Something Real

by Heather Demetrios

  When I speak, my voice is firm, resolute. “Let’s go on strike.”

  * * *

  Monday at school is brutal. I’d thought it was bad before, but now I feel like we’re animals at the zoo, everyone staring at us and nowhere to hide. There are no made-for-TV movie events, nothing as dramatic as Benny getting pushed up against a locker, but there are a lot of ugly looks thrown his way, especially from Matt’s team. Even my teachers are acting weird. Matt is nowhere to be seen—none of us have any classes with him, and Benny hasn’t been able to get ahold of him because of the cell phone issue with his parents. Now he’s not even sure if they’re still together. My heart twists when I see his face after fifth period. I realize with a start that I haven’t seen my usually happy-go-lucky brother smile in nearly a week. By the time we near the caf to grab lunch, we’ve slowed down to a crawl. Almost by mutual psychic agreement, we stop a few feet away from the wide double doors the rest of the school is streaming into.

  “Dude, I don’t think I can go in there,” he says.

  I think back to what Diane Le Shrink said to me about ditching. What the hell—it’s for a good cause.

  “Let’s go to the Tower District. I’ll get you some gelato from Vicenti.”

  “’Kay,” he mumbles. He doesn’t even look up as he turns toward the parking lot. His moping is giving Eeyore a run for his money. I, however, do not have my eyes on the ground. I stop. I blink. I grin.

  Matt’s striding toward us up the hallway, wearing a bright red shirt with the words I LOVE MY BOYFRIEND on the front.

  “Holy shit,” I say.

  Benny looks up, then just stares at Matt, his mouth half open. Matt doesn’t stop as he nears; he grabs Benny’s face and kisses him with so much love, so much unrestrained passion, that I can’t help but blush. Then Tessa and Mer show up out of nowhere and start whooping and hollering. People gather around, some clapping and whistling, others looking on in disgust or shock. For a second, I clench my fists, ready to take on anyone who’s going to give them shit, but the whole hallway starts filling with cheers and good-natured catcalls. The haters are few and far between. Someone—I can’t tell who—yells “faggots,” but they’re drowned out by the crowd. Phone cameras flash, and for once, it doesn’t bother me. Because this should be front-page news.

  Matt pulls away and kisses Benny’s nose. “Benton™ Andrew Baker, will you go to the winter formal with me?”

  Benny’s smile is dazzling. He kisses Matt back.

  “Is that a yes?” someone shouts.

  Benny pulls away. “Yes!”

  I don’t even know I’m crying until Patrick’s fingers gently sweep across my cheeks. I look up at him, and he smiles his Patrick smile, all crooked and mysterious. He doesn’t seem remotely surprised that my brother and his boyfriend have just made national headlines.

  “Did you play any part in this?” I ask. His warm brown-gold eyes hold just a tad more mischief in them than usual.

  He shrugs. “My dad’s friend owns a T-shirt shop.”

  I throw my arms around him. “I love you so much,” I whisper.

  He squeezes me tighter. “Damn. I knew I should have gotten one of those shirts in your size.”

  I pull away. “What about Matt’s parents?”

  Patrick sighs. “They suck. But Matt basically told them they’d better get used to having Ben in the family.”

  “That’s pretty badass.” I watch Matt twirl Benny around, as if they are already on the dance floor. “What’d his parents say to that?”

  “That they would pray for him to see his sin clearly.” Patrick smiles. “So Matt said he’d pray for them, too, that they would learn to love Ben as much as he does. Then he said he had to—and I quote—‘see a boy about a dance.’”

  “Amen,” I murmur.

  Lunch turns into a celebration—I’ve never seen Benny so happy. He’s glowing, lit up from within. After all those months of hiding how they feel about each other, the separate lunches, the rough-guy hand-slaps and what-up-bro’s instead of the gentle caresses they give each other now … I can already tell the weight of the world has been lifted off my brother’s shoulders.

  “This is what life could be like without MetaReel,” I murmur, watching them. We’re outside on the quad, basking in the unseasonably warm weather.

  Patrick wraps his arms around me, and I lean into him, my back against his chest. “We’re gonna have that, you know,” he says. “A life without MetaReel.”

