America's Next Reality Star

by Laura Heffernan

  Most of us spoke less than we normally would. Or was it only less than we could? Rachel was the first to miss. She realized her errors with a hiss. Then we went to the pool, enjoying our ability to cool. Lounging in our languid way, everyone had little to say.

  Dinner was a quiet affair without Birdie there. Ed made a gaff that made us laugh. Then he jumped up with a shout, “Yuck! Suck! Fuck! Muck!” and slumped into a pout.

  Finally, the daylight began to wane. The rest of us had won this game.

  “Good night, sleep tight,” I said. I climbed into bed and rested my head.

  * * *

  Thursday morning, I sat alone in the kitchen after breakfast. I lingered longer than usual over my coffee, thinking about the past few weeks. Suddenly, the weekly pre-challenge music blasted throughout the house, startling me out of my reverie.

  “Ack—I’m late!” I raced toward the stairs.

  This was our one chance all week to let it all hang out. Since the songs were copyrighted, they couldn’t air the footage. We took full advantage of this reprieve. I sang at the top of my lungs into a curling iron, jump and danced across the couches, twirled around on the stairs, and tangoed back and forth across the main floor with Ed. We rocked out as they piped in “Rockin’ Robin” in honor of Birdie. By the time the music stopped, my soul felt lighter.

  Hopefully, none of the pre-challenge footage ever surfaced online. It would make great blackmail material.

  When my turn came to start the challenge, I squeezed Ed’s hand and smiled. “Thanks.” I didn’t need to say why.

  “No problem. Now, let’s go out there and kick some butt! Go Team Get-Ariana’s-Obnoxious-Ass-Sent-Home!”

  “Go us!” I cheered.

  When I got to the challenge site, some sort of giant grid awaited me. Thick white lines composed the outer edges, and thin white lines ran between them. The structure spread about twenty feet up and down and across. Wooden blocks lay scattered throughout the grid, and several bins with more blocks sat off to one side.

  Something was written on the blocks. I squinted into the sunlight to see better.

  Near the front corner, I spotted a four. The one in the middle said “7”. It was a giant Sudoku!

  In high school, Adam and I used to play Sudoku Wars. My mom bought two copies of the same book, and we raced to see who finished first. Yes, we were dorks. No, I didn’t care. It was loads of fun. I couldn’t beat my older brother every time, but I could beat the remaining contestants.

  Oh, this was going to be awesome! I danced in place while I waited for them to explain rules I knew by heart.

  Just like an ordinary Sudoku, I’d place numbers 1 through 9 in each three by three square on the grid. Each line and column also had to contain numbers 1 through 9. I could only move one block at a time. One block per square.

  I’ve got this. I own this challenge.

  “Uh, Jen?”

  The production assistant I thought of as Goatee stood a few feet away, looking at me curiously. The question broke my concentration.

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you humming ‘Roar’ by Katy Perry?”

  Oops.

  So what if I was? It’s a catchy song. My face grew warm, but before I could answer, the light changed, and I was off.

  After I finally dropped the last block into place, I raced back to the starting line and hit the button, panting. There were thirty-two minutes, forty-seven seconds showing on the timer. That was it? It felt like the challenge took at least an hour. Sweat dripped from my brow, and I could barely hold myself upright.

  “Wow.” Goatee stood behind me, looking at the course.

  “What?”

  “Oh, sorry. Nothing. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “What? You can’t just leave me hanging like that!” I laughed. “Was it ‘Wow, you look great for someone who just had thirteen hernias?’ ‘Wow, I’ve never seen someone sweat so much?’ ’Wow, you got the entire puzzle wrong?’ What did I do?”

  He gestured at the grid. “The puzzle. I’m not allowed to share results, and maybe some of the others carried them more easily, but you did well. Good for you.”

  “Thank you!”

  Not everyone had gone yet, but the fact that my time impressed him gave me hope. With a spring in my step, I headed back inside the Fishbowl.

  Turns out, I didn’t need luck. I crushed them! Justin came in second, and I beat him by more than five minutes. All that time playing Sudoku Wars with Adam paid off.

