The Reality Of It All

Chapter 1

Chapter One

“Calla, you almost ready?”

I tore my gaze away from my reflection to find Brady hovering in the door of my suite.

“Um, can I have a few more minutes?”

“Of course.” He flashed a reassuring smile that did little to settle the queasy feeling in my stomach. “I’ll knock again in five, but then we really have to go.” His tan hair flopped forward as he raised a walkie-talkie to his mouth. “Number two needs five more minutes. I repeat. Number two needs five more minutes.”

The way he so effortlessly reduced me to a number made me wince. Brady seemed nice for someone who worked in reality television, but then again, I was completely oblivious to this world. Anyone who knew me would never have said I was the kind of person to do this sort of thing. They’d all have insisted that quiet, shy Calla did not have the right personality for TV.

I looked back at myself in the mirror, taking in my bright blue eyes, now lined with soft brown liner. Rosy blush dotted both of my cheeks, and my raven hair was styled in a long braid. The hair and makeup team had begged me to wear my hair down in loose, long waves, but I’d insisted on wearing it pulled back. The makeup already felt like a lot. This was a writing competition, after all; it wasn’t like I was going on The Bachelor .

Smoothing one of my eyebrows, I continued to inspect myself. I had never felt self-conscious before now, but I had also never experienced the stress of considering what the general public might think of me. People were harsh and cruel, and I feared I would be no match for their scrutiny. Sure, I was pretty, but not in the way that caused people to stop and stare. Everything about me was intentionally understated, just how I liked it.

This was a writing competition, I reminded myself again. For authors. How many people would even watch? And if anyone did, surely they’d care more about my talent than the way I looked.

Calla Scott, budding novelist from Chicago, arriving for her chance to compete on The Next Great American Classic.

The whole idea was unfathomable. When my sister, Piper, had applied for me, I’d told her she was being utterly ridiculous. Then, when the call came announcing that I’d been selected, apprehension had smacked me in the face.

Of course, I’d declined. I had already sold my first novel two years before. Sure, there had been a bit of a publishing delay, and now I had terrible writer’s block, but I’d still sold it. I hadn’t written anything new since the accident, but I found it hard to fathom that a show could help with that.

But Piper had begged me, with tears in her eyes. She’d said I was fading into nothing right in front of her. I believe her exact words had been something along the lines of, your numbness is sucking the life out of me .

So, because I loved my sister, and not because I thought this experience would have some profound effect on me, I’d agreed.

Another knock.

“Calla. It’s time.”

Standing from the vanity, I tugged on the hem of my most comfortable sweater, ensuring it lay smooth. It was my favorite and made me feel like a writer whenever I put it on, which is why I’d found it so strange earlier when the producer had begged me to change. What said ‘writer’ more than a cable-knit sweater? It was even weirder when they’d strongly suggested I wear a dress. Why would I wear a fancy gown to pitch book ideas? Surely the other contestants would be wearing similar things.

“Let’s do this,” I said, with more confidence than I felt.

“That’s the spirit.”

Brady ushered me through the door of my room, and I found myself face to face with a mounted deer head. It stared right into my soul before I tore my eyes away and continued down the hall. The whole thing was being filmed at a remote lodge in Montana. It seemed a bit random, but when I’d asked, Brady had mentioned something about a state tax credit and budget restrictions.

“Don’t get overwhelmed, but you’ll be meeting a lot of people when we first get down there. We’ve split everyone into two groups. You’ll meet one set first, and then we’ll bring the others in.”

I practically had to jog to keep up with his hurried pace.

“I’ll put you in one of the side rooms we use for interviews and knock when it’s time for your big entrance.

“The sound guy will come in and get you all mic’d up. Remember, any time you’re in the lodge, there will be hidden cameras recording you. It’s vitally important that you don’t remove your mic during filming, and you stay in the designated rooms. You remember which ones those are, right?”

He’d provided me with a map yesterday that labeled all of the areas of the lodge that we’d have access to. I thought back to that, recalling most of the information. My head spun trying to process it all. I was surprised to learn they’d be filming us even during our downtime. Wouldn’t people just be tuning in for the competition aspect? Maybe they thought there would be drama among the contestants. They certainly wouldn’t be getting that from me. Confrontation gave me hives.

Brady stopped abruptly at a wooden door in the middle of the hallway. I recognized it instantly as the room where we’d filmed my introduction interview. They had peppered me with question after question about my “sob story,” as the producers had so eloquently called it. I had tried to limit the information I’d shared with them as much as possible. The last thing I wanted was for people to root for me because they felt sorry for me.

“Okay, here we are.” He ushered me inside. “Our sound guy will be here in a moment, then someone will come get you when we’re ready.”

I nodded.

Brady sighed. “You know you’ll actually have to speak once you get out there, right?”

“Of course,” I said hollowly. Piper had made me promise to make an effort, but my heart wasn’t in this at all. I suddenly felt desperate to be back home in the comfort of my small apartment.

