SAVANNAH
What in the heck just happened? I think I almost kissed Rhett. Was he leaning forward toward me, too? Why did I touch his knee? That was a strange thing to do. He probably thinks I'm some kind of a weirdo.
These are all the thoughts that I'm thinking as we walk back upstairs to go to bed. Now I have to lay next to him all night, him in his little twin bed and me in mine, with a chain draped between us. I'll be so glad when we can disconnect, and I can go back to my normal life of talking to Maggie about my problems and missing my sister. I don't know what's going on in my head. Maybe it's just because I need some companionship, and it feels good to have somebody talking to me and paying attention to me. Connor never really did very well at that. Maybe that's all it is.
Surely I'm not attracted to Rhett Jennings, of all people. He's my rival, isn't he? Is he still my rival? Have we become friends? I'm completely confused. My brain is just going round and round in circles, and I can't get the chatter to turn off.
We get back to the room, and Rhett asks one of the producers to disconnect us for a moment so he can remove the jacket that he’s given me. Neither one of us wants to sleep with a jacket on. I go to the bathroom, wash my face, use the restroom, and come back out. The producer chains us back up again. Thank goodness this will be over soon.
Rhett will go back to his side of the house. I'll go back to mine. We'll continue our snarky comments at each other. And then, hopefully, I'll beat him in the sixth week. He'll go home to wherever he lives, on a yacht somewhere with celebrities, and I'll go back to my little apartment, hopefully with a $200,000 check in my hand. This is what I'm planning, anyway.
Right now, I feel very out of control. I don't know what's happening in my mind, in my heart, and why are there butterflies in my stomach all of a sudden?
We both lie down in the beds. Maggie is over in her bed, still snoring away happily, occasionally kicking a leg or punching something on her side table. I really think she needs to get checked out for some sort of REM sleep disorder. We both lay there staring at the ceiling again, just like we were before we went downstairs to take our little run.
I'm not getting out of this bed again. If I have to pretend to sleep, just so we don't have to talk about anything, I definitely will.
"Should we talk?" Rhett suddenly says.
"About?"
"About whatever that was that just happened."
"You mean the one where my ex-boyfriend flipped on the lights in the courtyard and then acted like a jerk? Is that what you mean?"
I'm hoping that's what he wants to talk about.
"No, I mean, what happened before the jerk came down there."
"We were talking. What are you referring to?"
He turns and looks at me.
"Savannah, come on."
“I really don't understand, Rhett.” I can't make eye contact with him. There's no way. If I make eye contact, I will completely give away the thoughts popping through my little redheaded brain. I have a terrible poker face.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about. We were leaning."
I turn onto my left shoulder.
"We were leaning? You want to talk about us leaning?"
"You know what I mean."
He's trying to whisper as if the microphones attached to our bodies and all over the room will not pick up what we're saying. Right now, people are sitting in their homes staring at their computers, watching the livestream because they don't have anything better to do with their lives. They want to see what we're doing. And maybe Rhett is right. Maybe they're sitting there hoping there's some sort of romance happening between us, and we just gave them exactly what they wanted. Or maybe I'm just making it all up.
"Fine. It was just a moment. Nothing happened. Nothing's going to happen. Nothing has to happen."
Now, I'm just blabbering away.
"What if it's something that should happen?" he says.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, what if we had continued leaning?"
"Then maybe we would've fallen over," I say dryly. "Look, nothing happened, and we don't need to discuss it. It was just a silly little moment where we both felt a little vulnerable. And thankfully, my idiot ex-boyfriend flipped on the light and ruined everything."
"See? You said ruined everything. You wanted it to happen, too," he says, sitting up on one of his elbows. "I'm just trying to figure out what this is all about."
"What do you mean, what it's all about? We're probably just lonely," I finally say.
"I'm lonely all the time, Savannah. All the time, even when I'm around people. But why don’t I feel lonely when I'm around you?"
He looks like he would rather have said anything else but that. His mouth clamps shut as if his brain doesn't want any other words to escape.
