by Julie Murphy
Outside of the Rocky movies, I have next to no knowledge of boxing, but I figured I couldn’t go wrong in lace-up espadrilles and a black gingham romper.
Beck stands in the middle of the ring on a stepladder, shouting directions through a microphone. “Mallory—wave, Mallory!”
Behind her, Mallory waves limply.
“Mallory,” Beck continues, “will be your point of direction. If Mallory motions for you to cheer, you cheer. If she’s telling you to be quiet, I don’t want to hear you so much as breathe. You hear me?”
Stacy leans over and whispers, “Is it weird that bossy Beck is a turn-on?”
I laugh. “Don’t make me ship you two.”
On the other side of me, Anna abruptly announces, “I need to pee. Can a producer take me to pee?”
Mallory sighs and dutifully begins to climb under the ropes. On the way here, Wes gave us a very serious lecture about trying to talk to extras or anyone else we saw while we were out, and we were expressly told not to go anywhere alone.
“I got her,” says Zeke, jogging toward us. He helps Anna to her feet and guides her toward the restrooms.
Stacy groans. “Man, these people will not give us any breathing room. I feel like we’re on a leash.”
I nod. “They don’t want us finding out what’s actually going on in the real world or how we’re being portrayed. Do you ever feel like we’re a bunch of lab rats?” I ask.
She snorts. “Too real.”
After a few minutes, Anna hurries back, out of breath and a little sweaty. “Sorry, they made me go all the way out to the porta-potties. It took forever and it smelled gross.”
I sniff her hair. “You still smell like bubble gum, so at least there’s that.”
A super-ripped announcer dressed like a referee with tattoos running up and down his bulging arms takes the stage.
“That guy looks like a walking advertisement for steroids,” I whisper.
From a few feet away, Wes gives me a we-can-all-hear-you look.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the referee/announcer says into a microphone hanging from the rafters, “my name is Tony Danger and I’ll be your MC and referee for the evening. Tonight, we’ve got two fierce competitors. First, though, I’d like to bring up my special guest, Henry Mackenzie, to introduce them.”
Mallory throws her arms up in the air, and the whole crowd cheers as Henry jogs up the aisle in a snug pair of jeans, a gray T-shirt, and a leather jacket.
“Good evening, everyone,” he says as Tony Danger steps aside. “And thanks, Tony.”
“You got it, man.”
“I would like to introduce you to two women who could single-handedly kick my ass, Druscilla the Destroyer and Holly GoBiteMe!” Henry steps aside and out of the ring to sit next to Addison at the end of our aisle.
Two women, both covered in tattoos and wearing padded headpieces, mouth guards, shin guards, tiny metallic spandex shorts, and matching sports bras, race down the aisles to cheers and boos as they bounce into the ring. A whole crew of hype people with water bottles and first-aid kits race behind them.
Anna leans over. “Is that guy rolling out a cart of pillows?”
Behind the women and their posses, there is indeed a scrawny-looking guy with a whole pile of pillows.
On the other side of Stacy, Sara Claire gasps. “Oh my Lord, is this an actual pillow fight?”
“Like a slumber party pillow fight?” I ask.
Stacy leans back and nods. “Some girls on my Roller Derby team do pillow fight matches during the off-season.”
“You play Roller Derby?” I ask.
Sara Claire shakes her head in awe. “Yeah, could you be any more badass?”
My eyes flick up to Sara Claire. It’s the first time since the elimination two nights ago that she and I have shared a conversation outside of the occasional excuse me and good night.
Anna’s jaw drops. “Is this pillow thing like some kind of weird internet thing?”
I choke on a laugh.
Stacy smiles widely. “I mean, I guess it could be.”
“Hell,” says Sara Claire, “people will pay for anything these days. You know, I worked with a client who was a state congresswoman, and she had to start cropping her feet out of photos because they kept popping up on websites dedicated to feet.”
