For Real(52)

“I’m fine,” she says, but her voice cracks a little, and I can tell she’s working hard to keep it together. As she moves across the circle, her hands ball into fists, and she stands as far away from Samir as she possibly can.

Steve chooses to race with Janine, and then Isis says, “Claire, you’re up next. Who would you like to spend the next leg of the race with?”

“I’d like to race with Will Divine, please,” I tell her.

As soon as Will moves away from Philadelphia and takes his place beside me, I feel stronger, more capable. This is how things are supposed to be. With Will supporting me and cheering me on, I’ll be the fastest, most efficient racer I can be. Not to mention that the steamy challenges will be way more fun.

“Hey there, Dominique,” he says. “I’m so happy to have you back.”

It feels like my chest is going to shatter into a million joyful pieces, but I try to keep my smile in check. It feels cruel to be happy when my sister’s so upset. But I do allow myself one quick glance into his gorgeous blue eyes as I whisper, “Me too.”

Philadelphia is left with Aidan—it takes about twenty seconds before she has her hands twined in his hair—and we’re done for the night. We pile into the show vans, which sweep us through the dark Delhi streets and drop us off at a modest-looking hotel. As I’m waiting for the producer to hand over my room key, Will nudges me with his shoulder.

“Hey,” he says quietly. Then he pulls a tiny notebook out of his bag and starts writing something down, like I’m not even here.

“What are you—” I start, but he puts his finger to his lips and gestures to his microphone—the cameras aren’t on right now, but we’re still wired for our interviews. When Will holds up the notebook, it says, Want to hang out later and strategize? Room 217.

There’s no possible way to strategize when we don’t even know what country we’ll be in tomorrow, and my mind automatically starts making a list of other things we could do alone in Will’s room. I take the notebook from him and write, Won’t we get in trouble?

I won’t tell if you won’t.

I smile, trying not to look like I care too much, and give him a little nod. He grins, slings his bag over his shoulder, and heads toward the stairs.

Two minutes ago, the only question on my mind was How can I make Miranda feel better? But suddenly, that question is surrounded by a flock of other questions with brighter feathers, beating their wings and competing for my attention. What should I wear tonight? Do I have time for a shower? How soon can I go over to Will’s room? How late is too late to knock? What if someone sees me sneaking down the hall? How long will he let me stay?

And what will happen when that door swings closed behind us?





I barely have time to drop off my pack in my room before I’m called back out for my daily wrap-up interviews. As a producer leads me through the hotel lobby, I try to think of comforting things I can say to Miranda about the Samir situation. Should I remind her that at least she’ll be working with someone she already knows, so she’ll be able to compensate for his weaknesses? That she won’t have to suffer through any awkward getting-to-know-you small talk? That maybe she actually will come away from this with some closure about her relationship? None of that sounds remotely convincing. The truth is that being with Samir is going to suck, and there’s really nothing I can do about it except sympathize.

But when I reach the producer’s makeshift studio in the hotel’s outdoor restaurant, Miranda’s not even there; Troy’s waiting for me in the other chair. The redheaded producer from the banquet hall is interviewing us, and she introduces herself as Tessa. “Where’s my sister?” I ask her.

“Happy to see you, too,” Troy says, and I roll my eyes at him.

“We’d like to talk to you with Troy first,” Tessa says breezily. “Sit down and let’s chat about your day, okay?”

Troy and I spend half an hour recapping how we felt about the various challenges. I spend the whole time wondering if Miranda’s all right—not to mention what’s going to happen when I get to Will’s room—and I’m totally distracted and incoherent. When Troy finally leaves and my sister comes out to take his place, I jump up to hug her. “I’m so sorry, Miranda,” I say. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she says automatically. But she doesn’t return my hug, just pats me quickly with one hand before she pulls away. A small knot of uneasiness forms deep in my stomach—Miranda is a pretty huggy kind of person. She won’t look directly at me as she sits down, but I can tell she’s been crying.

“I wish I could do something to help,” I say.

When she finally meets my eyes, I’m shocked by how desperate she looks. “I wish you’d wanted that a couple hours ago,” she says.

What does that mean? What could I have done hours ago to prevent this? But before I can ask, Tessa says, “Let’s chat about what happened back in the ballroom today. Can you describe the situation for me, Claire?”

I don’t really want to rehash my meltdown—it’ll only help the producers personify me as incompetent. But maybe I can spin it so the focus is on our sisterly love, not my humiliation. “Miranda was amazing,” I say. “I have a pretty serious phobia of dancing in public—I always feel so stupid and self-conscious, even if nobody’s looking at me. And this time it was much worse, because everyone was looking at me, and I totally froze. But then Miranda got up onstage with me, and it was like the fear just melted away. When I concentrated on her, I was able to do the challenge. I actually kind of had fun. She’s my knight in shining armor.” I expect my sister to smile at least a little, but she doesn’t.