For Real(8)

“It’s perfect. But how are we going to convince Miranda to do it?”

“Convince me to do what?” My sister is standing at the bottom of the stairs in a Middlebury tank top and rumpled sushi-print pajama bottoms. There are dark circles under her eyes, but even after a night of tossing and turning, her hair looks artfully messy, like a stylist arranged each piece.

I jump up. “Hey! You’re awake! How do you feel today?” I wonder if I’ll be able to feel a shift between us this morning, now that we’ve spent all that time bonding over revenge and she’s seen how good I am at being her friend, not just her little sister. “Natalie got you a muffin.”

Her face brightens the tiniest bit. “Yeah? What kind?”

“Cranberry pecan.”

“Awesome.” She takes the bag and sits down next to me. “Thanks, Nat.”

“You’re welcome. Hey, Claire told me about Samir. That totally blows.”

All three of us jump as a piercing shriek and the sound of shattering glass come from the television. “What are you guys watching?” Miranda asks. She stares as slivers of mirror rain down on the used pregnancy tests around Jakarta’s bare feet.

“Speed Breed,” Natalie says, her mouth full of muffin.

“Seriously? You guys watch Speed Breed?”

It occurs to me that this isn’t the optimal show to have on while we try to convince my sister to become a reality TV star. I grab the remote and scroll through the cable guide until I find an old episode of Obstacle Kitchen. “I know, it’s dumb. But not all reality shows are like that—lots of them are about talent and intelligence and problem solving. See, look at this one. These people are gourmet chefs and athletes. Pretty impressive, right?”

Miranda watches two men in chef’s whites and Spandex shorts leap over a series of hurdles between two rows of stainless steel prep tables. Each of them clutches a large bag of onions to his chest. When they reach the cutting boards at the far end of the room, they grab enormous knives and start dicing at superhuman speed.

“I don’t get this at all, but if you guys enjoy it, more power to you,” my sister says, obviously confused about why I’m lecturing her on the merits of reality TV. “So, what were you going to try to get me to do?”

I take a deep breath. Now that I actually have to broach this subject with Miranda, it doesn’t seem quite as awesome as it did a few minutes ago. Natalie gives me an encouraging nod. “Well, we were thinking about ways to get revenge on Samir,” I start.

Miranda snorts. “I still like the lobster-in-the-engine plan.”

“We don’t think it should just be a prank, though. It needs to be something—” I stop when I see Miranda’s eyebrow shoot up. “What?”

“You’re being serious right now, aren’t you.”

“Well, yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Claire, we were just kidding around about all that,” she says. “Things don’t really work that way. Crappy stuff happens, and you wallow a little, and you drink wine and take a lot of naps, and after a while it starts to hurt less. People don’t actually get revenge on each other. That only happens in movies.”

And just like that, I know last night hasn’t changed anything at all between us. To Miranda, that wasn’t real bonding time—it was only a game. She was just humoring her baby sister. I feel like I’m playing Chutes and Ladders, and after climbing all the way to the top of the board, I’ve slid back down to the bottom with no warning.

“But we came up with something really good,” I say. “You could actually use this.”

“It’s pretty epic,” Natalie says, and I love her for backing me up.

Miranda sighs. “Go ahead, let’s hear.”

I’m even more nervous to present our idea now, but I forge ahead. “Okay, so, you know that race-around-the-world show Samir’s going to be on? We just saw online that they’re holding emergency auditions for two more teams—someone probably failed a drug test at the last minute or something. How awesome would it be if you went on the show and totally kicked his ass?”

Miranda looks at me like I’ve just suggested she amputate her own arm without anesthesia. “You want me to audition for reality television?”

“I know it’s not something you’d normally do. But come on, don’t you want to take him down in front of the whole world? Everyone would remember that. Every single time he went to an audition, he’d be ‘that guy who got his butt handed to him by his ex-girlfriend on TV.’ Nobody would ever respect him again.”

A complicated expression flits over Miranda’s face. “I’m not really in any state to go on TV right now. I don’t want millions of people seeing what a mess I am.”

“You don’t seem like a mess at all,” I say. “You never seem like a mess.”

“And you have so much travel experience,” Natalie chimes in. “You’d have no trouble navigating your way around. I bet you could beat Samir without even trying. Plus, there’s a million-dollar prize.”

Miranda still looks skeptical. “I am good at traveling. But how would I even get on a show like that? Don’t they only take super-crazy, over-the-top people?”

Natalie puts on her patient face. “Why do you think producers like those people?”