  I couldn’t believe my good fortune. Not only did I win, but my biggest competition failed miserably, taking almost an hour to complete the challenge. The viewers couldn’t nominate me for elimination, because my time gave me immunity. I was guaranteed another week in the Fishbowl! With luck, maybe Ariana wouldn’t be part of it.

  * * *

  “So,” Ed smirked at me from across the kitchen counter the next morning, “you’ll never guess what I heard.”

  “Kevin Spacey is gay?” I guessed. “We’re all pretty sure of that one.”

  Ed blew a raspberry at me. “Oh, way better. Apparently, Ariana dropped the blocks wherever. She didn’t solve the puzzle.”

  “No way!”

  “Yes! She grabbed the blocks and dropped them wherever, but the PAs made her redo it.”

  With a glance around the room, I learned forward. “How do you know this?”

  Ed shot a meaningful look at the camera in the corner. Instead of answering he said, “Phew! Do you smell that? What’s in the disposal?”

  He grabbed a handful of ice and chucked it into the sink. His back to the camera, he beckoned with one finger. As I learned forward, he flipped the switch on the garbage disposal and turned on the water. His lips touched my ear.

  “Let’s just say that Rachel and J-dawg aren’t the only ones who can play fifty-nine seconds in heaven late at night.”

  Curiosity filled me, but there was no reason to get anyone in trouble. I’d seen the way Curly Beard and Ed eyed each other. I could wait until the show ended for details.

  I settled into my stool with a grin as Ed shut off the disposal. “Yes, that smells much better. Thanks.”

  “Did Ariana know we had to solve the puzzle?”

  Ed shrugged. “Probably. I got instructions. Didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, but I recognized it. Who else was in the bottom?”

  “Abram. He’s probably got enough good will from last week to keep him around.” He grinned. “And we know the viewers can’t vote against you.”

  That was a relief—especially since I wasn’t a fan favorite. “But what if it’s you?”

  He gasped in mock surprise. “Me? How could it be me? Surely, the viewers love me! I’m fabulous!” He gave a wry smile. “Besides, now that Birdie’s gone, I’m the only one who cooks. The viewers will only vote for me if they want to spend the next three weeks watching you all starve. Unless one of the coming challenges is a fight to the death over the last bowl of cereal, Gladiator-style? That might be interesting.”

  I laughed. “In that case, they better not nominate Rachel, either, or the show may turn into a battle for the last clean plate. Ariana certainly isn’t going to do dishes.”

  After breakfast, we headed out to the pool where Ed practiced his material on us. At one point, he flexed his muscles, pumped himself out, put a baseball cap on sideways, puffed out his cheeks, and swung his arms while jerking around the backyard.

  “Yo, yo, yo, jerks! Don’t get mad cuz the truth hurts!” Ed bellowed, striking his chest. “Y’all think I’m a sinna, but you hate me for being such a winna! Y’all can’t keep the J-dawg down, not even with a frown!”

  He spread his arms and threw his head back. Everyone cracked up. My sides hurt before I got control of myself. Even Rachel’s eyes danced with amusement, although she hid her smiles behind one hand.

  No one mentioned the elimination.

  Later that afternoon, I peered do
wn from the top of the couch tower at everyone sprawled around the living room. It was a hot day, even for Southern California, and we’d chosen to cower in the air conditioning rather than bake in temperatures over a hundred degrees. Even the pool was uncomfortably warm with the sun beating down. The thought of sitting in a hot tub curdled my insides.

  I directed my question at the entire room. “So, what would you do with a quarter of a million dollars?”

  “Pay off my student loans,” Justin said. “That’s why I’m here. It may not be exciting, but it beats spending the next thirty years paying a mortgage on my brain.”

  I respected that. “Rach?”

  She waved a hand half-heartedly in my direction from the lower levels of the tower. “Too hot. No talk.”

  “Well, I know what I’d do,” Abram said. “I’d donate ten percent to my church, and I’d put the rest away for my boys’ college. I never went because we couldn’t afford it. I want them to have better opportunities than I did.”

