digging myself another hole. I’m ruining Gran’s place, little by little.
I strip down to my boxers and sit on the edge of the mattress, looking at the scars on my inner arm. All those nights lying slumped in my own piss in the dark alleyways in downtown Atlanta, strung out on whatever juice I could find cheap—I thought I’d be dead by my twenties.
Everything I’ve made for myself since then? It’s all hanging in the balance. I’m going to lose this place. And I’m going to lose Gran soon too. And then what’ll I have? I live every fucking day knowing those two things are at the top of the very short list of Things Preventing Me from Being a Junkie Again.
Without them . . . really. What the fuck else do I have?
I reach over onto the dresser and unfold the flyer Jimmy gave me. As I lie back on my mattress, I think about it more than I should. Reality TV? I never thought I’d consider it. But the more I think about it, the more I think it might be my only shot at saving my bar . . . and saving my ass in the process.
THE AUDITION
Nell
I suppose if this is more of a cerebral challenge, I might do well. But if it involves any hand-eye coordination, I’m in trouble. I’m a bit uncoordinated.
—Nell’s Confessional, Day 1
Turns out, Courtney is right.
I really had no idea what I was in for.
It’s ten in the morning, and the Atlanta Convention Center is mobbed. You’d think they were playing the Super Bowl here. We found a parking spot about a mile away from the end of a line that snaked endlessly toward the front doors of the center. When we got there and I could barely see the huge arena from where we stood, I started to pout.
Now I’m just miserable.
“You’re right, Nee. This was stupid,” I mumble to her as she leans on Joe for support. Joe is the perfect boyfriend who treats her like a queen. He finished undergrad the same time we both did, went out and got a good job, and now he’s making six figures. He takes Courtney out to expensive meals and does the adulting thing really well.
Unlike some people I know.
“What did I tell you about that?” Courtney says, nudging me back upright as I try to lean on her. My feet hurt. “We don’t need Negative Nelly. Negative Nelly can go take a hike.”
I sigh and check my watch. We’ve been here only fifteen minutes, and we’ve moved about . . . three feet. Sigh. I stand on my tiptoes to see if I can spot the convention center any better. “Is all of Atlanta here?”
“Hey. Zip it,” Courtney says, zipping her fingers over her lips.
“Fine.” I wish I had someone to lean on. I squat, then sit, but the second I do, the line starts to move again. Story of my life. I push my glasses up on the bridge of my nose and scramble into place.
“What are you reading?” Joe asks me.
“A Compendium of Ancient Chinese Philosophy,” I say, not looking up because if I lose my spot one more time, I might go crazy.
“Riveting,” he says.
“It is.” The line moves again. This time I don’t get up. I crawl with it, my nose buried in the book.
I try to read more, but the people in front of me are talking too loudly. The big topic of conversation is what the hell the premise of this Million Dollar Marriage show is actually going to be. The craziest rumors are flying around. The bouncy blonde girls in front of me with their surfer-dude boyfriends seem to think that they’re going to offer people a million dollars to get married to their respective partners on live television.
Which sucks for me, because the only partner I have with me is my giant textbook.
“You know what I think?” Courtney says to me, leaning on Joe’s shoulder. “They said adventure. I think they’re going to split teams up into men and women and send them through an obstacle course. And whoever wins has to get married on live television or else forfeit the money.”
I stare at her. All the more reason for me to get the eff out of here. I am not athletic. I am beyond two left feet. I am all soft and squishy curves, and I’m happy that way. The only reason I’d run is if something were chasing me. And