Chapter 2 Season 1, Episode 1 “Pilot” #2
Mortified, I rose, clumsily kicking my books across the lounge area. “Whoa there, tiger,” he said, taking my hand. Sunlight glinted off his light brown eyes, and I recalled what an old history teacher once said was born when arrogance fused with generosity. Charisma.
“So, who’s Miss Julie, and why’d you drop-kick her?
” A tall, muscular Black girl approached, long braids swaying down her back.
My book, cover snapped back like a broken wing, flapped in her hand.
“I’m guessing you’re here for the reality show?
I saw two guys who could be Abercrombie models and figured they must be on TV… Please don’t be assholes.”
I sheepishly took my book from her. “I’ll definitely do my best, but I can’t speak for the Abercrombie models, whoever they are—”
“You’re Imogen Cuthbert, right?” Arjun smiled. “I loved you on Medals!”
She eyed him skeptically. “How? I was third out.”
“Those lunkheads targeted you because you were the biggest threat.”
“Sorry, what’s Medals?” I asked.
“You didn’t watch Medals of Honor?” Arjun exclaimed. “With the Olympians racing the military vets around the world? It blew up the Nielsen ratings!”
I squirmed, so out of my depth. I’d spent years getting fluent in “football.” How long would it take to speak “reality television”? “I don’t watch much TV.”
“That is the most refreshing thing I’ve heard in months,” Imogen replied. “But I still have no clue who either of you are.”
“Clearly I’m the only one who did their research.
” Arjun smirked, already effortlessly familiar.
He eagerly ushered us to the corner of the waiting area, positioning his back to the gathering passengers.
He was twenty-six, fresh off his third season of Gone Bollywood.
His parents were media titans in the UK and in their native India.
To break into the American market, they’d launched a reality show under the guise of documenting their move to Los Angeles.
They had money to burn, Arjun disclosed with theatrical annoyance, and had crafted the most lavish portrait of aspirational wealth on television, brimming with mansions, product placement, and rigorously scripted celebrity cameos.
Arjun graduated from Cambridge during the move to America, so his storyline involved reconnecting with the family in LA, including Emaan, the little preteen brother he adored.
Arjun was “learning the ropes” as an “assistant” in the family conglomerate, but it was all staged.
“Convincing my mother to loan me out was a fucking feat,” he said breathlessly.
“But I need something without my parents preening beside me. Establish my own brand, you know?”
I nodded through the monologue, but Imogen stayed deadpan: “So, your name’s Arjun?”
“Already exhausted by me?”
“Not sure yet,” she said as I simultaneously replied, “Not at all.”
Arjun beamed at me, and my eyes retreated to the matted gray carpet, too aware that my scars flared when I blushed. I prayed I wouldn’t develop some pathetic crush, reminding myself he had to be straight. Even I knew they’d never cast two gay guys on the same show.
“Get used to me, Imogen. We might be on the same team,” Arjun continued.
“There are teams?” I asked.
“They didn’t explain the format when they pitched you the show?”
Imogen released a dry laugh that might as well have been a cough. “I was told ‘in or out’ for the chance at $1 million. Enough for me.”
My jaw dropped. “Wait—we could win $1 million?!”
Arjun nodded eagerly. “It’s two teams, equal numbers of men and women. Every episode, we compete in a Tribulation, which is a different physical task or puzzle every time. Then the winners pick someone from each team to battle in the elimination round… the Trial.”
“A Tribulation, then a Trial,” I repeated. “Should it be the other way around?”
He ignored me, pressing onward. “The episodes alternate between male and female eliminations. The last people standing on each team compete in the final episode for the $1 million, divided evenly amongst the winners. And that is how you play Endeavor.”
“Endeavor?”
“The working title. I suggested alternates. I like naming things.”
“Hope you didn’t come up with ‘Tribulations and Trials,’” Imogen muttered, right as two wiry, freckled hands landed on Arjun’s shoulders.
“Plotting already?”
Arjun’s face briefly soured at the new voice. “Barnes, I hadn’t heard you were coming.”
“I got the call yesterday. Somebody dropped, and I was the alternate. Lucky me, huh?” The newcomer chuckled, his scrawny frame drowning in an oversized neon tank top and hideous pink boardshorts.
He brushed his shaggy sandy bangs aside to eye me like a prize steer.
“And what do we have here?” He extended a hand, ignoring Imogen, who noticed. “Barnes Appleby.”
“Luke Griffin. This is Imogen—”
“Wait, you’re the gay football player!” he interrupted. “Who’s never done reality TV.”
“Liberty Today is on the network. It counts,” Arjun replied on my behalf, for the first time, hardly the last. Clearly my imposter status wouldn’t be excused by everybody.
“I guess they need some muscle on the show. Besides, I won’t complain about another homo in the house,” Barnes said with a conspiratorial wink.
So they had cast two gay guys. Still, no matter how unsure I was about my type, I was positive it wasn’t the goblin boy currently leering at me.
“You’re going to win someone a lot of money this summer. ”
My stomach flipped at the attention. “Or I’ll royally suck.”
“You won’t,” Barnes and Arjun both answered, but Imogen stayed quiet. I smiled nervously at her, unsure if she was evaluating me or them.
“What show are you from?” I asked Barnes, desperate to change the subject.
“Lobby Boys. Lots of guys in suits screaming. Good practice for this bloodbath.”
“You think the game will be that competitive?”
Barnes blinked, amused. “Isn’t everything?”
Boarding soon commenced for Grand Cayman, but Arjun guided me and Imogen out of line once Barnes was on the plane. “That douchebag goes the first chance we get.”
Imogen’s feet shifted. “We don’t even know if we’re on the same team.”
“Listen, I’ve known everyone else who’s been cast for years,” Arjun insisted. “The only people I want to work with are you two, and I have a lot on the line here.”
“Really? You clearly don’t need the money,” Imogen fired back.
“I don’t want to make a fool of myself on national television either.” Arjun burrowed those magnetic eyes into me. “We have to trust each other, okay?”
Did I know then? That the summer of 2003 would be ours, the cameras framing our blossoming friendship so America would adore us as much as we adored each other?
I didn’t. I didn’t know Endeavor would become such a hit that the star players would return season after season.
I didn’t know I’d film three editions of the show before I fled, totally in love and completely notorious.
I never thought there would be consequences to the decisions I’d make on a game show with people I’d just met.
All I knew, even then, was I already trusted Arjun.
I probably shouldn’t have.