"What did you say?"
"You heard what I said. I don't want to say it again."
“I don't even know who this person is. You're nothing like you were when we were in school together. You're nothing like you were when we first got in this house together a couple of weeks ago."
"I know, it's very frustrating," he says, using his other hand to massage his brow line. "I don't talk about things like this. I don't get vulnerable."
"Wait a minute," I say in a whisper. Again, thinking that microphones can't catch me. I reach around and flip mine off for a moment, hoping that nobody can make out what I'm about to say. I nod at him, and he flips his off.
"What are you doing? We're not supposed to turn these off."
"I need to ask you a question."
"Okay, what?”
“Is this a part of the whole act?" I ask, using air quotes with one hand.
"What?
"The act that you want me to participate in."
Suddenly, over the loudspeaker, we hear the producers call out, probably waking everyone up in the house, and say, "Savannah and Rhett, put your microphones back on."
Turning your microphones off in a reality TV show house is a big no-no. We were told this over and over.
"Is it part of the act?" I ask before reaching around to turn mine back on.
He looks at me. “Goodnight, Savannah,” he says, flipping onto his back.
He then closes his eyes and looks like a corpse. No other words are uttered for the rest of the night. I close my eyes, still staying on my left shoulder because I usually sleep on my side, and look at him, waiting for him to open his eyes. Waiting for him to nod his head and tell me that, yes, this is just part of the act that he wants us to do. The one where we pretend to be in a relationship.
But he never does. He never makes a move. He never says a word. And now I'm wondering: Does Rhett Jennings actually have feelings for me, or is he trying to do something so that we can get to the end of the competition?
If there's one thing I know about him, it's that he will do anything to win this. I can't trust what he's saying or what he's doing, and I have to remember that. Rhett Jennings was my rival and will always be my rival.
* * *
RHETT
I wake up earlier than Savannah and turn onto my shoulder to look at her. She is a beautiful woman, so delicate looking with her features, her little upturned nose, full lips, and freckles across the bridge of her nose. She also has them on her arms, but they're not dark. They're just noticeable enough to be adorable.
Her red hair is splayed over her white pillowcase, and she’s breathing quietly, unlike Maggie, who sounds like a chainsaw beside me. There's one thing for certain. This woman has no problems sleeping and letting everyone in the world know about it. But still, it doesn't break my concentration as I look at the sunlight starting to pour into the blinds on the window next to us and go right across Savannah's cheek.
I don't know what happened last night. The whole thing is a blur. I felt like I was about to kiss her. Connor interrupted us. I asked her about it and then was accused of faking it for the show.
Of course, there's no reason for her to believe otherwise. I told her I wanted to fake a relationship so we could get further in the game. Of course, she would think that's what I was doing, but unfortunately, that's not what I was doing.
I'm falling for Savannah, which is something I never thought I would hear myself say. If I had said it before, I probably would've checked myself in for a mental evaluation.
Savannah, the goody-two-shoes, always sunshine, always positive Savannah. Not my type at all.
I've never dated anyone like her, and I never planned to. I'm Rhett Jennings. I'm a curmudgeon. I'm a 31-year-old grouch. How in the world could I be interested in her, or she interested in me? Is she? Has she started playing the part without telling me? I don't know what's going on. The lines of reality and make-believe have gotten muddied together.
Everything's a blur. I don't know what to think, and I wish I could wipe away everything that happened in the last twelve hours, but right now, she’s asleep, and I'm watching her like a stalker. It's not like I can go anywhere. I'm chained to the woman. If I were standing in her doorway and we weren't chained together, that would be stalking, I tell myself. That would be weird, but this isn't weird at all.
As I'm thinking through all these things, she suddenly opens her eyes and looks at me, startled, like she forgot we were chained together.
"Good morning," I say, trying not to have any emotion in my voice whatsoever. Trying not to tell her that I can smell her shampoo. It smells like strawberries to match her hair color. I remember when I was younger, my friend's older sister had a Strawberry Shortcake doll from the '80s. You could still smell that strawberry smell in its hair. That's what Savannah smells like. She's like a grown-up human Strawberry Shortcake doll.
