For Real

by Alison Cherry

  Comprehension dawns on his face. “Fruit,” he says.

  “What kind? What does it look like?”

  He struggles for descriptive English words. “Bump … green?”

  That doesn’t sound like anything I’ve ever eaten, and there’s no way I’m going to be able to find it based on that description. “Can you show me? Inside?” I point at the market.

  He looks at his friends. One of them shrugs and says something in Indonesian, and the rest of them laugh. I wonder if they’re talking about the wet spots on my boobs, and I cross my arms over my chest. Finally, the guy in the baseball cap says, “America? TV?”

  “Yes,” I say, hoping that’s a good thing.

  He nods. “Okay. We go.”

  “You know what these other two things are, too?” I point to bakpao and ikan asin, and he nods again. I breathe a sigh of relief. I did it.

  I gesture for him to follow me. “What’s your name?” I ask as we walk, hoping it won’t be something impossible to pronounce.

  “Taufik.”

  “Nice to meet you, Taufik. I’m Claire.” I can’t believe I’m having a more normal conversation with a random Javanese stranger than I managed to have with a bunch of Middlebury students a few weeks ago. Am I getting braver? Or is it just that I know Taufik won’t understand a word I say if I start spouting media theory?

  Will is standing over by the pink flag, and I bring Taufik over and introduce him. “He’s going to come in with us and show us what we need.”

  “Nicely done, Claire.” Will grins at me, and a warm feeling spreads through my whole body. Maybe I’d be more willing to talk to strangers if I got positive reinforcement every time. I’m like a puppy, and Will’s smile is my liver treat.

  While Greg presents a waiver to Taufik, I secure the instructions to my forearm with a hair band so I can read them hands-free. Then Will and I hold a water pan level between us while the woman in the print skirt fills it. It’s only a little deeper than a cookie sheet, and as soon as we take a step toward the market, it jostles and splashes all over my chest. Now I look like I’m participating in a wet T-shirt contest.

  “Oh God, I’m so sorry,” Will says. But he doesn’t sound that sorry, and I wonder for a second if he dumped the water on me on purpose. A tiny part of me hopes he did.

  Taufik looks confused as we hold out our pan to be refilled. “We go to market?” he asks.

  “Yes,” Will says. “We have to bring this water.”

  “It’s for a game,” I try to explain, but I’m pretty sure he still doesn’t understand.

  Will and I carefully coordinate our steps this time, and we make it to the door without spilling. But once Taufik leads us inside, I lose hope that we’ll ever be able to complete this challenge. The market is a dark, confusing rabbit warren of passageways, packed to the brim with shoppers. The roof is translucent, but it’s so dirty that hardly any daylight gets through. Fluorescent lights hover here and there like UFOs, reflecting the red paint of the stalls and casting a ruddy glow over everything. A man carrying a massive basket of chili peppers comes barreling out of nowhere and nearly tramples us, and we struggle to keep the water pan level. Taufik disappears into the crowd, his red baseball cap bobbing farther and farther away, and I have to shout his name five times before he hears us and fights his way back.

  “Slowly,” I say, nodding to the water pan. Even inclining my head makes it splash.

  After a while, Will convinces Greg to go ahead of us with the camera, effectively clearing a path for us. We pass massive white sacks full of spices, tables piled high with produce, crates filled with unrefrigerated eggs, and cookware dangling from hooks. Many of the stalls are selling things I don’t even recognize. There’s an overwhelming smell of seafood and spices and smoke and sweat. It’s all pretty amazing, and I wish I weren’t carrying this stupid water pan so I could actually look around.

  Finally, Taufik pauses at a produce stall and holds up a baseball-sized object that looks kind of like a round, green pinecone. “Srikaya,” he announces.

  “Awesome,” Will says. “Claire, where’s the money?”

  “Crap. It’s in my back pocket.”

  “Can Taufik get it out for you?”