Anna giggles, and then muses, “I bet there’s some good money in that.”
We spend the next thirty minutes watching two grown women beat the crap out of each other with pillows. I’m about as subtle as an elephant in a library as I try to catch glimpses of Henry sitting down at the end of the row next to Addison. She laughs way too loudly at everything he says and paws at him shamelessly. At least I’m not alone, though. With our numbers dwindling, every girl in this row is wondering if she’ll be next. After this, eliminations will only be one or two people at a time, but it’s impossible to feel safe, especially after knowing I was so close to the chopping block the other night.
With every glance in Henry’s direction, I hope for some sort of nod or smile—some kind of sign that tells me I didn’t make up our late-night/early-morning conversation.
I guess my brush with elimination and talking to Henry made me sure of one thing: I want to be here. And it’s not just for the money or the connections. That terrifies me, but it’s true.
Feathers fly, drifting slowly down as the two women in the ring absolutely wallop each other. In the end, Holly GoBiteMe lands the final blow and drops down onto Druscilla the Destroyer, pinning her to the mat.
“We’ve got our winner,” Tony Danger calls as he pumps Holly’s fist into the air. “Now it’s time for a little bit of audience participation.” He looks to all of us in the front row. “Ladies, any volunteers? Which of you will fight for Henry’s love?”
We all look from one to another, and I get the feeling that no one is too eager to take on this challenge.
Suddenly Addison bolts to her feet.
Maybe it’s the adrenaline from just having watched two grown women beat each other senseless with pillows, or maybe it’s the memory of what Beck told me last night about how much people are really rallying around me, or maybe it’s simply Henry, but whatever it is, I’m on my feet and challenging Addison before any other woman can even raise her hand.
“We’ve got our challengers!” Tony echoes into the microphone.
“Cut!” someone shouts.
Before I know what’s happening, Zeke and Mallory are ushering Addison and me outside to where the trailers are parked. I glance over my shoulder to see Anna holding up two thumbs, and Henry watching us with a furrowed brow.
Irina is waiting for us in a dressing room trailer with a rack of nightgowns and lingerie.
“Really?” I ask.
She shrugs. “If you’re going to have a pillow fight, you should at least wear a nightie.” Swiping through the rack with discernment, she hands Addison something to try on, and after some frustration and a few grunts, she hands me—
“A housedress?” I ask. “Really?” I’m talking a long floral housedress with snap buttons and pockets on the front. Now, I’m a human girl, so of course I appreciate pockets on a dress, but every other thing on this rack is cute and sexy. I can’t walk out there in this muumuu (which I’m pretty sure still has crumbs in the pockets from the last person who wore it) and expect to win against Addison. This isn’t just about who can take who out. This is about who can charm the crowd and, subsequently, Henry.
Addison emerges from behind the dressing curtain in a pink silk pajama set with black piping around the legs, arms, and collar. The top is buttoned down low enough to show just a hint of her lace bra, and the shorts show the very bottom of her ass cheek. To be honest, it’s more skin than I would want to show, but how is there not any middle ground between sexy silk pajamas that you wouldn’t actually want to sleep in and your grandmother’s favorite muumuu?
I look down at Irina’s offering once more. “This is really all you have?”
&
nbsp; She nods.
“You know I’m on the show. You’ve known since you met me at my house, and you couldn’t at least prepare for the possibility that you might have to clothe me?”
She shrugs, her lip curled. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t think you’d make it this far.”
Addison smirks as she pulls her hair into two girlish pigtails at the top of her head. “Just put it on. You’ll look fine.”
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter.
I don the housecoat, and when I emerge, Irina hands me a pair of bunny slippers. “You match,” she says, pointing to Addison, who is, yes, wearing bunny slippers, but on her it’s cute in a sweet way. Whereas I look like someone’s aunt with twelve too many cats.
“I can’t wear these,” I say as we walk back inside. “I’d rather go barefoot.”
Irina shrugs. “Suit yourself.”
