For Real

by Alison Cherry

  She hurls another pomegranate, and when it breaks open, a bright pink flag peeks out of the bloody ruins. “Let’s go,” she says, snatching it up. “We’re done here.”

  We exchange our flag for an envelope and learn that the Cupid’s Nest for this leg of the race is the Temple of Apollo. Miranda doesn’t even look at me as she stalks back to the car, and when we get there, she grabs the map off the backseat and figures out the way to the temple herself, as if to prove how little she trusts me. I sit in the back, stewing in her words, awash in hurt and anger.

  When we finally scramble up the hill to the temple, we find Isis standing under her usual arch of pink flags. She’s wearing a pink skirt that matches the flags exactly, and for some reason I find this intensely annoying. “Welcome to the Cupid’s Nest, Miranda and Claire. You’re in third place,” she says, and we both nod. We should be happy—we’re improving every leg of the race, and we’ve beaten Samir, which means Miranda’s safe from him at the Proposal Ceremony. But neither of us is in the mood to celebrate.

  “You two don’t look very pleased,” Isis says in her usual astute way. “Was this leg tough for you?”

  I’m about to attempt a diplomatic answer, but Miranda snaps, “It’s all on tape. Figure it out for yourself.” She turns and storms off to the other side of the ruins, leaving Isis with her perfect mouth puckered in a tiny, silent O. I think about following her, but I decide to give her some time to cool down. I turn away from Isis before she can ask me any more insipid questions and head off in the other direction to find a place to wait.

  The ruins of the temple are pretty amazing—only a few columns are still standing, but the ground is strewn with huge broken plinths, like everything was left exactly where it fell when a giant toddler knocked it over. The sky is a shockingly deep blue, and mountains loom in the distance. But I can’t enjoy any of it with Miranda’s cutting words playing on repeat inside my head. Show her I’ve grown up “in a way that actually matters”? What does that even mean? Over the last week, I’ve proven I have all kinds of adult qualities: strategic thinking, adaptability, focus, self-reliance, the ability to overcome my fears and do what has to be done. Don’t any of those things matter to her? Why can’t she see them, even when they’re right in front of her face? How dare she call me selfish when the only reason I’m even here is for her?

  I comfort myself with the thought that I’ll soon be back with Will, who sees who I really am. He beat me to the check-in point, so he’ll be able to pick me at the Proposal Ceremony, and I’m certain that he will. When we’re back at the hotel tonight, maybe I’ll sneak into his room again and tell him about my fight with my sister. He’ll know just what I should say to her—he’s good at understanding how people work. And then he can wrap me up in his arms and comfort me, and we can finish what we started at the masquerade party last night.

  Everyone arrives within an hour, so it isn’t long before Isis calls us together for the Proposal Ceremony. Philadelphia and Aidan are eliminated, and a producer takes them off to do their exit interview. I should be thrilled to see Philadelphia go, but I have too much on my mind to care very much. Miranda reappears from wherever she’s been sulking and stands next to me, but she doesn’t look at me. I can’t wait until I can move away from her hostility and take my place next to Will.

  “Before our Proposal Ceremony, I have a special five-thousand-dollar prize to award,” Isis says. “This prize goes to the racer who made the most romantic wish at the Temple of Aphrodite today. The winner of the Passionate Plea award is … Claire!”

  Normally I’d be ecstatic to win five thousand dollars, but now I have to work to look happy and excited. “Thank you so much!” I say, forcing a smile onto my face. “Um, you’re not going to reveal my wish, are you?”

  Isis lets out one of her tinkling-bell laughs. “No, we’ll let you reveal it in your own time.” She winks at me, and I have to make a concerted effort not to roll my eyes.

  It’s the boys’ turn to pick their partners first, and nobody is surprised when Martin chooses to stay with Zora. “Will, you arrived second,” Isis says. “Who would you like to spend the next leg of the race with?”

  Across the circle, Will looks at me, just for a moment, and I’m so sure he’s about to say my name that I start to move toward him. But then his gaze shifts to my left, and he says, “I’d like to race with the gorgeous Janine, please.”