  I’m not sure if I shiver because of the way he nuzzles my neck or from the word we.

  “I know,” I say. And for the first time, I can actually see that life. It’s not so far away. Maybe only a few weeks away, if I can get up the courage to move out.

  “After graduation, we can just … ride into the sunrise,” he says.

  “The sunrise?”

  His lips twitch. “If we ride into the sunset, we’d wind up in the middle of the Pacific.”

  “Just my luck,” I mutter.

  “Screw luck.” He leans down and gives me a spearmint-flavored kiss. “We’ll make our own.”

  The last two classes of the day are impossible to concentrate in because I’m more convinced than ever that what Benny and I need is a little pièce de résistance to bring Chuck to his knees. Matt’s bravery was a big statement. We need something like that—we have to wake people up. Patrick and I pass notes back and forth all during gov about it, and I tell everyone to meet me in the gym after school for some strategizing.

  Once there, I lay out my ideas.

  “This is your influence, isn’t it?” Benny gives Patrick a pointed look, but Patrick holds up his hands.

  “It was all her idea. I just supplied a few suggestions.”

  “Whatever, Che Guevara,” Benny says. I don’t buy his grouchiness for a second. For one, he’s still beaming.

  I can’t sit still, so I stand up and pace up and down the empty basketball court. After an hour in the stuffy space, I’ve already become immune to its scent of blood, sweat, and tears. Tessa is lying on the polished floor, her head resting on her backpack. Patrick is reclining against the bleachers, and Matt’s sitting next to Benny, holding his hand. Mer had to leave right after school for her NYU audition, which is unfortunate because I need some of her all-caps exuberance right now.

  “This is probably illegal,” Benny says. “I mean, we can’t just destroy really expensive equipment and get away with it. Plus, Mom would murder us. It would be, like, the first homicide in the history of reality television. And it’ll be live. Children across the nation will be scarred for life.”

  This Tuesday, Baker’s Dozen has its second live episode. We’ll be going back to LA for a special red carpet event: the annual Ultimate Reality™ Expo. This is where stars from reality TV flock to congratulate themselves on this year’s brain rot performances. Not only will our crew be there for the live episode, but so will all the major news networks and, of course, the Vultures.

  “Sabotage during a live show is far more effective than sabotage that can end up on the cutting room floor,” I say. I’d been itching to slice through more camera cords for weeks now.

  “I’m deeply concerned about having a criminal record,” says Benny.

  “Chicken?” I ask.

  “Um. Yes? I think it’s sane to be worried about vandalizing private property when someone’s recording your every move.”

  Patrick drums his fingers against the bleachers absentmindedly, the dull thuds creating an impromptu percussion with the pen that Tessa taps against her thigh.

  Tap, thud, tap, thud, thud.

  “I think whatever you do, you should make sure to let the press know what’s going on,” Tessa says.

  I hug my arms to my chest. “I really don’t want to be in the news more than I have to be.”

  “But if you guys just pull pranks, people are going to think you’re doing it for the attention,” Matt counters.

  “Says the man with the I LOVE MY BOYFRIEND T-shirt,
” I say. He blushes, and Benny kisses his cheek.

  “I agree with Matt and Tessa,” Patrick says. “I think you have to back it up with something. Otherwise, MetaReel’s just going to use it to sensationalize the show. No one will know why you’re doing what you’re doing.”

  “Hell, no.” Benny hits his hand against the bleachers. “We are not doing those bastards any favors.”

  We sit there, thinking and breathing resistance. The gym becomes so silent, it’s loud. Loud.

  I stop pacing. “What if we took a vow of silence?” I ask.

  “When?” Benny asks.

  “At the Ultimate Reality™ press conference.”

  Benny’s eyes light up. “Like we don’t talk the whole time we’re there, even if people are asking us questions?”

  “Yeah. Pretty much.”

  “Excellent!” Patrick says. “My girlfriend is a revolutionary genius!”

  I can’t hide my pleased grin. It’s pretty brilliant, if I do say so myself.

  “Can’t they just edit it out?” Matt asks.

