2. Elody

2ELODY

Oh my god, finally. Following Tilly into the air-conditioned house, I could literally cry. Seriously, if she took one more second unlocking it—I swear, it’s like this girl has never seen a door in her life—I was going to die from the heat. And once I did, I would absolutely come back as a ghost and haunt her tiny ass, because the humidity is totally ruining my blowout, and that’s a worse crime than killing me with heat exhaustion.

“Welcome,” Tilly says, “to real life.”

I roll my eyes. We’re really committing to the brand, huh? But when I look at the mirror in the entryway—my hair is doing better than I thought, thank god—I catch everyone else’s faces as they take in the house. They’re, like, losing their minds.

Turning away from my reflection, I take a second to appreciate it, too. It is a pretty nice house, even if the décor is a little much, with all the potted palms and wicker furniture, everything white, white, white so the bright blue water pops through the massive windows. Like, we get it, babe. We’re on an island.

A few steps ahead of me, Max Overby has his camera out, sweeping it around like the little moviemaker he is. He pans through the open-concept first floor, going from the big sectional, cushy chairs, and TV in the living-room area to the beachy wood and stainless steel of the kitchen. There’s a dining area, too, with a long table and ten chairs, like we’re all about to have an adorable family dinner—which makes me want to laugh and also gag a little, because imagine me eating dinner with someone as random as Aaron Tyler Banks. On purpose. My followers would murder me.

As we step into the living room, Logan pulls at one of the piercings going up her ear. She’s one of those edgy girls who needs to put, like, four holes in each earlobe as a screw-you to society, or whatever. But maybe I would, too, if all of TikTok was starting rumors about why I left the Bounce House. I mean, the Bounce House. I know millions of people follow them, but can you imagine being part of something with such a stupid name? I don’t know why she left, but maybe Logan had the right idea. Right now, though, she just looks worried.

“Not a lot of places to hide in here,” she says, staring up at the second floor.

Logan’s got a point. It’s literally the perfect setup for reality TV. The white wooden staircase leads up to this indoor balcony kind of thing that wraps around the whole floor, like someone might come out and start doing that one scene from that one Shakespeare play where everyone dies. You could walk right out of any of the doors up there, lean over the balcony railing, and see everything going down on the first floor. The only place that’s kind of hidden is the third floor, where another staircase winds up and then disappears.

“What’s with all the cameras?” Corinne asks, looking up at one of the many pointing down at us.

I shake out my hair with my fingers, hoping it still looks good—because I don’t pay my stylist this much to not be the hottest girl in the room, even from the ceiling.

“Oh, yeah. The cameras,” Tilly says. “I know it’s a little weird, but this is standard reality-TV stuff, Big Brother style. They’re pretty much everywhere. Except the bathrooms, of course.” She laughs. “Don’t worry.”

“Facts,” Cole says. “I’m gonna have to do a real paint job later. Heads up.”

McKayleigh wrinkles her nose. “Ew. Are you four?”

“Airport burritos, dude.”

Gross. I’ve been kind of excited about this whole thing, but the thought of being trapped on an island with Cole makes me want to hop back on the boat. Like, I know about his old tweets and everything, but I’m pretty sure the most offensive thing about Cole Bryan is his entire personality.

“The house is amazing, though, right?” Tilly goes on. “We really lucked out to get it, too. The owners are pretty reclusive.”

“The Lawrences?” Corinne asks, looking at a potted palm like she’s trying to figure out if it’s real. News flash: definitely not.

“Actually, I’m not sure who they are,” Tilly says. “I mean, I don’t know if Lawrence is their name. All I know is they’ve owned the island for decades, but besides family and close friends, they haven’t let anyone in. Our showrunner has a connection, so that’s how we got it.”

“Well, doesn’t that just dill your pickle?” McKayleigh smiles, twirling a lock of iron-curled red hair. “We must be special.”

Like, I’ve got to hand it to her. McKayleigh’s name may be an actual crime, but it just fits her perfectly, doesn’t it?

“Yeah, this is sick,” Graham says, pulling on his dangly cross earring.

