America's Next Reality Star

by Laura Heffernan

  A short Asian woman with asymmetrical black and red hair entered the room, wearing a headset. She carried a clipboard in one hand and large metal hoops in the other. I eyed those silver rings curiously.

  “Hi, everyone! My name is Leanna, and I’m your liaison to the producers. I’m here to help ensure that all my little Fishies, that is, you guys”—she gestured at us—“are comfortable here in our Fishbowl.

  “First, put on your wireless mikes. You won’t remove these until you win or are eliminated. They’re water resistant, so you take them into the shower and pool.” She handed each of us a metal ring that looked like a necklace.

  Once everyone wore their microphones, she continued. “Now, I’m going to pull you up to introduce yourselves. Give me a couple of sentences with your name, your age, where you’re from and what you do. Easy.” She motioned to the nearest contestant, a tiny girl with copper-colored curls and a smattering of freckles.

  Her eyes danced as she spoke. “Hi, guys! My name’s Carrie, but my friends all call me Birdie because I love to tweet!”

  By “tweet,” I assumed she meant she sang. However, I’d soon learn she only spoke in sentences of one hundred forty characters or less, sometimes with hashtags. I wondered if she’d trained herself to do that, or if it was the natural result of having most of her interactions on Twitter for the past few years.

  The redhead continued. “I’m twenty-five years old and a #writer from #Nashville.”

  A tall, good-looking guy with black hair, brown eyes, and light brown skin strode to the middle of the room. He held himself with confidence, not arrogance, and spoke with frank directness that reminded me of a politician. I half-expected him to start shaking hands and kissing babies—not that we had anyone under about twenty in the house. His introduction revealed a slight Indian accent. “Hello. My name is Raj. I’m twenty-three, and I work in advertising.”

  A pretty, muscular blonde with wide brown eyes and big dimples jumped to her feet. She flashed a perfect beauty queen smile at the camera, waving jazz hands. “Hey, there! My name’s Rachel, I’m a twenty-two-year-old waitress from Sioux City, Iowa, and I led my school to back-to-back cheerleading championships my junior and senior years. Go Bulldogs!”

  Leanna beckoned to the next contestant, an All-American quarterback look-alike with his sun-kissed blond hair, blue eyes, and perfect, golden tan. He reminded me of the guy from Friday Night Lights. Until he opened his mouth. “Yo, yo, ‘sup! My name’s Joshua, but my friends call me J-dawg!”

  J-dawg? No way would I manage to call him that with a straight face. I’d wind up looking like some airhead who giggled over every other word just because he’d chosen a ridiculous name.

  He threw his hands around in—was that a gang sign? Would we have to spend our lives avoiding dark alleys if Joshua lost? Who was this guy? “You losers might as well go home now, because the J-dawg is here and everyone else needs to clear! I am the man, and I’m gonna make you all scram!”

  Did he always talk in rhyme or had he practiced that ridiculous opening? And why did he talk like a gangster? He looked like the epitome of a corn-fed Iowa boy. A Norman Rockwell painting practically hung in the air behind him. He and Rachel could’ve stepped out of a toothpaste commercial.

  “Hello, darlings!” The guy who looked like Rodrigo Santoro stood in front of us. Although the resemblance wasn’t as strong in person, his black hair and quick smile were easy on the eyes. Too bad he’d yet to glance at the female contestants. “My name is Ed, and I’m twenty-five years old. I’m a comedian born in Brazil, raised near Boston, and I am awesome. You’ll see.”

  Justin introduced himself as a twenty-five-year-old law student from Miami about to start his third year. Law school might actually become interesting if I sat next to him. I shook the thought out of my head. Not only had Ariana staked her claim, but I didn’t join the show for love. I needed loads of cash, not to moon over some guy like a teenager.

  In addition to being a beautiful woman who wanted to jump Justin’s bones, Ariana oozed charm. “Hello, America! I’m Ariana and I’m twenty-one. Don’t let these boobs fool you—I’m a member of Mimza. I’ll prove that brains plus beauty is a lethal combination.”

