Chapter 7

Dad and I exchanged looks and silently started taking off our coats. Hearing us come back, first a messy fringe peeked out from the kitchen, then all of Stan appeared, in a Hulk T-shirt, a frying spatula in one hand and a jar of mushrooms in the other. Seeing us, he exhaled in relief and immediately warned:

"Don't even dream about it! This is a one-time event, and only because I found potatoes and got tired of waiting for you! Now this is my and Zodiac's dinner, and we'll still think about whether to share with you or not. Dad, do I rinse the mushrooms?"

Dad hung his jacket in the closet and reached out to take my puffer coat. Noticing the professional makeup on my face, he gave an approving lift of his chin and a thumbs-up.

"You can, but not too much," he answered. "And don't forget the red onion."

"Got it!"

Stan nodded and disappeared, then a couple of minutes later materialized in the bathroom doorway after I had gone in to wash my hands.

"Di, you still haven't said how it all went."

I took off my sports jacket, looked at myself in the mirror, and exhaled wearily:

"Like filming Squid Game. Only instead of blood everywhere, there were hearts and arrows, and instead of a prize, a guy with a dark sense of humor and an allergy to blondes. He didn't like me, I didn't like him. That's the whole date. Also, instead of a normal dress, they put me in a tiny top, so when this airs, you'd better pretend you don't have a sister."

My brother gave me a skeptical side-eye, then snorted:

"Don't make stuff up! Guys can't be allergic to blondes, Di, that's biology. And anyway, your Dennis is at least real, not some imaginary bookshop hero you cuddle with before bed. You survived a whole date with him!"

I turned around and frowned, yanking the towel off the holder.

"What makes you think he's Dennis?"

I did not ask about the book heroes. My closet was regularly filling up with romance novels, and I blushed.

"Ma said so," Stan blinked innocently. "We watched together when the wheel picked you. You looked awesome, and so did this Dennis. Ma said he's a good guy and there is definitely chemistry between you, she can feel it. You two, like, resonate in the same energy field, like yin and yang."

"There is physics between us, just so you know!"

Stan's eyebrows climbed his forehead in astonishment.

"Whoa! Already?"

I exhaled and rolled my eyes, shaking my head. I spread my hands, explaining the obvious to my brother:

"I mean a conflict of polarities, like two identical magnets. They collide and fly apart in different directions. Nothing in common!"

"Or the opposite, they attracted each other," Stan snickered. "Like minus and plus! Look," he pointed at me. "Your cheeks are red and your eyes are shining: a sure sign of being in love. This is Dennis Demond, right? I recognized him right away. That same jerk you've hated since school? He's the one who slipped those nasty notes into your bag in sixth grade, and then you cried?"

"You little..."

I had already reached out to catch my brother by the collar when Mom's voice rang from the corridor:

"Tony, I have to tell you everything! It was AMAZING!"

A little over an hour later, after family dinner and a warm shower, I finally found myself in my room, put on pajamas, and climbed into bed. Spotlights were still flashing in my head, the wheel was still spinning, and applause was still ringing. Exhaustion pulsed through my body, and in front of my eyes stood Demond, damn him, with that crooked smirk on his attractive, born-lucky face and his narrowed gaze. As if he knew exactly what drove me crazy and enjoyed it.

The most annoying part was that he had always smirked like that, even when we were twelve and in different homerooms. And if Stan remembered the notes, then I certainly had not forgotten how angry and red-faced I got when I found them in my backpack, and how I chased Demond around the schoolyard afterward to hit him with that same backpack if I managed to catch him. One of those notes was still in my old diary, like evidence.

Sixth grade, algebra textbook, and inside it a torn strip of paper with graphite smudges, covered in sprawling handwriting:

"I do NOT like you,
But I am willing to date you.
I'm just curious whether it's true blondes have no brains.
It's a scientific experiment, if anything. Don't get conceited.
I want to know what annoys me more: mosquitoes or YOU!"

And the signature "D.D."—even then, he did not know how to be subtle. And nothing had changed since. The same arrogant smirk, a ton of confidence, and the same ability to knock me off balance instantly. Just like today with his jab about the skirt.

I sighed and pulled the blanket over myself. Tomorrow was going to be a hard day, and remembering Greg's words, I decided to stop tormenting myself with questions for the Universe and go to sleep early. No one had canceled the path to victory, which meant there would be another meeting not only with Demond, but with sly Margot too.

Yawning and thinking about tomorrow's location, I turned on my tablet and opened my group chat with the girls, "Birdies." It was already bright with GIFs of kisses, hearts, and... bare male torsos.

I giggled and liked it. At least something in this world stayed constant.

Diana:
Girls, hi! I'm back. Alive. Almost.

 Dasha:
Diii! Write fast, how did it go!! Was he hot?? Sequins or no sequins??

Vicky:
Tell me the rescue lines came in handy! At least one?!

Diana:
They did not. (The night's still young!) But I didn't forget them!
The guy had no sequins, but he did have an ego[*] the size of the studio. Also his hair was like an actor's in an Indian blockbuster. Awful. White sneakers and a specific sense of humor.

Dasha:
The kind where you show him the finger and he laughs?

Diana:
No. The kind where his joke makes you want to answer with a professional boxing hook.
Otherwise, sweet and romantic. Stress level: ten out of ten.
The "they do not belong together" level is off the charts.
Sadly, objectively, our pair is first to be eliminated.

Dasha:
Ego is a plus. Means he's definitely hot! 

Vicky:
And judging by the hook, eloquent and smart!
Di, you have to give him a chance!

Diana
Girls...

Vicky:
Does he have tattoos? Long eyelashes? Sensual lips? Di, spill, we NEED TO KNOW EVERYTHING!

Diana:
Birdies, I can't tell you. Contract. Seriously. No names and no details until the show airs on TV.
But yes, he's hot, although that changes NOTHING!
He didn't like me. Poor thing almost wilted when he saw me. Apparently he expected to meet a supermodel, at least. And then there was me. Fail(

Vicky:
(Snorts loudly)
Idiot! Make him get a blood test. What if his brains are liquid?!
He needs to see you in a swimsuit!
I'll bet you have the best ass on the show!

Dasha:
Ooooh, smells like enemies-to-lovers!
From hate to love, my favorite trope!
Oh, I feel it, Di will fall for Mr. Ego by the second date!

Vicky:
Exactly! And by the third she'll write: "Girls, he drives me absolutely insane, but he has SUCH eyes... I dream of him looking at me for the rest of my life and making me coffee in the mornings!" 

Diana:
Like a demon. Muah-ha-ha! (evil emoji)
Forget it! I went on the show to win, not to fall in love!