For Real (28 page)

He looks genuinely confused. “When did I ditch you? Miranda stole
you
during the Heartbreaker round. I didn’t want to switch partners.”

“I’m not talking about that! I’m talking about Janine! I thought we were so good together, and I thought … and then you were just … you just …” But all the sentences I want to say are too humiliating, so I leave them hanging unfinished in the air.

Will stares at me like I’m speaking another language. “Claire, we’re on a TV show. We’re not getting married. You’re acting like I cheated on you or something. We’ll race with other people this round, and maybe we’ll get to be
together again later. I didn’t mean to hurt you by picking Janine. None of this is personal. You know that.”

I hate that both Will and Ken are looking at me with sympathy, like I’m a little girl who has just discovered the Tooth Fairy isn’t real. I’m so tired of looking pathetic and ridiculous and weak. Starting tomorrow, this is all going to change.

“I’m sorry if you thought—” Will starts.

I hold up my hand. “I get it. Just stop talking, please, okay?”

And he does. The fact that he doesn’t try harder to make things right with me says more than any words could.

When Ken sends Will away shortly after that, I expect him to call someone to bring out my sister. But instead he says, “You’re done for now, Claire. Have a good rest, and make sure you’re at the starting line on time tomorrow morning.”

“Wait a minute,” I say. “Don’t I have to interview with Miranda?”

“Miranda will do her interview alone today.”

“What? Why? I really need to talk to her.”

Ken starts flipping through some papers on his clipboard, like I’m the least important thing in the room. “I’m sure you’ll find an opportunity to see her tomorrow.”

But tomorrow isn’t soon enough; I need to fix things now. “Can you at least tell me which room she’s in?”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Claire. She specifically requested not to see you.”

I managed to keep it together in front of Will, but now I’m positive I’m going to cry. I close my eyes and take a deep, steadying breath, in for three counts and out for five, just
like my fifth-grade teacher taught me. Right now, I can’t let myself think about how angry Miranda is. I can’t think about how thoroughly I misread Will. I have a job to do, and that means I need to rise above my emotions and concentrate. For a little while longer, I need to focus on playing the game. There will be plenty of time to break down later, when all this is over.

I open my eyes and sit up straight. “Can I talk to you alone for a few minutes, then?” I ask Ken.

He looks at his watch. “Okay, but make it quick. We’re on a tight schedule today. What’s up?”

“I want you to be prepared for what I’m going to do tomorrow,” I say. “I think you’re going to like this, and I want to make sure you get all the footage you need.”

Suddenly he looks more interested. “What are you planning to do, exactly?”

“I’m going to sabotage myself,” I tell him. “And I’m going to take Samir down with me.”

When I get back to my room, I hand-wash my Team Revenge T-shirt in the tiny bathroom sink and hang it over the shower rail to dry. Then I lie awake for eight hours, staring at the cracks in the ceiling and thinking about everything that’s happened with Will and Miranda. Around midnight, I consider getting up, systematically knocking on every door in the hotel until I find my sister’s room, and forcing her to let me explain myself. But that seems like a less-than-stellar plan, unless I want to get yelled at by a lot of angry Greek people. I’ll just have to hope that my actions tomorrow speak loudly enough to show Miranda that I finally understand what she’s been trying to tell me.

By the time my alarm goes off for my 3:15 a.m. departure with Samir, I haven’t slept at all. I guess I’ll have to get through today on coffee and adrenaline. My shirt is still a little damp, but I put it on anyway, hoping it’ll give me strength.

Samir is waiting for me in the lobby, marking up a copy of
Backstage
magazine with a red pen. “Hey,” I say.

He doesn’t even look up. “I know you hate me,” he says.
“I thought that was the whole reason you came on the show. So why did you pick me as your partner?”

“
I
don’t hate you. Miranda hates you. And Miranda and I are fighting right now. I mean, no offense or anything, but I mostly picked you ’cause I thought it would piss her off. It seemed like a good way to show her that she and I aren’t allies anymore.”

