“And finally,” Adrian says, smiling at the other girl.

“I’m Sonia,” she says.

That’s it. Just a name and a shrug of the shoulders. I look at Adrian, expecting him to push her for more, but he grins and explains that I’m Monday, Ryan is Tuesday, Ella is Wednesday, Lucas is Thursday, and Sonia is Friday.

“What if no one watches?” Ella asks.

We all look at Adrian, because secretly we’ve all thought it, and he smiles and says, “They’ll watch.”

“How can you be sure?” I ask.

He says, “Wouldn’t you?”

I guess he’s right. I suppose to start with, everyone will try it, and it’s up to us to keep things interesting.

I’ve watched enough vloggers and reality shows to know that interesting means different things to different people. We watch hours of strangers doing nothing, talking shit, breaking up and making up, conversations we all have that are somehow so much better when someone else is having them.

“People will have their favorites,” Adrian says. “Just be yourselves. That’s why we picked you.”

And then, calm as you like, he pulls out the twist.

“We haven’t been completely honest with you,” he says, and I’m terrified this is all a joke, that there is no show and, more importantly, no chance for justice. Or maybe it’s already started. Maybe we’re being filmed, and this is some sort of challenge.

“There will be five shows…initially. But only one of you will be continuing on.”

We look at one another, realizing for the first time that we’re in competition.

Lucas probably thinks he has an advantage because he used to be famous, but who remembers what was on TV years ago? And there’s something about Sonia I don’t trust, because the rest of us have stories, so why would they pick her if she doesn’t?

“How long do we have?” Ryan asks.

“A month, as promised,” Adrian replies. “But the three-month run is not guaranteed just because your viewing figures are high. They have to be the highest.”

I thought I would get the extension no problem, but if it’s only reserved for one of us, I don’t have any time to waste.

Chapter 12

Whenever I get home after I’m supposed to, I wish for something that will never happen. I want Mom to be standing there with a scowl on her face and a lecture coming to the boil. I want her to yell at me, asking where the hell I’ve been.

I want dinner to be silent and horrible, because she’s annoyed at me and I’m annoyed at her for being so angry. And I want Dad to make everything okay with a silly comment that makes us laugh, our apologies coming through the giggles we can’t contain.