Page 43 of Alice Chen's Reality Check

“That’s the idea,” Peter Dixon says.

“We’d have to really sell it,” Leah says. She’s already jotting notes in that notebook of hers. “We could say that a spark reignited between you and Alice when the two of you met again for the first time in years. Fate brought you together on the show.”

What’s being proposed is starting to sink in. The producers are all looking at me like it’s the most obvious solution in the world, but I can’t do this. I can’t fake a relationship with my old rival. I know when I’ve lost, and the only thing for me to do now is make a graceful exit. I’m going to pack my bags and go home, newly single and with nothing to show for it.

I glance at Daniel, and our eyes meet. God, I hate losing.

I find myself saying, “I need to make a phone call.”

“Not allowed,” Dawn Taylor says immediately.

Peter Dixon says, “Hey now. Didn’t you read the contestant files? The kid’s mom is having a hard time. You probably wanna call her, right?”

I nod.

Peter Dixon gives me a sympathetic look and offers me his phone. “Go ahead. Take your time.”

I know my mom’s number by heart—it’s the only one I’ve ever bothered to memorize. I punch it in and retreat to the back of the room.

“Hello?” My mother’s voice hits me like a sip of hot cocoa on a cold night.

“Ma,” I breathe, slipping into Chinese for a moment. “How are you?”

“Alice! Do you know what time it is? You should be focused on resting!”

Right. I just called my mom at one in the morning her time. If I were really at my fictional teachers’ conference, I’d be asleep. Oops.

“The conference hasn’t been going so great, Mom,” I say. My voice catches in a sob. I want desperately to give her a kernel of the truth. “I’m not sure whether or not I should stay.”

“Aiyah. Don’t give up. I raised you to be stronger than that,” she scolds, but her tone is soft and full of kindness. It’s her version of a rousing pep talk.

“Are you doing okay without me?” I ask, biting my thumbnail.

“Yes. I’m doing great. Auntie Yee has been taking me to mahjong every day. I tell her, it’s too much! But she needs a friend, you know, so I go with her.”

Of course, in my mom’s mind, she’s the one doing Auntie Yee a favor, not the other way around.

“Have you been eating enough?” I ask.

“Tsk, I always eat enough. You need to go to sleep. Gargle with salt water if you’re not feeling well, okay? I’ll talk to you when you get back. I love you,” my mom says. She hangs up before I can say anything else, and I’m left clutching the phone in my hand and blinking back tears.

Memories flash through my mind—my mom’s face, lined and careworn. The post-op surgery room with all those monitors hooked up to her. The thick gray haze of smoke covering her apartment. The bookmarked cookbooks I have stacked next to the rice cooker. The three-hundred-dollar olive oil.

I went on this show, something I never would have ever done in a million years, for my mom. She’s the one who was always there to wipe away my tears and hold me after a nightmare. Who worked overtime so I could buy a name-brand pair of UGGs when everyone else atschool had them. Who told me over and over again that it wasn’t my fault that my father left us, that my only job was to study hard and be happy.

Selena isn’t the only one who needs this show. People—usually rich people—always say that money can’t buy happiness, and money isn’t everything. But when you’ve been swimming against the tide for as long as I have, just trying to stay afloat in an ocean of student debt and medical bills and rent and utilities, it sure feels like everything. And I want better for my mom. Hell, I want better for me.

I’m not ready to give up. I’m all in, no matter what it takes. I’ll be damned if my cheating ex-boyfriend is going to crush my dreams of a better future.

“You’re seriously asking us to fake a relationship,” Daniel is saying to Leah when I rejoin everyone. “That’s ridiculous. Right, Alice?”

Of course he would think it’s ridiculous. Itisridiculous. The two of us are more likely to kill each other than to kiss. But I can’t do this without him.

“I’ll do it,” I say, handing the phone back to Peter Dixon. I turn to Daniel, focus all my attention on him. “I want to keep competing.”

“But why—” He shakes his head. “I’m lost, Slayer.”

“I want to win. I can’t stand doing things halfway.” I’m not about to tell him my tragic backstory, but I don’t need to. He already knows that I never give up without a fight. And I know that he can’t resist rising to a challenge, especially when it comes from me. I am his greatest rival, after all. I shift my weight, fold my arms, and plaster on my best shit-eating grin. “So are we going to do this or what? Unless you think you can’t handle me.”

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