America's Next Reality Star

by Laura Heffernan

  My fingers itched to stroke his hair. He sat so close. I leaned toward him.

  “I. . .I think.” Justin inched closer to me at an agonizingly slow pace. “I think. . .I’m going to be sick.”

  At that, he set his glass down hard on the table. It clanked over on its side, pouring champagne on to the floor. He stood, swayed, and vomited on my feet.

  * * *

  The next morning, I stared miserably up at the ceiling, flipping the prior night’s events over and over in my head. Sarah’s once-forgotten words from the audition rang in my head. My brother’s so driven. He’d do anything to win.

  At the time, I hadn’t known she was talking about Justin. But would doing anything to win involve participating in a fake romance for the ratings? Flirting with me so I’d vote for him and he’d get to stick around longer? It was hard to believe a guy who really liked me would puke rather than letting his lips touch mine.

  “So, what happened?” The next morning, Ed pounced on me as soon as I ventured into the kitchen. I’d gotten up later than usual due to all the time I spent lying in bed, refusing to face the day.

  “Yeah. So, he threw up on me.”

  “Oooooh, he threw up on you! I bet he did.” Ed winked at me. “You go, girl!”

  “No, really. That’s not a thing. Actual vomit. From his mouth. On to my bare feet.”

  His face fell. “Damn. I thought that was a metaphor. I mean, sure, a freaky one, but you can make anything sound dirty if you try hard enough.”

  “Not this. It’s dirty in a ‘covered in vomit’ way, which isn’t sexy at all. No, I tried to kiss him; he puked.”

  “Ew.”

  “Right. I have no idea how to react to the man of my dreams blowing chunks all over me.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Stared with my mouth open. Got a towel. Cleaned up. Looked for a trash can or bucket to leave by his head. Couldn’t find one. Showered. Cried. End of story. I don’t want to talk about it, especially not if there’s any chance she’ll overhear.” He didn’t have to ask who “she” was. “I’m going for a run. Maybe I’ll feel better after a few miles.”

  The first lap around the house did nothing to make me feel better. The second wasn’t much better. I forced myself to keep going. By the time I hit the fourth or fifth lap, I got into a rhythm. During my seventh lap, I saw some humor in what had happened. If it had happened to someone else, I might’ve laughed.

  Somewhere around my tenth lap around the yard, I made an important decision: I needed to focus on my end goals. The chase wasn’t getting me anywhere. It was time to give up.

  I wanted to win $250,000. I wasn’t here to find a boyfriend, and I certainly wasn’t here to throw myself at someone who’d drink to the point of throwing up rather than talk about his feelings. Or who was possibly repulsed by the idea of kissing me.

  Did I want to start another relationship so soon after Dominic, anyway? Especially when I didn’t know if I could trust Justin? Hell, were we even in relationship territory? Brandon tried so hard to talk me into a break-up fling last spring, and I hadn’t found the right opportunity. National television didn’t seem like the way to go.

  My eye needed to stay on the prize, or I’d be going home with nothing: no money, no boyfriend, no job, no place to live. Nothing but pending bankruptcy or a future hiding in the Peace Corps. I couldn’t afford to take that risk.

  By the time I finished my run, showered, and re-entered the kitchen, Birdie was helping Ed make breakfast. I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat at the counter. “What are you making?”

  “Hangover special,” Birdie winked at me. “Eggs and cheesy hash browns.”

  I turned on Ed. “You told her!”

  “Of course I did,” he retorted. “You had to know I would.”

  “But, also, Ariana and Rachel are in the living room moaning about their headaches, and Abram said Justin can’t get out of bed.”

  “Here, make yourself useful.” Ed handed me a package of bacon. “I pre-heated the oven.”

  Obediently, I got up and pulled two cookie sheets out of the cupboards, then laid bacon in rows. “He’s sick? Is it bad?”

  Ed shrugged. “It might be if Ariana goes in to offer a sponge bath. Luckily, she also had a lot to drink. I don’t think she’s feeling too hot, either.”

  I slid the cookie sheets into the oven. “I mean, not that I care.”