For a minute I’m not sure he’s going to buy it, but then he shrugs. “Whatever,” he says. “Honestly, I don’t really care if you
do
hate me, as long as you race well. It’s not like we have to be friends. I just want to win.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Me too.”

He gestures at my shirt. “So, is that supposed to be ironic or something, now that we’re on the same side?”

“I still want revenge,” I say. “I just have a different target today.”

I spend the whole ride to the checkpoint taking deep, steadying breaths and promising myself that today I will be totally focused, totally in control. I won’t let anything shake me or mess with my emotions. I won’t even look at Will. I won’t think about the fury in Miranda’s eyes as she accused me of being selfish. Over and over, I tell myself that I’m strong and clever and that everything’s going to turn out okay. If I think it enough times, maybe I’ll actually start believing it.

We meet our new crew—Robby on camera, Kanesha on sound—and Robby gives me a secretive smile as he shakes my hand. The producers have probably told him all about my plans for today so he’ll be sure to film the right things.
I smile back, and I must be showing more than I intended on my face, because Isis says, “Claire, you look ready to race this morning.”

“Never been readier,” I say. “Bring it on.”

“Well, may the forces of love and luck be with you.” She hands me our first envelope, and I rip it open and read the instructions out loud.

Fly to Glasgow, Scotland, then choose an Around the World car at the airport and drive yourselves to Glasgow Green. Once you arrive, find the world’s largest terra-cotta fountain, where you will receive your next instructions
.

All the way to the airport, Samir monologues about an idea he has for a new screenplay, which would star him as a mysterious, tortured model/spy/assassin who’s living a triple life with three hot wives who are all played by the same actress. At first I try to listen, but as he delves into the “nuanced psychological aspects” of the story, I quickly discover that he just wants to hear himself talk and doesn’t require actual input from me. When we finally arrive, we buy tickets for a British Airways flight leaving at seven in the morning. Martin, Zora, Will, and Janine are already at the gate, and when Will smiles at me, all the emotions I’m holding at bay threaten to flood back into my chest. I take a deep breath and turn away.

When Miranda shows up, I desperately want to run over and explain everything, but I can’t very well do that without blowing my cover with Samir. I’m hoping she’ll put the
pieces together on her own when she sees me wearing my Team Revenge shirt, but she just shoots me a look full of anger and hurt from across the gate, and I know she doesn’t get it. I tug twice on my right earlobe and once on my left, the sign we always used at family functions to mean
I need a break, meet me in the bathroom
. But after ten minutes of waiting by the automatic sinks, I’m forced to admit that she isn’t coming. I guess Ken wasn’t kidding when he said she didn’t want to see me. I know I can knock Samir out of the race alone, but Miranda and I were supposed to do this together. It hurts to know that she thinks I’ve sided with the enemy when I’m really just trying to get rid of him for good.

When we get on the plane, I put my earbuds in so Samir won’t try to talk to me again. Somehow, I totally forgot about the motivational playlist Natalie made me before I left for the race, and I listen to it on repeat for most of the trip, even the techno-ballad by Refried Death that I know she included just to annoy me. The songs make me feel like my best friend is cheering me on from a distance, like I still have an ally somewhere in the world, and by the time we arrive in Glasgow around two in the afternoon, I’m feeling pumped up and ready.

Samir and I make our way through passport control, then out to the parking garage, where we spot a row of
Around the World
cars. I slide into the driver’s seat before he can get there, then spend several minutes meticulously adjusting the mirrors. When I can tell he’s gotten good and antsy, I finally say, “Oh no. Is this car a manual? I don’t know how to drive stick. Do you?”

Samir heaves an exasperated sigh. “Oh my God, Claire, are you serious? How did you not notice that the second you sat down? Look at the freaking gear shift!” Miranda and Steve pull out in front of us and zoom off, and Samir punches the back of the seat. “Crap, they’re already ahead of us! Get in the back! How did you do so well on the last leg of the race when you don’t pay attention?”

