Page 29 of Alice Chen's Reality Check

“We can do better,” I say firmly.

“Oh, you’re overthinking it. We’re fine.”

I can tell Chase believes what he’s saying. In his world, everything is just that simple. I’m overthinking, and everything is fine. I want to push back, but a camera flashes at us, and I remember where we are. I snap my mouth shut.

Chase fills the silence. “We’ve got this. I’m good at arm-wrestling, you’re good at math. We’ve got this on lock. It’s like destiny is sendingus a million dollars. We’re gonna put your mom in the fanciest hospital on the planet!”

“That’s not exactly how hospitals work—”

“We can travel the world! We can go to that hotel where your room is sticking out of the side of a cliff!”

“I think that was a fake AI-generated photo—”

“We could get a waterbed and fill it with Jell-O!”

“Why would we—”

Before any of my concerns can make it into Chase’s head, one of the producers claps his hands—Seth, I think.

“And that’s a wrap, everyone!” he calls.

Chase pops up to follow the crowd off the beach. It takes me two tries to get my footing in the sand. It’s only then that the steady red light of a camera filming catches my eye. I swear Leah said they were only taking photos, not filming, but there’s no mistaking the eerie glow in the darkness. I shudder. I’m not sure if it’s the long day, the stress of being on camera, or the alcohol, but I don’t feel right. I feel disoriented and unsettled. And it doesn’t help to realize that a live camera has been pointed at us the whole time.

—

I follow the crowd, and soon we’re cresting over a sand dune and getting our first glimpse of the villa.

“Welcome to Villa Paradiso!” Leah says.

In beachy tones of off-white and cream, the villa stands four stories tall, with impressive fire pits, floor-to-ceiling windows showing off both the ocean view in front and the flourishing jungle toward the back, and a huge crystal-blue pool stretching out in front of it. It’s chic and modern and expensive. It looks like a summer home belonging to an A-list celebrity.

Brittany squeals. “We get to stayhere?”

“Not bad at all,” Noah says approvingly.

“Oh, party’sontonight,” Jaxon says, sweeping Brittany off herfeet and throwing her over his shoulder. She giggles as he carries her straight to the bar by the pool.

“There’s no way I can drink any more,” I whisper to Chase, but immediately, I realize I’m talking to myself—Chase is already sprinting after Jaxon.

“Shots! Shots! Shots!” he shouts.

Selena follows Chase, joining his chant and pulling Daniel with her. I join them at the bar, where an obliging bartender has set out a rainbow of shots for us.

“Trevor, wait, camera eats first!” says a woman with red hair cascading in waves down her back. She raises a Polaroid camera and is about to snap a photo of the shots. Trevor drapes an arm around her shoulder.

“Good catch, Mikayla,” he says, kissing her temple.

Whoever they are, this couple looks like they stepped straight out of a sponsored ad post. They’re a matched set, with Trevor in his pressed chambray shirt and Mikayla in a flirty denim sundress. Her makeup is dewy, with what I’m guessing are fake freckles dusting her cheeks, and her red hair is pulled back with a set of hair clips that I’ve seen advertised on TikTok.

Before Mikayla can take her photo, Dominic—still in his fratty muscle tank—blows past her, grabs one of the shots, and downs it.

“Do you mind, dude?” Trevor snaps. “We’re making content here.”

“You snooze, you lose,” Dominic says, passing a shot to Zya.

“Ugh. I can’t stand girls who live for the ’gram,” Zya says, giving Mikayla a pitying look. “It’ssopathetic.”

I can feel the fury radiating off of Mikayla. A cameraperson elbows past me to capture the moment. I edge away from the unfolding drama and bump into Chase, who hands me a pink shot glass.

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