wrap myself in my cushiest blanket, and fall onto the couch, dead.
Courtney looks at me with pity. “Aw, honey. You know what? Millionaire Bachelor is on tonight. Why don’t I get changed, we heat up that frozen pizza, and we watch together? We can make fun of how pathetic all the contestants are.”
I don’t even answer. She knows I never watch that stuff. Never eat frozen anything. My form of entertainment is reading. Listening to classical music. Tooling around on my harp. Cleaning the house. And I eat clean. Some people would call it OCD. But I’m not. I just set high standards for myself.
It’s hard to believe we’ve lasted as roommates. It’s a good thing she isn’t a total slob. But Courtney is one of the few people who can stand my quirks. Part of it is that she’s pretty easygoing, and part is that she was forced to. We were thrust together as roommates our freshman year at Emory and have roomed together ever since. When I said I don’t make friends easily, I lied. Actually, I don’t make friends at all. Sure, there may be a value in it, but I’ve always said that education is my priority, which is why I never went to a party or engaged in small talk or hung around in the common room. But it was almost like I had to make friends with Nee, because our proximity, sharing a tiny ten-by-ten room, dictated it. I even resisted it the first few months, but Courtney is bubbly and sweet and impossible not to like. Eventually we ended up going to the dining hall and studying together and becoming best friends.
“Well. Fine. I’m going to eat pizza and watch. You can just sit there and mope.”
So I do. I sit in my cocoon and whimper miserably as she gets a Diet Coke and frozen pizza and sits on the sofa next to me, watching the crap show. I try to ignore it, but eventually the hot, built millionaire catches my attention. Especially when he gets a couple’s massage with one girl one night, then ends up hot-tubbing with another girl the next.
I squint at the screen as he starts making out with the girl in the hot tub. “What a charmer. How can you watch this trash?”
Her eyes are so glued to the screen that I don’t think anything short of a nuclear holocaust will tear her away. “He’s hot.”
“Also, a douche.”
That doesn’t stop her. She’s practically drooling. She has a sweet, wonderful boyfriend who treats her like gold, and she’s pining away for this douche?
A commercial comes on, and she goes to pop some popcorn in the microwave. I reach over and take a taste of her pizza. Ew. Cardboard tastes better. When I throw my head back on the pillow, I see something on the TV that makes me stop with little tendrils of fake cheese slipping down my chin.
“Calling all Atlanta residents ages twenty-five to forty-nine! Want to make a cool million dollars? Come on down to the auditions for our newest hit reality TV show . . . Million Dollar Marriage! Do you have a unique personality and the spirit of adventure to win it all? Join us at the Atlanta Convention Center, noon to five on May fifteenth!”
I stare until I forget to blink.
“Hey, did you eat my pizza?” Courtney shouts from the kitchen.
I wipe the cheese off my chin and point at the television. “What’s that about?”
“What?”
“The auditions for . . . something?”
Courtney flops down with her big bowl of popcorn. “Oh yes! I’m so there! Joe and I are going out for it. We’ve been planning for months.”
I’m confused. “You are?”
“Yeah. They’ve been doing auditions all around the country. But . . .” She sees the wheels turning in my head. “Don’t get any ideas, Nell. Trust me. If you think Millionaire Bachelor is cheese, Million Dollar Marriage will probably make your head spin.”
“Why?”
“Because people—normal, everyday people who don’t have sticks up their butts—like cheese. They gobble it up. So I guarantee this will be more of the same. I mean, it’s a new show, but word is the premise is totally out there.”
She doesn’t elaborate.
“Out there as in . . .” She doesn’t fill in. “What do you mean? The top prize is a million dollars. I’ve got debt. I’d probably sell my soul for that.”
She laughs, long and hard. “Uh, no. Nell. No. It’s really not for you. Remember? It said it’s only