  “Riiiiiiiiiight,” Birdie smirked at Ed, who winked at her.

  “Seriously, guys, I’m done,” I insisted. “All this back and forth is too much. He lied about Ariana. He’d rather get shit-faced than have a conversation with me about everything. I need a quarter of a million dollars more than I need some guy. I hardly know him. I’m focusing on the game. Someone else take him breakfast. I’ll stay here and get everything on the table.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, sweetie,” Ed said.

  In the end, he took a tray upstairs and brought it right back down. The production team took Justin to the doctor to make sure he didn’t have alcohol poisoning. The rest of us ate silently, either nursing our own hangovers or lost in our thoughts.

  When Justin came back to the house a couple of hours later, I was so engrossed in conversation with Rachel and Abram I almost didn’t notice.

  CHAPTER 19

  Scenes from The School Room, Week 6:

  Ariana: The Yankees are way better than the Red Sox. I can’t believe Ed was arguing with me. I don’t get why he hasn’t been voted out yet. Him and Jennifer are so boring. I can’t even.

  Rachel: It was great for the producers to throw us a party, but, um, can you maybe turn down the lights in here? They’re awfully bright. I need a nap.

  Justin: How exactly do you apologize to a girl for throwing up on her? She wasn’t wearing shoes. Ew. This has never happened to me before. Is there a way to get flowers in here?

  Ed: No, I don’t care about baseball. I care about keeping nice guys away from snaky bitches.

  “Hello, my little Fish!” Bella greeted us warmly after lunch. “Today’s midweek challenge is an endurance test. The winner will receive an advantage in tomorrow’s elimination challenge.”

  Endurance, huh? Like long-distance running? I could probably outrun Birdie, Ariana (propelled by sheer animosity), and maybe Justin. Then again, I may have been the least hungover of everyone, which gave me an advantage.

  They herded us outside. Someone had set short, different-colored pedestals in a ring around the pool. Each stood about a foot tall and eighteen inches wide. Squinting into the sunlight, I located the green one near the deep end.

  “Each Fish stands on his or her pedestal. Whoever makes it the longest wins. Easy, right?”

  Right. Easy. What’s the catch?

  “Of course,” Bella said, “there is one more thing. You’ll each have to balance a plate on your head. Once it falls, you’re out.”

  Abram and Rachel had both been looking confident about this challenge. Upon hearing that last part, their smiles faltered. Still, everyone lined up to grab our plates. No one wanted to lose the possibility of an advantage that could save us from elimination—especially after what happened to Maria.

  We climbed on to our pedestals. I held my plate in place with my fingertips while I steadied myself. I took a couple of deep breaths and pushed my shoulders back. I could do this.

  Bella said, “Ready? One, two, three!”

  I’d barely removed my fingertips from my plate when something crashed against the concrete.

  “Awww, crap!” Birdie yelled. “I knew I should have taken ballet classes. #Clumsy.”

  My lips clamped together to keep a laugh from escaping. My head remained steady. Still, I couldn’t keep an amused smile off my face. Others were not so lucky. Seconds later, glass shattered against the ground a second time.

  “That’s not fair!” Abram said. “Birdie made me laugh!”

  “Sorry, guys,” Bella warned. “O
ne chance. Your plate falls, you lose. And no distracting the remaining players. Go wait over there.”

  I couldn’t see where “over there” was. I didn’t dare look.

  Two down, four to go. This was easy. I’d been doing Pilates since high school. I just needed to focus. Eyes closed to avoid distractions, I focused on my breathing. In, out. In, out. I was so deep in the zone I almost jumped when Bella’s voice informed us we’d been standing there for five minutes.

  Apparently, I wasn’t the only one she startled. Two plates crashed to the ground. Bella called Justin and Rachel out. The competition was down to me, Ed, and the person who’d scrambled up a thirty-foot fireman’s pole to avoid being eaten in YetiNado: Snow Drifts Back. After her legs were bitten off. Brandon and I watched that scene six times. Ariana was in excellent shape. (It had to be her; the film didn’t appear to have a stunt budget.)

