why? How?

  Is that why he ignored me in the shower when we were tied together? Why did he pretend he wasn’t interested in her? Was he one of those guys who ditched a girl the second they had sex? Did he want to seduce me and dump me, too?

  And why did he act like he has no idea why she hangs out with him?

  Another thought hit me: Had he had sex with Ariana on national television?

  Ew. In that case, he wasn’t who I thought at all.

  When I arrived at the other end of the pool, I stomped up the steps. Water flew around me as Ed and Rachel moved out of the way. Rachel reached out one hand. “Hey, Jen? Is everything. . .?”

  In my rush to get to Justin, I didn’t even slow down. “Later, Rach.”

  He sat with Abram and Birdie, sipping a beer. I had the tiny sliver of presence of mind I needed not to call him out in front of the others.

  “Hi, Abram. Birdie.” I unclenched my jaw enough to sound casual. “Justin, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  I stalked toward the maze without waiting for a response. When I was far enough away to avoid eavesdroppers, I whirled around. “Did you have sex with Ariana?”

  Whatever reaction I’d expected included large doses of denial and disbelief. Part of me thought his jaw would drop and his eyes would bug out, like in the movies.

  That’s not what happened.

  Justin turned beat red and dug at the grass with one toe. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. My gasp of denial swallowed his mumblings. Nauseated, I sank to the ground, my head between my knees.

  A moment later, hands rested on my shoulders. “Jen. No. I’m sorry. Please look at me.”

  “Go away,” I mumbled. “I’m going to throw up.”

  “No. You don’t get to ask and not give me a chance to explain.” He settled on to the grass beside me. His hand touched my knee, but I jerked away.

  “I’ll listen, but don’t touch me.”

  “Fair enough. The whole po
int of trying out for the show was to do something cool with my sister. The night after the audition, she told me she quit. I was bummed, because I need this to help pay for law school. She distracted the PA at the end of the hall, and I snuck down to the hotel bar.”

  Something he said tickled the back of my brain, but I couldn’t grasp why it mattered.

  “Ariana was there. I don’t know how she got out of her room, and I don’t care. I drank too much, got stupid, we made out a little. That’s it. A little kissing and then my sister came down and dragged me back up to the room so we didn’t get caught.”

  Finally, I looked at him. “That’s it? A little kissing?”

  Justin put one hand on his heart. “I swear. Clothes on, hands above the waist. I regretted it as soon as I sobered up. When I saw she made the show, I was hoping we could pretend nothing happened, but. . .I’m not that lucky.”

  I stood, brushing myself off. “You lied to me.”

  He avoided my eyes. “You never asked. I said I didn’t have feelings for her, and I meant it.”

  “But you made it seem like she latched on to you for no reason. You acted like you had no idea why she thought you might like her. And, clearly, there’s a very obvious reason for both those things.”

  Justin’s jaw tightened. “I’m sorry, Jen. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to say anything. I mean, are you going to tell me every mistake you made before you got here?”

  “None of my mistakes are in this house.” I pointed out. “Except you.”

  His face turned red. “You’re not my girlfriend. We’re not even dating.”

  “There’s something between us. I know you’ve felt it. During the archery?”

  “There’s an attraction, yeah. But there’s also drama and the game and trying to win. How can I trust any of it?” A tinge of queasiness hit me. It never occurred me that he had the same insecurities I did. That maybe he had a reason for being so hot and cold. We should’ve had this conversation weeks ago.