Then I remember what Sara Claire said about that politician and her feet, and I stop in my tracks to slide the slippers on.
In the ring, Druscilla and Holly help us into headgear and pads.
“Any tips?” I ask Druscilla.
“Go for the legs. Knock her down and then throw your body on top of hers. You look like you’ve got some muscle. She looks like she could pop an implant, so use that to your favor.” She stops herself. “Not that there’s anything wrong with implants. My girlfriend has fake boobs and—”
I laugh. “It’s okay. I get it.” I nod. “Thanks.”
“Do you like this girl?” she whispers.
I pause for a second and shake my head. “Not at all.”
“Even better,” she says. “Think about all the reasons why you can’t stand her and let the pillow do the rest.”
She leans in. “We had to sign all kinds of waivers about what we can and can’t say before they hired us, so I probably shouldn’t say this, but I’m a fan.” She winks.
I grin, and she shoves a mouthpiece into my mouth. “Kick her ass.”
“You got it, coach,” I try to say through the plastic in my mouth, but it sounds more like you got a roach.
Druscilla crawls through the ropes and grabs me a pillow. “Your weapon, my lady.”
In the other corner, Addison bounces, the pigtails dancing around her shoulders as her lips curl into a snarl.
Oh yeah. I can totally do this.
“Ladies,” Tony says into his microphone in a smarmy voice. “I want a clean fight. No scratching or hair pulling. I don’t want to see fists, elbows, knees, or feet flying. Pillow contact only. First girl to pin for ten seconds wins.”
We both nod, and I think Addison actually grunts at me.
Tony steps out of the ring, and the bell barely finishes ringing before Addison lunges toward me and takes the first swing right to my head. I double backward and fall into the ropes. The crowd lets out a low ohhhh.
Not exactly how I’d hoped to start this match.
“Geez, Addison,” I say through the mouth guard.
She shrugs. “I’m just playing by the ru—”
With the pillow clenched in my fist, I hit her hard, right in the stomach, causing her to stumble out of her bunny slippers. “Me too,” I tell her.
She lets out a wild growling, shrieking sound and runs right for me. At the very last second, I jump out of the way, leaving her to bounce against the ropes.
Her face is red and angry. Now I’ve done it. Now I’ve really pissed her off.
We circle each other, waiting for the other to make a move or show the slightest sign of vulnerability.
But then I remember what Druscilla told me about using my feelings toward Addison, and it all comes boiling to the surface. The way she called me brave, like I deserved a cookie for having the nerve to be a fat girl in a pretty dress. The way she uses all the girls in the house like chess pieces. The way she acts like this competition was over before it even started.
I let out a guttural Viking-style scream and run at her full force. She ducks a moment too soon, thinking that I’m going for her head, but instead I slide across the mat and take her out at the knees just like Druscilla said I should. Before she has a second to move, I throw my body down on top of her. She wiggles beneath my weight, but Tony is already mid-count.
“Seven, six, five…”
“Get off me, you cow!” Addison says just loudly enough for me to hear.
I grin down at her as I take out my mouthpiece. “Just playing by the rules. Moo, bitch. Moo.”
“We have a winner!” Tony Danger calls. He pulls me to my feet, and I hold out a hand for Addison, but she ignores me.
I bounce with excitement. I feel like I could punch a hole through the roof.
“What’s your name, girly?” he whispers.
“Cindy,” I tell him.
“Ladies and gents,” he says in his announcer voice, “I give you Cindy Clawford!”
“Cindy, Cindy, Cindy, Cindy!” the crowd begins to chant.
Henry steps up into the ring with a dozen roses in his arms and pulls me in for a hug. “You’re quite the wild card,” he tells me as he hands me the flowers and presses a kiss to my cheek.
I turn my head so that his lips graze mine. “You like the granny look?” I ask breathlessly. I feel on top of the world, like I’ve just solved global warming, fixed the health care system, and I still have time to read a good book and put on a face mask before bed. I am invincible.
