Then

"I can't believe I'm already getting a second one-on-one," says Camila as we all head down to the huge living room, where we'll wait as a group for Josh to pick her up for their day together.

Since that night last week when Cam helped explain my coding to Josh and the girls, she hasn't paid much attention to me. But I'm okay with that, because I still haven't decided which Cam is the real one. The bitch or the ally.

"Some of us are still waiting for our first date," says Gillian, the lawyer from New York, rail-thin, with a sharp jawline and a sense of humor to match.

"I know!" Cam sings. "I almost feel guilty! I never would have guessed he'd pick me again, so soon!"

She seems oblivious to the eye rolls as we tumble into the living room in a mist of perfume and hair spray, but I can't help thinking she knows exactly what she's doing. Just like her supportive comments after my attack...pure theater. A means to an end. Or am I just being super cynical?

"It's like, I felt the connection," Camila continues, "but this feels like confirmation that Josh and I are on the same page, you know?"

Zoe nudges me and makes a puking face.

It's eight in the morning, and everyone has been up for hours. Alarms started going off at four thirty, and it's been a flurry of showers, makeup, hair dryers, and curling irons ever since. One girl, after finding a zit on her chin, actually burst into tears.

Even though today belongs to Camila, we have about two minutes to also be seen by Josh. Accordingly, all the girls are in their most eye-catching outfits: cute sundresses, swimsuits, tube tops, crop tops. Except me.

As I plunk down on the couch between Zoe and a petite, sparkly girl everyone calls Skincare Sarah, I pull the hood of my sweatshirt up and hug my knees to my body.

"No offense, Julia, but you look like shit," whispers Zoe.

I shrug. Josh is here for Camila. His eyes may land on me for a hot second, or not, but either way, it's going to feel like getting stabbed. Why dress up to get stabbed? I'd prefer to wear clothes I can retreat into after the inevitable. In fact, as soon as this is over, I'm going back to bed.

"Like, are you okay?" says Zoe with genuine concern. She may have started as Sad Drunk Girl on night one, but she had a one-on-one with Josh last week and it's transformed her. Now she's everyone's wise big sister.

"This process just sucks," I whisper back.

Zoe slings an arm around me and I let my head fall onto her shoulder.

"Why didn't anyone warn me that falling in love was so miserable?" I groan quietly.

Zoe jolts with surprise. "Did you just use the L word?"

"I don't know," I mumble.

Ever since my date with Josh last week, it's been torture. Every day, every hour, every minute. It was already hard before, but the intensity has reached new levels. I'm not sleeping. I have to force myself to eat. I have headaches, stomach cramps, dizzy spells. The promise of love that felt so sweet before now makes me sick to my stomach. Sick because I'm so hungry. Sick because I can't have what I want.

The worst thing? There's nothing I can do about it, except wait. Helplessly. And while feeling helpless in Josh's embrace in the hot tub was one of the most wonderful experiences of my life, this other kind of helplessness is definitely the worst.

"It's a roller coaster of emotions, for sure," murmurs Zoe comfortingly. "But it's worth it, right? For the chance at a happy ending?"

For once, there's not a ready yes on my lips.

Thankfully, Zoe doesn't expect an answer. She rubs my back with a few vigorous motions, and I know she thinks she's bucking up my spirits.

But I'm spiraling. What does it mean that I'm not totally sure this is worth it? Love is a possibility, sure, but this week, I'm seeing that pain is much more likely. What was I made for, really? Love, or heartbreak? Josh, or entertainment?

I want to see Andy. I want him to look me in the eye and, if he can't tell me this is going to be okay, at least tell me why the very thing I was made to do feels like hell.

"This is my purpose," I say to Zoe. My voice cracks. "Without Josh, I'm..." I can't even complete the sentence. Nothing?

She tsks. "I get you. This is so intense, right? And the feelings are real. But Josh can't be your only purpose, Julia. That's...unhealthy!"

"What other purpose do you want me to have? My platform? Follower counts?" I make quote marks with my fingers. "My ‘postshow sponsorship opportunities'?"

I'm not totally oblivious to the talk in the house. One girl even tried to start a conversation with me in the bathroom about the two of us teaming up to "co-brand."

"Julia!" Zoe actually sounds a little hurt. "You know I'm not here for that. I'd love to end up with Josh. It's my dream! But I know God has me on this earth for more than just Josh, and I'm not talking about all that other crap." She pokes my arm. "God has you here for a reason, too. Really! I believe that!"

I don't answer. In this moment, she and I might as well be on different planets. I'm a Synth. Andy made me for this show, for this man. Is there anything for me beyond Josh?

