For Real(16)

She’s probably right. I don’t want to seem needy. So I put down the phone, turn back to the television, and hope that Will’s sitting in his own apartment somewhere, sighing wistfully and counting down the hours until he can see me again.





After our first audition, things happen surprisingly fast.

It only takes two days for Charlotte to call and say we’ve passed the network’s background check and that we’re moving on to the next round of auditions. Normally that would involve spending a week in Los Angeles, but everything is being fast-tracked since this is an emergency situation, so instead we’ll spend one more day with the producers in New York. The next round will involve a psychological screening, a multiple-choice personality test, and a physical exam, as well as a more comprehensive interview with the casting and production team. Just hearing all those words makes me feel like I have a drunk hummingbird crashing around inside my rib cage, but I want Miranda to see how cool and collected I can be, so I try to swallow down my nerves.

On audition day, we arrive at the Westside Hotel at 6:45 a.m., large coffees in hand. I don’t really need mine—my blood pressure is already sky-high from adrenaline and fear—but Miranda yawns hugely every few seconds and grips her cup like it’s a life raft. She was out late partying with a couple of her Middlebury friends last night, and I’m worried she’s going to be totally off her game today. I’m not sure I can do this if I can’t rely on her for backup.

“You ready?” I ask as we approach the hotel entrance.

“Totally,” she says. “As soon as I finish this coffee, I’ll be set.” But when she takes off her sunglasses to rub her eyes, she winces.

“I hope last night was worth it,” I say. I probably sound like a bitter old lady who shoos kids off her lawn, but it’s hard not to be a little cranky. Considering Miranda’s the whole reason we’re at these auditions, I shouldn’t be the only one taking them seriously.

“Oh God, it was totally worth it,” my sister says, missing the point entirely. “The Hangover Pandas played an amazing set, and the opening act was way better than I expected. They were called Threat Level Rainbow, and they had an electric violinist. We danced for, like, five hours. It was exactly what I needed to get my mind off everything. You should’ve come with us.”

Miranda doesn’t seem to realize that she didn’t actually invite me along—she flew out of Layla’s apartment last night with a breezy “Later!” leaving me in front of the TV like she always used to do in high school. But I just say, “Oh, great, dancing in a crowd of sweaty strangers. My favorite.”

Miranda tips her head way back and drains her coffee. “I don’t get it. How are you okay with being on national television, but you’re scared of dancing?”

“I’m not scared,” I snap. “I just don’t like it. That’s not the same thing. And it’s not like we’ll have to dance on the race. We’ll have to, like, ride in rickshaws and paddle kayaks and stack watermelons into pyramids. I don’t mind doing those things.”

We push through the glass doors and into the lobby. A long line of people—way more than I expected—leads up to a registration table, and nearly every team is wearing matching clothing. Oh God, did I miss something? Teams on race shows do tend to dress identically, but I had no idea people did it for auditions, too. Miranda’s wearing a flowy, sky-blue top and chunky brass jewelry, and I’m in a T-shirt depicting a Triceratops in a ninja mask. It’s like we’re trying to broadcast how little our insides match.

Then I notice something else about the teams around us: it’s not only the clothes that match, it’s the people inside them. I grab my sister’s arm. “Mira, am I going insane, or are we surrounded by identical twins?”

I see from my sister’s face that it’s not just me; the entire line is composed of about forty sets of twins. It’s the most surreal thing I’ve ever seen. The two girls in front of us are talking quietly with their heads bent close together, and when Miranda taps one of them on the shoulder, they spin around in unison, like they could both feel it. They have long, glossy black hair and huge anime eyes, and the way they move like perfect mirror images of each other is extremely unsettling. As they wait for my sister to speak, each tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, perfectly synchronized. It’s like they’ve spent hours rehearsing the gesture.

“Um, hey,” my sister says. “Are you guys waiting to audition for Around the World?”

The twins laugh in harmony, letting out exactly the same number of “ha’s.” One of them says, “No, this is the line for—”

“—Twin Cognito,” the other picks up. “There’s another audition going on—”

“—over there, though.” They point to our left.

Miranda looks incredibly creeped out. “Um, cool. Thanks.”

Both twins flip their hair over their shoulders. “No problem,” says one. “Hey, we really like your—”

“—bag. And where did you get those—”

“—shoes? They’re fabulous.” They don’t even seem to notice I’m here.

Miranda stares back at them in disbelief, and I finally say, “Hey, we have to go. Thanks for your help.” They smile, their heads tilting exactly the same number of degrees, then turn back around and resume their murmuring. They’re probably speaking in secret twin language.