Charlotte’s and Jim’s eyes widen simultaneously, like it’s a choreographed dance. They look at each other behind the camera and exchange a series of barely discernible nods. “Get Keith in here,” Charlotte calls to the production assistant. “He’s going to want to see this.” The PA nods his shellacked head and leaves the room.
When he’s gone, Jim says, “How do you know about Samir’s participation in the race? If he broke the nondisclosure agreement, that’s a serious violation.”
For a second, I’m afraid this might be enough to get Samir kicked off the show—that would be pretty good revenge in and of itself, but nobody would get to see us humiliate him. Fortunately, Miranda just shrugs. “He never explicitly told me anything, but I knew he was auditioning, and now he’s suddenly going to be gone for a month. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”
This seems to satisfy Jim. “And why did you choose Claire to be your partner for the race?”
I’m about to say, “The whole thing was my idea, actually,” but Miranda chimes in first. “Claire’s completely obsessed with reality TV. You wouldn’t believe how much time she spends watching it, and she remembers everything she sees—she has an amazing mind for trivia. She may not be your typical charismatic contestant, but I think it’ll be good to have a partner with that kind of encyclopedic knowledge.”
That isn’t how I expected her to spin things, and I feel a stab of disappointment. Of course my store of TV trivia will come in handy, but I had hoped Miranda wanted me on the race with her because of who I am, not what I know.
Before I can respond, the PA comes back with a bearded man in a gray suit who’s carrying a cell phone in each hand. “Hold on, okay?” he says into one of them. Then, to Charlotte and Jim: “Make it quick. I’ve got a location scout on hold.”
“Keith,” Charlotte says, “I’d like you to meet Miranda Henderson, Samir Singh’s ex-girlfriend.” She doesn’t introduce me, which seems unfair.
Keith looks Miranda up and down, like she’s a show pony he’s thinking about buying, then turns and addresses Charlotte like we’re not even here. “Our Samir Singh?”
“That’s right.”
“Ex-girlfriend? Not girlfriend?”
“Yes, ex-girlfriend.”
“Recent breakup?”
“Three days ago.”
“Amicable?”
“No.”
“I hate Samir,” Miranda pipes up. “I swear, I’ll do anything to keep him from winning a million dollars.” It’s exactly the right thing to say. I shoot her a smile that says you’re doing great, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
Keith nods slowly. “Love it,” he says to Charlotte. “Good find.” Then he puts one of the phones back to his ear and leaves the room. “Where is the damn permit?” I hear him bark as the door shuts behind him. “The goats are nonnegotiable.”
“Keith Childs, one of our producers,” Charlotte explains.
“He’s a little ray of sunshine,” Jim adds, totally deadpan, and I giggle before I can help myself.
“So, Miranda and Claire, you’ve got a compelling reason for being here,” Charlotte says. “We obviously like your story. But we need to know if you’re serious about the race in addition to the revenge. It’s pretty challenging, both physically and mentally. Are you up for the adventure?”
“Definitely,” Miranda says. “I have tons of travel experience, and I’ve dealt with some pretty crazy stuff abroad. And Claire … well, she tends to play things a little safer, but I’m prepared to help her through and teach her everything I know.”
I feel my face going hot. For a minute, I struggle to think up a response other than I’m the only reason you’re even here. Why are you treating me like I’m five? But I can’t fight with my sister in front of Charlotte and Jim—we have to present a united front or they might think we’re problematic.
I finally find my voice again. “Fortunately, it, um, works both ways,” I say. “I’ve watched a lot of shows like Culture Shock and Supersonic Safari, so I’m the one who understands how the strategy of a race works. I have a lot to teach Miranda, too.” For example, don’t throw your partner under the bus in front of the casting team.
“Well, good,” Jim says. “You’re both bringing unique strengths to the table. That’s important.”
“That’s all we have time for right now, but we’d love to have you fill out some more extensive paperwork,” Charlotte says. “Can you stick around for a little while?”