  Mimza? What was that? A few feet away, Birdie chuckled. When I caught her eye, she sidled toward me.

  “She means #Mensa,” Birdie whispered.

  “The high-IQ society?” My tone matched hers.

  “Yeah. Which means she probably isn’t a member, because most of them know how to pronounce it. #Dumb.”

  The woman from the bathroom, Skye, introduced herself while we were talking. I didn’t hear what she said. Next up was Mike, a short, muscular black man who introduced himself in song. I recognized his voice from the bus.

  “I am Mike, from Pasadena! I’m twenty-six years old. I sing and write songs.” He held that last note an impressively long time, ending with a sweeping bow.

  Maria from Texas introduced herself as a teacher. She carried herself regally and spoke precisely. Along with her flawless brown skin, tumbling black curls, full lips, and beauty mark, her carriage made me wonder if she used to be a pageant queen. Good thing this contest wasn’t about looks.

  I missed the next contestant, unfortunately, while practicing my opening under my breath. I’d have to catch up with him later.

  Finally, it was my turn. I bounced to the front of the room, hoping to convey confidence. “Hi, everyone! My name is Jen, and I’m an unemployed, homeless marketing assistant from Seattle! I recently broke up with my boyfriend because, for an entire year, he forgot to mention his wife! Oh, and I’m so broke I considered running away with the Peace Corps. Send me your pity votes!”

  Okay, I didn’t say that. The key to winning this competition probably didn’t include showing all of my vulnerability in my first eleven seconds on camera.

  “Hi, everyone! I’m Jen! I’m twenty-four. I’m a marketing assistant in Seattle, and I absolutely love puzzles, mazes, trivia, and races. I’m so excited to be here!”

  Much better. Leanna flashed me a thumbs-up, and I beamed as I rejoined the group. I’d successfully survived my first “live” television moment.

  My remaining doubts vanished. This was going to be fun.

  After the introductions, Leanna walked to the front of the room, clipboard in hand. “Okay, my little Fish! I’ve got some information for you, and then I’ll take you on a tour.

  “The most important thing you need to know is that these walls are made of glass. That makes them hard to see. Do not walk into them. It won’t feel good. You already signed a waiver promising not to sue if you hurt yourself.”

  That elicited some nervous titters as we examined each other. Great. I would go home maimed, in addition to being broke, unemployed, single, and homeless. Every girl’s dream. Maybe if I got lucky, I could also get an STI.

  Oblivious to the direction my thoughts took, Leanna continued. “If you guys need anything—toilet paper, a special brand of mac and cheese, whatever—a member of the production team will get it for you. The only things we won’t bring you are gum, electronics, and weapons. Oh, and illegal drugs.”

  No ecstasy or assault weapons, check. At least the producers had a sense of humor.

  “Now, I’m going to go over the rules real quick. Listen closely, because I don’t like repeating myself. Your host will be in after our tour, but she’s mostly going to smile and look pretty. She won’t hang around to chat.”

  We had a host? I hadn’t thought about that. I’d watched The Bachelor and The Bachelorette just enough to develop an unreasonable infatuation with Chris Harrison.

  Just as I started to get excited, I realized that Leanna said our host was a “she.” And Chris worked for a different network. Damn.

  Guess I’ll have to win and be invited to lots of fancy reality show parties so I can meet him. Do they have reality show parties?

  “Get to know your production team. We are your friends. U
nless you piss us off. Then, we tell the editors to make you look bad.”

  She laughed, and so did everyone else, but she wasn’t kidding. I suspected that, if Leanna got pissed, she could tell the producers to hire a look-alike to run around screaming and banging her head on the walls wearing nothing but a peanut butter bikini. And of course, we’d already agreed to let them.

  Note to self: do not piss off Leanna.

  She was still talking. “Okay! On Wednesday, the viewers will vote on mini-activities. Participation is optional, but you may benefit if you play along. Your main challenges are on Thursdays. The winner—or the captain of the winning team—is immune and guaranteed another week in the Fishbowl. Two people will be nominated for elimination.

