Page 22 of Alice Chen's Reality Check
Leah looks at my face. “You’re red. Give me a sec.” She roots around in her bag for a moment before producing face powder. She fluffs a pouf in my face a few times and then tilts her head as she checks her work. “A little better,” she says under her breath.
“I can hear you,” I tell her.
“I mean, you look great! Why don’t you two head to the starting line? Try to get used to moving together.”
“Sure. Chase, why don’t we—” I begin, but Chase starts walking away without so much as a glance at me, and I’m dragged along like a Chihuahua attached to a Great Dane. And sure enough, within a few steps, the two of us crash into the sand. I go down face-first.
Damn it. Before the show, I’d prepped for the physical challenges: I’d upped my cardio, practiced sprinting to my classroom on school days, and taken the stairs up to my mom’s apartment instead of the rickety elevator. But now it’s clear I’ve made a crucial mistake. The challenges aren’t just about me, they’re aboutus.Chase and I maywork well together in our daily lives, but out here, in this totally different world of reality TV, Chase and I aren’t in sync at all.
Plus, I’m super drunk.
“We need a real plan,” I say to Chase, spitting sand out of my mouth. I eye the beach and try to marshal my fuzzy brain into working order. “A real, actual working plan. With steps. And action items. And…”
“Aw, babe, you’re tipsy!” Chase says, patting my shoulder. “I say let’s not overthink it. We just need to, y’know.” Chase gestures a walking motion with his hands.
Of course, that’s the exact moment Daniel and Selena drop down next to us in one smooth motion.
“You guys good?” Daniel asks.
“Very,” I say. “Extremely. Super. And I’m completely sober.”
Daniel looks at me, a little concerned. “Sober? Slayer, did you—”
“I’m fine!” I insist quickly. “May the best couple win.”
“Secret alliance!” Selena cheers, pumping her fist before she and Daniel take a graceful leap toward the starting line.
“Okay, let’s just coordinate our moves, and—” I don’t get to finish because Chase stands up, leaving me flailing after him. I loop my arms around his waist, hanging on for dear life as he lopes along toward the starting line. We’re the last couple to take our places.
I glance around at the competition. Every couple here has their own distinct style. I can almost imagine the casting department picking out the country-cute couple rocking cowboy hats and boots paired with their rustic plaid swimsuits, then putting them next to a boho-chic couple sporting flowing blond hair with flowers woven in. The woman is wearing a crochet bikini top and artfully faded jean shorts, while the guy wears a yellow tank top with an image of a sunrise on it and a fringed vest. Selena gives us a conspiratorial wink.
“Final four,” she mouths.
“Secret alliance,” Chase mouths back with a fist pump. They beam at each other.
Chase has formed a secret alliance with my high school nemesis andhis girlfriend. It really hits home how completely I’ve lost control of this situation.
But it’s not too late to get things back on track. I summon up my list of goals. Right, I have to assess my competition. The show didn’t release any information about who we’d be competing against until today, so I didn’t get the chance to study up on them beforehand. Instead, a cram session will have to do.
I survey the people beside me. Selena and Daniel are known quantities. The couple on our other side looks like they just came straight out of bottle service at a Vegas nightclub. The guy is wearing distressed jeans and a muscle tee, and his partner is wearing a tight swim cover-up that somehow manages to make her look less covered up. But while this choice of outfit probably thrilled the producers, I can tell she’ll have trouble running in that skirt. She’s tiny, and her boyfriend is massive and absolutely ripped. They’re even more mismatched in size than Chase and me.
Also, this guy seems totally distracted. I catch him blatantly ogling the other women on the beach until his partner notices and grabs his arm, pulling him into a deep—and distinctly slobbery—kiss to get his attention.
Behind them, I can see another couple that’s all business. They’re both decked out in blazers, which seem hilariously out of place on the beach. The woman has her black hair slicked back in a short ponytail. Beneath her blazer, she’s wearing a white shirt covered with the wordsRise and Grind.Instead of suit pants, though, she has on black bikini bottoms. Her partner matches her. He’s wearing a hawklike expression, his sharp eyes narrowed and his dark, perfectly groomed eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He adjusts his glasses as he scrutinizes the course like he’s trying to pick it apart.
“Make room for the winners,” an obnoxiously loud voice calls out. Mr. Rise and Grind is shoved to the side by a redhead wearing a muscle tank with frat letters plastered across the front. As he barrels past, I clock the barbed-wire tattoo circling his bicep.
“The hell?” Mr. Rise and Grind snaps.
“What? Sorry, I don’t speak loser,” the guy says.
“Dominic, you’re so bad,” his partner says, playfully swatting his arm. She’s a sporty-looking woman in army-fatigue joggers and a black sports bra. Her long brown hair is pulled back into messy pigtails, and she’s got earrings in that look like daggers. The two of them are in matching camo trucker hats.
“We’re not here to make friends, Zya,” he tells her. “We’re here to win!”
She rolls her eyes. “Please, these other girls are going to be too busy worrying about messing up their makeup to be any match for me.”
I already sort of hate this couple. They’re competitive, which I can respect, but also obnoxious as hell. I make a note to steer clear of them.