  I gritted my teeth, determined to beat Ariana if it killed me.

  At around the eight-minute mark, Ed’s plate fell. “I think I could’ve won if I hadn’t fallen asleep,” he complained.

  Now it was a grudge match. I closed my eyes, resisting the urge to look at Ariana. No way I’d let her win this.

  Bella called, “Ten minutes!”

  Ariana whined, “Bella, I have a leg cramp. Can we pause?”

  Maybe it was a trick. Don’t open your eyes. I told myself. Don’t move.

  “Sorry, Ariana. If you’re having problems, you can take yourself out. But Jennifer wins.”

  No way she would do that. Ariana didn’t respond.

  Sweat trickled down my back as the sun beat down. My nose itched. I ignored it. And then to my horror, something gurgled deep in my belly.

  Oh, no. No, no, no. I can win this! My body ignored my brain. But still, I wouldn’t let Ariana win. Even if that meant pooping my pants? In front of everyone? Crap.

  No pun intended.

  Just as I was about to panic with my need to get inside, I heard the sweetest music that has ever touched my ears.

  Crash!

  Ariana’s plate hit the ground!

  A second later, Bella said, “And the winner is Jen! Congratulations, Jennifer!”

  With a whoop, I grabbed my plate and flung it into the pool. Then, I jumped off the pedestal and raced into the house. Laughter followed in my wake.

  * * *

  “This week’s challenge is a timed obstacle course.” Bella explained the next morning. “How well you did in yesterday’s challenge determines your starting order. Jen, since you won, you get a thirty-second head start.”

  An extra thirty seconds? Awesome! Especially since I’d been about a quarter of a second from dropping my plate when Ariana’s fell. More importantly, if I had to compete in a physical challenge against people in excellent shape, I seriously needed the edge. After all, Ed told me Abram did one-armed push-ups in their room every morning before breakfast.

  “Jen, you’ll enter when the first whistle blows. We’ll blow the whistle again for the rest of you at the right time.”

  The producers led us down one side of the property. The starting line hid behind one corner of the maze, so we couldn’t see what awaited us on the other side. To hide my nervousness, I knelt to tie my shoes. When I stood, Curly Beard settled a bright green helmet on to my head, pulling the straps tight under my chin. He shook my head a bit, then tapped the top.

  “You’re good to go. Head right over there.”

  Once I reached the starting line, my knees bent into a runner’s crouch. Bella blew the whistle, and I tore around the side of the house. My head start gave me an edge, but Ariana had strength and agility.

  About fifty yards in, logs covered a huge tract of mud. I jumped from one to the next.

  A whistle blew behind me, signaling Ariana’s entry on to the course. The logs wobbled, and I ordered myself to focus. Sounds of relief escaped me when I jumped off the last log on to solid ground.

  That relief ended when the next obstacle loomed: a giant wall. It must’ve been twenty-five feet tall. Knotted ropes hung from the top about a foot apart. I grabbed the green rope and began to walk up the wall.

  Immediately, my feet slid out from under me. I landed in a heap on the ground. Then I realized the bottom five feet or so of the wall were a shade darker than the rest. Cautiously, I reached out one hand and touched it gently. My fingers slipped in something oily. What was that? It smelled familiar. Thoughtfully, I rubbed my fingers together. Olive oil?

  I’d have to get up in the air on my own. I jumped and grabbed the rope as high as I could. My feet groped for a knot. If only I were seven feet tall, this would be much easier.

  When I was about a third of the way up, a few feet away, Ariana scrambled up the rope as easily as if it were a ladder. Stupid upper body strength. She trained to do that for a movie. How was that fair?

  It doesn’t need to be fair, Jen, I reminded myself. It needs to be entertaining. Hopefully, America enjoyed watching me struggle up the wall.

  All too soon, another whistle blew. Ed was on the course.

  Finally, I hauled myself on to the top of that stupid wall. Behind me, Ed had already started to climb. I’d lost my head start. If I managed to survive another week, push-ups would have to become part of my routine.

