chapter 38

Really, Lillian wantedIzzy to stay forever. If only they could cocoon themselves in her house and never leave. They spent the rest of their time off moving between the bed and the couch, savoring each other’s bodies, then devouring Grubhub delivery and talking and watching the city. Food had never tasted so good. The view from her living room had never been so magnificent. When Kia texted to check on her, Lillian texted back I’m with her and added three hearts. She turned her phone off before Kia could tease her about the hearts or say anything about little puffin flying free. Did puffins fly? It didn’t matter. Nothing existed outside of her home and Izzy’s embrace.

Except the world did exist, and way too soon they were back at the Mimosa. The next days of filming passed in the now familiar commotion. Plan. Rehearsal. Talk to the costumers. Wait for Bryant to implode in a flurry of carabiners and hiking socks. Then Lillian stood in front of the judges, her heart racing but only with nervousness. You couldn’t raise your heart rate skipping around a faux straw cabana. They’d been good though. Somehow. She barely remembered rehearsals. Mostly Imani had directed them. The judges liked her work.

The highest scoring teams were Effectz—as always—then Dance Magic, then the Reed-Whitmer Ballet Company. The lowest scoring teams in the Mimosa challenge were the Dream Team Marchers, the Liam Ronan Irish Dance Company, and Velveteen Crush. Bryant lined them up in front of a wall of pink flowers and a sign with the show logo. He directed the performers to hold hands in a variety of poses.

Lillian stood on the sidelines. There were greenrooms inside the resort, but Bryant allowed the teams to stay outside and watch. Kia stood beside Lillian.

“She’s got this,” Kia whispered. “Liam Ronan bombed.”

They had. Irish dance just didn’t say, Let paradise into your life at the Mimosa Resort. Lillian still felt like she was going to pass out or throw up. How was this as bad as stepping out on the Palais Garnier stage for the first time? She was supposed to want all these people to lose. Her dancers counted on her to somehow annihilate all of them, even Effectz, who were probably superhumans designed by NASA. But what about Izzy? How much work did her theater need? Izzy had said, If the bank doesn’t take it, and laughed it off, but what if it wasn’t a joke? What if Izzy was in trouble? What if she needed the prize money to salvage her dream? How could Lillian want to beat her then?

Lillian wanted to leap over the snaking video cables and fling her arms around Izzy. She wanted to take Izzy to Kia’s food truck. Maybe Lillian and Izzy could doze on the couch pretending to listen to podcasts. They could bake scones together. Had Lillian ever baked anything? No, but there were instructions. Izzy should be in her bed while Lillian made love to her slowly as the sun set over the city. Made love. Love. It couldn’t be.

Bryant arranged and rearranged the contestants until the Prime Minister called out, “If you think there’s a perfect arrangement of emotionally manipulated reality TV stars holding hands, I am here to tell you there is not. Live with the imperfection.”

Bryant hurried off camera and called action.

As expected, the Liam Ronan Irish Dance Company went home. And Lillian did something she hadn’t done since she was at the Lynn Bernau School of Dance—ran to the bathroom and threw up from nerves.

By the time she’d collected herself, a runner had hustled the remaining teams into one of the resort conference halls, where each of the groups had been assigned a set of tables, water station, plates of tropical fruits, and enough champagne and orange juice to bathe in. Lillian tried to catch Izzy’s eyes, but Izzy was giving one of her signature pep talks. Lillian caught Izzy’s words through the buzz of conversation and mic checks.

“… your true self… authentic, invincible… nothing to fear!”

But there was so much to fear. Finally, Izzy met Lillian’s gaze. She saw her own longing and her own apprehensions reflected in Izzy’s eyes.

“We got a lot to do.” Bryant’s voice projected through a lavalier mic. “You’ll be flying back to Portland in a few minutes.”

A sigh rippled through the group. They wouldn’t be back at the Lynnwood until after midnight.

“Tomorrow, we’ll be filming reaction takes about the Mimosa Resort and about the team challenge. That’s next. You know what that means. We bring back one of the groups that got voted off. That’ll be Retroactive Silence. Teams will be—remember how you feel when you hear your partner team. You’ll need to re-create that feeling for the reactions tomorrow.” He checked his tablet. “Retroactive Silence and Effectz.”

Effectz: the best team according to pretty much everyone. Retroactive Silence: the weakest link.

Lillian’s heart pounded. Please let it be Reed-Whitmer and Velveteen Crush. Or was it please don’t let it be?

The judges would vote off either one team or two. It was one of the show’s highlights. How many teams would go home?

Bryant continued the pairs. “Dance Magic and Dream Team Marchers.”

That meant…

“Velveteen Crush and Reed-Whitmer.”

Beside Lillian, Kia whispered, “Fate.”

“Our corporate sponsor for the show is Shape of You Dancewear,” Bryant said.

A collective groan issued from the crowd.

“You’ll have to be more enthusiastic tomorrow,” Bryant said dryly.

Beside Lillian, Kia, the omnipresent influencer, whispered, “That company’s shit.”

“I know,” Bryant went on. “Shape of You Dancewear has had some image problems, which is why they’ve asked to be one of our corporate sponsors. You’ve all seen their recent TV commercials, but the company’s apologized, and this is their chance to show America they’re not all about vaguely racist fat-shaming.” He looked pained.

“Not all about?” Izzy called out. “Just somewhat about?” The crowd laughed and bristled at the same time. Izzy was joking and she was dead serious. And she was Blue Lenox and she was magnificent. Izzy straightened, pushing her breasts forward, tucking her hands in the pockets of her black jeans, and adopting her sexy, curvy lesbian–James Dean slouch. “Do you think—”

“I do.” Bryant cut her off. “Whatever you’re going to say, I do. And I didn’t want the sponsorship either, but the execs did, and Shape of You is paying bank.”

How was Izzy going to fit into anything by Shape of You Dancewear? Their slogan was Only the Finest for the Fittest. Their sizes went from 0 to 4. Before the socials started hating on them, they were going to launch a minus size line. Izzy was confident. Blue Lenox was practically untouchable, but that didn’t change the fact that she wouldn’t fit the plus-size line the company had thrown together: sizes 6 through 8. And that was the company saying, Your body is wrong. Even if everyone knew it was bullshit, that had to hurt. And was Lillian going to put on pale pink athletic wear that Shape of You sold under the slogan Only One Skin? Elijah was the lightest-skinned performer in Reed-Whitmer, and he’d still look like someone painted a white girl’s leotard on him.

“If Shape of You wants to rehabilitate their image,” Izzy went on, “they need to do that on their own, not on a show that kids across America see and—”

“Blue.” Bryant sighed and shook his head. “Don’t fight fights you can’t win.”

Even Blue Lenox couldn’t stop the wheels of reality TV from grinding on.

“And no contact between pairs until we’ve got the cameras on you,” Bryant said. “All planning for the team challenge happens together.”

Izzy caught Lillian’s eye from across the room and dropped her chin in the perfect impression of the disappointed-face emoji. So cute. Lillian didn’t let the words I love you settle in her mind.