  “After the Sunday night show, the viewers pick a third contestant to be up for elimination. We’ll give you the results Monday morning. You vote Tuesday morning. Meanwhile, the viewers grant immunity to one of the three people up for elimination.

  “Voting is through the show’s website or text message. There’s a mobile site and an app. There are many ways to vote. I have personally tested all of them. The results are announced Tuesday night, and the eliminated player leaves immediately. Questions about the rules?”

  No one spoke. Mike and Ariana exchanged a confused look, but we all just stared at Leanna in silence.

  “Great! Phew! That’s a lot of information. Okay, let’s go take a look around.”

  It really was a Fishbowl. All the outside walls were glass, made possible because the property stood in the middle of a huge ranch, with no other buildings in sight. A wall lining the property and a huge setback ensured privacy. The interior walls were also made of clear glass—there was no hiding. We trooped behind Leanna to the top floor.

  “Up here is the girls’ bunk.”

  The massive room held three twin beds on each side and closet doors on either side of the entrance. The closets were also glass, so no hiding there, although the racks of clothes could provide some concealment once we unpacked for anyone who preferred to change away from prying eyes.

  The beds perched atop drawers, which ensured we each had some space for our clothes. Even if some people (*cough* Rachel and Ariana *cough*) brought approximately eleven suitcases each. A nightstand stood beside each bed, and a couple of extra dressers leaned against the far wall.

  The entire room shone. Sheer blue and green curtains billowed around each bed, giving us the illusion of privacy. The swirling blue and green pattern on the bedding matched. Throw pillows and lamps shaped into starfish and seashells decorated the room. I might have thought the “fish” theme would appear overdone, but it came together nicely. Or maybe, as someone recently homeless, my excitement stemmed from having a guaranteed place to sleep for at least a few days.

  “Don’t get too excited, boys. The floor is made of glass, but it’s completely impossible to see through it. No peeking up the girls’ skirts.” Sure enough, an opaque blue-green glass made up the floor. Several rugs tossed around the room further obscured any efforts to peek up from below.

  Leanna said, “If you want to try, though, we might get some funny footage for our viewers, so knock yourselves out. But not literally.”

  While our guide spoke, Rachel played with her fingernails. The guy whose name I missed stared out the window. Birdie might have been praying or meditating; if she weren’t standing, I’d have thought she fell asleep. No one was paying attention but me.

  We headed down the glass stairs to the second floor. Justin motioned for me to go ahead of him. I started in front of the crowd, but hung back when J-dawg and Ariana started to elbow each other out of the way. We’d have plenty of time to fight for the cameras’ attention after the tour.

  “On this floor, we have the boys’ dorm to the right.” A quick glance showed me a room similar to ours, except with darker blues and greens and steel bed frames. Instead of dressers, a pirate’s chest stood at the foot of each bed.

  “There’s also a smaller living area ahead of us. The School Room is beyond the living area. That’s what other shows call the Confession Booth. You’ll periodically be called to talk directly to the viewers about what’s happening. The walls are glass, but they’re thick. We’ve got heavy curtains on the inside. No one can see or hear you when you’re in there, unless you go in together.”

  The idea of becoming close enough with someone to share the confessional brought a smile to my face. Looking around, I wondered again who my confidants would be. Maria gave me a friendly smile. And Ariana’s instant dislike gave us something in common.

  “This way, please.” Leanna led us into the largest bathroom I’d ever seen.

  Thankfully, the glass around the toilet was tinted a green so dark no light penetrated it.

  Green and blue glass fragments twinkled from the countertops. The shower stalls were mostly clear glass, but the doors contained a large area of darkly tinted glass, from about one foot off the ground to well over my head. No one could watch me shower. The glass floor was made up of tiny multicolored pebbles, replicating the bottom of a fishbowl.

  Leanna continued to gesture around the room. “Now, listen up, because this is important.” She paused to ensure everyone watched her. After she cleared her throat a couple of times, we did.