I shrug and switch places with him as slowly as I can. “Sorry, I’m really spacey today. I didn’t sleep very well.”

“Well, pull it together. Do you think you can manage to navigate, or am I going to have to do that, too?”

“No problem,” I say, unfurling the map. “I’m great with directions.” The moment we get to the highway, I call out a wrong turn.

We’re one of the last couples to arrive at Glasgow Green. As Samir sprints toward the terra-cotta fountain, I lag behind, making exaggerated panting sounds. “I can’t keep up with you,” I complain. “Your legs are, like, twice as long as mine, and my pack is way too big for me. It makes it really hard to run.”

“God, just give it to me,” he snaps. Samir’s not a big guy, and it delights me to see him struggle to run with both our packs. It’s pretty cool outside for July, but by the time we locate the kilt-clad local who has our next instructions, his forehead is dripping with sweat.

I take a look at the world’s largest terra-cotta fountain, but I can’t figure out what’s special about it. I mean, it’s ornate and everything, but when it comes down to it, it’s just a big, orangey-red fountain. Who even keeps track of the sizes of
various terra-cotta fountains? Probably the same people who try to get in the
Guinness World Records
books for stuff like skateboarding while holding a goat for the longest distance.

I tear open our envelope.

It’s time for Cupid’s Questions, the game that tests how much you know about your date! You’ve had hours in the air to bond, and if you’ve hit it off and gotten close, you deserve a reward! Enter one of our pink tents, where your Cupid will ask you a series of questions. You will both write down your answers, and if they match, you will earn a point. Rack up ten points to receive your next instructions!

This should be pretty easy to drag out—Samir and I haven’t talked at all since we were paired up, so he hasn’t learned a thing about me. I head toward the row of small pink tents across the field, but Samir grabs my arm. “Memorize this, okay? I was born in Santa Barbara, but we moved to Hartford when I was two. My mom’s name is Shalini and my dad’s is Dev, and they’re computer programmers, and I have two older sisters and one older brother, and all of them are doctors. I’m allergic to cats and peaches, and my favorite color is red, and my favorite film is Fellini’s
8½
, and I wanted to be an astronaut when I was little, but now—”

I hold up my hand to stop him. “Samir, I’m not going to remember any of this. You can’t cram hours of bonding time into two minutes.”

“Well, it’s better than nothing, isn’t it? Tell me about yourself really quickly.”

“We’re wasting time. Let’s just go in there and do the best we can, okay?”

“The best we can isn’t going to cut it if we don’t know anything about each other, Claire! God, it’s like you
want
us to lose!”

I try not to smile. “I’m sure they won’t ask us anything that hard.”

“What’s your favorite food? What’s your favorite band?”

It would look suspicious if I refused to tell him, so I’ll just have to hope they don’t ask those questions. “My favorite food is coffee ice cream, and my favorite band is Rhetorical Impasse, okay? Now come on!” I push into a tent before he can stop me.

Our “Cupid,” a blond woman in her twenties, is wearing feathered wings and a white polyester robe that ends midthigh. She’s also carrying a quiver of plastic arrows, which snags on the fabric of the tent every time she moves and makes her scowl in a very uncherubic way. Samir and I sit down in a matching pair of red vinyl armchairs, and our Cupid hands us red dry-erase pens and mini whiteboards with little hearts around the borders. This is almost as cheesy as the Love Shack. Robby positions himself across from us with his camera, next to Cupid.

“Question one,” she says with a thick Scottish accent that makes me want to laugh. “How many siblings does Claire have?”

Crap—Samir obviously knows the answer to
this
question. When our Cupid dings a little bell after fifteen seconds, we both hold up our boards. Mine says, “One.” Samir’s says,
“One sister: Miranda Henderson.” He’s clearly angling for extra credit. What a suck-up.