  “That’s admirable,” Ed told him. “I had different plans when I auditioned, but I want to move to Los Angeles and try the comedy scene. Boston is dead. The money will support me until I get my big break. During the day, I’d like to mentor gay kids. Life’s hard. It’s harder when you don’t have anyone who understands you.”

  “Christ! You’re all such boring do-gooders,” Ariana groaned. “Really? Churches? Helping gay kids? College educations? What a snooze! When I win a quarter of a million dollars—not if—I’m renting a private plane and flying all my friends someplace amazing. We’ll party as long as I want. If there’s anything left when I go home, I need a new wardrobe.”

  “You’d blow it all? What about your daughter?” Abram asked.

  Ed reached up and squeezed my hand. We both knew she didn’t really have a daughter. I only wished there were a way to call her out—again—without looking petty or jealous. Again.

  “Naturally, I’ll take her with me. My daughter is the center of my world.” She added with a sneer, “Not that it’s anyone’s business how I raise my child.”

  “Of course not,” Ed said. “You clearly know how to have more fun than the rest of us. What about you, Jen? Parties and private planes? Or school and charity work?”

  “Hmmmm.” I’d wondered earlier how much of myself to reveal on TV. If I wanted the viewers to identify with me, there was no benefit to holding back, especially now that I wasn’t a fan favorite. Maybe showing them a little more of the inner Jen would help them connect with me more.

  “Things have been rough. I’ve got a medical bill that’s been killing me since I broke my leg last year. My landlord condo-ized my apartment at the end of May, so I’m living on a friend’s couch when I get home. Then I caught my boyfriend cheating. And I got laid off. Worst year ever—until this summer, I mean.

  “When I go home, I’m single, unemployed, and homeless, with some big debts. The money would give me some breathing room until I get back on my feet.”

  “Wow,” Justin said. “I had no idea you’d been through all that. I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks. At least I’m here. Things could’ve been worse—”

  “Is anyone hungry?” Ariana stood. “Food will energize us. Maybe the producers will bring us ice cream.” She wandered into the kitchen.

  I stayed put. I couldn’t stop her from changing the subject every time I got two seconds of positive attention, but I wasn’t about to play into it by following her.

  Rachel sat up and hollered toward the kitchen. “I WOULD USE A QUARTER MIL TO START A CHEERLEADING CAMP FOR UNDERPRIVILEGED CHILDREN!”

  Oh, that was amazing. I smothered a giggle until I made the mistake of looking at Ed. His face contorted with barely controlled laughter. Justin snorted as a sound of disgust rolled back from Ariana’s direction. After a moment, Abram sat up with a sigh.

  “I guess the Christian thing to do is go see how she’s doing.”

  Below me, Rachel said, “As soon as she wants to start acting in a Christian manner, I’ll consider giving her the same courtesy.”

  Abram was right, but I agreed with Rachel. Ariana had been too horrible for too long to give any credence to her staged hissy fit. Attention would only encourage her.

  Low voices traveled out of the kitchen. It was impossible to make out the words, but it didn’t matter. Leaning against the side of the couch, I closed my eyes and napped.

  When I woke, the sun had set. Goose bumps dimpled my arms. The spot on top of the couch tower was cozy and had a great view, but it sat directly below the air conditioning vents. Earlier, that had been a bonus, but they must not have turned it down when the outside temperature dropped.

  “Hey, there,” Justin’s head poked up over the edge of the tower. “You awake?”

  “Mmm-hmm. Sort of,” I mumbled, sitting up. I hugged myself and rubbed my arms, trying to get the blood flowing. “How long have I been out?”

  “I’m not sure. I fell asleep, too.” He shrugged. “Probably somewhere between fifteen minutes and three hours.”

  “Thanks, that’s super helpful.”

  “I know, sorry,” he said. “Anyway, Ariana got the producers to bring us ice cream and stuff. Ed’s declared that sundaes and leftovers can be dinner for one night.”

  “He’s getting tired of cooking for everyone, especially now that Birdie’s gone. I don’t mind giving him a night off.”