  I don’t really want a random stranger sticking his hands in my jeans. “I can get it. Stay really still …”

  Painstakingly slowly, I reach behind me and try to tug the rupiahs out of my damp pocket. I’m almost in the clear when someone knocks my arm from behind, and I lurch forward, dumping the entire tray of water down Will’s front. I hear a gasp and a giggle behind me, and I whirl around to see Philadelphia and Blake. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry,” Philadelphia gushes, making her best innocent face. “It’s so crowded in here!” Bizarrely, her eye makeup still looks perfect, even after swimming. Maybe it’s tattooed on.

  I feel my face go hot—she obviously hit us on purpose—but I know I can’t afford to waste time by losing my temper. What she did is probably against the rules, but it’s not like I have any way to report her. “Come on, let’s refill this,” I say to Will through gritted teeth. As soon as Philadelphia and Blake pass us, concentrating on their pan of water, I pay for the weird green fruit and stuff it into my pack. They move right past the stall without stopping, so they probably still don’t know what they’re looking for. I think about bumping them back, but that’s not the kind of racer I want to be. I don’t want to win by playing dirty, unless it involves Samir.

  We push through the crowd to the entrance, Taufik and Greg at our heels, and the woman in print refills our tray. Just as we’re about to head back inside, Miranda and Aidan sprint up, damp and out of breath. “Hey,” my sister pants. “God, our driver got so lost on the way here.” She looks down at my wet clothes. “I take it this isn’t your first tray of water.”

  “Nope. But it helps if you get your cameraman to go in front of you. And watch out for Blake and Philadelphia; they’ll try to slam into you on purpose.”

  “Thanks.” She holds out her instruction card. “Do you know what any of these words mean?”

  I pull our srikaya out of my pack. “This is the first one. We don’t know about the others yet.”

  “Come on, Claire,” Will urges.

  Miranda looks slightly annoyed, but she says, “Go ahead. Good luck.”

  We trundle back into the market, and Taufik steers us down a different aisle, this one lined with enormous tubs of seafood on ice. Fish with the heads and scales on have always creeped me out a little, but these are arranged so nicely that they’re actually kind of pretty. The floor is slippery with half-melted ice and slime, and the fishy smell is overwhelming. “We’re going to reek for the rest of our lives,” I say.

  I expect Will to laugh and agree, but he has a frustrated look on his face and barely responds. “What’s the matter?” I ask.

  He shrugs a little, and the water pan tips dangerously. “I just don’t think you should be giving hints to other teams,” he says. “It kind of defeats the whole purpose of the race, you know?”

  I get that cold, twisty feeling in my stomach that always happens when someone I care about is mad at me. “But … she’s not ‘other teams.’ She’s my sister.”

  “Claire, she’s not your partner anymore.”

  “But she’s the whole reason I’m here. I have to help her beat Samir. I promised her I would, no matter what.”

  “We haven’t seen Samir all day. He’s probably way at the back of the pack. Miranda doesn’t need your help beating him right now.”

  “Well, yeah. But people form alliances on race shows all the time. What’s the big deal if I have an alliance with Miranda?”

  “Alliances help both teams. It’s not like she’s done anything for us.”

  “She gave us her cab after the first challenge!”

  “Yeah, but that wasn’t exactly a sacrifice. It’s not like she needed it anymore. Plus, that guy was the worst driver ever.”

  Taufik calls out “Ikan asin!” and points
at a large basket of crusty dried fish that look like they’ve been pounded flat with a mallet, eyes and all. I seriously do not want those inside my pack, but I smile and call, “Thank you! One quarter kilo!” Very precariously, I manage to pass him some money.

  As Taufik haggles with the fishmonger, Will says, “Look, I’m not telling you to freeze your sister out or anything. But you have to race for yourself. Think about how you’re going to look to the viewers if you keep helping her instead of trying to win.”

  “I’ll look like a nice person.”

  “The race isn’t about being nice. It’s about winning.”

  I think back to my second audition, when I told Charlotte I wasn’t racing for my sister. I was so cocky then, but maybe Will’s right—now that I’m actually here, exhausted and soaked through and reeking of fish, I’ve slipped right back into my old supporting role. How am I going to make my sister see how competent I am if I don’t stay focused and try to pull ahead? Plus, I can’t let Will down when he’s been so supportive. After all, he’s my partner now.

