For Real(77)

As disgusting as his strategy was, it was effective—the more of us he charmed, the earlier he was chosen in each Proposal Ceremony, giving him a bigger lead. Up on Acrocorinth, after my mortifying confession that I wanted Will to be my boyfriend, he wished that none of the girls in the race would realize that he didn’t really care about us. All he ever wanted was that shiny, elusive million dollars.

In front of my friends and my family, I pretend to regret having anything to do with Will. But the fact remains that without his encouragement, genuine or not, I never would’ve grown into the person I became on the race. Nothing he said to me was real, but the switches he flipped inside me were. It’s because of him that I pretended to be the bravest, boldest, best version of myself, and somewhere along the way, I slipped inside that girl’s skin and made myself at home.

Of course, that doesn’t mean I want to watch him hit on my sister. “I’m so sorry you had to race with him,” I say now.

“I would’ve picked you if I could!” Steve calls from the laptop.

“I know, honey,” Miranda says, patting the computer screen. “But then you wouldn’t have gotten a trip to Tahiti.”

Steve considers that. “Yeah. I made the right choice.”

“Now, if you were to take me to Tahiti to make it up to me, I wouldn’t complain.…”

“Shh,” Natalie says. “Flirt later. I can’t hear Isis.”

Off to the side, my parents have already started whispering a never-ending stream of questions to our neighbor—they’re the sort of people who listen to opera simulcasts and carry public radio tote bags, so reality TV baffles them. Weirdly, they’ve gotten kind of into the race, though they’re still not too pleased that their daughters were on a show with a dating component. I’ve told them over and over that I never had to do anything too inappropriate, and I’m pretty sure they believe me. But watching them watch me lick honey off Will Divine’s neck still ranks among the top five awkward moments of my life, just below the time my dad tried to give me the Sex Talk when I was sixteen.

On the screen, the teams are instructed to fly to Nairobi, Kenya. Will and Miranda book a flight through London, and the other two teams go through Frankfurt, which should get them there at the same time. But Will and Miranda arrive at Heathrow in the middle of a thunderstorm, and their connecting flight is delayed six hours. By the time they finally arrive in Africa, I can tell that no matter what they do, the game is over for them.

In the outdoor market where their first challenge is taking place, Screen Miranda reads an instruction card aloud. “In Kenya, some men dress in women’s clothing for a month after their weddings to get a sense of what it feels like to be their wives. In homage to this, the male member of your team must complete this entire leg of the race dressed in women’s clothing his female teammate chooses at the market. Have fun dressing your date!”

When Tawny and Zora dressed their men earlier in the episode, they chose long, loose, comfortable dresses that allowed Steve and Martin to move freely. But Miranda has other ideas. The shot cuts to her talking directly to the camera, and she says, “I knew we were way too far behind to stay in the game. And you all saw how my sister went out with a bang, right? I knew I had to live up to her amazing example.”

“Oh my God, are you really about to do what I think you’re about to do?” asks Natalie. “Because if you are, you’ll be my hero forever.”

The next thirty seconds are a montage of my sister dressing Will Divine. First comes the short red skirt, so close-fitting he can barely separate his thighs. Then comes the purple bra with cups pointy enough to satisfy 1980s Madonna and some sort of pink tunic. Then come the heavy beaded necklaces and the strappy gold sandals with stiletto heels—I don’t know what those were even doing in a Kenyan market. Will’s hairy toes poke out the front by at least an inch, and he can barely balance without clinging to Miranda. Last of all, my sister plucks off his stupid gray hat and replaces it with a pink headscarf, which the laughing merchant gleefully ties for him. As he totters off to do the next challenge, there’s a shot of his lucky hat lying abandoned in the dust.

By this time, Natalie and I are laughing so hard we’re crying. When Nat insists on rewinding the sequence and watching it twice more, nobody objects. After what Will put me through, there’s nothing more delightful than watching him stagger around like a drunk sorority girl, looking exactly as ridiculous as he made me feel. For the next twenty minutes, we watch him try to herd cattle and learn a traditional Bantu dance in his insane outfit. As I watch him curse and trip over his own blistered feet, that last breath of sadness over what happened between us flies out with my laughter and dissipates into the air.

When Will finally stumbles into the Cupid’s Nest with my sister hours after the other teams, perfectly composed Isis takes one look at him and lets out a legitimate guffaw. When she manages to rearrange her face into a sympathetic expression, she says, “Welcome to the Cupid’s Nest, Will and Miranda. You’re in last place. Your race around the world has come to an end.”

We all knew that was coming, but everyone in our living room boos and shouts in protest. Natalie throws more Cheez-Its, one of which hits Chris in the face. “It’s okay,” Miranda calls out. “I’m still glad I did it.”

As if on cue, Isis asks, “Miranda, what has this race taught you?”