  Benny shakes his head. “It’s gonna be a live episode during our press conference and book signing and then the rest of the day is streaming live on MetaReel.com. Plus, all the other networks will be there.”

  “That’s so badass,” says Tessa. “What can we do to help?”

  My stomach’s already tying itself into knots, but I ignore it. I have to—otherwise I won’t be able to do what I’m about to do in precisely forty-eight hours.

  “Do you have any duct tape?”

  SEASON 17, EPISODE 27

  (The One with the Duct Tape)

  I check my outfit in the bathroom mirror one more time, resisting the urge to throw up. I know this is right, and it’s going to be a defining moment in my life, but I so want to wimp out. I’ve been hiding in one of the greenroom bathrooms, waiting for Benny to meet me before we join our family for the Baker’s Dozen press conference. This is our first event of the convention. After this, we have the book signings and then the red carpet before the Ultimate Reality™ Awards. I’m wearing Tessa’s anti-TV Hello Kitty shirt for luck and I finger the note Patrick had slipped into my hand when I said good-bye to him after school yesterday. I don’t need to read it again, but I take it out one more time, just to see his handwriting.

  Gloaming. Paperweight. Yawp. Chloe.

  My name added to his list of favorite words reminds me of who I am. I am brazen.

  A knock sounds on the door. “It’s me,” Benny says, his voice low.

  I open it, and he scurries inside, looking about as jittery as I do.

  “I threw up. Just now. I couldn’t help it,” he says.

  “That’s okay. I’m nervous too.”

  “Mom’s going to lose her shit.” Benny doesn’t seem too sad about this.

  I bite the inside of my cheek, a nervous habit that has left my skin raw. “I wonder what Dad will do. He’s got to be watching.”

  It shouldn’t matter, but I want him to see this. I want him to take responsibility for what our lives have come to.

  Benny crosses to my backpack and roots around inside, pulling out the scissors I brought for us. The duct tape is on his wrist, dangling like a tacky bracelet.

  His voice is hard and very un–Benny-like. “Well, if he really cared, he would have called.”

  He hands me my phone. I dial Tessa’s number. Tessa—whose internship last summer at the San Joaquin Times has suddenly become very useful, not to mention that her dad’s a reporter for the Fresno Bee. She picks up on the first ring.

  “The ads for the show are playing nonstop. It says it’s going to be on”—she makes her voice manly—“after these few messages.”

  I try to laugh, but it just catches in my throat.

  “Ready?” she asks.

  I pause, a diver poised on the edge of the board.

  “Yep.”

  “Love you,” she says.

  “You too.”

  I look over at Benny. “She’ll tell her dad now.”

  I get a text from Mer just as I hang up:

  Down with Big Brother, girlfriend.

  Only Mer can do a Valley Girl rendition of 1984. I wonder if she’s watching from the airport.

  The tape makes a sharp sucking noise as he pulls it away from the roll.

  “Any last words?”

  I smile. “Dismiss whatever insults your own soul.” He arches an eyebrow. “Whitman. Not a poem, just something he said. You like?”

  “Damn. Raise the bar, why don’t you?”

  He brings the tape closer to my mouth. “Wait!” I stop his hand. “I have to say it again if they’re really going to be my last words.” He rolls his eyes and waves his hand for me to proceed. “Dismiss whatever insults your own soul.”

  And then I feel the tape against my lips.

  * * *

  The convention center is huge, filled with booths for each show, food vendors, and public audition sites. Screens are set up all around the perimeter, broadcasting different reality TV shows. Loud music plays, the kind you hear before a basketball game, and there are cameras everywhere: an Orwellian hell.

  It’s eight P.M., and the place is packed. We pass the casts of Hit Squad (a creepy show that has former Navy SEALs leading teams of Joe Schmos in paintball wars) and Birth Mother (where women who are giving up their babies for adoption look for the “perfect match”). They’re both holding auditions in the same area, and it’s weird to see a long line of pregnant women and Rambo types chatting with one another. In another corner, a runway is set up and girls from Model Life walk up and down it. I can smell something delicious over by the Head Chef booth, and there’s Jake Pyers, host of Landlord Wars.