I probably shouldn't tell her that, but she does wear those cute little vintage aprons that she brought from home with things embroidered on them, including strawberries, so there is precedence for it.
"Good morning," she says, her voice groggy. It sounds about two octaves deeper. She clears her throat. "How long have you been watching me?"
"Not very long," I say. "I just woke up. It's hard to sleep with chainsaw Maggie over there."
She laughs. At least she's laughing. At least maybe she's not so mad at me about last night. I think I was definitely the one leaning in, but she was leaning too, and there's been far too much talk of leaning. It's ridiculous. We're grown-ups. Why can't we just say we were about to kiss? I'm not saying it, but maybe she will.
"Yeah, she's kind of loud. Imagine sleeping in here with her every night, and Lainey, who talks in her sleep, always about herself."
I smile. "I can see that. I hate to have to move back to my room and leave you with that."
"Yeah. It's super fun to hear her give makeup tips in the middle of the night."
"Well, she shouldn't be giving makeup tips unless it's how to wear too much makeup. I swear, sometimes I think her face will crack, and everything will fall straight to the ground. The only thing holding it on her face are those giant fake eyelashes that she wears. How many pairs is she wearing at one time?"
"I don't know. I guess I'm just more natural, for better or for worse."
"It's for better," I say without thinking.
"I guess we should get up and start our day," she laughs nervously.
"Yeah, definitely. I'll call the producer to disconnect us so we can get ready. I think we have some kind of an outing we're doing today."
"Yeah, something to distract us from the main challenge coming up."
"Are you nervous?" I ask as we both sit up and face each other.
"I'm always nervous, Rhett."
“You shouldn't be. You're very talented if I've never told you."
"Yeah, I don't think you've ever told me," she says.
"Well, you are, but sometimes I think you psych yourself out. You don't need to do that. You have the skills, Sunny. You just need to use them and be confident in yourself."
“Maybe some of your confidence can wear off on me."
"You don't want this kind of confidence."
"Why not?"
"It's fake confidence, I guess you'd say. I have to really wind myself up to feel like I can do hard things.”
"Well, you seem confident. Let's at least say that."
"I'm sure I do."
"I guess we should call the producer then."
"Yes, of course."
* * *
SAVANNAH
We get dressed and head downstairs, where the producers have again called us together. I assume we have another public service day, although I'm unsure what it would be.
Things between Rhett and I seem a little bit strange. I'm not sure exactly what to make of it. I still don't know if he's playing the game of fake relationships or if he’s trying to express his real feelings for me; that would seem very out of character for Rhett. I don't think he has true feelings for me.
Maybe he's just bored in the house or trying to convince the audience that we're falling in love so he can get further in the game. Whatever it is, I'm not falling for it. I have to stay focused. It's very important that I get to the end and at least give myself a chance to win that money for me and my sister.
I've allowed myself to start dreaming about opening a bakery, about all the things that could happen if I got my hands on that kind of cash. I found in my life that dreaming is dangerous. Allowing myself to think that things can get so much better can be heartbreaking in the end. But for some reason, I have nothing else to do in this house but think about it.
Maybe I could try manifesting it. I've never tried anything like that before, but I've read and heard about the law of attraction. Maybe it works. If I think about it and pretend I already have it, I'll win it. I don't know. At this point, I would do just about anything to win this competition.
I feel like maybe it's possible. Maybe I'm more talented than I think. After all, Rhett told me so this morning. I never thought I would hear him say that. He was pretty horrible during pastry chef school. Not usually directly at me, but he was still ornery or a curmudgeon, as my grandmother would've called him. He was not friendly. He was not nice. He didn't want to befriend anyone, so he put off that vibe. But here, he seems so different, almost like a nice guy, like a sheep in wolf's clothing instead of the other way around.
