For Real (5 page)

Two days later, Miranda and I are at the W Hotel in New York City, joining an enormous line of people waiting to audition for
Around the World
.

The W is sleek and austere, all white marble and polished wood and minimalist flower arrangements. It’s the kind of place that makes you want to whisper, even in the middle of the day. The décor is the exact opposite of my internal state—I’m insanely nervous, and my stomach feels like it’s on a spinning teacup ride. But I’m supposed to be in charge today, so I hold my head high and try to look strong and confident for Miranda.

My sister hasn’t said much this morning, and I worry she’s still annoyed about last night. Natalie’s aunt Layla wanted to take us out to a drag bar, but I convinced Miranda we needed to prepare for our audition instead. My sister had never even seen a race show before, so I was excited to teach her how much strategy they involve. But she was restless and unfocused the whole evening, fidgeting and complaining that she felt like she was back in a theory class. When Natalie and Layla finally came home at one in the morning, giggling about
their six-foot-four waitress named Uvula, Miranda barely said a word before she shuffled off to bed. I haven’t mentioned it to her—I know how upset she is right now, and I don’t want to make things worse. But it still sucks that I finally had a chance to shine and she wasn’t even paying attention.

“You okay?” I ask now as we get in line behind a team of ponytailed girls.

“I’m fine,” she says automatically.

I’m about to reach out and touch her shoulder, tell her that I’m here for her and that she’s going to do great, but she turns away and says, “Save my spot while I run to the bathroom.”

As she walks away, two guys get in line right behind us. One of them is wearing a gray knit hat despite the fact that it’s about ninety degrees, his brown hair sticking out the front in a way that looks both messy and artful. He starts playing a game on his phone while his teammate, an Asian guy who towers over him by six inches, opens a copy of
War and Peace
. After a few seconds, Hat Guy nudges Tall Guy. “Hey, was it a weasel or a mink that bit that kid’s finger off on
Paws of Fury
last season?”

Tall Guy sighs. “Do I look like the kind of person who watches
Paws of Fury
?”

“Are you kidding? That show is
awesome
. I totally remember that episode, too … some idiot thought he was buying his kid a ferret, and the thing went crazy. What was it, though? Crap, I’m gonna lose this round.”

I usually avoid talking to strangers in lines, especially when I know I’ll have to keep standing next to them for ages.
But just like at Miranda’s graduation party, I find I can’t help myself. Trivia is my downfall.

“It was an ermine,” I say.

Hat Guy glances up at me, surprised. His eyes are a bright, startling shade of blue. Now that I’m looking at him more closely, I notice that his T-shirt has a picture of zombies and says
GOT BRAINS?
He looks back down at his phone and taps the screen, and there’s a cheerful pinging sound. “Nice!” he says. And then those piercing eyes return to me. “You’re good.”

His gaze is really intense, and I feel my face heating up. “One of my many useless talents,” I say.

“It’s not useless at all. A bunch of friends and I are training for the Pop Culture Olympics—there’s a huge prize if you win. So far I kind of suck at it, though.” He shows me the trivia game on his phone, which is asking if he wants to start a new round. “There’s a two-person setting. You want to play?”

“Okay.” Competitive trivia is sure to take my mind off the audition. But when I move closer to him so we can both see the screen, some sort of spicy boy smell hits me and my brain threatens to stop functioning altogether. “I’m Claire, by the way,” I manage.

“Pleasure to meet you, Claire.” He says it in this warm way that makes it sound like more than a formality. “I’m Will Divine.”

“
Will Divine?
That’s your actual name?” I realize how rude that sounds a second too late.

In response, he digs a worn leather wallet out of his back pocket and presents me with a Pennsylvania driver’s license. It is indeed his real name. I glance at his birthday and see
that he’s twenty-one. His hair is shorter in the picture, and I like it better how it is now.

“I know it’s ridiculous, but it’s actually easier to get on a reality show if you have a weird name,” he says. “So I guess it’s good for something.”

“But on your SATs and medical records and stuff, it says, ‘Divine, Will.’ ” In my nervous state, this strikes me as the funniest thing I’ve ever heard, and I start giggling like a maniac. Horrified, I clap my hand over my mouth. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. You must hear that all the time. I’m sure it’s really annoying.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. I search his face for signs of irritation, but instead he smiles at me, revealing a dimple in his right cheek. I have an unaccountable urge to reach out and touch it. What is
wrong
with me?