  “You’re right,” I say. “Sorry. I’ll be more careful.”

  “I’m not trying to scold you. All I’m saying is, I bet there are things you could do with half a million dollars, too. You just have to believe you’re worth it.”

  Taufik appears at my side with the bag of dried fish, and I motion for him to tuck it into the side pouch of my backpack. “Okay, we’re almost done,” I tell him. “Bakpao?”

  He nods happily—either bakpao is something awesome or he can’t wait to be finished with us. Judging by the dried fish, it’s probably the latter.

  It only takes about thirty seconds for a young woman with a basket on her head to crash into us and spill our water again. Taufik has started to get the hang of the game now, and he races back to the entrance, shouting for people to clear a path for us. When we get to the woman in print, Samir and Tawny are getting their pan filled. It gives me great pleasure to see that Samir is dripping wet and extremely pissed off. “God, hold it level!” he snaps at Tawny. “That means parallel to the ground, genius!” Then he turns to Will and me and asks, “Do you guys know what we’re supposed to buy?”

  I angle my body away so he won’t see the fish and fruit in the mesh pocket of my bag. “Someone in there told us bakpao is pig intestines,” I tell him. “We don’t know what the other stuff is.” I feel kind of bad when Tawny sincerely thanks us, but I can’t worry about her right now. Samir has to go, and someone will have to go down with him.

  With Taufik and our crew forming a protective little pod around us, we manage to make it all the way to the other side of the market without spilling. Taufik leads us over to a cart near the exit and proclaims, “Bakpao!”

  Apparently, bakpao are big, pillowy dumplings. They smell heavenly, and when the guy behind the cart passes the warm, soft dough to Taufik, my mouth starts watering like crazy. He stares at it so longingly as he tucks it into the pocket of my bag that I tell him to get another one for himself, and he breaks into an enormous grin.

  The exit is only a few feet away, and we move with exaggerated care through the jostling crowd. A pink flag is waiting for us just outside, and a bearded man nods as we present our water pan and our three items. When he holds out a pink envelope, I literally jump for joy.

  Will rips open the Velcro and pulls out the instructions. On the card is a photo of a sculpture depicting an alligator trying to bite a shark. Greg leans in between us to get a close-up, and Will reads the text out loud.

  Make your way by cab to this sculpture, which is the Cupid’s Nest for this leg of the race. Hurry—one team’s race around the world ends here!

  “What’s a Cupid’s Nest?” I ask.

  Will shrugs. “I guess it’s like the final check-in point? That’s really stupid.”

  I hold the instructions out to Taufik, who is blissfully stuffing his face. “Do you know where this is?” I ask, pointing to the picture.

  He swallows. “Surabaya Zoo.”

  “Is that far from here?”

  “Not so far.”

  “Thank you, Taufik,” I say. “You’ve been incredibly helpful.” I reach for the second bakpao, and when the bearded check-in guy gestures that I can take it, I hand it to Taufik. He thanks me, and we run off to find a cab.

  “I wanted that dumpling thing,” Will grumbles.

  “Yeah, me too, but he deserved it. We can always go back for the dried fish, if you want that.”

  “I’m hungry enough that that almost sounds like a good idea.”

  I shove his shoulder. “Stop being a baby. We’re almost there.”

  As Taufik promised, the ride to the zoo isn’t long, and I nearly weep with relief when I see Isis standing under an arch of pink flags near the base of the alligator statue. Even in the sticky Surabaya heat, she looks totally refreshed, like someone’s been spritzing her with iced cucumber water every few seconds.

  “Welcome to the Cupid’s Nest, Will and Claire,” she says when we reach her. “You’re in fourth place.”

  We both cheer—that’s better than I thought we’d done—and Will picks me up and spins me in a circle. I love the feel of his strong arms around me.

  “How did today go for you two?” Isis asks.

  “We wasted an hour because our cabdriver got lost, but otherwise it went pretty well,” Will says. “Claire’s a fantastic partner. I’m really lucky to have gotten her.”

  I feel my cheeks heating up, but I don’t fight it—the producers will love it if I blush at Will’s compliments. “He’s pretty fantastic himself,” I say.

