For Real(53)

“What made you get up there and help Claire, Miranda?” asks Tessa.

I assume Miranda will repeat what she said on the plaza an hour ago—that we’re a team no matter what, that she’ll always be there for me, that we’ll make up our lost time tomorrow. But instead she says, “I mean, it’s not like this has never happened before—I’ve pretty much spent my whole life jumping in to help Claire when things get too overwhelming for her. And usually it’s fine, and I don’t mind doing it. But I guess everything’s different when you’re on a TV show, and I probably should have realized that helping her today could have serious consequences.”

I blink at her. “What are you talking about? What consequences?”

“ ‘What consequences’? Do you seriously not see this disaster of a situation I’m in?”

I don’t even understand what’s happening. Of course she’s pissed about the whole Samir thing—she has every reason to be—but none of that is my fault. “Why are you blaming me for this? I didn’t make Samir pick you!”

“No, but if I’d left the ballroom when I was done dancing instead of waiting for you, I might’ve beaten him to the check-in point, and then he wouldn’t have been able to pick me.” She makes a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Whatever, it’s not your fault you needed help. I just wish it had worked out differently. This next leg of the race is going to suck.”

“Miranda, he was already ahead of you! Even if you hadn’t waited for me, he still would’ve gotten there first.”

“Maybe. But I gave up what little chance I had to beat him,” she says. “There’s a big difference between a three-minute lead and a six-minute one.”

I can’t believe that after all I’ve overcome today, Miranda’s still making me look helpless and weak, like all I ever do is drag other people down. I never even asked her to stay with me in that ballroom; that was her choice, and now she’s throwing it all back in my face.

“What happened to ‘It’s no big deal’?” I say. My voice cracks, and I hate how young I sound.

“I said that before the Proposal Ceremony. At that point, I didn’t know it was a big deal.”

“So now you regret helping me? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I mean, I’m glad it made you feel better. Of course I don’t regret that. But maybe I’m not even helping you when I jump in like that. Maybe I’m just preventing you from learning to do things for yourself. It probably would’ve worked out better for both of us if I’d left you alone up there.”

It’s like she’s scouted out my body for weak spots and aimed a kick at the softest one. I’ve made so much progress on this race, and she’s dismissed it all with a couple of sentences. I open my mouth to defend myself, but I’m so stunned that I have no words.

“Good,” Tessa says. “Thanks, girls. We’ve got everything we need for today.”

I stumble out of the restaurant in a daze, still holding on to a slight hope that Miranda will apologize to me as soon as we’re out of range of the cameras. But she doesn’t, so I guess she really meant everything she said. Does she think I should be apologizing? I’m about to do it, just to get rid of this fog of resentment between us, but the words catch in my throat. I didn’t do anything wrong. Miranda has no right to blame me for the choices she makes.

When I turn down the hallway toward the stairs, she starts heading to the lobby instead. “Where are you going?” I say. “It’s three in the morning.”

“I need to walk around and clear my head.”

For a minute, I consider offering to go with her. Maybe I really do owe her for slowing her down today, and this would be a way to make amends. But it doesn’t seem fair that all the stuff she just said about self-sufficiency should apply only to me. If Miranda doesn’t have my back anymore, she can’t expect me to reach out to her, either. Waiting in room 217 is a boy who respects me and supports me and doesn’t see me as a child or a burden, and I’m not giving up my time alone with him. I’ve earned it. Miranda can deal with her own problems.

“I’m going to sleep,” I say.

“Fine. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I feel a little guilty as I head back to my room. But not that guilty.

I take a quick shower, trying to concentrate on the night ahead and let all my thoughts of Miranda fade away. When I get out, I blow-dry my hair—I tell myself it’s because I want it to look nice on camera tomorrow, but really I just want it to be shiny for Will. I wish I’d brought something cute and flirty to wear, but I don’t even own anything like that, so I pull on my shortest shorts and a plain pink tank top, which I tug down as low as I can to emphasize my minimal cleavage. I brush my teeth, just in case, rub on a little lip gloss, and pout at myself in the mirror. Not effortlessly sexy by any stretch of the imagination, but at least it’s a slight improvement.

Will’s room is on the same floor as mine, and it only takes about thirty seconds to find it, but I’m so nervous someone’s going to catch me sneaking down the hall that every tiny sound makes me jump. He answers the door in a clean T-shirt and a pair of low-riding basketball shorts, his hair damp and messy from the shower. I want to tangle my fingers in it like Philadelphia did to Aidan.