“This is Lou, by the way,” Will says, gesturing at his partner. Tall Guy looks up for half a second and gives me a flat-handed wave.

“Hey,” I say, but he goes right back to his book.

Will holds up the phone. “Shall we?”

He wasn’t kidding—for someone who’s training for the Pop Culture Olympics, Will is shockingly bad at pop culture trivia. By the time Miranda returns from the bathroom, I’ve answered nine questions correctly, and he’s only gotten three. When the round ends, I look up to find my sister staring at us, shocked and confused to see me interacting with a cute stranger.

“This is Will Divine,” I say, and by some stroke of luck, I manage not to laugh. “This is my sister, Miranda.”

Will’s reaction to my sister is exactly the same as every guy’s: he takes a minute to appreciate her gorgeous face, and then his eyes dip down, just for a second, to check out her cleavage. “Pleasure to meet you, Miranda,” he finally says in exactly the same way he said it to me. Suddenly I don’t feel quite so special.

Miranda catches the boob sneak peek, and her face hardens. She gives him a cursory “Hi,” then starts digging around in her bag. “Claire, I have an extra magazine in here. Do you want it?” she asks, like I’m not obviously doing something already.

I know she’s just trying to be nice by offering me an escape, but I don’t need to be rescued right now. “No thanks, we’re in the middle of a game.”

“Oh, okay,” she says, but she still looks unsure that I know what I’m doing. “It’s here if you change your mind.” She opens a battered novel and turns away.

“What’re you reading?” Will asks.

“A book.” Her eyes warn him not to press any further.

“Ooookay then.” He holds his hands up in surrender and turns to me with a
what’s her problem?
look on his face. I shrug and roll my eyes, trying to show him that I have a better attitude than she does, even if I’m not as aesthetically pleasing.

“So, you want to play another round?” he asks.

I’ve had basically no practice with flirting, but I feel like I need to do something to prove I’m as girly as Miranda. So I channel every dating show I’ve ever seen and try to make my voice sound coy. “Sure, if you want to get your ass kicked
again.” I’m surprised by how good it sounds, but I still feel my cheeks turning pink, which probably cancels out any mild sexiness I’ve managed. Miranda glances up sharply, but I avoid her eyes.

Will grins at me. “I’m just getting warmed up. You haven’t seen what I can do yet.”

I shrug in a way I hope looks nonchalant. “Fine. Show me.”

I obliterate Will five more times before he finally surrenders and puts the phone away. By now, we’re almost at the front of the registration line. “Do you live in the city?” he asks. “You should join our Pop Culture Olympics team. You’d steamroll everyone.”

You have to be twenty-one to do the Pop Culture Olympics, but I don’t want Will to know how much younger than him I am, so I say, “We’re from upstate, actually. We just came down to do some auditions.”

He nods, and I flatter myself by thinking he might look a little disappointed. But then he turns his attention back to my sister. “Is this your first time at an open call?”

“Mm-hmm,” she says without looking up from her book.

“Have you been to one of these before?” I ask.

“I’ve probably done twenty of them. They’re really good practice.”

“For what?”

“Trying out characters, seeing how believable I can make them. I’m an actor. I mean, I’m in school for it. At NYU.”

“Of
course
you are,” Miranda mutters under her breath.

“This is the only show I really want to be on, though,” Will
continues. “I was so pissed we didn’t get to audition the first time around—they only interviewed the first two hundred teams, and we were number 204. We got there five hours early, but it turned out people had camped out in the parking lot overnight. The line’s a lot shorter this time, ’cause this audition is so last-minute.”

“Wow. Well, I guess it all worked out, right?”

“It certainly did.” Will looks back over at Miranda. “Hey, are you okay? You look nervous. You’re gonna be fine, I promise.”

“I
am
fine,” she snaps. Her phone starts buzzing in her bag. “I have to take this,” she says. “Save my spot.”

As soon as she’s out of earshot, Will leans toward me. “What’s her deal? Is she always like that?”

I glance at Miranda to make sure she’s not paying attention to us. “Sorry,” I whisper back. “She’s usually really friendly, but she had an awful breakup a couple days ago—she caught the guy cheating the day before they were supposed to move in together. So I guess she’s just bitter toward all guys right now. Her ex was also an actor, so I’m sure that’s not helping, either. Don’t take it personally.”