  “I’m so glad this race brought you together,” Isis says in a voice laden with meaning. “Perhaps you’ll have a chance for more steamy escapades together later on.”

  “I’d like that,” Will says, and he takes my hand. Greg ducks down to get a close-up of our entwined fingers. There are so many emotions swirling through my head that I feel like I might shatter.

  Isis points to a little plaza full of topiary shrubs and tells us to wait there until everyone else arrives. There’s another bakpao cart in front of the zoo’s entrance, and I collapse onto the low stone wall surrounding the plaza while Will goes off to buy some for us and our crew. The three teams who beat us are grouped together about ten yards away, and I know I should probably go over and chat with them, but I’m way too tired to move. When Will comes back with the food, I barely find the strength to gobble down two bakpaos before I fall asleep on my backpack.

  As I drift into unconsciousness, hoping against hope that Miranda beats Samir to the checkpoint, I’m vaguely aware of Will gently tucking a folded sweatshirt under my head.

  It seems like only a few minutes have passed before Will’s shaking me awake again, but it must have been longer—when I slit one eye open, the sun’s a lot lower in the sky. It vaguely occurs to me that I still have no idea what day it is. I swat Will away, and I hear him yelp as my hand connects clumsily with his face. “Sleeping,” I mutter.

  “Come on,” he says, nudging me with his toe from a safer distance. “We have to pick our new partners, and then you can rest.”

  I struggle into a sitting position and peel his sweatshirt off my face. It feels like something flew into my mouth and died. “Who got eliminated?” I ask, trying not to breathe in his direction.

  “Lou and that woman with the purple hair, whatever her name is. Jade, or something? They just got in a minute ago.” He points off to the right, where Lou and Jada are sitting on a stone wall with one of the producers and doing their exit interview.

  “It sucks that Lou’s out,” I say. “I’m sorry. Are you upset?”

  He shrugs. “Nah. No big deal. I’ll see him at home in a couple weeks.” His nonchalance surprises me—if my sister had been eliminated, I’d be devastated. But maybe it’s different for guys.

  Isis arranges us in a semicircle at the base of the alligator statue, and the camera people surround us, careful to stay out of each other’s sightlines. Miranda w
aves at me, and I smile back at her, relieved that she’s safe, but we’re too far apart to talk. “Congratulations to all of you for completing the first leg of the race,” Isis says. “I hope you’ve all enjoyed getting very close to your partners over the last two days. Before you select your new dates, I have a special prize to award. The team who bared the most skin on this leg of the race will receive five thousand dollars each!”

  For a moment, I wonder if it could be Will and me, since we did the pool challenge in our underwear. Then again, everyone probably did that. Is it going to come down to who was wearing the skimpiest underwear today?

  “The winner of the Bare Bod award is …” Isis pauses for dramatic effect. “Blake and Philadelphia! Congratulations!”

  I must be really tired, because I only now notice that Blake still isn’t wearing a shirt, and Philadelphia’s in a sports bra and tiny shorts. Blake’s wearing a silver pendant on a black cord that I hadn’t noticed before, and when I see that there’s a wire running between it and his waist, I realize it must be a microphone. The two of them whoop and hug, and Blake shouts, “Dude, that is awesome! I just took my shirt off ’cause I was hot, and now I get money! Sweet!” It’s like he’s forgotten he’s a stripper and he takes off his clothes for money every day.

  Isis arranges her perfect features in a more serious expression. “But now it’s time for a bit of separation and heartbreak. You will choose your dates for the next leg of the race in the order you arrived at the Cupid’s Nest. For this first round, the boys in each pair will go first, and next time, it’ll be the girls. Martin and Zora, please step forward.”

  The last time I saw Martin, he was sweaty and shaking, but he looks way more confident now that he’s come in first. Even his superhero shirt seems a little cooler somehow. “Martin, who would you like to spend the next leg of the race with?” Isis asks.

  “Um, I’d actually like to stay with Zora, if that’s, um, okay with her.” Martin gives Zora a shy smile, just barely meeting her eyes. I can tell how afraid he is of being rejected.