I needed to throw the challenge. For both our sakes. He needed to spend time with his Juliets, and I needed to make it crystal clear to myself that as much as he felt like he was mine when we sat down together, he wasn’t.
Our story was a subplot. The main plot was a love story. I didn’t know which of the remaining seven Juliets was going to be the heroine, but it wasn’t going to be me.
I knew the right answer to this question wasdoing a bad job at being the Romeo. There was so much pressure on himas the first non-white Romeo, carrying all that symbolic weight, especially after what had happened to him at the Olympics.
It wasn’t just about him, though. As much as I reassured him that most of the women were here for the wrong reasons and there was a limited amount of damage he could do, he was terrified of hurting them. What was it he’d said to me in the make-up tent that day, when I talked him down from his panic attack?I forgot that everyone here would be a real person, with real feelings. That I could really hurt them!
He had the biggest heart in the world. All he worried about, in those moments where he felt like he couldn’t breathe, was hurting other people.
There it was. My perfect wrong answer.
Getting his heart broken, I wrote on my whiteboard.
‘All right, Juliets!’ Z said. ‘Let’s turn those boards around!’
We obeyed.
‘How did our ladies perform, Dylan?’ Z asked. ‘Let’s start with Naya. She’s written spiders, snakes, and… ducks?’
‘Ducks?’ Dylan asked. ‘Really, Naya?’
‘Full disclosure, I was projecting,’ Naya said. ‘I have no idea what your fears are, Dylan. I’m sorry.’
‘So that’s a zero out of three for Naya?’ Z asked.
‘I’m afraid so, yes,’ Dylan said. ‘Sorry, Naya.’
‘What about Parisa?’ Z asked. ‘She’s written heights, needles and poison. That’s an interesting collection of fears, Dylan! Any of them yours?’
‘Heights is right,’ Dylan replied. ‘I’m terrified of heights. Even second-storey balconies make me queasy.’
‘How about the other two?’
‘Good guesses, and I see where you’re coming from, Risa, given that we had that conversation about how easy it is to poison yourself in your kitchen the other night at the Last Chance Party, but no, needles and poison are not my greatest fears.’
‘Interesting!’ Z said. ‘That just leaves your friend Cece, who clearly knows you pretty well.’
‘We’re good pals,’ Dylan said lightly.
Pals.
The knife in my heart twisted, and I made myself feel it. It was only going to get worse if I didn’t cut this off, didn’t cut him off, didn’t cutmyselfoff.
‘Cece began this final round a point behind Parisa,’ Z said. ‘Two points will mean we go to a tiebreaker, three points means she wins.’
‘The tension!’ Dylan said, rubbing his hands together and beaming like he was completely oblivious to said tension.
‘Cece’s answers are sharks, heights, and… aww, getting your heart broken,’ Z said. ‘Is that right, Dylan? Is getting your heart broken one of your greatest fears?’
Our eyes met.
And something happened.
‘Don’t pick me,’ I tried to tell him with my eyes. ‘Please don’t pick me. This is bad for you. This is bad for me.’
But it was too late. Any chance I had of getting out of this with my heart even vaguely intact disintegrated into dust and ashes.
‘Cece knows me well,’ Dylan said softly, looking at me theway Brett had looked at Mary-Ellen. ‘That’s a perfect three out of three.’
