AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“C’mon,” Emma’s saying to Drunk Girl, urging her off the barstool, toward the gathering women.
Matt explains the rules of tonight, which we already know: twenty-four girls, eighteen roses. Six will go home. A sober mood descends. Then Josh comes in, hands in his pant pockets, a little bashful, and my heartbeat goes wild in my chest. The applause is deafening, girls are cheering, Drunk Girl is openly weeping. Josh’s eyes sweep the circle we make around him. Anticipation builds in my chest as his gaze gets closer to me—and then—ooooof. Right past me.
He pauses on Texas. His smile widens. My heart plummets. Even though I’m made of strong stuff, right now I might as well be made of glass.
“And now,” announces Matt, plucking the rose from his breast pocket, “in a twist of events, Josh has told me he is ready to hand out his first-impression rose. Josh?” The rose trades hands.
Josh clears his throat, twirling the rose between his fingers. “So, I’m looking forward to getting to know all of you tonight. I’m so grateful you took time out of your lives to be here and get to know this random guy from Indiana.” His voice is sincere, his gaze open—a man with nothing to hide. “I’m looking forward to exploring some of the connections I’ve already made, in those crazy first few minutes. And I’m looking forward to forming new connections. I just want you all to know I’m here for the right reasons. I’m here—” he looks down, then back up, eyes shining “—to find my wife.”
The women erupt in applause. I don’t even realize I’m clapping, too, until my palms are stinging.
“I was expecting to give the first-impression rose out later in the evening,” Josh continues when the applause has faded, “but the second I met this woman, I knew there was something special there. Something I wanted to pursue. And this is also the first woman I want to talk to one-on-one tonight. So, without further ado—”
There’s a feeling of collective bated breath. An intense pressure in my chest, like the flat of a knife pressing down.
“Camila?” he says.
Texas puts her hands over the O of her mouth.
Josh takes a single step forward. “Will you do me the honor of accepting this rose?”
With prayer hands pressed to her lips, she strides forward on her towering high heels, her gold-spangled gown swishing around her ankles, a tanned leg jutting through the dramatic slit with each step. Josh embraces her.
“Oh my God,” she says, drawing the flower to her face and sniffing. She takes a step back, allowing Josh the full view of her gorgeous self. “I’m just so happy that you felt what I was feeling, too. I’m honestly on cloud nine.”
“Shall we go chat and kick this evening off?” Josh offers her his arm.
“We shall,” she says, the sugar of her Texas accent masking all the viciousness I know is under there.
Something rips through my chest as the two of them disappear under an archway to some other more private location. The feeling tastes like vinegar and flame.
Jealousy.
Everyone starts talking at once.
“What a bitch,” moans Drunk Girl. “I need more wine.” She stumbles back to the kitchen as half a dozen girls peel off after Josh and Camila, probably eager to break that up as soon as possible.
I stand frozen in place, uncertain where to go. Will all of my life feel this...fast? This out of control? The delight I felt just hours ago when I saw Andy and thought kind; when I touched my hair and felt so approving of it and of myself; the pure excitement when I proclaimed I’m here to find love to the watching cameras—all of that already seems tragically naive. Somehow, just hours into my life, I’ve not only made an enemy, but I’ve failed to capture the attention of the man I’m here for. Stunned and sick, I head back to the kitchen and pick a barstool. When I met Josh, my feelings told me it was real—the beat of my heart, the way my cheeks kept heating. And I still trust that—I do. It just seems cruel that I’m feeling things he’s clearly not. Does he even remember our exchange? Or even just...my name?
“Everyone here is so fake,” says Drunk Girl, who’s topping off her wineglass. “You seem like the only legit real person here besides me. Do you know what I’m saying?” And then she proceeds to tell me the story of her life.
From there, the evening becomes a rising tide of women surging forward, desperate to break in on each other and carry Josh off. I catch glimpses of him every now and then, being led here or there. There are tears, muttered insults, occasional shouts. So much wine, which various members of the catering company keep pouring for us. A few girls strip off their evening gowns and go for a swim in the pool in the magnificently landscaped backyard. Another girl, freshly returned from talking with Josh, gushes loudly about how much they connected over church and how excited she is that they share the same beliefs. The word bitch flies around like confetti. After each girl talks to Josh, the producers bring her to a private room to film a confessional video.
I move around the house in a daze, listening in on snatches of conversation, feeling like I’m treading water in a vast ocean with no hope of finding the shore. How did I spiral so quickly? It’s hitting me hard that being made for Josh is no yellow-brick road. Every girl here thinks she was made for Josh.
I have to stand out, and being the only Synth here, that shouldn’t be hard. At the same time, I’m not ready to march in and tell Josh. The vibe tonight is all wrong. The vibes inside me are all wrong. I thought we shared a connection, outside the limo. Is my perception of reality that far off?
For the very first time, the devastating potential loss hits me. Sure, I woke up knowing that love and loss were both possibilities. But I didn’t internalize what that loss might mean. If I get kicked off the show tonight, where do I go? Where will I live, what will I do? Will I spend the rest of my life with a yawning hole inside my heart where Josh was supposed to be?
The minutes tick past, until we’re nearly two hours in. There can’t be much time left. I imagine myself facing Andy, who sent me off earlier like a proud papa. Telling him, I’m sorry, I couldn’t do it. I imagine him saying, Did you even try?
I stalk Josh—I’m trying, I’m trying, Andy—but he’s deep in conversation with Emma, and then Drunk Girl stumbles in, and she and Josh start talking, and it just seems in bad taste to interrupt a girl who’s already such a helpless wreck. It’s not that I’m shy. I guess I just thought that the strength of our connection would forge a natural path. And talking to Josh does seem natural. Fighting other girls to do it doesn’t.
Suddenly, it’s time to take our places for the rose ceremony, and I haven’t even talked to Josh. I’m surprised to find my cheeks wet with tears as we’re herded onto tiered steps.
“Are you okay?” whispers Emma, who’s been positioned next to me.
“Not really,” I say with a sniffle as the producer gestures for a few girls to be rearranged. “I think I missed my chance.”
