Chapter Twelve
Even though the contestants now have “down time,” the cameras are still rolling.
I decide that, if I have any hope of winning over America and competing with the drunk influencers, I need to take Shantae’s advice and “put myself out there.” And since I’m still wearing the tattered remains of my Speedo, I’m putting quite a bit of myself out there.
I discreetly tuck my boobs back in and walk over to where Javier and TC are lifting weights.
There are glistening muscles as far as the eye can see.
Unfortunately, I’m incapable of appreciating them because I’m having PTSD flashbacks to high school, when I used to avoid the cool jocks in gym class.
At the time it wasn’t hard. I was so far off their radar that I was the teenage equivalent of a stealth fighter jet.
I shake off the trauma of adolescence and remind myself that I’m a grown-up now, a respected grown-up with a team of scientists working under me.
As I get closer to the outdoor gym, I hear them discussing their favorite whey powders and protein shakes.
I rack my brain for something to talk to them about.
I could explain how the peptides in proteins are broken down by the hydrochloric acid and proteases in the human stomach, but even I suspect that’s not a great pickup line.
And the only thing I know about weights is that they seem heavy, so I don’t lift them.
Maybe I’ll see what the other contestants are doing and check back with these two later. I give the guys a wave and keep walking.
Madison is doing yoga by the side of the pool in a matching hot pink sports bra and yoga pants set.
Her downward dog looks like it could be on the cover of I’m Bendy and Perfect magazine, whereas I once pulled a muscle sneezing.
So probably best to move along. Which leaves me with Mean Girl Beth Anne and oily Cowboy Bill.
They’re drinking at the bar, and Beth Anne is touching Bill’s bicep. As I get closer, I hear Beth Anne say, “Yeah, that’s why I want ass implants.” I immediately try to veer off before they see me, but Beth Anne notices me and calls out, “Grace! Come here!” Fuuuck.
“Oh, hey, guys,” I say, pretending I wasn’t trying to avoid them like the plague.
“You can settle a debate for us,” she says. “What do you think of Bill’s calves?”
I look down at Bill’s legs, not sure what I’m supposed to be looking for. “Um, there’s not too much leg hair, but also not too bare, so I would say they’re optimally hairy?”
Beth Anne laughs like I’m an idiot. “No. Do you think he needs implants?”
“In his calves?!” I ask in shock. “People really do that?”
“Yeah,” Bill says. “A bunch of guys at my gym got it done.”
“But doesn’t that defeat the purpose of going to the gym?” I ask.
“I told him he has sexy calves and doesn’t need it,” Beth Anne says as she snuggles closer to Bill.
“Yeah, I definitely wouldn’t inject anything into your legs, Bill. I don’t think women care about that kind of thing.”
“You’d be surprised,” Bill says, and Beth Anne nods.
“What about you, Grace?” Beth Anne asks in a way that makes me picture a boa constrictor slowly circling a small mammal before squeezing it to death.
“What about me?”
“Have you considered getting filler for your crow’s feet?” And there it is. I knew it was a trap, and yet I waddled into her clutches.
“Pleasure as always, Beth,” I say, purposely trying to piss her off as I walk away.
“It’s Beth Anne!” she calls after me.
Well, I tried socializing, and now I’m exhausted. I plop down on a chaise lounge and take the fantasy novel out of my tote bag that Blue ran back to my room to get for me. It’s not my fault he assumed I was talking about medication when I said I needed my “emergency supplies.”
I get less than a chapter in when I see Kristina rushing toward me. When she’s not striding self-importantly, she’s rushing. And to be fair, her stride is still pretty high-speed. “How’d you sneak contraband in here?”
I look around to see what she could possibly be talking about. “It’s physically impossible to hide drugs or weapons in this bathing suit. I can barely hide my private parts.”
Kristina points at my book. “No books, phones, electronics, or contact with the outside world. Didn’t you read the paperwork?”
I sigh. “I can’t go a week without reading. My brain is already atrophying in here.”
“You’re not here to catch up on your reading list. You’re here to meet people. Go mingle.”
“I tried. Beth Anne told me I needed plastic surgery.”
“Oooh, I hope the cameras got that. She’s such a bitch, I love it.” Then Kristina grabs my book. “Go.”
I angrily get up and storm off. “I can’t believe you’ve banned books! What is this, Texas?”