“Good luck.” Brady squeezed my arm and closed the door, sealing me inside the windowless room; one which had most likely been a closet before they decided to film in here.

Tears welled up at the corners of my eyes and an overwhelming sense of feeling out of place washed over me. In the past two years since the accident, this was the farthest I’d ventured from home. I already missed my mother, whom I spoke to almost daily. And I missed Piper, who, despite being single and having better things to do, always dropped in to check on me every Friday. She knew weekends hit me the hardest.

I was still afraid that coming here had been a mistake, but I pulled my shoulders back and drew in a deep breath.

I’d promised Piper I would give this a fair shot.

Plus, I couldn’t hide forever.

Twenty minutes later, a microphone hung around my neck, connected to a wire around my waist. I’d been given very strict instructions not to remove the mic under any circumstances; the sound guy had basically put the fear of God in me.

The door opened, revealing Shay.

Shay was the other producer—or handler, as they called themselves. She and Brady oversaw the contestants. They ensured we were in the right place at the right time, and had conducted our original interviews. Shay was maybe forty, with a cropped hairstyle and a stern look about her. While Brady at least pretended to be empathetic and kind, Shay’s eyes held no warmth.

When I arrived from the airport two days ago, she had immediately taken me to be interviewed. I had begged for a shower and a nap and she had begrudgingly agreed, complaining the entire time that we’d be behind schedule. After that, I was definitely on her bad side.

“Let’s go.” She waved me out of the room .

I followed, not wanting to give her any more reasons to dislike me.

She pointed down the hall. “Follow this to the main lounge. The other contestants will trickle in slowly. Introduce yourself as they come. The host will join you all shortly. Whatever you do, do not leave the lounge until instructed to do so.”

I nodded, even though she wasn’t looking at me.

“Got it?” she barked.

“Got it,” I squeaked.

“Don’t forget your voice. This is a TV show.”

“I won’t,” I insisted.

Following her direction, I took tentative steps toward the space where the hallway opened up into a room. Beyond the arch were high, vaulted ceilings. Cameras were likely embedded in every wooden beam. Brady had told me to pretend they didn’t exist.

The hallway shrank before me. Five more steps and I’d be there. No turning back now.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

The room was a grand, open space, with several couches and chairs arranged around a massive stone fireplace. Walls of large windows on both sides of the room let in the afternoon sunlight. Before I could take in anything more, someone let out a loud squeal. A short blonde I hadn’t noticed at first came ambling toward me.

“Hi, I’m Trace. It’s so nice to meet you.”

She opened her arms and heat pricked the back of my neck. I was decidedly not a hugger. But I had already anticipated this would happen today, so I braced myself and returned the quick hug .

“I’m Calla. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Where are you from?” she asked, still hovering close to me.

“Chicago. What about you?”

“Nashville.”

My shoulders sagged with relief as I took in the genuine warmth in her expression. At least not everyone on this show would be cutthroat.

Trace looked like sunshine would, if it were a person. She wore a short pink dress, cowboy boots, and a hat. She was adorable, but also not what I was expecting from an author. Then I felt like a jerk for making any type of assumption simply based on what she was wearing.

“Cute dress,” I said. “That color is great on you.”

“Thank you. I spent hours picking it out.” She beamed at me. “I love your sweater. It’s so cozy.”

“Thanks.” I blushed and played with the hole in my right sleeve. Maybe I should have dressed up more for this after all.

“This is a little nerve-wracking, right?” she said in her subtle Southern drawl.

“I’m so glad you said that.” I was only five feet six inches, but I had at least four inches on Trace.

“I was a bundle of nerves last night. Could hardly sleep.”

“Me either,” I admitted. “Every time I rolled over to check the time, only fifteen minutes had passed.”

“It was the absolute worst, and they took my phone so I couldn’t even distract myself,” she said, before asking me more about Chicago and my flight in.

I answered her questions, grateful to find such a friendly ally so early on. Maybe Piper was right and this experience would be good for me.

“And this lodge is stunning,” Trace continued. “I can’t believe we get to stay here. ”

“The views are breathtaking,” I said, staring out the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows. Rolling plains stretched out away from us until they dissolved into mountains in the distance. I had never been this far west before, and I doubted I’d ever get sick of staring at that view.

“I wonder where we’ll all be recording,” Trace said, peering down the hall.

“Recording?” Confusion knit my brow. “Like cameras? I’m pretty sure they’re all hidden.”

“No silly. Recording equipment .”

Her emphasis did not help my comprehension.

“Like laptops and notebooks? I’m sure they’ll provide us something to write with.”

“What do you?—”

She stopped talking as we both turned our heads to see a stunning, tall, tanned woman saunter into the room. She wore a black dress with cutouts that instantly made me feel all kinds of inferior. Apparently, I was the dowdiest writer they could find in the continental US.

