“Good luck.” Brady squeezed my arm and closed the door, sealing me inside the windowless room; one which had most likely been a closet before they decided to film in here.
Tears welled up at the corners of my eyes and anoverwhelming sense of feeling out of place washed over me. In the past two years since the accident, this was the farthest I’d ventured from home. I already missed my mother, whom I spoke to almost daily. And I missed Piper, who, despite being single and having better things to do, always dropped in to check on me every Friday. She knew weekends hit me the hardest.
I was still afraid that coming here had been a mistake, but I pulled my shoulders back and drew in a deep breath.
I’d promised Piper I would give this a fair shot.
Plus, I couldn’t hide forever.
Twenty minutes later,a microphone hung around my neck, connected to a wire around my waist. I’d been given very strict instructions not to remove the mic under any circumstances; the sound guy had basically put the fear of God in me.
The door opened, revealing Shay.
Shay was the other producer—or handler, as they called themselves. She and Brady oversaw the contestants. They ensured we were in the right place at the right time, and had conducted our original interviews. Shay was maybe forty, with a cropped hairstyle and a stern look about her. While Brady at least pretended to be empathetic and kind, Shay’s eyes held no warmth.
When I arrived from the airport two days ago, she had immediately taken me to be interviewed. I had begged for a shower and a nap and she had begrudgingly agreed, complaining the entire time that we’d be behind schedule. After that, I was definitely on her bad side.
“Let’s go.” She waved me out of the room.
I followed, not wanting to give her any more reasons to dislike me.
She pointed down the hall. “Follow this to the main lounge. The other contestants will trickle in slowly. Introduce yourself as they come. The host will join you all shortly. Whatever you do, do not leave the lounge until instructed to do so.”
I nodded, even though she wasn’t looking at me.
“Got it?” she barked.
“Got it,” I squeaked.
“Don’t forget your voice. This is a TV show.”
“I won’t,” I insisted.
Following her direction, I took tentative steps toward the space where the hallway opened up into a room. Beyond the arch were high, vaulted ceilings. Cameras were likely embedded in every wooden beam. Brady had told me to pretend they didn’t exist.
The hallway shrank before me. Five more steps and I’d be there. No turning back now.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
The room was a grand, open space, with several couches and chairs arranged around a massive stone fireplace. Walls of large windows on both sides of the room let in the afternoon sunlight. Before I could take in anything more, someone let out a loud squeal. A short blonde I hadn’t noticed at first came ambling toward me.
“Hi, I’m Trace. It’s so nice to meet you.”
She opened her arms and heat pricked the back of my neck. I was decidedly not a hugger. But I had already anticipated this would happen today, so I braced myself and returned the quick hug.
“I’m Calla. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Where are you from?” she asked, still hovering close to me.
“Chicago. What about you?”
“Nashville.”
