thing most of them have in common? Their private body parts are all in a precarious position.
Just then, I catch sight of the yeti. He’s wearing a tight T-shirt and cargo shorts. He doesn’t need to preen or flex—he clearly knows he’s all that. He’s talking with two other beautiful people, laughing like they’ve been friends forever. The blonde with barely any clothes is clearly enamored with him, as is the tattooed older woman in a leather bustier who’s sitting on a bench, watching. Actually, all the women are staring at him. And as he tells his story, using hand motions and talking animatedly, more people take notice, gravitating to him.
I can almost hear Courtney’s voice in my head: He’s the one. Form an alliance with him.
Good thing she’s not here. Because I refuse to go anywhere near that guy.
Besides, Shveta’s much more my type. We talk a little, and I find out that she’s an epidemiologist. She tells me she’s a slave to reality television and knows everything about it, since growing up in India she wasn’t allowed to watch TV at all. She’s a huge fan of Millionaire Bachelor, Survivor, The Amazing Race . . . all these shows I know nothing about. I won’t hold that against her. Since she knows so much, I decide that she might be a valuable ally to have.
But I can’t stop looking at the yeti, at the way he effortlessly works the room, making every single person turn toward him like flowers to the sun. They love him. Why?
As I’m contemplating, he stops talking midsentence, and his eyes settle on me. Those raw, pure emerald, unnervingly sexy eyes. He winks.
Everyone in the vicinity turns to look at me.
My face heats. My skin prickles with awareness.
He goes back to his story. I want the bench to swallow me up. Then I hear someone with a bullhorn yelling names. “Penelope Carpenter. Please report to the red door for your confessional.”
I look at Shveta. “Confession? I’m not religious . . .”
“No, no. I just did mine. Don’t worry. It’s not scary. They just lock you in a room and film you answering questions. Like, why you’re here. What your initial impressions are. What you think the premise of the show is about. Who you think your biggest competition is.”
Not scary. And yet, I’d completely freaked when that lady thrust the camera in my face outside.
I go, my knees wobbling a little, but it turns out it’s not so bad. The woman behind the camera is nice and is able to pull answers from me pretty easily. At the end of it, she says, “You’ll be expected to do confessional twice a day, as long as you’re still in the competition. Good luck, Nell!”
Feeling a little better, I go out to the locker room, where I realize everyone is lining up, women on one side, men on the other. I get to the very end of the line, and we’re taken out into a dark hallway and then into an empty basketball court. Will Wang is there, in his suit with no tie, waving at us. “Ready for your official class photograph?” he says.
The woman—Eloise Barker, the executive producer—is there. She’s scrutinizing each person. “Can you remove your shirt?” she says to one man. Then she shouts out, “For publicity purposes it would be really helpful if you wear as little as possible, since this is going on the billboards and we want to get people’s attention. So get naked, people! Within reason! Especially you, Luke!”
People start ripping off clothes, like it’s no big deal. All the men are shirtless. The women aren’t much better. The girl in the bikini top is rolling her boy shorts down to bare her flat tummy.
I cringe. I look down. I am already wearing tight capris and a big T-shirt over my workout bra. I don’t want to lose anything else, or my dignity will be next to go.
Thankfully, when Eloise’s eyes scrape over me, she doesn’t ask me to take the T-shirt off. I push my glasses up on my nose and wonder if I’m really that repellent that people would rather have me clothed.
The staff members start to line us up, alternating the men and women. As I climb to the second row of the bleachers by an Asian man, I realize who’s going to be on my other side.
The yeti bounds up.
I can’t look.
Because holy chest.
He’s all smooth, tanned, rigid muscle. Tattoos galore. A massive six-pack.