“Very subversive,” he says, his eyes tilted down toward mine and my body still pressed against his.
I’m not a first-move kind of girl. Not because I don’t want to be or because I think there’s anything wrong with it, but because I’ve never been courageous enough. The fear of rejection has always pinned me in place, waiting for the guy to go out on a limb first. But I’ve come all this way, and if I go home tomorrow night without having kissed Henry Mackenzie, I’ll wonder for the rest of my life what could have been.
I tilt my head just a millimeter closer, and just like that, our lips are pressed together. His mouth moves effortlessly against mine, and he pulls me in closer to him, wrapping his arm around my waist. My mouth opens for a brief second, and it’s just enough for his tongue to dance against mine.
The crowd cheers, and we pull away from each other slowly, our lips touching until the very last second, like we’re two intoxicated teenagers drunk on each other.
Back at the house, I take a shower while Addison announces that she’s moving into Chloe’s room.
“I guess she couldn’t handle the heat,” Sara Claire says when I return wrapped in my towel.
“Guess not.”
“Pretty steamy moment there with you and Henry, huh? You know,” she says, “it’s a competition and I want to stay here for as long I can, but I want us to be friends too.”
I nod as I sit down on the edge of my bed. “I want that too.”
“We just gotta be real with each other about the fact that we both want the same thing.”
“God, this is so weird,” I tell her.
She’s about to respond, when the doorbell echoes through the house.
The date invitation. It’s here.
We both run out the door and down the stairs, and I nearly slip on the last step, but I’m still first to the door.
I swing it open and find Mallory waiting there with an envelope. I take it and slam the door in her face, immediately feeling a camera at my back.
“Rude,” I hear her say on the other side.
“Sorry!” I call.
Well, I hope being on television straight out of the shower in a tiny towel is on the Before Midnight bingo card, because here I am with two cameras on me and a crowd of girls circling me.
I rip past the wax seal in the shape of a scroll to read the invitation.
“Come on,” Chloe says. “Read it aloud!”
Addison slinks down the stairs, her hips swiveling with each step.
I pull the card from the envelope and begin to read. My heart sinks. “‘Dear Addison…’”
&
nbsp; “Shit, shit, shit!” I hear someone mumbling as they stomp down the hallway outside of my bedroom as I lie curled in my bed with a fresh blank sketch pad page teasing me.
Although I can see Addison out of the corner of my eye, I refuse to acknowledge her standing there in the frame of my bedroom door.
She clears her throat.
“Hi, Addison,” I say without looking up from the page, like I’m actually working on something. “Is there something I can help you with?”
She walks in and hovers above me.
I hold the sketch pad to my chest because it turns out pretending to work on a totally blank page is deeply embarrassing.
“Uh, yeah, actually,” she says in the most normal voice I’ve ever heard her use. “I heard you went to, like, sewing school or whatever.”
“I wouldn’t call it sewing school, but yes, I know how to sew if that’s what you’re asking. What’s the problem?”
She pouts, and her eyes are a little glassy, like she might actually cry. Pulling her long, perfectly straight hair over her shoulder, she turns around to show me that the zipper of her curve-hugging champagne minidress is split right up the back. “Irina dressed me in this super-expensive dress and I guess the stupid zipper was, like, defective, and now the whole crew is waiting outside and so is Henry and—”
“Why don’t you just go ask Irina for help?” I ask.
“She might already be mad at me for…” She mumbles the rest, her chin resting on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry. What did you just say?”
“For refusing to wear the first fourteen options.”
“Are you serious? This isn’t your wedding dress or something.”
She turns around, her arms flapping. “Can you help me or not?”
I don’t want to. I really, really don’t want to, but I’m like a moth to a flame when it comes to a fashion emergency. And even though I truly doubt that karma is real, ditching awful, manipulative Addison in her hour of need is pretty mean. Even for her.
