Something Real (40 page)

I stop pacing. “What if we took a vow of silence?” I ask.

“When?” Benny asks.

“At the Ultimate Reality™ press conference.”

Benny’s eyes light up. “Like we don’t talk the whole time we’re there, even if people are asking us questions?”

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

“Excellent!” Patrick says. “My girlfriend is a revolutionary genius!”

I can’t hide my pleased grin. It’s pretty brilliant, if I do say so myself.

“Can’t they just edit it out?” Matt asks.

Benny shakes his head. “It’s gonna be a live episode during our press conference and book signing and then the rest of the day is streaming live on MetaReel.com. Plus, all the other networks will be there.”

“That’s so badass,” says Tessa. “What can we do to help?”

My stomach’s already tying itself into knots, but I ignore it. I have to—otherwise I won’t be able to do what I’m about to do in precisely forty-eight hours.

“Do you have any duct tape?”

SEASON 17, EPISODE 27

(The One with the Duct Tape)

I check my outfit in the bathroom mirror one more time, resisting the urge to throw up. I know this is right, and it’s going to be a defining moment in my life, but I so want to wimp out. I’ve been hiding in one of the greenroom bathrooms, waiting for Benny to meet me before we join our family for the
Baker’s Dozen
press conference. This is our first event of the convention. After this, we have the book signings and then the red carpet before the Ultimate Reality™ Awards. I’m wearing Tessa’s anti-TV Hello Kitty shirt for luck and I finger the note Patrick had slipped into my hand when I said good-bye to him after school yesterday. I don’t need to read it again, but I take it out one more time, just to see his handwriting.

Gloaming. Paperweight. Yawp. Chloe.

My name added to his list of favorite words reminds me of who I am. I am
brazen
.

A knock sounds on the door. “It’s me,” Benny says, his voice low.

I open it, and he scurries inside, looking about as jittery as I do.

“I threw up. Just now. I couldn’t help it,” he says.

“That’s okay. I’m nervous too.”

“Mom’s going to lose her shit.” Benny doesn’t seem too sad about this.

I bite the inside of my cheek, a nervous habit that has left my skin raw. “I wonder what Dad will do. He’s got to be watching.”

It shouldn’t matter, but I want him to see this. I want him to take responsibility for what our lives have come to.

Benny crosses to my backpack and roots around inside, pulling out the scissors I brought for us. The duct tape is on his wrist, dangling like a tacky bracelet.

His voice is hard and very un–Benny-like. “Well, if he really cared, he would have called.”

He hands me my phone. I dial Tessa’s number. Tessa—whose internship last summer at the
San Joaquin Times
has suddenly become very useful, not to mention that her dad’s a reporter for the
Fresno Bee
. She picks up on the first ring.

“The ads for the show are playing nonstop. It says it’s going to be on”—she makes her voice manly—“
after these few messages
.”

I try to laugh, but it just catches in my throat.

“Ready?” she asks.

I pause, a diver poised on the edge of the board.

“Yep.”

“Love you,” she says.

“You too.”

I look over at Benny. “She’ll tell her dad now.”

I get a text from Mer just as I hang up:

Down with Big Brother, girlfriend.

Only Mer can do a Valley Girl rendition of
1984
. I wonder if she’s watching from the airport.

The tape makes a sharp sucking noise as he pulls it away from the roll.

“Any last words?”

I smile. “
Dismiss whatever insults your own soul
.” He arches an eyebrow. “Whitman. Not a poem, just something he said. You like?”

“Damn. Raise the bar, why don’t you?”

He brings the tape closer to my mouth. “Wait!” I stop his hand. “I have to say it again if they’re really going to be my last words.” He rolls his eyes and waves his hand for me to proceed. “
Dismiss whatever insults your own soul.
”

And then I feel the tape against my lips.

*   *   *

The convention center is huge, filled with booths for each show, food vendors, and public audition sites. Screens are set up all around the perimeter, broadcasting different reality TV shows. Loud music plays, the kind you hear before a basketball game, and there are cameras everywhere: an Orwellian hell.

It’s eight P.M., and the place is packed. We pass the casts of
Hit Squad
(a creepy show that has former Navy SEALs leading teams of Joe Schmos in paintball wars) and
Birth Mother
(where women who are giving up their babies for adoption look for the “perfect match”). They’re both holding auditions in the same area, and it’s weird to see a long line of pregnant women and Rambo types chatting with one another. In another corner, a runway is set up and girls from
Model Life
walk up and down it. I can smell something delicious over by the
Head Chef
booth, and there’s Jake Pyers, host of
Landlord Wars
.

MetaReel’s “press room” is situated in the center of the convention’s huge floor. There’s a pretty big crowd assembled, full of Vultures, news stations, and reporters from major magazines and newspapers. There are also a ton of fans, some with signs that have our names on them. Hundreds of people. At first, nobody notices Benny and me as we file onto the little stage with our siblings and take our seats behind a long table. There are cards with our names facing out to the press and a small microphone for each of us. I’m terrified to look up. My heart feels like it wants to break through my chest, and I take big, loud breaths through my nose, wanting so badly to rip the tape off my mouth so that I can get some air into my lungs. I can’t believe I’m doing this.

“Hello, everyone!” says a too-tan guy at the edge of the stage nearest Benny and me—the moderator. He’s got a microphone in his hand and is wearing a MetaReel T-shirt. “Tonight we’ve got the cast of
Baker’s Dozen: Fresh Batch
with us. Give it up for MetaReel’s biggest stars!”

