the empty space next to the arena,” Ms. Svincek calls out. “We’ve set up a studio for our esteemed guest photographer, Jean St. Jean, to work in.”
She smiles at a small white-haired man to her left before looking back at the crowd more sternly.
“Monsieur St. Jean has decided to take pictures of you in pairs. Your partners have already been assigned—when you enter the room, you’ll find your names listed on the wall. Find your partner, discuss some possible poses and be ready for your turn when it comes.”
She sweeps out of the room without so much as a “good luck” or even an introduction to the other judges. I guess we’re just expected to know who they are—not that any of us don’t.
Crossing the hall, the boys and girls merge together into one herd of sparkly, freshly shaven, heavily made-up opponents. The guys have neat haircuts and designer clothes. The rest of the girls, the ones I haven’t seen, are dressed similarly to me—trendy dresses and high-heeled shoes. I feel like I’m walking into an issue of Teen Vogue .
On the back wall of the large room, there’s a poster-sized sheet of paper with two columns. I hover in the background while people push forward to find their name on the list. As they pair off and head away from the wall, I inch up close enough to read the names.
I find my name two from the bottom. My eyes move across the page. I blink hard when I see the name opposite mine, hoping it’s just my imagination. When I open my eyes, it’s still there.
Oh, for the love of—
“Howdy, Pard’ner.”
Christian sidles up to me as though wearing chaps and spurs. I guess I should have seen this one coming.
“So, I’m thinking a nice, cozy couples shot,” he muses. “Maybe you can sit on my lap—or I can sit on yours?”
I give him a dirty look. “Not likely.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“Not yet. But I will.”
I spin on my heel and head in the opposite direction. I’m not spending one extra second with Mr. I-Think-I’m-So-Hot-Why-Don’t-You-Undress-Now. I’d rather eat my own arm.
I find Gigi over to one side of the white-sheeted set. Her long hair has been twisted into complicated ringlets and her eyes are framed in glitter. She grins at me as I get close.
“Nice partner.”
“Nice makeup,” I shoot back.
She elbows me in the side. “Hey, I don’t know what you expected. I mean, everyone’s seen you guys arguing. What did you think would happen? They want an interesting picture. They want a dynamic.”
“Yeah,” I grumble. “I guess so.”
She shoves me lightly. “So give them one! Seriously. Remember what we were saying earlier? About humiliation? Now’s the time! Think about it—these pictures are going to be everywhere . You can’t waste an opportunity to make him look like the jerk he really is.”
I watch the other partners pose in a variety of interesting ways—girls lifting up boys and boys holding girls on their shoulders. Angela carries a diminutive Aaron Hale, no more than a hundred and forty pounds wet, like a bride over the threshold. When Gigi and Dillon make it up there, he crouches down on the floor, grinning like an idiot, while she climbs on top of his back and stands there with her arms crossed triumphantly.
Everyone may be choosing a fun pose, but I need something different. Something that will be so funny, so ridiculous, that Christian will wish he never messed with me.
Inspired, I rush toward him and grab his arm. He cocks one eyebrow.
“I thought you were done speaking to me.”
“I just wanted to tell you what pose we’re doing.”
“And explain to me why it is that I’m just going along with your choice of poses?”
“Because you owe me.”
“For what?!”
“For telling people I’m stalking you.”
He smirks. “I don’t think I said stalking , exactly.”
“Whatever. Just do what I do.”
When they call our names, we reach the middle of the set and I turn so that my back is facing
She smiles at a small white-haired man to her left before looking back at the crowd more sternly.
“Monsieur St. Jean has decided to take pictures of you in pairs. Your partners have already been assigned—when you enter the room, you’ll find your names listed on the wall. Find your partner, discuss some possible poses and be ready for your turn when it comes.”
She sweeps out of the room without so much as a “good luck” or even an introduction to the other judges. I guess we’re just expected to know who they are—not that any of us don’t.
Crossing the hall, the boys and girls merge together into one herd of sparkly, freshly shaven, heavily made-up opponents. The guys have neat haircuts and designer clothes. The rest of the girls, the ones I haven’t seen, are dressed similarly to me—trendy dresses and high-heeled shoes. I feel like I’m walking into an issue of Teen Vogue .
On the back wall of the large room, there’s a poster-sized sheet of paper with two columns. I hover in the background while people push forward to find their name on the list. As they pair off and head away from the wall, I inch up close enough to read the names.
I find my name two from the bottom. My eyes move across the page. I blink hard when I see the name opposite mine, hoping it’s just my imagination. When I open my eyes, it’s still there.
Oh, for the love of—
“Howdy, Pard’ner.”
Christian sidles up to me as though wearing chaps and spurs. I guess I should have seen this one coming.
“So, I’m thinking a nice, cozy couples shot,” he muses. “Maybe you can sit on my lap—or I can sit on yours?”
I give him a dirty look. “Not likely.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“Not yet. But I will.”
I spin on my heel and head in the opposite direction. I’m not spending one extra second with Mr. I-Think-I’m-So-Hot-Why-Don’t-You-Undress-Now. I’d rather eat my own arm.
I find Gigi over to one side of the white-sheeted set. Her long hair has been twisted into complicated ringlets and her eyes are framed in glitter. She grins at me as I get close.
“Nice partner.”
“Nice makeup,” I shoot back.
She elbows me in the side. “Hey, I don’t know what you expected. I mean, everyone’s seen you guys arguing. What did you think would happen? They want an interesting picture. They want a dynamic.”
“Yeah,” I grumble. “I guess so.”
She shoves me lightly. “So give them one! Seriously. Remember what we were saying earlier? About humiliation? Now’s the time! Think about it—these pictures are going to be everywhere . You can’t waste an opportunity to make him look like the jerk he really is.”
I watch the other partners pose in a variety of interesting ways—girls lifting up boys and boys holding girls on their shoulders. Angela carries a diminutive Aaron Hale, no more than a hundred and forty pounds wet, like a bride over the threshold. When Gigi and Dillon make it up there, he crouches down on the floor, grinning like an idiot, while she climbs on top of his back and stands there with her arms crossed triumphantly.
Everyone may be choosing a fun pose, but I need something different. Something that will be so funny, so ridiculous, that Christian will wish he never messed with me.
Inspired, I rush toward him and grab his arm. He cocks one eyebrow.
“I thought you were done speaking to me.”
“I just wanted to tell you what pose we’re doing.”
“And explain to me why it is that I’m just going along with your choice of poses?”
“Because you owe me.”
“For what?!”
“For telling people I’m stalking you.”
He smirks. “I don’t think I said stalking , exactly.”
“Whatever. Just do what I do.”
When they call our names, we reach the middle of the set and I turn so that my back is facing
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