Still snuggled against Zoe, my fingers find the ridge of my collarbone under my sweatshirt. I dig them into the crevice above it, like I'm trying to find an anchor in myself, but instead find only fragile bone.

"I'm really hoping we get to go out on the water," Cam is saying in answer to some question, and then there's screaming and frantic waving; Josh is walking in. We all remain seated as instructed, but as voices and kissy sounds strain toward him, I tuck myself deeper into the couch.

He's in tie-dye swimming trunks and a blue sleeveless shirt that hangs loose, highlighting the bulk of his arms. At the sight of him, I can feel a warm spot on the small of my back where the memory of his hands has left a mark, like prints on wet cement.

"Good morning, ladies!" he says when everyone has calmed down. His eyes sweep. They don't pause on anyone until Cam. "Well, I'd love to stay and chat with all of you, but—" he stretches out his hands "—I believe this lovely lady and I have a date."

Cam swings her hips as she walks toward him. It's impossible to miss how stunningly gorgeous she is. How luscious her dark hair, how enticing her dramatic curves. As her hands tangle with Josh's, I can't bear to watch, but I can't look away either. None of us can.

They look so perfect together. She's shorter than me, so when their arms go around each other, her head ends up tucked neatly under Josh's chin. They waltz off. The girls' cries follow them—mostly "have a good time!" with one sarcastic "break a leg" from New York.

And then, they're gone.

The energy in the room plummets, like Christmas just died. Zoe makes straight for the champagne. "Mimosas?" she offers.

I go back to bed. There's a mush in my head about Josh and purpose and what happens if I fail at the one thing I was created to do. The heaviness spreads, thickening to a sludge. My eyes slip closed.

It's getting dark when I finally emerge from my bedroom. The kitchen is messier than I've ever seen it, with the remains of what I imagine to be dinner strewn about—eggshells in the sink, plates piled on the counter, frying pans abandoned on the stove with unidentifiable burnt remains.

Everyone is out back by the pool, so I head to the front porch. No one ever hangs out here, but there's a swing and a couple high-backed rattan chairs. The porch is open at the sides, with a view of the hillside covered in sagebrush and milkweed. The air is balmy and the sky a deep dark blue, marked by the bright dots of distant planes making their lonely treks across the sky.

I drag a chair to the edge of the porch so that it's facing the beautiful California landscape. With my feet tucked under me, I take in the view. I should eat something. Interact with someone. But I can't seem to move, even when the last light of the day has died and there's only the soft porch light to see by. I track the movements of a moth. It can't seem to stay away from one of the lights. Go, I want to tell it. Go far away. There's nothing for you here.

And then, there's a sound. A purr. The engine of a car. I hold absolutely still. My chair is angled away, but...will I be spotted?

Car doors open.

"Ow," I hear, followed by laughter. It's Cam. I can't believe I slept the entire time she was with Josh. I wonder if a bird pooped on her shoulder.

"Careful. Easy there." A male voice. Josh.

I sink lower into the chair.

"I think this is where I leave you," says Josh. "Can you get up to your room safely?"

"Nooooo," says Cam. "I need you to carry me."

"I'm not supposed to go inside," he says. "But I wish I could."

"A good boy. A rule-follower." Cam's voice is sloppy. She's at least a little bit drunk.

Based on the sounds, they're kissing, and I'm suddenly more awake than I've been all day.

"You are one good kisser, sir," slurs Cam, in that delicious Texas accent that promises sweaty bodies tangling on languorous afternoons.

"You're not bad yourself," Josh returns in a husky voice that's all too familiar. "Hey, I had an awesome time."

"Me, too. Don't be a stranger, or I'll be mad."

"Yeah? How mad?"

"Let me break it down for you." The sloppiness at the edges of Camila's words only makes her more adorable. "If I don't get you, nobody gets you. Sir."

Josh laughs. "But how do you really feel?"

There's more kissing. A lot more. I sit as still as I can, seeing it all as clearly as if it were playing on a screen in front of me. The moth knocks into the light, over and over, stubborn. Stupid.

When Josh finally leaves, I wait for Cam to go inside. Instead, there are steps. Headed toward me.

I peek around the chair.

"I thought someone was spying," she says.

"I didn't mean to."

"Don't even care." Cam kicks off her shoes and sits on the poured-cement floor of the porch, her back leaned against the corner post, facing me.

"Good date?" I say, because it seems like a jerk move not to ask when she's clearly settling in for a little chat.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" says Cam with a mysterious smile. Funny how she sounds much less drunk now that she's talking to me. "What have you been up to all day?"

