Unscripted - Nicole Kronzer Page 0,58

room as we cleared to neutral.

“I told you, man, I’ve got a girlfriend,” he joked as he mimed setting up the party.

I closed my eyes for a minute. These guys were trapped so hard in this tiny box of acceptable heterosexual male behavior. I tried to feel sorry for them instead of angry.

I pulled on Cade’s arm and mimed knocking on the door while stomping my good foot to make the sound.

Xander mimed opening the door. “Welcome!”

“I apologize for all the security,” I said, “but in this day and age, what can you do?”

“Right,” Xander agreed, “Because you’re the president’s wife.”

“Not quite,” I said, trying to quell my irritability. “This—” I gestured to Cade.

“Oh, you’re the president!” Xander said.

Ben applauded.

I really felt like I was taking the reins here. Wasn’t it clear that between us, I was the one in a higher status position? But whatever. I could be the vice president. “Sure,” I said. “And we—”

“Are you sure you should be out in public with him?” Xander hissed.

“Uh, we’re in public together all the time,” I said, my stomach dropping as I guessed where this was going.

“Really? The president is out with his mistress in public?”

“I’m not his mistress.”

“Girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Naughty daughter?”

“What? No.”

“Sexy intern?”

“Buddy, I—”

“Sexy buddy? That sounds fun, having a sexy buddy.”

“It is,” Ben called, and everyone laughed.

My face went beet red. Was he talking about me? I stumbled out of character.

Cade spoke up. “We get that a lot, but she has a very important job to do for the American people.”

“Really . . .” Xander smirked. “For all of us?” He took two steps toward me, and I flinched as he scooped me up in a fireman’s carry over his shoulder. “I’ll go next.”

It was happening again. And Ben was doing nothing to stop it. I was numb as Xander marched with me over his shoulder and set me down off stage.

“Woo! Quick, but satisfying!” He mimed zipping up his pants. Bile rose up in my esophagus.

My jaw felt wired shut as I forced myself to descend the steps and sit on a chair in the audience. Leaving yesterday and standing up for myself had changed nothing. Ben and my connection in the nurse’s office had changed nothing. This situation was never going to change unless Ben stood up—for women, for people of color, for LGBTQ folks—but he wasn’t going to.

I could guess why Donovan and Trey hadn’t complained about weird racial comments. If they’d protested, they could be labeled as “difficult” or “angry” and could lose out on future opportunities. I could, too, and my exclusion would be justified around the accusation of being “too sensitive.”

Like “sensitive” was an insult.

What was I supposed to do? Staying here was tantamount to condoning this scene—all the scenes. What Ben had shown me was it wasn’t just sexist and mean-spirited suggestions I had to deal with, and it wasn’t just sexist and mean-spirited teammates either—it was Ben. He was sexist. And mean-spirited. Or at the very least, he wasn’t standing in the way of those things . . .

But he was under a lot of pressure from the Pauls. And his dad had just died . . . did that excuse any of this?

“Great work!” Ben called when the scene was over. “Xander, you’re in line to host if we do this structure for the show.”

Xander fist-bumped Brandon. “Thanks, Ben.”

“Let’s get set up for a Montage,” Ben said.

I hated to stand up and face them again, but sitting felt like defeat.

I pushed myself to standing. My toes hurt a little as I climbed the steps to the stage where I stood next to High Ropes Jake.

“Those guys suck,” he muttered to me.

I turned to him, shocked. “Yeah. They do.”

He gave me a small smile and faced the stage again.

“Hey,” I whispered.

He leaned in.

“Say something next time, okay? Stand up for me?”

But he stepped out to start the first scene.

The series of scenes in Montage was better than the last time; I wasn’t a dead prostitute, but it didn’t take much to improve upon that.

Montage is my favorite structure, but with these guys, every scene felt like I was target practice. I was exhausted when Ben called lunch. Gathering up my bag, I hobbled out onto the porch, away from the tables. I wasn’t ready to tell my fellow Gildas they had been right about everything.

I stopped briefly at the orange ribbed water jug to refill my bottle, then I took the path away from the cabins into the aspens. It felt