  MetaReel’s “press room” is situated in the center of the convention’s huge floor. There’s a pretty big crowd assembled, full of Vultures, news stations, and reporters from major magazines and newspapers. There are also a ton of fans, some with signs that have our names on them. Hundreds of people. At first, nobody notices Benny and me as we file onto the little stage with our siblings and take our seats behind a long table. There are cards with our names facing out to the press and a small microphone for each of us. I’m terrified to look up. My heart feels like it wants to break through my chest, and I take big, loud breaths through my nose, wanting so badly to rip the tape off my mouth so that I can get some air into my lungs. I can’t believe I’m doing this.

  “Hello, everyone!” says a too-tan guy at the edge of the stage nearest Benny and me—the moderator. He’s got a microphone in his hand and is wearing a MetaReel T-shirt. “Tonight we’ve got the cast of Baker’s Dozen: Fresh Batch with us. Give it up for MetaReel’s biggest stars!”

  As the crowd behind the press goes wild, we both look up. I quickly put my hair into a ponytail so the tape is totally visible. I’ve never felt so exposed in all my life.

  At first, there are just a few gasps in the audience, but as more and more people notice us, the crowd’s relative buzz turns into a roar. Instantly, the Vultures congregate toward our end of the table, pushing and shoving one another to get the best shot. Dozens of them call out my name, telling me to look over here, look up, Bonnie™! Bonnie™! Bonnie™!

  Lexie™ is sitting three chairs down from me, on my left, and she leans forward and looks toward us, her eyes widening when she sees our faces. “Oh. My. God.”

  Her mic’s on, so it comes out loud and clear. I’d smile, but I can’t with the tape on.

  The light from the cameras is blinding but, for once, I’m delighted to see them. Instead of shying away, I stare right at the lenses, daring them to capture me. Catch me if you can. The fans at the back hold up cell phones like it’s a rock concert—clickclickclickclickclickclickclick.

  I lock eyes with Benny, and he grabs my hand and squeezes it—his palms are just as sweaty as mine. I’ve never loved my brother so much in my whole life. Seeing that tape across his mouth makes this feel more real to me than anything else; it’s a scary ima
ge, violent almost. It makes you think of kidnappers.

  I can see our camera crew set up at different stations around the press area, each lens representing approximately four million people. That’s twelve million pairs of eyes, not to mention the dozens of non-MetaReel cameras. I can almost hear the gasps and cackles in living rooms all over the country. People saying, Hurry, get in here—you have to see this! Journalists calling their editors. Bloggers gleefully type-type-typing away. My classmates texting, updating their statuses. Patrick, Tessa, Matt, Mer watching us with clammy palms, their hearts beating almost as hard as mine. Brazen, Brazen, Brazen.

  Mom’s beside us in an instant. “Bonnie™ … what’s … Benton™…” Her voice changes from startled confusion to low growl. “Take that tape off this instant.”

  My mic catches her voice, and I see Chuck make a frantic motion with his hands, but nobody turns the mic off. Lacey Production Assistant stands next to him, looking like she’s about to go into cardiac arrest.

  Mom’s eyes are deer-in-headlights big as Benny and I shake our heads. She shoots Chuck an anxious glance, but he can’t do anything from his post by the stairs. It wouldn’t be good for our illusion of reality if the producer started stage-managing us. She holds up her hands like, I don’t know what to do.

  We are a PR disaster.

  Some of my siblings start to giggle, but Kirk silences them with a hiss. Mom reaches up to rip the tape off my face, but I jerk back, shaking my head hard enough for the people in the back row of the press corps to see. I clutch the piece of paper in my hand and hold it up for the audience before I hand it to the guy who’s moderating our press conference. It says PLEASE READ.

  The night before, Tessa and I had worked out a press release, basically a letter to the world explaining why Benny and I are taking a vow of silence. It’s a pretty awesome manifesto, and I feel a surge of hell, yeah! as I hand it over, knowing it’s already being sent to the Associated Press via Mr. Lee, Tessa’s dad. The moderator hesitates before he opens it, like it’s going to bite him. His smile is still frozen on his face, and he looks back at Chuck, but Chuck’s too busy yelling into his phone.