“Absolutely,” I say. “We’d love to.”
“It was really good to meet you,” Miranda says. “We hope to see more of you soon.”
“Likewise.” Jim shakes our hands, and I pray mine doesn’t feel too sweaty. “Follow Brandon, and he’ll get you sorted out.”
As we follow the flammable PA through the Great Room, Miranda grabs my arm. “That was awesome!” she whispers. “I can’t believe this is actually working! They loved us!”
There are a lot of things I’d like to say to her, like I’m sorry, did you say us? Because you’re acting like you’re the only one here who matters. Supporting Miranda through this will be harder than I expected if this is how she’s going to act the whole time. But I don’t want to bring her down when she seems so happy and determined. So I remind myself that we’re on the same side, that we’re one step closer to reaching the goal we both want. Once we’re on the race, she’ll see how much I have to offer.
“You did great,” I say.
“It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be,” Miranda replies.
I try not to wish she had returned the compliment instead.
* * *
After dinner, Natalie and I sprawl on the couch in her aunt’s guest room and turn on a marathon of Derby Doctors, a show about ER physicians on roller skates. When I reach across her for the Cheez-Its, she grabs my arm and inspects the inside of my wrist. “Is that a phone number?” she asks. “Whose is it?”
I’d entered Will’s number into my phone and scrubbed the pen off the best I could in the hotel bathroom, but I should have known nothing would escape Nat. “Just this boy I met at the audition today.” Even saying it to my best friend makes a blush threaten to creep up my neck.
Natalie’s eyes widen with delight. “You didn’t say anything about boys earlier! Why are you holding out on me? Tell me everything.”
I shrug. “It’s really not that big a deal.”
“Yes it is! We’ve only been out of Braeburn two days and you’re already picking up guys! I knew you had it in you.”
The blush wins. “I didn’t pick him up!”
“Oh, so he picked you up? That’s even better!”
“Nobody picked anybody up! We were standing in line in front of him, and he was playing this trivia game on his phone, and he asked if I wanted to play. That’s all.”
“And you kicked his ass, right?”
I smile. “Five times.”
“That’s my girl. So what’s his name? When are you going out?”
“His name is Will Divine. He was cool, but it was really nothing. I’ll probably never even see him again.”
“How’d he do today? Maybe he’ll be at the next round of auditions.”
“No idea.”
Natalie rolls her eyes. “Well, text him and ask, woman! Why do you think he gave you his number?”
I swallow hard. “You really think I should?”
“You better, or I will.”
Nat lunges for my phone, but I manage to grab it first—there’s no way I’m letting her get involved in this. She’d probably send Will something like, Hey, hot stuff, wanna come over and play strip trivia? No matter who loses, we both win. Instead, I settle on:
ME: Hey, this is Claire from the audition. How’d you guys do today?
The moment I hit send, my heart starts pounding like it’s trying to escape from my chest. But five minutes later, he still hasn’t responded. “I don’t think he wants to talk to me,” I say. “He probabl
y has a girlfriend.”
But then my phone chimes.
WILL DIVINE: Hey! Good, I think. They made us fill out a bunch of paperwork. You?
Natalie squeals, and I shush her—I don’t want Miranda running in here and finding me all fluttery and ridiculous over a boy I barely know. “What do I do, what do I do?” I hiss.
“Act happy, but not too excited. And keep it simple. You don’t want to overwhelm him with your awesomeness this early in the game.”
I roll my eyes and type,
ME: Us too.
Moments later, my phone chimes again.
WILL DIVINE: Told you. I knew you had it in the bag.
Nat puts her hand over her heart and fake-swoons. “He believed in you, right from the very moment he saw you,” she says. “How divine.”
“Oh my God, shut up.” I giggle and shove her with my shoulder. “What now? Do I write back?”
“Type, ‘You were right,’ ” Nat says. “That way you’re saying, ‘You’re so smart’ and ‘Why, yes, I am awesome’ at the same time.”