  Wait, what? I freeze in my tracks as my brain scrambles for an explanation. Will’s good at playing the game, so there must be some way this will benefit both of us. Maybe he heard Miranda and me fighting about him during the pomegranate challenge, and he doesn’t want to come between us—after all, he refused to sit with me in the holding room at the very first audition for the same reason. I try to catch his eye again, hoping for a smile to reassure me that he has my best interests at heart. But he’s staring straight at Janine’s mile-long legs in her skin-tight running pants as she glides over to him. “I’m so glad you finally chose me,” she purrs, squeezing his arm.

  Will gives her a dimpled smile, the one that was meant for me, and his hand settles into the small of her back. “I’m so glad I finally got a chance to choose you,” he says.

  My heart turns to stone and plummets toward my feet, ripping holes in all the other organs in its path. This isn’t a strategic ploy or a well-hidden kindness. Despite all our easy intimacies and obvious sexual tension, despite the fact that he kissed me, told me I was hot, and called me a kick-ass woman, Will Divine doesn’t really want me after all. He wants Janine.

  What did I do to make him change his mind? I know there was something real blossoming between us; it was obvious just a few hours ago. I run through all our interactions, all our glances and fleeting touches and flirtatious banter, desperate to figure out where I went wrong. But now all I can hear in my head is Will’s voice saying, Claire, you know there’s nothing actually real about reality TV, right? People will believe anything you tell them, as long as you commit to it.

  And then I remember Miranda saying, I’m afraid that maybe you forget about the game when you’re with Will.

  I did forget. I didn’t want to believe that all the affection and respect and support he showed me could be anything less than genuine. But Will lied to everyone about being a CEO’s son to get on the show, and there’s no reason to think the things he told me were any more real. Will’s not here to find his soul mate—he’s here to win a million dollars, just like everyone else. Flirting to gather allies is such an obvious, basic strategy, and if I had bothered to look past the smoke screen of dimples and compliments and bright blue eyes, I would’ve been able to see it coming a mile away.

  How could I have been so gullible? And didn’t he feel guilty manipulating me when it was obvious how much I genuinely liked him? Maybe there’s nothing real about this show, but I’m a real person with real emotions. Doesn’t he have a conscience? Or is he so distracted by the money that compassion and empathy mean nothing to him?

  And just like that, everything Miranda said to me earlier clicks into place, and I suddenly feel sick to my stomach. I’m just as guilty as Will is. I’ve spent every minute of this race single-mindedly trying to prove to my sister how strong and independent I am, how well I can strategize and complete challenges and plot revenge. But this isn’t the time or the place for that. Miranda was betrayed by someone she loved, and she must feel ten thousand times more helpless and confused and shattered than I do right now.

  My sister doesn’t need revenge. She needs compassion. Miranda has told me over and over that she’s fine, that she can handle things alone, but she shouldn’t have to. That’s the whole point of having a sister.

  Miranda elbows me hard, and I realize Isis has been saying my name. “Claire, who would you like to spend the next leg of the race with?” she asks.

  I’m so humiliated that it’s hard to fathom going forward with the race at all. Just knowing Will is in the same hotel, on the same plane, in the same city as me
will make it impossible to concentrate. I can’t believe Miranda has managed to make it this far with Samir right next to her, squeezing drop after drop of lemon juice into her open wound. All she wants is to get away from him, and I finally understand exactly how she feels.

  I remember what she said back at the hotel this morning: I just hate being on the same side as Samir. It sucks that I can’t even do anything bad to him without sabotaging myself. And a tiny spark of hope ignites in me. I know how to turn things around for both of us.

  “I’d like to race with Samir,” I say.

  Miranda grabs my arm and digs her nails in. “What are you doing?” she hisses. “You’re going to help him?”

  “Samir, please stand next to Claire,” Isis says, and he does, looking totally perplexed.

  “Are you trying to get back at me for separating you from Will or something? Oh my God, Claire, why are you being so immature about this?”