Ugh. I don’t get why everyone wears those now. You’d think it’s some kind of second coming, but I’m pretty sure the only divine inspiration is coming from K-pop or Harry Styles. Makes sense for Graham, though. His whole thing is just copying people with actual personalities. He acts like some kind of musician, but the only songs he posts are covers, feat. the most constipated singing face I’ve ever seen.

Next to Graham, Zane checks his reflection in one of the big windows looking out to the beach, rubbing at his stubbly jaw. “I can’t wait to meditate out there, man.”

My eyes are literally going to fall out if I keep rolling them like this. But I guess I should feel bad for the Bounce House. They were hot shit for, like, two seconds, and now people are already getting bored of them and the whole TikTok-house thing. Maybe I’d be super annoying, too, if I had such an embarrassing career.

A phone chimes, and on instinct, I reach for my purse, even though I leave mine on silent, because hello? I’m not a sociopath. Everyone else grabs for their pockets, too, but we all know there’s only one phone in the room. The rest are back on the mainland.

Tilly gets her phone out of her fanny pack and squints at the screen.

“Oh! Speaking of our showrunner, I’ve got to take this. You guys can go ahead and get settled upstairs. Your rooms are marked, so just look for your names, and meet me back down here in ten for the tour!”

Tilly scurries away, leaving us alone.

“Onward and upward, kids.” Aaron claps his hands like he’s everyone’s dad, or something.

Speaking of people with embarrassing careers.

Everyone starts to haul their stuff up to the second floor, but looking at the number of steps and knowing how many outfits I shoved into my bags, I get a better idea.

“Hey, babe.”

Max practically jumps, pushing his glasses up his nose like he can’t believe I know he exists. I smile, nudging my bags with my sandal.

“Help me with these? I promise I’m a strong independent woman, or whatever, but I’m really not feeling this manual-labor moment right now, and I bet those skinny arms are stronger than they look.”

“Oh.” He blinks, like he’s literally short-circuiting. It’s so cute. “Um…”

“Thanks.”

I give his little twig arm a squeeze, and then bounce up the stairs, giving him a full view of how good I look in these shorts. What can I say? I have a thing for artistic nerds. It’s so cute how they take themselves so seriously, how they act all confident and charming until two seconds of flirting can turn them into a puddle. And, like, I guess Max Overby isn’t the worst thing to look at.

Upstairs, Kira and Corinne are moving into the first room to the right, and when I get closer, I can see a sign on the door with the three of our names on it. Of course I’m rooming with two people who give me total teacher’s-pet energy, but I can’t complain. One door down, Logan and McKayleigh are walking into their room like they already want to kill each other. So, yeah. I’ll take my chances with little miss cardio and the gamer girl.

“Oh my god, cute,” I announce, posing in the doorway. “Not gonna lie, I was hoping for my own room, but I love this for us. Three little beds. It’s like camp, or something.”

I’m joking, because ew, who goes to camp? But neither of them laugh, just stare up at the ceiling.

“Yeah, if camp was some kind of high-level security base,” Corinne says, pulling nervously at one of her curls.

Kira rubs at her arms like she’s cold. “It’s kind of weird, right? Cameras in our rooms?”

“I mean, sure.” I flop onto the nicest-looking bed and sink into the soft white covers. “But it’s a thing. Haven’t you seen those dating shows where they, like, film people hooking up with that weird night-vision filter? Wait, ew, do you think that’s what these are for?” I sit up, gaping. “Actually, that sounds kind of hot. I might do it.”

Corinne stares at me with actual terror in her eyes. “Or maybe … don’t?”

“Oh my god, I’m kidding. Don’t be such a prude.”

Someone knocks on the door.

“Elody?” Max cracks it open without looking in.

Speaking of people I might hook up with on camera …

“Your stuff is out here,” he says.

I grin. “You don’t have to hide, babe. We’re not naked.”

He opens the door a little more so I can see his face.

“Yet,” I finish.

Max turns red, looking everywhere in the room but at me.

God, it’s just so easy.

“Thanks for bringing up my stuff, babe. You’re, like, a literal star.”

“Max!” Cole stomps down the hallway before he can say anything else. “You, me, and Graham are on the third floor, bro. It’s about to be lit!”