“You’re really good at this.”
“I know,” Nat says. Modesty has never been one of her strong points.
I type it, and a minute later, Will writes back.
WILL DIVINE: Always am.
ME: Mm-hmm … except when it comes to pop culture trivia …
WILL DIVINE: Ooooh, burn. Just wait. I’m gonna take you down next time.
“Next time!” Natalie bounces up and down on the sofa. “He thinks there’s going to be a next time! He’s totally flirting with you!”
I spend a good five minutes typing and deleting things before I finally send:
ME: I’d rather fight you for a million dollars.
WILL DIVINE: Fingers crossed for both of us …
When I start to respond, Nat stops me. “That’s enough,” she says. “Leave him wanting more.”
She’s probably right. I don’t want to seem needy. So I put down the phone, turn back to the television, and hope that Will’s sitting in his own apartment somewhere, sighing wistfully and counting down the hours until he can see me again.
After our first audition, things happen surprisingly fast.
It only takes two days for Charlotte to call and say we’ve passed the network’s background check and that we’re moving on to the next round of auditions. Normally that would involve spending a week in Los Angeles, but everything is being fast-tracked since this is an emergency situation, so instead we’ll spend one more day with the producers in New York. The next round will involve a psychological screening, a multiple-choice personality test, and a physical exam, as well as a more comprehensive interview with the casting and production team. Just hearing all those words makes me feel like I have a drunk hummingbird crashing around inside my rib cage, but I want Miranda to see how cool and collected I can be, so I try to swallow down my nerves.
On audition day, we arrive at the Westside Hotel at 6:45 a.m., large coffees in hand. I don’t really need mine—my blood pressure is already sky-high from adrenaline and fear—but Miranda yawns hugely every few seconds and grips her cup like it’s a life raft. She was out late partying with a couple of her Middlebury friends last night, and I’m worried she’s going to be totally off her game today. I’m not sure I can do this if I can’t rely on her for backup.
“You ready?” I ask as we approach the hotel entrance.
“Totally,” she says. “As soon as I finish this coffee, I’ll be set.” But when she takes off her sunglasses to rub her eyes, she winces.
“I hope last night was worth it,” I say. I probably sound like a bitter old lady who shoos kids off her lawn, but it’s hard not to be a little cranky. Considering Miranda’s the whole reason we’re at these auditions, I shouldn’t be the only one taking them seriously.
“Oh God, it was totally worth it,” my sister says, missing the point entirely. “The Hangover Pandas played an amazing set, and the opening act was way better than I expected. They were called Threat Level Rainbow, and they had an electric violinist. We danced for, like, five hours. It was exactly what I needed to get my mind off everything. You should’ve come with us.”
Miranda doesn’t seem to realize that she didn’t actually invite me along—she flew out of Layla’s apartment last night with a breezy “Later!” leaving me in front of the TV like she always used to do in high school. But I just say, “Oh, great, dancing in a crowd of sweaty strangers. My favorite.”
Miranda tips her head way back and drains her coffee. “I don’t get it. How are you okay with being on national television, but you’re scared of dancing?”
“I’m not scared,” I snap. “I just don’t like it. That’s not the same thing. And it’s not like we’ll have to dance on the race. We’ll have to, like, ride in rickshaws and paddle kayaks and stack watermelons into pyramids. I don’t mind doing those things.”
We push through the glass doors and into the lobby. A long line of people—way more than I expected—leads up to a registration table, and nearly every team is wearing matching clothing. Oh God, did I miss something? Teams on race shows do tend to dress identically, but I had no idea people did it for auditions, too. Miranda’s wearing a flowy, sky-blue top and chunky brass jewelry, and I’m in a T-shirt depicting a Triceratops in a ninja mask. It’s like we’re trying to broadcast how little our insides match.
Then I notice something else about the teams around us: it’s not only the clothes that match, it’s the people inside them. I grab my sister’s arm. “Mira, am I going insane, or are we surrounded by identical twins?”