“Woo! Texas!” Bill says from his spot at the bar.
I roll my eyes, then walk over to Madison and plop down next to her in the grass. “Hey, sorry for bothering you, but Kristina told me I have to mingle.”
“You’re not bothering me. I have an extra mat if you want to join me!” she says, looking at me upside down.
“I’m good. I’ll just sit here and try to touch my toes.”
Madison does some crazy contortionist move where she balances on one leg and puts her other leg over her shoulder. “Can I ask you something I’ve been wondering, Grace?” she casually asks, as if she weren’t currently starring in Cirque du Soleil.
“Sure,” I say, giving up on stretching altogether and sprawling out in the grass.
“I guess I’m just surprised you’re on the show. You’re so beautiful and smart and successful. It doesn’t seem like you would have any trouble meeting guys.”
I snort in disbelief that Malibu Barbie is asking me this. “Me?! How about you? You’re so gorgeous and smiley and flexible.”
She takes her leg off her shoulder and sits down next to me like we’re old friends. “That is so kind of you.” She sighs. “I don’t know about you, but I can never seem to meet the right kind of guys. Like actual, serious ones.” I give her a nod, surprised I have that in common with her.
“I’m going back to school for a master’s in psychology,” she continues. “So I bartend and model to help pay for it. But the guys I meet at the bar or on photo shoots . . . well, let’s just say, they don’t seem to be interested in relationships.”
“You’re getting a master’s in psychology?”
Madison laughs. “You say that like you’re surprised.”
I wince, realizing I’m being rude. “I may have underestimated you because you’re so pretty and wearing pink.”
Madison laughs again. “You can’t wear pink in grad school?”
I shrug, and before I can say anything else offensive about her clothing choices, I change the subject. “Why psychology?”
Madison’s face lights up. “I started a nonprofit two years ago and realized my true passion is helping others. Now I want to make it official.”
“That’s really admirable. What’s your nonprofit?”
“It’s a mental health website for kids and teens to give them resources and community support to help with bullying and depression. I partnered with a few teen centers around San Diego, and we run programs from there as well.”
Holy shit.
She must read the expression on my face because she smiles like she’s on to me. “It’s okay, most people assume, because I bartend, I’m a party girl.”
“I’m sorry I made assumptions before I knew you,” I say sincerely.
“Are you still talking about wearing pink?” Madison teases.
“No. You’re like actually nice. It’s not just an act.”
“Oh God, I would never. Wait, what made you think I was acting? Did I do something to upset you?” Madison asks with concern.
“No,” I say quickly. “I thought you were being fake for the show. I’m sorry, it’s nothing personal. I just assumed that was what everyone did on reality TV.”
But the look on her face says that she might be taking it personally. Not only did I judge her unfairly, but I’m also upsetting her. Shit. I feel horrible. It must be guilt that drives me to do something I never do . . . talk about my feelings.
“It’s just that, in the past, the pretty, popular girls didn’t want to hang out with me,” I begin awkwardly. “I was a bit of an outcast.” I laugh at myself. “Pretty much straight through grad school.” I take a deep breath. Damn, this is harder to talk about than I thought.
“You actually remind me of this girl from high school,” I say.
“You look a lot like her.” I look up at Madison and continue.
“I thought she was my friend. She was always nice to me in our honors classes, but the minute the bell rang she’d ignore me, like she was embarrassed to be seen with me. ” I can feel my cheeks warming.
But when I look back at Madison, she’s not judging me. She just nods and kindly says, “Thank you for sharing that with me. It must’ve been hard feeling like you didn’t fit in.”
I feel some of the tension leave my body. Damn, she’s going to be a great psychologist one day.
Then, with a sweet smile, Madison adds, “I think there’s a special place in hell for mean girls.
” I laugh at her unexpected turn, but she shrugs and continues: “Life, especially in high school, is so difficult as it is. We should be lifting each other up, not making things worse. That’s part of what I’m trying to achieve with my nonprofit.
Helping people realize we’re all going through shit and if we take a moment to understand our differences, we could be more supportive of each other.
” Then she gives me a meaningful smile and says, “I was bullied as a kid too.”
“You were?” I’m simultaneously stunned and outraged.
“We didn’t have a lot of money growing up. And it didn’t matter how nice I was or smart I was. There were always kids who singled me out for being the poor kid. They used to pick on me for getting free lunch at school and only having one pair of sneakers, stuff like that.”