"Moping," I confess, immediately surprised at my own honesty. But it feels good to let it out. "It sucks to be left behind."

Cam purses her lips like she's trying to suppress a smile.

"What?" I say.

"I wish I didn't like you." She dissolves in laughter. "I wish you weren't so damn likable, Julia Walden. I swear I was going to hate you. For real."

"Uh..." I say, batting the moth away from my face. What is she playing at? Is this an act, too?

"Can I tell you something? I'm drunk, so you know I'll be honest."

"Sure."

"You—" she points a long, crimson nail at me "—are my biggest competition."

I wait for the rest. The mean part, the stab.

"What? Nothing to say?" she challenges, then laughs again. Her laugh is loose, contagious, like floating bubbles.

"Me?"

She groans. "Don't play stupid, Red. I see your game. Sweatpants when everyone else is dressed up? You always find a way to stand out. As if being made for Josh wasn't enough. You want to know the lowest point of my great date?"

I wait, because obviously she's going to tell me.

"When Josh wanted to talk about you as soon as we drove away. First thing out of his mouth." She lowers her voice in imitation of him. "Is Julia okay? She didn't look so good. Are the girls being nice to her? Is she totally traumatized?" Cam snorts. "Fuck, Julia. Fuck."

"I'm not here to ruin things for anyone," I say, trying to appear calm even though giddiness is bursting like a firework in my belly. Josh was thinking about me. "I just want to be happy."

"Well, we can't both leave here happy."

I bite my lip. "What will you do? If you...get sent home?"

"Go back to work, I guess."

"Do you love it? I mean, your job?"

"It's okay. I'm a model. I do a lot of brand ambassador stuff." She tilts her head. "What will you do?"

I shake my head, mute.

Camila brightens. "You could model, for sure. I can introduce you to my agent. He's great." She narrows her eyes. "How does that work? Are you allowed to choose what you do next?"

"Of course," I say, but Cam doesn't seem to get the real problem. It's not how to support myself. I've learned enough about branding and sponsorship here to last a lifetime. It's a question of passion. Of purpose. Will my life mean anything if I leave here without Josh? He is my reason for existing. Not a profession, not a destiny, not a divine being like Zoe was talking about. This very real, very specific man.

"This stupid moth—" I say, swatting but missing.

"Listen, honey," says Camila. "Josh would be lucky to have either of us, but it's not just his choice. It's my choice, too, and yours."

I snort a laugh. "Last I checked, I don't have any roses to give out."

"But you have a damn hand—to take a rose or refuse it. This is a two-way street, girl, and maybe someone needs to spell that out for you. Do you want Josh? Is he worth bending your life around? He can say no to you. But you can say no, too. There's a lot of power in no."

I can't help the intensity rocking through me. "I would never say no to Josh. I—I'm falling for him. This is love."

Her look goes gentle. "I get you. Of course love is this powerful, wonderful thing. Just...don't assume Josh has to be your world, when there's a whole big world out there beyond this." Her brows shoot up. "Beyond him."

I hate the way my stomach is turning, like it can't find its proper place in my body. And even though this could be a strategy on Camila's part, of trying to entice me away from Josh by dangling the whole world in front of me like a glittery bauble and saying this could all be yours if you give him up, somehow I sense it's not. That this is a question that really might deserve my attention. And yet my heart is fighting my brain. Josh is what I want. I can't imagine other galaxies when he's my sun. Everything I do, feel, think—he is at the center.

Suddenly...this feels like a weakness.

But maybe love is always a weakness.

Maybe there's nothing wrong with my intense need. Maybe Cam is too cold, too calculating, and the girl to get Josh will be the one who lets her heart lead the way.

Cam slaps her hands together and I jump in my chair.

"Got you," she says, lifting her hand and showing me the moth-shaped stain. "Little fucker." She flicks the small body off the porch, into the darkness.

A strange sorrow rushes through me. I've never seen something die before.

"Why did you do that?"

"It was bothering me."

I frown. "What did you mean by ‘If I don't get you, nobody gets you'?"

Camila makes a pursed-lips smile. "Well, clearly, if Josh doesn't pick me, I'll have to kill him."

"Ha ha," I say.

"Of course, killing Josh might not be strategic when I could kill you easier." She hiccups out a laugh and covers her mouth cutely, like she just shocked herself. "Sorry—was that in terrible taste?"

"Terrible," I echo, forcing myself to smile as she laughs, like her dramatics are so amusing.

But now I'm imagining myself as the moth, circling Josh, obsessed with reaching a light I can't have. And Cam flicking my body, miniature and compact, off the porch.

Away from Josh. Away from everyone. Into darkness, as the lovely light shines on.