Page 12 of Alice Chen's Reality Check

“God, you’re such a nerd,” Cindy says. “Hate to break it to you, but rereading a poem by a dead white guy and taking lots of notes is not enough to win a reality show.”

“I know,” I say. “That’s where you come in. You’re a reality TV expert. You can tell me which episodes I need to watch to flesh out my rubric.”

Cindy breaks into a huge smile. “Oh, honey. Tara and I can dowaybetter than a watch list. If you’re really going on this show, then we’reputting you through reality TV boot camp.”

“Sign me up,” I say.

“Ohmygod, this is my dream,” Cindy says, already texting Tara. “What are you doing this weekend? Never mind. Clear your calendar. We’re going to be marathoningOperation: Bikiniat my place.” Cindy looks up from her phone, a frown crossing her face. “Hang on. You got me all excited about rotting on the couch. I wasn’t done interrogating you.”

“I told you everything. What else is there?”

“Well, what about you and Chase? This show tests your relationship with him, not your ability to solve forx.”

“I’m not worried about that,” I say. “Our relationship is rock-solid. We make sense together. We’ve solved for all the variables. Now we’re just a perfectly balanced equation.”

“Very romantic,” Cindy says dryly.

“Romance plus compatible interests plus aligned life goals equals a perfect relationship,” I say, only half joking. “We make a good team.”

Cindy takes a long, noisy slurp of her boba, clearly still skeptical. I know what she’s thinking, but she’s wrong. I’ve dated Chase for three years. I’ve got him all figured out. That’s why I like him—he’s safe and he’s predictable.

Finally, Cindy says, “Okay. Any other juicy details I should know about?”

I shake my head. “Not really. They sent along a packing list and a meeting point. We’ll be staying on some mystery island for a couple weeks during filming.”

“You’d better take so many photos,” Cindy says, perking up. “Let me live vicariously through you. I haven’t gone on vacation in years.”

“I can’t,” I say. “They’re going to take our phones away.”

“Right, I guess that’s standard,” Cindy says. “So let me get this straight. You’re going to be shooting on a remote island, with no phone, surrounded by people you don’t know, doing who-knows-what in front of the whole world on television?”

“Pretty much.”

Cindy mulls this over. “And this was Chase’s idea?”

I give her a look that saysof coursethis was Chase’s idea.

“Who are you and what did you do to my sweet, hyperlogical, riskaverse Alice?”

I bury my face in my hands. “She’s still here, and she needs money, and she also needs someone to water her plants. You know I killed my last three Haworthias. I’m proud of this one!”

“Girl, your plants are safer with me than you,” Cindy says.

She’s right about that. I tend to overwater my plants. I worry that they’re not getting enough water and end up literally drowning them with my anxiety.

Sometimes I think Cindy knows me better than I know myself. After all, we grew up in the same town, living in the same tight-knit community of Chinese families. She adopted me on the first day of fourth grade, when I was too shy to talk to anyone.

When my dad left the summer before my freshman year of high school, she refused to let me wallow in self-pity, instead dragging me out to the library every day to borrow stacks of manga. She stuck with me through the worst of it, when I was prickly and sullen and wanted everyone to leave me alone. And when the other teens in youth group started whispering about my family, she was the one who marched to the front of the room and gave them all a lecture that was so stern they ended up crying.

Right up until college, we did everything together. We went to Chinese school together, snuck out of school to get fro-yo together, and read all the same fantasy books together. And after college, we picked up right where we left off. Neither of us was quite the same, but I liked who we became. On paper, we don’t make sense at all. And I kind of love that.

“Is this a bad idea?” I ask Cindy. “Be honest.”

“I think,” Cindy says slowly, “it’s not bad. It’s ridiculous and it’s ambitious and it’s different. And I think if anyone can win a realityshow through sheer bloody-minded competitiveness and determination, it’s you.”

“Thanks, Cindy,” I say. “Have I mentioned I love you?”

“I love you too, you weird little nerd,” she says, and taps her boba cup against mine. “Just be careful out there. And yes, I will water your succulents.”

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