"Good morning, everyone," Dan says. His voice is far too loud for the hour. Actually, it’s far too loud for most hours. I think Dan needs a volume adjustment. As I listen to him, I realize he reminds me of those cheesy game show hosts from the 70s that I’ve seen in old clips.
It's just after 8:00 AM and I'm wondering what they've got up their sleeves that we have to do at this ungodly hour. I like to ease into my mornings, have a cup of coffee, make a nice breakfast, and maybe read a little bit before I get on with my day. Of course, when I'm back at home, that doesn't happen. I'm standing in the bakery at 4:00 AM, wishing that I was a self-made millionaire, but instead, I'm making birthday cakes for annoying six-year-olds.
But here, I can kind of do what I want most of the time, except until yesterday when I became chained to Rhett. He goes along with what I want to do for the most part.
“As you probably imagined, today is another public service day. We will be going to a local beach and cleaning it up.”
Oh, great. Cleaning? I hate cleaning. If I could buy one thing with money, it would be a housekeeper or a cleaning crew that could come in just once a week. I would even take it once every two weeks. I hate cleaning. Sadie does most of it.
"Yay, that sounds fun,” I say dryly under my breath.
Rhett chuckles. "I'm sure it'll be nice to leave this house. Don't you like the beach?"
“I have no idea. I’ve never been.”
"You've never been on the beach?" Rhett says to me, staring like I've just landed from some other planet.
"No, not everyone has been to the beach, Rhett."
"I guess I just thought..." He stops himself and says nothing else.
"It's okay. I just didn't have the kind of upbringing where my mom would take me to the beach."
"I'm sorry,” he says. I'm not sure if he's sorry that I've never been to the beach or that he said anything at all. "Well, I'm glad I get to be there when you see it for the first time."
The way he says it is very intimate. Strange. Is this part of the hippopotamus plan? That's what I've decided to call it. The hippopotamus plan. It sounds like a great book title. It would be confusing but cool.
They usher us into the van, and off we go. I don't know this area at all, so I have no idea what beach we're heading to or how far away it is. But we’re pulling into a nondescript parking lot within about thirty minutes.
Palm trees and dunes are right by the parking lot, so I can't see the ocean yet. We get out, and I can immediately hear it. The sound is so soothing. Of course, I've heard ocean sounds on YouTube or meditation audio, but it's different in person. I can taste the salty air. I can feel a different breeze on my face than I've ever felt before. It's already warm even at this early hour.
"Ready?" he asks.
"Yep."
We walk down a pathway, which turns into a small wooden bridge at the end. As I get to the top of the bridge, I stop in my tracks. Thankfully, we're at the end of the line of contestants, and they're all walking further out onto the sand. But I can't move. I've never seen anything like this.
The ocean.
It's beautiful.
It's massive.
There's nothing on the other side for as far as the eye can see. I think I see a little shrimp boat, or maybe that's a barge of some kind. I can't tell because it's so far away.
I hear children laughing at one end of the beach. I see houses dotting the sand all the way down.
"Wow,” I breathe out. I can't form any other words. Seeing the ocean on video just didn't do it justice.
"It's pretty amazing, huh?"
"I'm sure you see it all the time. You're on yachts."
He smiles slightly and nods his head. "Yeah. I've seen a lot of beaches and beautiful places. But I must say, witnessing you seeing it for the first time is one of my favorites."
Who is this man? Why is he acting this way? It has to be part of the plan. This can't be the real Rhett. I didn't miss this the whole time I knew him.
“It is something I will never forget.”
"I need all the contestants over here!” Dan yells out, holding his hand up and looking directly at us. He doesn't care that I'm having a moment over here.
Dan isn't dressed in his normal suit today. Instead, he's wearing a pair of khaki pants and a pink golf shirt, as if heading straight to the golf course after leaving us. Maybe he is. I don't know Dan. I don't know what he does in his off time.
"This area of the beach tends to accumulate a lot of trash,” he says when we walk closer. "Today, you're just going to walk up and down the beach, using this stick and putting trash into these big bags."