  Stairs at the end of the wall made it easier to get down. I sprinted to the next challenge. When I saw it, I nearly doubled over laughing.

  We each had a large toy box, crammed full of stuff. On top of mine, I spied dress-up clothes, Operation, blocks, and a stuffed horse. A sign located near a few feet away informed me that we had to remove each item and carry it to a rotating platform ten feet away. When the trunks were empty, we’d have to retrieve the items from the platform and repack everything so the box closed.

  I smiled as a memory hit me.

  “How on earth did you do that?” Dominic asked.

  I stood in front of the open freezer, empty grocery bags strewn about the floor. There wasn't a single square inch of space left, but, somehow, every last item fit in there.

  “It’s a gift,” I laughed. “Just don’t touch anything or it will all come falling out.”

  “I can’t touch anything?” Dominic wiggled his eyebrows at me. With a seductive smile, he reached out with one arm and grabbed me around the waist, pulling me close—

  Spurred by the memory, I grabbed the top item from the green trunk and began trotting back and forth. Just as I finished emptying my toy box, a triumphant shout arose from Ariana’s direction.

  “I got it!”

  Already?

  I swiveled around to see how she’d done. The lid hovered several inches above the top of the box. Several items teetered on the lid, and a strand of costume jewelry dragged on the ground.

  Ed worked on the black trunk next to me. He also stared at Ariana’s overstuffed toy box.

  “Do we tell her she didn’t do it right?” I asked.

  “Leave her,” Ed suggested. “She won’t come back, and Justin and Rachel are right behind us. We need to keep moving. Either the producers will penalize her for not completing the challenge, or we’ll know the show is rigged because she’s prettier than we are.”

  “Well, that’s certainly comforting.”

  When I finally closed my lid, Ed was trying to figure out what to do with a child’s fishing pole, and Justin and Rachel had started restocking their trunks. No sign of Birdie or Abram. I hoped Ariana hadn’t already won.

  The next station involved huge tires to flip, end over end, across a length of grass roughly the size of a football field. At one point, Justin passed me. Slowly and steadily, I plodded along, trying not to admire the view of his butt moving down the field.

  Next, we used magnetic fishing poles to locate colored “fish” in the pond. As I scoured for green fish, I spied one of Ariana’s silver fish floating near the bottom.

  She was definitely going to finish first, but would she win?

  When
I crossed the finish line, sweat poured down my back. Breath escaped me in pants, and my knees felt ready to collapse. Ariana sat in a lounge chair with her feet up, sipping something with an umbrella in it. She’d already changed into clean clothes and redone her makeup. She could have been Queen of the Yard.

  If I hadn’t seen her out there on the course, I never would’ve guessed she’d done an obstacle course. How long had she been finished? Did she complete any of the tasks? Or did she head back to the house as soon as we couldn’t see her?

  I stepped out of the way just as Ed barreled across the finish line behind me. Accepting a cup of water from the producers with a grateful smile, I walked in a circle, trying to bring my heart rate back to normal. Justin paced nearby; I’d never managed to catch him. Rachel was nowhere in sight. We’d been neck-and-neck near the end of the fishing challenge, but she’d gotten completely stuck trying to get her last fish, so I raced ahead.

  A moment later, Justin noticed Ariana. The look on his face must have mirrored my own. He walked over to me and spoke in hushed tones.

  “She didn’t get all her fish.”

  “I saw that! Do you think they’ll do anything?” I asked, meaning the producers.

  He shrugged. “It creates drama. They like drama. They’ll wait to see if someone calls her out. I know you hate her, but don’t do it. The fans love her.”

  “And they hate me,” I said miserably.

  “We don’t know that. But for some reason, you’re not a fan favorite. If you want to win, you don’t necessarily want to be the one throwing drama at her all the time. Leave that to someone else.”

  My mouth opened to argue with him, but movement over his shoulder caught my attention. I squinted into the sunlight.

  “Is that them?” I trailed off, uncertain of what I was seeing.

  One hand shading my eyes helped a little. Although still about twenty feet away, the silhouette could only be Abram’s large frame. He walked funny. No, it couldn’t be.