As Cole stomps away again, Max sighs. “Well, I’d hate to miss one second of that, so…”

He disappears into the hallway, creaking our door shut behind him. Kira watches with her brown Bambi eyes like she’s stuck in headlights, or something.

“Stare much?” I ask her. Guess I’m not the only one with eyes on Max, but whatever. Kira seems sweet and all, but come on. It’s not even a competition.

“Sorry, I was just…” Kira pauses as she opens one of the drawers in her bedside table. Seeing what’s inside, she frowns. “There’s stuff in here.”

“What kind of stuff?” Corinne asks.

Kira reaches into the drawer and pulls out a little card, reading from it. “‘Dear influencers.’”

Corinne sighs as she unpacks a pair of thrift-store-looking overalls and, like, three different comic-book T-shirts, like she really needs everyone to know she’s not like other girls. “I hate that word.”

“Isn’t that what we are, though?” I ask.

“I mean, sure, but the concept of calling yourself a person with influence…” Corinne makes a face. “It never sits right.”

“Oh, are you one of those people who wants to be a ‘creator’?” I put air quotes around it. “No offense, but isn’t that even more cringe?”

She doesn’t have to answer, because duh. It is. I don’t “create” anything except posts that make people either horny or jealous or both. Doesn’t keep me from taking the paychecks, babe.

“What does it say?” Corinne asks Kira, ignoring me.

Kira reads it out loud. “Welcome to Lawrence Island. In these drawers, you’ll each find a few gifts, courtesy of your Sponsor, which, as per your contract, you’ve agreed to use on camera. Enjoy the gifts, and enjoy your stay.”

“Of course they want us to sell stuff,” Corinne says.

“See? Influence, babe. It’s in the job title.” Lying on my stomach, I reach for my drawer and go through what’s inside: some bikini tops, a pair of sunglasses, and a fitness watch, unboxed. I take it out and hold it up.

“Okay, these are so 2015, but also…” I slide it onto my wrist. “I can’t say no to anything pink.”

Corinne is already tapping at her watch, squinting at it like she might try to take it apart and put it back together. “There’s a messaging app on here. Weird way to ‘unplug,’ but I’ll take it.”

“Doesn’t seem like they’re connected to Wi-Fi or anything,” Kira says.

Corinne sighs. “Yeah, just tried to send an update to my family. The messages won’t go through.”

I groan. “Seriously? Like, look at this place. They should at least have the budget for Wi-Fi.”

“The price we must pay for real life,” Corinne says drily.

I lean back on my pillows with extra dramatic flair. I know not having phones is, like, the whole point here, but it’s going to be harder than I thought. I should at least be allowed to complain about it.

“Well, if anyone needs pointe shoes … apparently, I have some?” With a confused look, Kira reaches into her drawer and pulls out a pair of pink ballet slippers. “But I don’t know how they expect me to use these on camera.”

“Oh my god, you should totally do a little dance for the show,” I tell her.

She puts the shoes back. “I don’t really do that anymore.”

“What, show off?”

“Dance,” she says, closing the drawer.

Someone knocks on the door, and thank god, because I really don’t need a monologue about Kira’s competition dance trauma, or whatever. I sit up, wondering if Max is back for more, but then McKayleigh opens the door, giving us the fakest smile I’ve ever seen. I don’t even pretend I’m not disappointed.

“Hi, girls!” She looks around the room, pulling at the watch on her wrist like it’s a nervous tic. “So sorry to barge in on y’all, but I think Tilly’s ready for the tour.”

McKayleigh looks over her shoulder, and that’s when I notice Logan glaring in the hallway a good five feet away. When she catches me looking, Logan glances down, fixing her ponytail, as if she doesn’t purposefully wear it all messy. I almost laugh. Logan and McKayleigh, former fake besties, are forced to room together for ten minutes and they’re already about to bite each other’s heads off.

Suddenly, I feel a burst of new energy, jumping to my feet like I just pounded a bunch of espresso shots. Some people have cardio. I have other people’s drama. And I’m starting to think this is going to be fun.

I strut out the door and into the hallway.

“Come on, babes,” I call back after my roommates, launching into my best Tilly impression and giving McKayleigh a grin. “It’s time for real life!”