  I want so badly to tell her what I have planned, but I can’t say anything in front of Samir and all the cameras. Later, during our interview, I’ll explain everything. But for now, I just say, “Trust me. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

  And for once, I actually do.

  * * *

  I arrive for my daily wrap-up interview with Ken the producer, ready to share my new plan with Miranda. But Will is sitting in the other chair, and when he smiles warmly at me, my chest does this painful swelling, squeezing thing. He looks so happy to see me that I wonder for a minute if I misread all the signs and he really does care about me.

  It’s a game, I remind myself. He’s acting. Pull yourself together. God, I can’t even be trusted to look at his face for three seconds without relapsing. I’m a disgrace to reality television, not to mention the entire female population.

  “Hey,” he says, as if nothing has changed. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  My cheeks are heating up, and I look down at my feet, so embarrassed I can’t even meet his eyes. “Hi,” I say. He reaches out to touch my shoulder, but I pull away and sit down on the edge of my chair, as far from him as possible.

  Ken starts asking questions about our day, and I keep my answers short. It hurts just to be near Will, to realize I’ve lost something I never really had, and I want to get this interview over with as quickly as possible. Will keeps trying to engage me and get me to laugh, and when I make no effort to hold up my end of the conversation, he finally says, “Hey, Dominique, what’s the matter?”

  It occurs to me that Will has never once called me by my real name while he was flirting with me, and my stomach twists. “My name is Claire,” I say quietly.

  “Yeah, I know what your name is. I’m just trying to lighten the mood. What’s going on with you tonight? I thought—”

  “I thought you actually liked me,” I say, and I’m horrified to hear my voice crack. “I can’t believe what an idiot I was.”

  A crinkle appears between his eyebrows. “What are you talking about? Of course I like you! I had an awesome time with you today. You were a kick-ass partner.”

  “Not so kick-ass that you had any trouble ditching me.”

  He looks genuinely confused. “When did I ditch you? Miranda stole you during the Heartbreaker round. I didn’t want to switch partners.”

  “I’m not talking about that! I’m talking about Janine! I thought we were so good together, and I thought … and then you were just … you just …” But all the sentences I want to say are too humiliating, so I leave them hanging unfinished in the air.

  Will stares at me like I’m speaking another language. “Claire, we’re on a TV show. We’re not getting married. You’re acting like I cheated on you or something. We’ll race with other people this round, and maybe we’ll get to be together again later. I didn’t mean to hurt you by picking Janine. None of this is personal. You know that.”

  I hate that both Will and Ken are looking at me with sympathy, like I’m a little girl who has just discovered the Tooth Fairy isn’t real. I’m so tired of looking pathetic and ridiculous and weak. Starting tomorrow, this is all going to change.

  “I’m sorry if you thought—” Will starts.

  I hold up my hand. “I get it. Just stop talking, please, okay?”

  And he does. The fact that he doesn’t try harder to make things right with me says more than any words could.

  When Ken sends Will away shortly after that, I expect him to call someone to bring out my sister. But instead he says, “You’re done for now, Claire. Have a good rest, and make sure you’re at the starting line on time tomorrow morning.”

  “Wait a minute,” I say. “Don’t I have to interview with Miranda?”

  “Miranda will do her interview alone today.”

  “What? Why? I really need to talk to her.”

  Ken starts flipping through some papers on his clipboard, like I’m the least important thing in the room. “I’m sure you’ll find an opportunity to see her tomorrow.”

  But tomorrow isn’t soon enough; I need to fix things now. “Can you at least tell me which room she’s in?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Claire. She specifically requested not to see you.”

  I managed to keep it together in front of Will, but now I’m positive I’m going to cry. I close my eyes and take a deep, steadying breath, in for three counts and out for five, just like my fifth-grade teacher taught me. Right now, I can’t let myself think about how angry Miranda is. I can’t think about how thoroughly I misread Will. I have a job to do, and that means I need to rise above my emotions and concentrate. For a little while longer, I need to focus on playing the game. There will be plenty of time to break down later, when all this is over.

