Jac—me again! I didn’t hear back from you after last week, but I’m hoping you might see this message. The romper you had on before the (ridiculous) group date was fantastic! Any chance you could drop me the link?
Tuesday, 11:21 p.m.
Look, I also just wanted to say, I know people online can be brutal and I see what this season’s edit is doing to you. I hope you’re all right. I try not to get too involved with the contestants during their seasons to remain unbiased in my reviews but I’ll keep pointing out the inconsistencies in editing where I can. I know Cat Butler from Amar’s season would be willing to talk to you if you’d like to commiserate. If not, just wish you the best. I won’t follow up on the outfits again if I don’t hear from you. xo
7
Calm Before the Storm
The next day, Andi has the second one-on-one, and in the evening, I put on a pair of leggings and a tank top and busy myself with being alone. The producers have asked for volunteers for numerous girl chats, where a set of three to five girls must sit around and discuss a topic of the producers’ choice. I can only imagine how many of those girl chats have been about me, which is likely the only way I’ve been able to avoid getting pulled into them. My ankle is still swollen and achy, but I try not to drag it too much, for fear of being called a faker. The assistants at least keep a steady supply of ice coming.
I go out to sit alone by the pool at first, but Shae, Aaliyah, and Hannah, a former Auburn sorority girl who won’t let you forget her brother plays in the NFL, make their way out there with wine, and I scurry into the kitchen. I only last about twenty minutes before Priya shows up with a group of girls to shoot a chat. I decide to head up to the bedroom, even though the house is still too loud for me to sleep—not to mention that my brain is still buzzing too much. I’ve considered writing some of the thoughts swirling around in my head in the notebook Charlotte gave me at the start of filming, but it feels like the risk is too great that one of the other girls would find it and read it—or worse, one of the producers. At least reading could take my mind off things. My head feels so desperately loud, with nowhere else to turn my attention.
Upstairs, Kendall is alone in her bed, sitting up with her hair in a high pony.
“Oh, I can leave,” I say as I come into the room and see her, but she waves her hand at me.
“It’s fine,” she tells me. “I won’t bother you; I’m about to go to sleep.”
“What are you doing?” I can’t help but ask. She gives me a bored look.
“Meditating,” she says. “I normally read before bed, but they can’t have that, can they? Would give me less time to focus on Marcus.”
“Yeah,” I say, laughing. “It’s hard to nicely say, ‘Hey, Marcus is great but my brain actually needs more stimulation than that.’”
“They like to fuck with us actual women,” Kendall tells me wisely. “The girls can find something to entertain themselves with but we actually know what we want. We’re not going to fight like little kids to get it.”
I raise an eyebrow at the clear dismissal of the other women, but nod anyway. It feels like an olive branch.
“You didn’t do anything wrong last night,” Kendall tells me. “So you shouldn’t feel bad.”
“And yet, I do.”
Kendall shrugs. “The show is designed to make you feel that way.”
“You seem to know a lot about it.”
Kendall smirks at me. “I did my research. I’d never enter a situation like this not armed with as much information as possible. I like Marcus. I want Marcus, and I’m here for him, so I’ll play along if they want, but I’m going to take precautions, too. Aren’t you?”
“Trying,” I say. “Sometimes—you probably won’t be surprised to hear this—I do deeply want people to like me.”
“Not that surprised,” Kendall says. “Or otherwise you’d just own being a bitch. You’re pretty good at it.”
“Condescension is my love language.”
“So you made a couple of mistakes. Kiss the producers’ asses a little. I’m sure you can still get a good edit. What matters most is Marcus really likes you.”
Briefly, I feel warmth in my traitorous stomach. But then I more fully assess the situation and come to the conclusion: Kendall is better at this than me. “Yeah,” I say, “I guess that’s true.”
“Well, I’m out,” Kendall says, flipping a sleep mask down over her eyes. “Some of us need eight hours a night to look hot in the morning.”
She flips out the lamp next to her bed and crawls under the covers, turning away from me. I watch her, a mix of intrigue and trepidation. I don’t know what to make of Kendall because some part of me actually thinks we’re more alike than any other two girls in the house. But that might be what makes her most dangerous.
There’s a knock on the door, and I get up to answer it. Henry is there. I step out into the hallway and close the door gently behind me.
“Here. Your ice,” Henry says, handing over a frozen ice pack. “Elodie was busy and I told her I’d bring it to you.”
“You’re taking lowly assistant duties? Stop, I might start thinking you want to see me.”
“Just doing my job,” he says.
I smile. “Your job? Right. Kind of like when you told me to go call out a girl whose dad just died. That was cool.”
He doesn’t even deny it. He shrugs.
“What?” I say. “You’re not going to pretend you didn’t know?”
“Literally, just doing my job of talking to you; you make your own decisions. Well done, by the way.”
“I thought you were going to try to make me look better,” I say. “Not worse. You turned a request I made to you in private against me.”
He sighs. “We just need some conflict, Jac. It’s not personal.” Jac. It rolls off his tongue so easily. “It’s going to blow over. There’ll be some new drama tomorrow, no doubt.”
I lean back against the wall next to the door. “Is that the storyline?”
“You’re a front-runner,” he says. “Marcus loves you. We’re not going to crucify you. That doesn’t work for us.”
I look at him for a moment too long, and I mostly believe him, but it sticks out in my mind, the way he weaves words together into half truths, and I still remember that first night. He didn’t want to come back here, to this.