Trace raced over to hug the new arrival while I hung back and waved, hoping to excuse myself from the obligatory interaction.

“I’m Sofia.” She grabbed my shoulders before giving me two air kisses on either cheek.

“Calla,” I said.

“This place is adorable.” Sofia waved her arms and walked around the room as if already starring in her own personal fashion show.

“Where are you from?” Trace asked.

“I’m in Miami right now.”

“Oh, it’s beautiful there!” Trace exclaimed.

“It is,” Sofia said, turning her face and pursing her lips, almost as if to give the hidden cameras her best angles. She didn’t bother asking us any questions. Trace snuck a smile at me and winked.

“So, what do all y’all do for work?” Trace asked.

“I’m a full-time model,” Sofia said with a bored tone.

“Wow,” Trace gushed. “That’s awesome. I’m just a waitress...Well, you know, at least until I make it big. What about you, Calla?”

I did not want to admit the reality—that I’d been living off the modest advance for my first novel, but had recently depleted it, plunging myself into a mild financial crisis.

“Um, I’m between things right now,” I said.

Trace nudged me. “I get it. All of us hanging in the balance until we become superstars.”

“Wait, what?” The word superstar felt like an odd choice to describe a successful author.

My question hung in the air unanswered as another new arrival walked into the lounge.

A girl dressed in a flowing, all-white two-piece set waltzed in, her long black hair in braids that hung almost to her waist. “Hey everyone,” she called out. “I’m Rachel,” she greeted us, and in return, we all introduced ourselves.

I was beyond grateful she offered us each an outstretched hand instead of trying to pull us in for hugs.

“You’re stunning,” Trace said. I couldn’t help but notice Sofia eyeing Rachel up and down, sussing out the competition.

Brady stood in the entrance to the hallway. “Ladies, you’re doing great. If you could just migrate over to the couch by the fireplace and continue chatting for a few minutes, the host will be in shortly.”

“Thanks, Brady!” Trace called.

“Calla, right?” Rachel asked, as we all followed Brady’s instructions and made ourselves comfortable by the fire .

I nodded before remembering I needed to speak more. “Right.”

“You seem nervous,” she observed.

“Do I?”

“You’re balling up your fists so tight in your sweater, I’m worried you might rip it,” she pointed out.

I immediately released my hands. “I guess I am a little nervous. And right now, I’m wishing I hadn’t worn this stupid sweater.”

Rachel shrugged. “I was thinking how jealous I was of your outfit. You look comfortable.”

I stifled a groan. “You are not jealous. I look like I’m headed to the grocery store. Meanwhile, you literally look flawless.” I gestured at her.

“Thanks.” She tugged at the white fabric. “I wasn’t sure what to wear. They gave us no indication of what the first day would entail.”

“I know. I tried to get something out of Brady, but he gave me nothing,” I said as we all leaned forward in our seats. “They tried to get me to change into a dress. Like, for what?”

“Same!” Rachel exclaimed. “I didn’t want to, just in case there was some kind of surprise competition. I need to move.” She gave Sofia’s skintight dress a once-over.

Sofia giggled. “Move? All I cared about was looking as hot as possible.”

Rachel shot me a look with raised eyebrows, and I tilted my head. What kind of writing competition would involve that much movement? I looked over at Trace, who now also appeared perplexed.

“What’s all y’all’s favorite genre?” she asked after a moment of silence.

“Probably romance or fantasy?” I responded quickly.

She gave me a funny look. “I meant music, silly. ”

“Oh.” It was a strange question, but I suppose it was nice to get to know these women. We’d be spending the next few weeks together, after all. “I guess I listen to mostly folk, indie-type music.”

“R&B for sure,” Rachel said.

“Pop,” Sofia said. “I’ll listen to anything that’s Top Forty.”

“How fun. We’re all different.” Trace clapped her hands in excitement. “I only sing country.”

“Wow, you sing?” I turned toward her. “I’m totally tone-deaf. I’d love to hear you sometime.”

Trace’s mouth dropped open and she whipped her head around, looking at us all. “What do you mean you’re tone-deaf?”

“Same here,” Rachel agreed. “Can’t carry a tune to save my life.”

“I’m not that bad. I can act a little, too,” Sofia said.

Trace looked between us all “Are you...are you not all here to sing? I’m so confused.”

“Sing?” Rachel balked. “I’m a dancer.”

I snorted. “I can’t do either.” Puzzle pieces flew through my mind, but I couldn’t connect them. “Uh, I’m a writer.”

“Then why are you on a singing competition?” Trace asked, bewildered.

“I’m not,” I said, panic rising in my chest. What the hell was going on? “I’m here for a writing competition.”

Rachel snorted. “I don’t know what you’re all talking about, but I’m here to dance.”

We all looked at each other, wild-eyed, before turning to Sofia.

She gave a dismissive flick of her wrist. “What? I’m just here to get famous.”

Ice ran down my spine. Something was seriously wrong.