‘In real life, I’m like the dragon,’ I said. ‘But this whole being-on-TV situation is like that archer guy firing one of his special arrows, and it’s managed to hit me right in that weak spot. So even though I’m ninety-nine per cent tough exoskeleton, that’s pretty much all you’ve seen. That tiny little sliver of gooey underbelly.’
I pressed a finger into my chest, just above my heart. He followed it with his eyes.
We both realised half a second too late that I’d just invited him to look directly down my shirt.
Our gazes jumped back up to each other’s faces. His expression was panicked. Mine was probably the same.
Then, at the same time, we both started laughing.
‘Sorry,’ he said.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘It was my fault.’
Dylan glanced at the sky, the silver of the early-morning clouds having almost entirely given way to a brighter blue. ‘I should go, before Murray sends someone down here to scream at me about being late,’ he said. ‘Are you going to be okay? With them being so mad at you?’
‘Ninety-nine per cent tough exoskeleton, remember?’ I said. ‘I’ll be fine.’
6
That ‘I’ll be fine’ both was and wasn’t a lie. No, it wasn’t exactly fine to be living in a house with two other women who shook their heads and muttered, ‘This is bullshit,’ every time they looked at me. No one in their right mind would think that was fine.
But growing up the way I did gave me a pretty specific skill set. If there was one situation I knew how to cope with, it was being forced to live with a group of people who were furious at the thought that you might be getting treated better than they were.
…Although, unlike in all those group homes, I genuinely was getting treated better than they were.
‘Dylan’s on his way down in twenty to film a friend spot,’ a PA said, tapping on the French doors two days later. ‘It’s the episode two Last Chance Party and Necklace Ceremony tonight, and Murray wants you and Dylan to talk about who he should eliminate.’
‘Okay,’ I said.
‘This is so fucked up,’ Rani said. ‘Now she has a say in who stays and who goes?’
‘I don’t,’ I said. ‘I’m just a sounding board.’
‘If Dylan needs a friend so bad, why can’t he talk to Z?’ Samantha said.
I didn’t protest or interject. I didn’t even speak unless one of them directly addressed me. Being ninety-nine per cent tough exoskeleton wasn’t about starting fights or getting into shit with people. Most of the time, it was about camouflaging yourself into the background and letting whatever spray hit you roll off as best as you could. There was no defence as powerful as being boring.
That was one of the things that made recording the friend spots with Dylan such a strange experience. I’d spent so much of my life being strategically boring, but he seemed to find every single little thing about me incredibly fascinating.
‘Crocs?’ he said. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘Why? What did Crocs ever do to you?’
‘I just hate them,’ I said. ‘I can’t explain it. They repel me.’
Dylan leaned back against the couch, folding his hands behind his head. I tried very hard not to look at the way the tendons in his forearms moved. I was in another hideous Sister Cecilia cardigan, but he’d turned up in his episode two Last Chance Party suit – a navy three-piece number with a patterned shirt and tie in shades of blue. He’d already looked amazing in it, but then he’d taken off his jacket, draped it over a chair, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. I assumed he’d done itto communicate ‘oh, here I am, being all casual with my casual friend’ but it had taken him from eleven out of ten to three hundred.
‘It really is lucky I got rid of you when I did,’ he said. ‘I own three pairs of Crocs.’
‘If I was still on the show, and you told me that,’ I said, forcing myself to focus, and hoping the camera didn’t capture me ogling him, ‘I would have found a way to eliminateyou.’
He laughed. It made his whole face light up.
‘Shit, we’ve been talking for ages, and we still haven’t—’
He stopped.
