For Real (27 page)

“I’m not trying to patronize you, I’m trying to protect you!”

“But that’s the thing, Miranda—I don’t need your protection anymore! I’m so sick of you babying me all the time and acting like I can’t take care of myself! Are you really that surprised that I’d rather spend time with Will, who actually respects me and treats me like an adult?
You’re
the one I need protection from!”

Miranda throws another pomegranate, which explodes all over my shins—there’s so much red juice on me that I look like I’ve spent the day in a slaughterhouse. “If you want to be treated like an adult, then try thinking about someone besides yourself for once, Claire! I’ve just spent an entire day with my
cheating ex-boyfriend
, who I can barely
look at
without feeling like I’m going to throw up, and you’ve made zero effort to reach out to me! Didn’t it occur to you that I might be upset? My entire life just fell apart, and I’m in the middle of nowhere, and I can’t even talk to any of my friends. You’re my only ally out here, and you’ve basically abandoned me for a
crush
. I would
never
do that to you, no matter what distractions some stupid TV network threw at me. I don’t see how it matters if you can swim in your underwear or dance in front of a bunch of people if underneath it all, you’re just a selfish child.”

I feel like I’ve been kicked in the soft place under my ribs, and for a moment, I’m speechless. “Miranda, that’s not—” I start.

“I don’t want to hear it,” she says. “If you want me to believe you’re so different from how you used to be, show me you’ve grown up in a way that actually
matters
.”

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.”