  “Need help getting down?” Justin held out a hand, which I took. Goosebumps rippled up my arm at his touch.

  Getting to the ground was awkward, not difficult. Unfortunately, I hadn’t noticed that my left foot fell asleep while I napped. As soon as I put pressure on it, I fell—and tumbled into Justin’s arms.

  The universe enjoyed testing my resolve to get over this guy and focus on the competition. Stupid universe. Stupid, wonderful universe.

  I closed my eyes and inhaled, savoring the feel of his hard chest pressing against me. Maybe I could just stay here. One of his hands cupped the back of my head, and I thought I heard him swallow.

  “Careful.” Justin moved backward, helping me stand on my own.

  I swore internally. Was it my imagination, or did his hands linger on my waist for just a second longer than necessary? His face was so close to mine.

  “You don’t want to have to leave due to injury. I think one of those per season is the network’s limit.”

  His lopsided smile awoke the butterflies in my stomach, and my shiver had nothing to do with the cold.

  Calm down, I told myself. This is the guy who puked when you puckered up at him. And, after sleeping all afternoon, your breath must be terrible.

  Justin lowered his voice. “Look, I never got a chance to say anything. I know you’ve been avoiding me, and I understand if you never wanted to talk to me again, but I’m so sorry about that night. I woke up hoping it was a nightmare. You’re the last person in this house I’d choose to throw up on.”

  “I didn’t think you did it on purpose. I just worried your body’s natural reaction to being so close to me was to. . .well, you know.” I chuckled to act like I was kidding, but it sounded hollow to my own ears. I couldn’t meet his eyes.

  Focus on the money. Forget the illusion of romance. It’s all part of the show. He’d do anything to win.

  Justin put one finger under my chin and forced me to look at him. “No.” His words were soft, yet firm. “When I haven’t been doing shots of Everclear, vomiting is the opposite of what I want to do when you’re around.”

  He still stood very close. The heat of his body called to me, a siren song I didn’t want to want to answer.

  Think about the money, Jen.

  A two-bedroom one-bath condominium I’d seen when I’d first found out I had to move swam before my eyes. I grasped for that image.

  Think of the open floor plan and stainless steel appliances. An easy walk to the Metro. Only two hundred thousand. All you need is to win.

  Justin g
azed into my eyes. “What are you thinking about?”

  When he gazed into my soul like that, distracting myself didn’t work. Visions of hardwood floors were replaced with the way we’d laughed together that first night. Our late-night Speed tournament. His—

  Oh, God. What about my breath? My tongue felt thick and fuzzy as I ran it over my teeth. Can the guy who threw up on my feet complain about my breath?

  Yes, he can.

  It took every inch of willpower I had not to lean forward. Anything to win, remember? Anything.

  This was hopeless. No matter how much my brain screamed to walk away, the rest of my body wouldn’t listen. I craved more of him with every fiber of my being.

  “Hey, guys! The ice cream is—oh, sorry.”

  A voice in the doorway caused Justin to drop his hand. We both jumped backward. Ed stood in the doorway looking sheepish. I blushed and examined my toes.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but the stuff is here. The ice cream bar is all set up when you’re ready.” Ed ran one hand through his hair. “I’ll. . .just. . .uh. . .go.”

  Justin’s tomato-colored face must have mirrored my own. He cleared his throat and swallowed hard. “Right. Dinner. Right. Sorry.”

  He followed Ed out of the room.

  Eye on the prize, Jen.

  But as I went to brush my teeth, I wondered what the real prize was.

  CHAPTER 22

  Scenes from the School Room, Week 7:

  Ed: My kingdom for a television. One little movie? Magazines? A book! Or we could have some paper? We’ll write our own books, and read them to each other.

  Ariana: I couldn’t tell them the truth. I really need the money to help my little girl. She’s so sick. But I feel like, if they knew, they’d use it against me. It’s our secret, America.

  Rachel: Actually, I was planning to use my winnings to buy my mom a new truck. She needs one. Then I’d buy a house and go to beauty school. But whatever.