  “Here, you have a dual shower stall. There is also a private shower in the back corner. There are no cameras in the showers themselves, but the cameras’ll catch you going in and out. You’ve got a hook inside for your towel or a robe. That camera in the corner covers the entire room, which means it will record anything above or below the tinted glass. Keep that in mind, especially if you’re not going in there alone. There will be no anonymous shower sex. I’d prefer you not have non-anonymous shower sex, either, since I’m the one who’ll have to come break things up, but that’s a whole ’nother ball of wax.

  “The toilet is to your left. There is a camera in there, too, but you’re just going to have to trust we won’t turn it on unless we have to. We need it so people can’t hide in there, crying, kissing, doing drugs you snuck in with your bags, or whatever. Don’t worry—we don’t want to watch people in the bathroom, either, and the footage isn’t going to turn up on YouTube.”

  Leanna led us out of the bathroom into a big hallway and gestured to two closed doors. “These are your changing rooms. We don’t have regular cameras in there. However, if you’re in there more than sixty seconds, the lights go off, the door slams shut, and you’re stuck. At that point, infrared cameras turn on. You don’t want that. Change quickly.”

  I wondered how long it would take before my fellow contestants started sneaking into those booths to make out. The most likely suspects were the Homecoming Queen and King. They’d been making eyes at each other since the producers took off our blindfolds. Now, neither appeared to be listening as Leanna explained that, if anyone got locked into a booth, we’d have to call production to open the doors.

  “You could find yourself waiting a while, because we might not be thrilled at the idea of rescuing you, especially in the middle of the night or on a weekend. Got it?”

  “Hey.” Justin nudged me gently.

  I hadn’t realized he stood nearby. My arm warmed where he’d touched it. He had such a friendly smile I couldn’t help returning it. “Hey.”

  “Five bucks says those two lock themselves in together within a week.” He gestured at Rachel and Joshua, still grinning at each other like teenagers who snuck out of Bible camp for the first time.

  “I give it three days.”

  He chuckled. “You’re on!”

  We shook, and his dimples flashed. Even if his crooked nose prevented him from being conventionally good-looking, Justin was still attractive. Oh, he could be downright dangerous.

  Dangerously fun. I tossed my hair before following the rest of the group down the stairs. Maybe a little flirting would be okay, after all.

  Our tour ended on the ground floor. “Down here, you’ve g
ot the main living area, the kitchen, and a games room. There’s a pool table and dartboard in there. That room is converted into the voting booth on Tuesday mornings. There’s a small laundry room behind the kitchen. Yes, you do your own laundry and, yes, there are cameras in there, too. Any questions?”

  As she scanned the room, I met Leanna’s gaze and shrugged. Even if there had been anything else I wanted to know, I wasn’t ready to call more attention to myself. I’d figure it all out.

  “One last thing: Outside you will find the pool, the hot tub, and the grounds. Most of you will spend a lot of time there, taking advantage of our beautiful Southern California weather. For the most part, you are free to roam the grounds. If you want exercise, it’s about a third of a mile to make a complete circle.

  “Any blocked areas are off-limits. We’ll build most of your challenges in the back, so don’t go poking around areas we’ve closed. You won’t like the way we edit you if you try. The entire property is fenced in, so there’s no escape.”

  She probably didn’t mean that as ominously as it sounded. Beside me, Maria shuddered.

  “Welcome to The Fishbowl, everyone!” Leanna smiled and waved, then left. The energy in the room dropped about three levels.

  The twelve of us glanced at each other, alone for the first time.

  CHAPTER 7

  Scenes from the School Room, Week 1:

  Skye: Dude, no one told me I’d have to share a bedroom with five other women.

  Joshua: Whaddup, bitchez? Check this out! This is gonna be AWESOME! I’m gonna be the most EPIC VILLAIN in REALITY SHOW HISTORY. It’s gonna rock! You’ll love this and that’s no mystery! America, please vote to save me. Let the villain stay to make this show not gay! Thanks, bros! Thanks, hoes!