For Real(44)
Troy rolls his eyes. “I don’t know why I’m even talking to you. Let’s just find a taxi, okay?”
The goat farm is a fair distance north of the city, which means a long trip on the terrifying Indian roads. The sections of New Delhi we’ve seen so far were crowded and noisy, but as we approach the outskirts of the city, the poverty we start to see is so disturbing it makes my chest ache. We drive down street after street where malnourished kids and bony dogs forage through ten-foot-tall trash heaps for bits of food. There’s a pervasive smell of burning rubber, intensified by the heat. When we stop at an intersection, children swarm around the car and try to cram their stick-thin arms through our barely open windows. I know nothing’s going to happen to us, but I still cringe away from their cupped, begging hands, and then I immediately feel guilty about it. The driver’s face is totally impassive as he honks to scatter the kids, and they disperse like a flock of mangy pigeons.
When we finally arrive at the goat farm, a boy who looks a few years younger than me leads us into a giant dirt pen. I expected forty or fifty animals, tops, but there must be more than two hundred of them in here. They’re actually pretty cute—small and white, with chocolate-brown faces and droopy ears—but they all look exactly the same, and they’re constantly in motion. I have no idea how we’re going to keep track of which ones we’ve already searched. The air is heavy with the smells of hay and manure, and though it’s nearly seven o’clock in the evening, it must still be ninety degrees. When Troy strips off his shirt, I don’t even blame him. Our sound guy immediately rushes in to give him one of those microphone necklaces.
“What is it with all these stupid animal challenges?” Troy mutters. “I thought this show was supposed to be sexy. How am I supposed to be sexy in a field of goat crap?”
Being sexy isn’t exactly our biggest problem right now. “How are we going to find this dumb ring?” I say. “There’s no way to keep track of the goats.”
Troy’s quiet for a minute, running his hand over his closely shaven head, and then he says, “What color is your toothpaste?”
“I’m sorry, what?” Is this the beginning of some kind of weird pickup line? “Um, white, I guess?”
“That won’t work. We can use mine.” Troy rummages through his pack until he finds his toothpaste, which is the blue gel kind. “After we search each goat, I’ll put a dab of this on its butt, okay? Then we’ll know which ones we’ve already done.”
I stare at him. “That is … weirdly brilliant.”
A slow smile dawns on Troy’s face, and then he looks straight into the camera. “Let the record show that Little Miss Snooty-Pants called me brilliant. Ohhhh yeeeeahhhh.” He starts doing this stupid gyrating dance, and I roll my eyes. I don’t understand this guy—it’s like every time he does something smart, he immediately has to do something idiotic and prove that his brief brush with intelligence was a fluke.
Troy may not be my favorite person, but I have to admit that his method totally works. We check the goats systematically, me searching the hoofs and Troy dotting on the toothpaste and moving the animals along, and about halfway through the herd, we find a little gold ring attached to one of their hoofs with a clear elastic band. I jump up and give Troy a high five, which leaves my hand smelling like manure and peppermint. I’m filthy and my back hurts from crouching down, but for the first time in hours, I’m happy.
That is, until we open our next envelope.
It’s time to take a trip to the LOVE SHACK! A LoveMobile will meet you at the farm’s entrance and transport you and your date to a secret location, where you will have a full hour alone! Though we’ll still be able to hear you when that door closes, no one will be able to see you! So let loose, give in to all your deepest desires, and let those sparks fly!
When I finish reading, Troy says, “Awwww yeeeeahhhh, that’s the kind of challenge I’m talking about.” When I look up at him, my horror must be evident on my face, because he bursts out laughing. “Come on, baby. Let’s go make some sparks fly.” Then he leans very close to me and lowers his voice. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t bite. Unless you ask verrrrrry nicely.”
I swallow hard. Troy already thinks I’m a prude, and he’ll never let me live it down if he thinks the idea of spending an hour alone with him in the “Love Shack” makes me legitimately nervous. I’m sure my face is saying too much already. “Thanks, but no thanks,” I say, forcing an eye roll. “Let’s get this over with.”
A producer points us toward the vans, which have tinted windows and giant pink heart decals on the sides. As we climb into the back and set off on the bumpy, swerving ride, I feel a little like I’m being kidnapped. My stomach ties itself into a series of tight knots, and this time it’s more than just motion sickness. This is going to be so, so awkward. Objectively, I know the challenge is cheesy and ridiculous. The producers can’t really expect that we’re going to hook up in their Love Shack. So why can’t I laugh the whole thing off, like I’m sure everyone else is doing? What if my sister is right and I’m taking everything too seriously because I don’t have any romantic experience?
You can do this, I tell myself. Let Dominique take over. She can handle an hour alone in a room with a stripper. This is pretty much a daily routine for her. But I know I’m going to make a fool of myself somehow, no matter who I pretend to be.