  I open my eyes and sit up straight. “Can I talk to you alone for a few minutes, then?” I ask Ken.

  He looks at his watch. “Okay, but make it quick. We’re on a tight schedule today. What’s up?”

  “I want you to be prepared for what I’m going to do tomorrow,” I say. “I think you’re going to like this, and I want to make sure you get all the footage you need.”

  Suddenly he looks more interested. “What are you planning to do, exactly?”

  “I’m going to sabotage myself,” I tell him. “And I’m going to take Samir down with me.”

  When I get back to my room, I hand-wash my Team Revenge T-shirt in the tiny bathroom sink and hang it over the shower rail to dry. Then I lie awake for eight hours, staring at the cracks in the ceiling and thinking about everything that’s happened with Will and Miranda. Around midnight, I consider getting up, systematically knocking on every door in the hotel until I find my sister’s room, and forcing her to let me explain myself. But that seems like a less-than-stellar plan, unless I want to get yelled at by a lot of angry Greek people. I’ll just have to hope that my actions tomorrow speak loudly enough to show Miranda that I finally understand what she’s been trying to tell me.

  By the time my alarm goes off for my 3:15 a.m. departure with Samir, I haven’t slept at all. I guess I’ll have to get through today on coffee and adrenaline. My shirt is still a little damp, but I put it on anyway, hoping it’ll give me strength.

  Samir is waiting for me in the lobby, marking up a copy of Backstage magazine with a red pen. “Hey,” I say.

  He doesn’t even look up. “I know you hate me,” he says. “I thought that was the whole reason you came on the show. So why did you pick me as your partner?”

  “I don’t hate you. Miranda hates you. And Miranda and I are fighting right now. I mean, no offense or anything, but I mostly picked you ’cause I thought it would piss her off. It seemed like a good way to show her that she and I aren’t allies anymore.”

  For a minute I’m not sure he’s going to buy it, but then he shrugs. “Whatever,” he says. “Honestly, I don’t really care if you do hate me, as long as you race well. It’s not like we have to be friends. I just want to win.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Me too.”

  He gestures at my shirt. “So, is t
hat supposed to be ironic or something, now that we’re on the same side?”

  “I still want revenge,” I say. “I just have a different target today.”

  I spend the whole ride to the checkpoint taking deep, steadying breaths and promising myself that today I will be totally focused, totally in control. I won’t let anything shake me or mess with my emotions. I won’t even look at Will. I won’t think about the fury in Miranda’s eyes as she accused me of being selfish. Over and over, I tell myself that I’m strong and clever and that everything’s going to turn out okay. If I think it enough times, maybe I’ll actually start believing it.

  We meet our new crew—Robby on camera, Kanesha on sound—and Robby gives me a secretive smile as he shakes my hand. The producers have probably told him all about my plans for today so he’ll be sure to film the right things. I smile back, and I must be showing more than I intended on my face, because Isis says, “Claire, you look ready to race this morning.”

  “Never been readier,” I say. “Bring it on.”

  “Well, may the forces of love and luck be with you.” She hands me our first envelope, and I rip it open and read the instructions out loud.

  Fly to Glasgow, Scotland, then choose an Around the World car at the airport and drive yourselves to Glasgow Green. Once you arrive, find the world’s largest terra-cotta fountain, where you will receive your next instructions.

  All the way to the airport, Samir monologues about an idea he has for a new screenplay, which would star him as a mysterious, tortured model/spy/assassin who’s living a triple life with three hot wives who are all played by the same actress. At first I try to listen, but as he delves into the “nuanced psychological aspects” of the story, I quickly discover that he just wants to hear himself talk and doesn’t require actual input from me. When we finally arrive, we buy tickets for a British Airways flight leaving at seven in the morning. Martin, Zora, Will, and Janine are already at the gate, and when Will smiles at me, all the emotions I’m holding at bay threaten to flood back into my chest. I take a deep breath and turn away.