Chapter 5

On my way to the second floor, I caught my reflection in the hall mirror and thought I was far too ordinary a student to become the heroine of a show. Too predictable to play to the camera and pour on drama for the viewers' interest. Do they even choose people like that? Valentine had miscalculated.

But here was the interesting thing: when I reached the right classroom and stopped by the door, listening to my classmates discuss the new English teacher, every question in my head was eclipsed by one: "What dress do I wear so I don't look like an idiot on a blind date?" Yeah. A real problem.

On autopilot, I went into the classroom, sat at a desk, and opened my notes. But instead of listening to the lecture, I started thinking about my wardrobe. What decent clothes did I even have in my closet? And where had I shoved the box with the shoes from my graduation?

No, to hell with school shoes! At this rate I'd end up dragging out my prom dress! Nothing had even started yet, and I was already panicking. Better to reread the email from Rita the assistant with the predatory last name and calm down. I was pretty sure there was a line in there about dress code...

Vicky and Dasha were late for class, and when they ran into the classroom, the young teacher met Crane's brown-eyed look of repentance and guilt by blinking in confusion. Then, putting on an important air, he muttered something like, "Come in, and don't be late next time."

"Girls, did you see how polite he is?" Vicky marveled, diving into the seat beside me first. Dasha sat down after her. "I swear he was ready to say 'please!' Such a cutie. Handsome too!"

"That cutie is about to ask you something about the last topic, and in English you're like a lame ballerina on ice," I whispered to my friend, moving over. "You'll launch into another monologue like, 'London is the capital... of what, dear God?' like you did freshman year, and die beautifully like a swan. I am no use to anyone today!"

Dasha snorted with laughter, while Vicky proudly took a notebook out of her bag and gave a theatrical little hmph.

"Girls, if this new teacher also turns out to be that rehabilitation instructor the dean mentioned, I am officially ready to collapse on the desk for science and begin a therapy session. My cheeks are sweating already! What if chest compressions with mouth-to-mouth are exactly what I'm missing in English?"

We giggled, and the teacher suddenly stumbled in the middle of his explanation and blushed, glancing from the lectern in our direction. We had to duck our heads and pretend we were diligently taking notes.

Dasha was the first to crack.

"Di, come on, tell us! We're about to burst from curiosity!"

I was dying to tell the girls the news too, so I whispered:

"The TV company sent me an email this morning. It had a contract, instructions, and even the coordinates of the filming studio. The first filming day is this Saturday, and my participant arsenal contains zero confidence, zero ideas, and zero new clothes. Basically, the complete underdog starter pack!"

"Di, can we be your stylists?" Vicky perked up. "I know how to solve the confidence problem, and I can already see your look for the first date!"

"And what would that be?"

Craney narrowed her eyes with inspiration.

"We start with self-tanner. I'll lend you mine! And we finish with an Amazon costume, insane backcombing, and a wooden bat in your hand. We'll open the doors of luck ourselves! With your figure, you'll look like pure napalm!"

"And what's the bat for?" I snorted, in my current mood easily picturing the whole thing.

"To show right away that you don't walk into romantic traps!"

"Primal romance!" Dasha giggled. "Walk up, whack him, leave. No dates! End of show, and a question for the host: where's my prize?"

We giggled louder.

"Girls, it's funny to you, but I'm panicking," I admitted in a whisper. "What do I wear? How do I act? What if I freeze and blurt out something stupid? Most of the participants have probably had time to prepare, and I don't even have drama club behind me. Just ballroom dancing until seventh grade and foreign language tutors. I've never even filmed Reels for Instagram. What if I have to improvise? I always short-circuit on dates. I go silent like a fish underwater. And not even on purpose!"

"Well, blurting out stupid things definitely isn't about you, Diana," Dasha reassured me. "You're not Demond, filling girls' heads with nonsense. You'll win with intelligence!"

"Thanks, I guess." I grimaced, remembering yesterday's run-in with him at the supermarket. "At least he has a talent for putting on a show. As for me, I apparently have a talent for getting dragged into them."

"Oh, stop it," Vicky waved me off. "You'll do great! But first, girls, we urgently need to hit the mall for a stylish outfit. Today! Di, did you see my boards?" Vicky jabbed a finger at her phone screen. "I dropped three look options in the chat. And I found an article called 'How to Survive a First Date and Not Screw It Up.' It's genius! Especially the part about belly breathing and rescue lines."

"What rescue lines?"

"You know, for when your brain stalls, the date turns into pure cringe, and you still need to say something. In that case, you put an interested look on your face and fill the pause with memorized lines like "How interesting," "Do you really think so?" "Tell me more" - even if he said something about teriyaki chicken or a rubbed blister. Just a few words, and the ball is back in his court!"

Crane glanced around, lowered her head, and kept whispering:

"And if you need to look like a society lady in a 'glamorous tête-à-tête' situation, you make an intelligent face and slip into any pause with a half smile: "You're such an unconventional conversationalist. It's so intriguing!" or "Your thinking is so original, it makes me ponder higher things..." That's it! You keep drinking lemonade like a duchess while his brain loads, trying to come up with something smart so he doesn't screw up!"

"Ha-ha," Dasha laughed, "or more like how to stay on the pedestal before someone knocks him off it with a bat!"

"Craney, what if he does find something to say? What if I get some smart bore?" I whispered. "Do you have other response options?"

"Of course," Vicky snorted. "I told you, the article is genius! Then you just nod, look surprised, and exclaim: "Wow, are you serious right now, or was that a joke? Trying to outdo old Freud?" And let him wonder whether you're smart or he's an idiot while you mentally plan your escape through the bathroom window..."

We giggled again.

"Girls, thank you!" I smiled at my friends sincerely, feeling the anxiety let go. If I had to go into battle, even a televised one, I should preferably go in armor made of confidence and with two battle-ready friends backing me up. "So we're shopping today?"

"When else?" Dasha agreed. "There are only two evenings left before Saturday. Your dad can drop you off, and we'll come from the metro. It's closer for us. Just bring the rewards card. I'm out of cashback points. We need to find a mega-awesome dress!"