"Well, I feel like I'm literally on community service now,” Rhett says, holding up the stick with one hand and the chain with the other. I laugh, but nobody else does. I guess they don't get our humor.
"We will be here for a couple of hours, so feel free to take your time walking around and picking up trash. I'll be over here looking at my phone,” Dan says, sitting on a folding chair. I guess he's not going to participate.
"Well, I guess we should get started,” I say.
We start walking around, and I can’t help but continue looking at the ocean repeatedly. I kick off my shoes because they are way too hard to walk in on the sand, and Rhett does the same.
"People are so dirty,” Zara complains as she walks by with her stick. “Who leaves trash on the beach...” Her voice trails off as she passes us.
I use my stick to spear a plastic water bottle, and Rhett pulls it into the bag. We do this over and over for what seems like the whole day, but I know it's probably only been an hour.
Finally, I need a break. "This is exhausting work. Zara's right. Why are people so dirty?"
"People are lazy, generally speaking. That's what I've found."
"Oh, yeah?”
“You know I am the lead pastry chef on the yachts?" He adds the word yachts as an afterthought, as if I've forgotten where he works.
I want to say, Yes, Rhett. We all know that you work on yachts, but I refrain. “I know.”
"I have to hire people occasionally, or the boat captain does, and people are generally lazy. They don't want to do the work."
"Well, that's not been me. I've never had the luxury of being lazy." He nods his head.
"We have two totally different situations, but I've never had the luxury of being lazy either. Nobody in my family supports me in what I do."
"So why did you decide not to go be a lawyer or a doctor?"
"I didn't love it. I tried. I worked at my mother's medical office in high school. I went with my dad on legal cases when I was off for summer breaks from prep school. It just wasn't for me."
"How did you tell them?"
"Oh, that was a big argument. During one Sunday dinner, I sat down with my parents and brothers and explained that I wasn’t going to medical school even though I had a scholarship, and I wasn't going to law school either. I was going to go to night school to be a pastry chef. I thought my mother was going to pass out."
I chuckle under my breath. "That must've been great to have those options in the first place."
"I'm sorry that you didn't, Sunny. I don't want you to feel bad for me. I would've made a terrible doctor. I'm a hypochondriac. I would've thought I had every single illness somebody came in with." He laughs. "Hey, do you want to walk down by the water a little more?" He points toward the waves, breaking against the shore as they come in.
"Sure." We put down our spears and bags and walk over to the water’s edge. I allow the warm liquid to wash over my feet for the first time. I'm so glad I got a pedicure before I came here. My red toenails are visible through the water as it washes over my feet. "This is amazing,” I say, smiling like a child. It's probably weird to him that I'm so excited about water on my feet. Instead, he just smiles back.
"I'm glad you got to experience this today."
"Me too." Just then, he looks down and sees something. "Oh, look, there's a crab…”
Before he can finish saying the word crab, the creature runs across my foot. I scream like I've been attacked by a bear and instinctively jump in the air, Rhett catching me. My legs are around his waist, and I have nestled my face in the crook of his neck. I didn't know I was scared of crabs until this very moment.
"It's okay, Sunny,” he says, sounding like he's trying to draw a breath and someone's choking him. Oh, it's me. I'm the one choking him. His hands splay across my back, moving in circular motions.
"Oh my gosh. I'm so sorry,” I say, suddenly sliding down back to my feet again. But I'm still against him. He still has his arms around me, and I still have my arms around his shoulders. "What happened?" I say as if I forgot what I just did.
"A crab crawled over your foot, and then you mauled me."
I laugh and finally let go. His hands slowly fall from my waist. Why does that make me feel sad? We turn around and notice that the other contestants are staring at us from different areas of the beach. Some of them smile as if they know a secret I don't know. And then there's Connor, who is looking at me like he's sending waves of fire in my direction. The last person I want to look at is Rhett, but I do. And the look on his face is nothing I've seen before. I don't know what he's thinking, but I know what I'm thinking.
That was nice.