I see from my sister’s face that it’s not just me; the entire line is composed of about forty sets of twins. It’s the most surreal thing I’ve ever seen. The two girls in front of us are talking quietly with their heads bent close together, and when Miranda taps one of them on the shoulder, they spin around in unison, like they could both feel it. They have long, glossy black hair and huge anime eyes, and the way they move like perfect mirror images of each other is extremely unsettling. As they wait for my sister to speak, each tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, perfectly synchronized. It’s like they’ve spent hours rehearsing the gesture.
“Um, hey,” my sister says. “Are you guys waiting to audition for Around the World?”
The twins laugh in harmony, letting out exactly the same number of “ha’s.” One of them says, “No, this is the line for—”
“—Twin Cognito,” the other picks up. “There’s another audition going on—”
“—over there, though.” They point to our left.
Miranda looks incredibly creeped out. “Um, cool. Thanks.”
Both twins flip their hair over their shoulders. “No problem,” says one. “Hey, we really like your—”
“—bag. And where did you get those—”
“—shoes? They’re fabulous.” They don’t even seem to notice I’m here.
Miranda stares back at them in disbelief, and I finally say, “Hey, we have to go. Thanks for your help.” They smile, their heads tilting exactly the same number of degrees, then turn back around and resume their murmuring. They’re probably speaking in secret twin language.
“That was insane,” Miranda whispers as we head across the lobby. “What the hell is Twin Cognito?”
“It’s this show where identical twins trade lives and try to trick everyone into thinking they’re each other, and whoever fools people the longest wins. It’s all filmed with hidden cameras. It doesn’t usually last very long, but it’s really funny when a criminal prosecutor has to teach kindergarten or something. Oh, and there was this one episode where one twin ended up getting pregnant by the other twin’s husband.”
Miranda shudders. “That is disgusting. Hey, do you see the other registration table?”
“No. Maybe we should ask at the front desk?”
“I’ll do it. Be right back.”
As Miranda walks away, someone calls my name, and I see Will Divine waving at me from
across the lobby. Today he has on a Superman shirt with a button-down over it, the sleeves rolled up over his muscled forearms, and he’s still wearing that gray knit hat. I’m so happy to see him here that my stomach does a little flip, and I break into a goofy grin as I wave back. Then I remember Charlotte’s instruction not to communicate with any of the other teams, and I quickly lower my hand in case someone’s watching. Instead, I pull out my phone and text him.
ME: You trying to get me in trouble for fraternizing with the enemy?
WILL DIVINE: What can I say, I’m a rebel. How do you feel about bad boys?
ME: Not good enough to risk my million dollars …
WILL DIVINE: I’m sorry, YOUR million dollars? I believe you mean MY million dollars.
Miranda reappears by my side. “They said to walk straight back toward the coffee bar and there’d be a table on our left.”
My phone chimes again.
WILL DIVINE: If you’re as good at racing as you are at trivia, I have my work cut out for me.…
I bite my lip to keep from grinning, and Miranda looks at me curiously. “Who’re you talking to?”
“Will Divine.”
A crease appears between her eyebrows. “That guy from the last audition?”
“Yup.”
“How did you get his number?”
“He gave it to me the other day.” I tuck my phone back into my bag.
“Oh. Well, just be careful, okay?”
“Of what? We’re texting. It’s not like he’s going to give me an STD through the phone.”
Miranda rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Let’s get more coffee, okay?” She goes ahead of me, and I manage to sneak a little wave at Will before I follow her.
Miranda stocks up on espresso, and then we find the right registration table, where five PAs are lounging around, chewing matching wads of green gum. When we give our names, one of them pulls out a clipboard and makes a couple check marks. I try to see how many other names are on the list, but she puts it away too fast. “Follow Ashleigh, okay?” she says, and a girl with blond pigtails hops up and bounds toward the elevators. She looks younger than me.
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