I huff a laugh.“Sounds like they’re really worried about our well-being.”I’m under no illusion that I’m anything but dollar signs to these people.We all are...but they could fake it a little better.“In that regard, I had an idea,” I say, turning into her.“How do you feel about a disguise?”
She laughs and it’s like church bells on a Sunday morning.“What kind of disguise?”
“You know, just enough to make us not look like ourselves.”I watch as she takes her bottom lip into her mouth, letting it rake against her teeth when she releases it.
“Gabriella does have a couple wigs...”
I jolt out of my seat before I do something dumb.Amendment...something dumber.“Let’s do it.”
An hour later, Tate is a completely different person.She’s wearing all black—black pleather leggings (Gabriella’s), one of my Guns N’ Roses shirts I cut the sleeves off of, and black ankle boots.Gone is the long honey-brown hair and in its place are inky-black ringlets under a paisley bandana.
“How do I look?”she asks, turning from the mirror to look at me.
“Way out of my league,” I answer honestly.My getup is significantly less cool than hers.I shopped Clay’s closet, coming out with a Hawaiian shirt and a fedora.Tate offered one of Gabriella’s wigs, but I think I hit my limit with the sandals.I look down at my feet.They’re so white the glare is almost blinding.We stand together in the mirror.There’s no way they will know it’s us.
“Ready?”I ask, reaching for her hand, watching the movement play out in the mirror.“Uber’s out front.”
“You didn’t tell me where we’re going.”
“All a part of the plan, sweetheart.”I lay a kiss on the side of her wig.“Let’s go.”
***
“We’re going to thebeach?”Tate asks, looking at me then back out the window.The driver has just pulled up to the base of the Santa Monica Pier after some rather impressive driving and plenty of freeway changes.Every now and then, I’d catch his eyes in the review mirror.Something isn’t right about these two, they seemed to say.
“You’ll see, Rosie,” I say, tapping my pointer finger to the ball of her nose.I pay the driver and climb onto the curb behind Tate.I mean, Rosie.That’s the alias we came up with for her.I’m Jethro.
Neither of us rush from the sidewalk we’ve been planted on and instead completely immerse ourselves in our surroundings.The crash of the nearby ocean.The smell of the salty water and fried food riding the breeze.The huge blue-and-white Santa Monica Pier sign with the oversized Ferris wheel behind it.People on foot, bikes, and skateboards...it’s everything I’ve seen on TV brought to life.I look over at Tate and she’s smiling.One success, hopefully among many more today.I close my hand around hers and we walk.We stroll lazily, largely without agenda, this being the only time either of us has been out of the house, studio, or practice studio.Not including the diner, of course.
“This is—” She stops.“I’m really excited.”
“Me too.”I pull her into my side as our feet transfer from the smooth sidewalk to the gnarled wooden boards of the pier.“These sandals feel impossible to walk in,” I complain.“I’m having to pinch my big toe and second toe just to keep them on.”
“Don’t tell me this is your first-time wearing sandals.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
“LEVI JOHNSON!”she scolds, eyes wide with humor.
“Nuh uh-uh ...that’s Jethro Thompson to you.”
Her mouth cracks, revealing a pearly smile.“Alright, Jethro, where to first?”
I look around and feel overwhelmed by the number of vendors and people littering the narrow walkway.Online, it seemed like I would just walk on and there it would be, but that is very far from reality.The line for the Ferris wheel isn’t too long and maybe from up there I’ll have a better vantage point.I let my eyes climb to the tippy-top of the oversized wagon wheel before swallowing my pride and turning to Tate.“Ferris wheel?”
“Yeah, let’s do it.”She tugs at my waist, pulling me in the direction of the line.Waiting is never fun, but the line wraps the railing of the pier, and for a few minutes we just stare down at the impossibly blue water bumping up at the city’s edge.
“This whole thing is so surreal, right?”she says softly, not bothering to look up.For a minute I wonder if she means Santa Monica, us, or being on the show in general.Before I can ask, she tilts her head to look up at me.“Can I tell you something?”
“Of course.”
Her lips twist as she tries to arrange her thoughts into words.What comes out is, “I don’t want to win as badly as you.”She says it like it’s a secret, and I guess, for her it is, considering how far she’s already come.Meanwhile, I eat, sleep, and dream about this competition and what it will do for me.When the show first aired, I knew I would be a contestant and would ultimately walk away with a record deal.Don’t ask me how or why, I just know it will happen.Somehow, she picks up on these thoughts, telepathically or just possessing really good face-reading skills.“I mean, I don’t want to win at all.”
“At all?”I ask, shocked.Day-one Levi would have been thrilled to have one less person to compete with, but this is Tate.She is super talented and beautiful and nice.If there was one person I would be rooting for to win besides myself, it would be her.Unless Clay asked me head-on, then it would be him and her, respectively.
She looks back at the water.“Yeah, I think I want to go home.”
Everything inside me is yelling, No, no, no!You can’t go.I need you.The show needs you.My chest grows itchy and tight.No...not now.I will completely disown you, body, if you have a panic attack on my date.