As the crowd behind the press goes wild, we both look up. I quickly put my hair into a ponytail so the tape is totally visible. I’ve never felt so exposed in all my life.

At first, there are just a few gasps in the audience, but as more and more people notice us, the crowd’s relative buzz turns into a roar. Instantly, the Vultures congregate toward our end of the table, pushing and shoving one another to get the best shot. Dozens of them call out my name, telling me to look over here, look up,
Bonnie™! Bonnie™! Bonnie™!

Lexie™ is sitting three chairs down from me, on my left, and she leans forward and looks toward us, her eyes widening when she sees our faces. “Oh. My. God.”

Her mic’s on, so it comes out loud and clear. I’d smile, but I can’t with the tape on.

The light from the cameras is blinding but, for once, I’m delighted to see them. Instead of shying away, I stare right at the lenses, daring them to capture me.
Catch me if you can
. The fans at the back hold up cell phones like it’s a rock concert—
clickclickclickclickclickclickclick
.

I lock eyes with Benny, and he grabs my hand and squeezes it—his palms are just as sweaty as mine. I’ve never loved my brother so much in my whole life. Seeing that tape across his mouth makes this feel more real to me than anything else; it’s a scary image, violent almost. It makes you think of kidnappers.

I can see our camera crew set up at different stations around the press area, each lens representing approximately four million people. That’s twelve million pairs of eyes, not to mention the dozens of non-MetaReel cameras. I can almost hear the gasps and cackles in living rooms all over the country. People saying,
Hurry, get in here—you have to see this!
Journalists calling their editors. Bloggers gleefully type-type-typing away. My classmates texting, updating their statuses. Patrick, Tessa, Matt, Mer watching us with clammy palms, their hearts beating almost as hard as mine.
Brazen, Brazen, Brazen.

Mom’s beside us in an instant. “Bonnie™ … what’s … Benton™…” Her voice changes from startled confusion to low growl. “
Take that tape off this instant.
”

My mic catches her voice, and I see Chuck make a frantic motion with his hands, but nobody turns the mic off. Lacey Production Assistant stands next to him, looking like she’s about to go into cardiac arrest.

Mom’s eyes are deer-in-headlights big as Benny and I shake our heads. She shoots Chuck an anxious glance, but he can’t do anything from his post by the stairs. It wouldn’t be good for our illusion of reality if the producer started stage-managing us. She holds up her hands like,
I don’t know what to do
.

We are a PR disaster.

Some of my siblings start to giggle, but Kirk silences them with a hiss. Mom reaches up to rip the tape off my face, but I jerk back, shaking my head hard enough for the people in the back row of the press corps to see. I clutch the piece of paper in my hand and hold it up for the audience before I hand it to the guy who’s moderating our press conference. It says PLEASE READ.

The night before, Tessa and I had worked out a press release, basically a letter to the world explaining why Benny and I are taking a vow of silence. It’s a pretty awesome manifesto, and I feel a surge of
hell, yeah!
as I hand it over, knowing it’s already being sent to the Associated Press via Mr. Lee, Tessa’s dad. The moderator hesitates before he opens it, like it’s going to bite him. His smile is still frozen on his face, and he looks back at Chuck, but Chuck’s too busy yelling into his phone.

“Read it!” someone from the audience yells. The voice sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. My skin tingles with anticipation, and I hold my breath, hoping. The moderator puts the microphone to his lips.

His smile gets wider, but I’m close enough to see the beads of sweat bursting out on his forehead. “Looks like Bonnie™ and Benton™ Baker are pulling a little prank.” He doesn’t open the letter. “It’s a little early for April Fool’s, though, isn’t it?” Cue forced laugh. “All right, let’s get started with—”

“What’s it say?”

Wait, I
do
recognize that voice. Tessa? I look in the direction it came from, and my heart glows as I catch sight of Tessa, Matt, and Patrick in the audience. We’d told them not to come, but they hadn’t listened.

“Read it!”

And there’s Matt. I nudge Benny, and his eyes grow wide as he sees his boyfriend.

“Freedom of speech!”

That was Patrick. Of course. Our eyes meet—a long-distance version of a stolen kiss—and he grins before disappearing into the crowd. Security is already moving through the mass of people, searching for them.

The moderator glances at the cameras and then shrugs his shoulders in defeat.

He reads our letter in an increasingly contemptuous tone, but at least our plan is working. We’re telling the world how we feel without saying a word.

To Whom It May Concern:

We, Bonnie™ and Benton™ Baker, are taking a vow of silence as an act of peaceful resistance against the continued presence of MetaReel in our home and lives. We have decided to abstain from participating in a production we have both, in many different ways, asked to opt out of. This is not a prank or a ploy at getting attention. We have enough attention. We do this not out of disrespect to our family but, rather, out of respect for our rights as individuals. Our efforts to keep our family off the air have gone unheeded—

He stops, but the crowd starts booing him. Chuck throws Benny and me a disgusted look, then turns on his heel and stalks off. The moderator continues.

—and our most personal stories have been made public without our willing consent. For most of our lives, the word
privacy
has not been in our vocabulary. Being on
Baker’s Dozen
was never something we had a choice in. While we are thankful for our family’s efforts to provide for us, we strongly object to our lives being used for entertainment purposes. Thank you.

Bonnie™ and Benton™ Baker