“Wow,” he says. “That sucks.”

“Yeah. That’s why we’re here, actually—her ex is on the show, and we want to take him down.”

Will’s eyes widen. “Seriously? He’s on
this
show?”

“Yup.”

He gives a low whistle. “Oh man. You guys have got this audition in the bag.”

“Not necessarily. I’m sure there are tons of really interesting people here.”

“No, I mean … trust me. You’re going to do really well today.”

“Thanks.” I know it makes no sense, since I don’t even know him, but Will’s confidence in us makes me less nervous. We
do
have an interesting story to tell.

I don’t know where the time has gone, but somehow we’re at the front of the line. Miranda rejoins us as an extremely bored-looking man in a lavender shirt pushes a clipboard toward us across the registration table. “Print and sign your names here,” he says, reciting the words as if he’s said them so many times that they no longer have any meaning.

When we’ve signed in, he hands us applications, both of which say “NYC: Applicant 87” in the corner. “Please proceed to the Great Room, fill these out, sign the waiver in the back, and listen for your number to be called. If you fail to present yourselves, the production assistants will move on to the next number and you will move to the back of the line. You will have approximately three minutes with the casting team. Be prepared to wait between two and three hours.” As soon as he’s done with these instructions, his eyes slide off us. We’re dismissed.

Miranda takes her application and heads toward the holding room, but I hang back. It only takes a minute to sign in, and maybe if I wait for Will, he’ll come sit with us inside. If I play this right, I could have hours more with him.

“Come
on
, Claire,” my sister calls.

I motion that she should give me a minute. “See you inside?” I ask Will.

He looks up and smiles, then drops his voice so I have to step closer to hear him. “I’m pretty sure your sister wants to kick me in the teeth, so it’s probably better if I stay out of your way. Break a leg in there, though.”

“You too,” I say, trying not to show how disappointed I am.

“Hey, listen. If you change your mind about the Pop Culture Olympics, give me a call. I’d love to have you on our team.” Instead of jotting down his number on a scrap of paper or something, Will grabs my hand and starts writing on the inside of my wrist with the pen from the sign-in table. It’s a weirdly intimate place to be touched by someone you just met, and it sends a little shiver through me. His gray hat is inches from my face as he bends over my arm, and I smell hair products and heat.

“Okay,” I breathe.

“Hey,” lavender-shirt guy barks. “Are you registering or not?”

Will shoots me one more gorgeous smile before he turns away. “See you,” he says.

I certainly hope so.

I follow my sister into the enormous holding room. The walls are lined with gold pillars, and the ceiling is covered in rows of plaster flowers, each of which cradles a lightbulb in its center. At the far end of the room is a door marked PRIVATE, which must be where the auditions are being held. People are sprawled all over the carpet in groups, chatting and laughing and snacking. It seems like everyone’s dressed
to stand out—there’s a guy in a purple suit and a fedora, a girl in a tutu, and another girl in a floor-length velvet cape with a dragon on the back. In the middle of a removable dance floor left over from an event, a guy in a yellow Spandex bodysuit is doing a slow, robotic dance while another guy beat-boxes to accompany him. I would hardly go so far as to say that these are “my people,” but it is kind of refreshing to be in a place where originality counts for more than shampoo-commercial beauty.

Miranda picks her way through the tangle of auditioners and finds an empty spot along the wall, and I sit down next to her. When I point out the girl in the cape, I expect her to laugh, but she just gives me a tiny smile and starts filling out her application. “What’s wrong?” I ask. “Are you mad at me?”

She looks back up. “No, of course not. Why would I be mad at you?”

“You’re acting kind of weird. Are you nervous? It’s going to be—”

She cuts me off. “I’m fine, seriously. It’s just … this week has been so ridiculously crappy, and all I want to do right now is hang out in my pajamas and eat chocolate and read, and instead I’m at an audition, where I have to act all happy and shiny and put-together. And it’s not like I want to leave, ’cause I
really
don’t want that ass-hat to win a million dollars. But I wish all of this could’ve happened in a couple weeks, when I felt more like a human and less like a ball of angst, you know? And that guy in line wasn’t helping. I didn’t like how he was looking at us.”