into that pitch. And something . . . snapped.
I can’t explain it, but that’s what happened. Something inside me just popped. I threw that ball, the catcher caught it—and it broke her hand. Shattered it, actually. I felt terrible. The coach must have known what was up. He sent me to the doctor for tests and they found the virus. That was it, booted from the softball team, banned from sports for the rest of my life.
I suppose I could have been depressed about it. But you know what they say, about one door closing and another opening? That’s how I look at it. Maybe I couldn’t play softball anymore. But I could be an ace. I think there’s a lot I can do with this kind of power. I just have to figure it out. This show’s a start.
You want me to talk about DB? He did a great job today. He used what he had, getting his fans to help him like that, and that’s what it’s all about, right? That’s it. What else? What else is there? How do I feel about him? Are you serious?
Okay, fine. I liked him. I really did, before he turned into the world’s most conceited jackass. The only reason he’s still interested in me is because I’m the one girl who said no. Maybe I’m the only girl in his whole life who ever told him no, and he can’t handle it. Here’s the thing he doesn’t understand: all his behavior since then has justified me saying no. Would I really want to go out with someone who acts like that? He can be so nice and funny, and then he pulls out this rock star attitude, and I hate it. Does he think all this posturing is going to make me change my mind? The only thing he cares about is himself. Here’s the other thing he doesn’t understand: He’s not the only fish in the sea. There are so many good-looking guys around here. Really nice, good-looking guys, who don’t have their heads shoved up their asses.
Like who? Give me break.
That’s all you’re getting from me.
Confessional: John Montano aka the Candle
I know I’m supposed to be happy right now, but I’m really not.
When I started out on the show, I was thinking it was going to be fun. I watch television just like anyone else. I knew there was going to be a lot of drama and games and all that. It’s not the same watching it for an hour every week as it is living it. And I know I did well and we got immunity this week, but honest to God, I’m just getting tired.
I know there are a lot of people—I’m not going to name names—who are upset that I got the Jetboy statue from Venice Beach. It’s almost like because I didn’t actually have to use my powers to knock anyone down or climb up a wall, it doesn’t count. There are times I feel like I’ve been accused of cheating even though no one actually comes out and says anything. It’s worse, in a way. If they said something, I could defend myself. If I just come out and say it without that, I just seem defensive. And defensive is the same as weak right now. Around here, you don’t want to be the one in the herd who’s limping.
The whole thing with Rustbelt and Stuntman . . . Well, I wasn’t there, so I don’t really know. They both seem like good men. Maybe it was a misunderstanding. I think the real danger in this game is letting things get out of proportion. Even if he did say it—and I’m not saying that he did, only if he did—then it’s something you have to put in context. Rustbelt’s not from a coast. He’s got that middle America culture. I’m not saying that it’s right, but I’m not exactly white either. I know what it can be like going through places where you’re the only one who doesn’t look like they sprang full grown from the white cliffs of Dover. It’s a different world out there. Maybe Rustbelt just slipped. Said something out loud that he never meant to. I have to say, if it’s that or that Stuntman just made it up . . . I wouldn’t want to believe that of him.
I’m sad that that’s the story that’s gotten all the attention, though. It’s a mean, petty, small thing, and to talk