“Wow. I’ve never wanted to kick a bunch of teenagers’ asses I’ve never met before.”
She laughs. “It’s okay, I’ve processed it. When I could finally afford therapy.” Then Madison looks around a bit, covers the mic on her necklace, and whispers, “To be honest, my nonprofit is the real reason why I’m on the show. The more publicity and followers I get, the more people I can help.”
Maybe Madison and I are more alike than I thought.
“Your secret is safe with me,” I whisper back.
Then I debate letting her in on my own secret motivation.
She trusted me enough to share with me, but I’m still worried that I could get kicked off if anyone found out that I’m using the show to make up for my lost funding.
Madison covers my hand and says sincerely, “Thanks for listening, Grace.” And in that moment, I decide to open up to her.
I cover my mic and tell her all about the endangered southern mountain yellow-legged frogs and why I’m really on the show.
Madison continues to impress me by asking all sorts of follow-up questions before saying, “I want to help! I’ll post your fundraiser to my socials.
I feel like we have a crossover audience—people who are caring and want to help the world. ”
I’m so touched by this. “I would love that. Thank you. And once I have enough followers, I’ll be happy to return the favor.” Then a funny thought crosses my mind. “Huh. I don’t think I ever considered social media could actually have a positive effect on society.”
“That’s a big part of what I do. Counteract cyber-bullying with cyber-positivity.” Then she looks at me with a hint of a challenge in her eyes. “If Kristina hadn’t made you come talk to me, would you have come over on your own?”
I think about it for a moment. “No. Probably not.”
“Why not?”
I shrug sheepishly. “Maybe because I didn’t think we’d have anything in common?”
“Or maybe you still feel like you don’t fit in,” Madison says gently. “But you’re funny and smart and easy to talk to, and anybody would be lucky to be your friend, Grace. I think you just have to be willing to put in the effort too.”
Well, damn. Kristina has Madison all wrong. She’s not the “girl next door,” she’s a freaking sage. I give her an appreciative smile. “Thank you.” Then I admit, “I’ve been told I can be a little antisocial. But you’re helping me realize that maybe it’s something I should work on.”
Madison is about to respond when we hear, “Hey, girls!” Kristina stride-rushes over toward us, with Brett and a camera operator trailing closely behind. “What are you whispering about over here?”
Madison says, “Boys,” at the same time I say, “Books.” Madison quickly covers for us by saying, “Bill looks like he belongs on the cover of a romance novel.”
“Ooh, that’s a good sound bite. Make sure you say that in your confessional.
” Kristina nods to Madison. Then she turns to Brett, who looks annoyed that he left the air-conditioned control room for this.
“Let’s get the pickup shot Brett wants. Grace, you walk over and ask Madison why she’s on the show.
” I shoot Madison a panicked look, but she gives me an encouraging nod.
I nervously get up, walk a few steps away, and then come over and plop back down next to Madison’s yoga mat. I’ve never been a good actor. Granted, I’ve never tried. But since this was literally the same conversation we were just having, I think I can handle it.
“Can I ask you something I’ve been wondering, Madison?”
“Sure, Grace.”
“Why did you come on the show?”
“To find love, of course!” Madison gushes. “How about you?”
“The same. Of course,” I say stiffly. Everyone pauses.
“Okay, let’s take it from the top,” Kristina says with annoyance. “This time, Grace, try to make it sound more natural. No one finds robots sexy.” Brett shrugs in disagreement.
“Ew,” Kristina says, shaking her head at him.
Then she turns to me. “Let’s go again. And try to nail it in one shot.
We have to get you camera-ready for your first one-on-one date.
You better have an outfit in your suitcase that doesn’t look like something a self-conscious eighth-grader would wear in gym class. ”
I laugh at the specificity of her burn, but neither she nor Brett look amused. “I thought I was supposed to be the Nerdy Fish Out of Water,” I say with a shrug.
“The hot Nerdy Fish Out of Water,” Kristina says. “We don’t want people changing the channel.”
Before that diss can sink in, Madison comes to my rescue. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Grace has the perfect dress. It might even be pink.” She winks at me.
I smile back at her. And for the first time in a long time, it feels like I’ve made a new friend. Or at the very least, a co-conspirator.