Page 27 of Never Ever Getting Back Together

So, the cold war continues.

Unlike Skye and Perrie, I’m not the kind of person who really “gets” the camera. To put it lightly. To put it more accurately, I tend to pose like a startled ghoul in anything that’s not a selfie, but not onpurpose.It’s just my face. I can’t help my face.

I’m pretty sure it stems from my childhood. My mom always used to direct me in family photos, begging me to smile bigger, no,bigger,bigger, Maya! A proper smile! Until I was smiling so wide my jaw ached and you could count my full set of teeth. In hindsight, I’m pretty sure that when Mom said “smile bigger” she actually meant “smile prettier,” which, counterintuitively, was less of a “laughing at a comedy show” smile and more of a calculated, precise facial pose. Long story short, she pretty much messed me up for life and doomed me to a fate of always second-guessing whether my smile looks just a little bit possessed whenever I can’t see the face I’m making in real time.

And, right on cue: “That’s great, Maya, just a little more natural. Think of something really nice. Think of someone you love. Okay, like that, but halve it. You girls have been drinking all afternoon, huh? Wha—not you? Oh…”

Finally, they apparently get a usable shot—one that theyrefuse to let me take a look at, which is a hell of a bad sign if you ask me—and I escape to chill with Perrie on a bench she’s found near the mansion’s entrance. The assistants start handing out glasses of wine and champagne, which feels super illegal and scandalous, even though I know legally it’s not a problem for me to drink here.

It’s not the first time I’ve ever had a drink, but it is the first time I’ve been offered one in public, with adults around. Suddenly, I feel way less experienced than everyone else. The other girls raise their glasses to their lips without pausing. For most of them, it’s normal. The non-Americans have been legal adults for years. Lauren was a year above Jordy in school, from memory, which would make her twenty-one. At least Perrie, who’s Jordy’s age, looks as surprised as I am by all the alcohol.

I take a tiny sip of wine, then elegantly dribble it straight back into the glass. Wine, as it turns out, tastes a whole lot like sour swamp water.

People drink this on purpose? For whatreason?

Only minutes later, we’re herded again—this time to stand in a circle with our wine glasses by the fountain. Mine’s been demoted to a prop as far as I’m concerned, although the other girls seem to have no problem downing theirs. Are they tasting the same thing I’m tasting? Surely not. Maybe my tongue’s just broken.

“Okay, ladies, I just want you to clink those glasses in the center of your circle,” Gwendolyn instructs from her place by one of the camera operators.

We do.

“Perfect,” Gwendolyn says. “Now, again, but this time don’t be afraid to react to it. You’reexcited,you’recheering,this is acelebratory glass-clink.”

We try it again, this time with vocals, and even some fake laughter thrown in for pizzazz. I accidentally slam my glassa little too hard against someone else’s, and I follow the arm up to see whose it is. Of course, it’s Skye’s. She raises her eyebrows at me, and I can’t help but roll my eyes at the implied accusation in her look. I mean, Jesus, I’m not out here planning revenge-by-glass-clink. If I wanted to be passive-aggressive, I’d do it with my words, like a goddamn adult.

“Beautiful,” says Gwendolyn. “Now, just one more time, so we can get it at another angle?”

We do it eleven more times. By the time Gwendolyn has her shot, I’m genuinely worried one of these glasses is going to shatter into elegant shards any second now.

Now that the photos and promo shots are done, it’s time for them to ruin our beautiful evening wear looks by attaching mic-packs to our backs. Isaac, for obvious reasons, isn’t able to help Skye and me get ours on, so Perrie’s producer, Violet, takes us into a spare room to fix them under our dresses. “Rule is, these stay on at all times until after filming,” she says. “If you get caught turning them off, there’s a fine.”

“What about in the bathroom?” Skye asks, before I can.

“I can promise you, we aren’t going to use anything recorded in the bathroom on the show. Astoundingly, it doesn’t make for good television.” Violet zips up her dress and gives her a pat. “There. You’re done.”

Skye now has a lump the size of an angry fist sticking out of her lower back.

Stunning. She’s a vision.

“Now you, Maya,” Violet says, and I cut off mid-snicker.

Back outside, at the edge of the grounds, a man in a tuxedo stands talking to Saskia. He’s blandly beautiful, in an “I guess you’re symmetrical, but you also somehow look like the less famous, less charismatic brother of half the whitemen in Hollywood?” sort of way. Gwendolyn greets him and leads him over to us, where we’re standing in a semicircle. “Everyone,” she says, “meet Grayson Gains. I’m sure you’re all familiar with him from his work on shows likeVelveeta or Volcano, Marrying the Enemy,andCooking Under Constant Criticism.For the next seven weeks, he will be your host forSecond-Chance Romance.Please make him feel welcome. He has a few words to say before we get the party started!”

I have never seen this man in my life. We give Grayson a smattering of applause, and the cameras swing around to him. “Welcome, ladies, toSecond-Chance Romance,” he says, in a slow, slightly exaggerated way that probably sounds great on TV, but comes across as a little alarming in real life. “I’m your host, Grayson Gains, and I am delighted to stand by your side as you re-explore what you once had with our Explorer, Jordy Miller.”

“Cut, perfect,” Gwendolyn says. “And again.”

Grayson doesn’t hesitate. “Welcome, ladies, toSecond-Chance Romance.I’m your host, Grayson Gains, and I amjust thrilledto stand by your side as you all re-explore what you once had with our Explorer… Jordy Miller.”

“Beautiful, Grayson, beautiful. Just one more time for me?”

He does it seven more times before moving on to the next part of his spiel.

“Tonight, you will have the opportunity to spend some time with Jordy, and get to know him again. I urge all of you to use this time wisely, and to treat this as though you are meeting Jordy for the first time. All relationships have baggage. If you can leave that baggage on the platform, and look to what is standing before you right now, you might find yourself falling in love all over again.”

I lose count of how many times he repeats that.

“Now. Are you ready to see Jordy?”

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