A Rising Star

Ratings

Cameramen aren't needed in the mansions.

They aren't needed anywhere, but the Producers like to give the illusion of life before live-streaming, so they still have them show up when Stars are on location.

The only place we can be certain we won't be recorded is in our bathrooms, and the only time is during the required silent hours between one and seven a.m. Of course, we're all aware that no time or place is safe from the cameras, but at least we are assured that anything that happens won't be broadcast across the nation.

We might just disappear, instead.

I barely notice the brunette young woman who steps beside me, my suitcase in her hand. It is one of the maids in the household, Shadow. Shadow has always been my favorite because of her effective work and ability to blend into the background during scenes. Most of the Extras are failed stars. Working as housekeepers and cooks is one of the few ways they can be assured of some kind of attention on TV.

I pity Extras. Most cycle between extreme perkiness, when they hope to be on air, and deep grief, when they realize that nobody cares. Not anymore. Extras find more contentedness when they learn early that their days in the spotlight are over.

Shadow understands this. Although her tawny gold skin is flawless, she knows she's better not seen, not heard, and always available. "Just place it in my bedroom," I say, pausing only for a moment before I make my way towards the courtyard.

The closer I get, the less silent the mansion becomes, the sound of teenage voices echoing off the walls. I head towards the large outdoor pool. The sliding glass door has been left open. A few guys are playing a water-ball game in the shallow end and I spot Candid lounging on a chair near the deep. Her skin, normally the color of sand gleaming brightly on the beach, darkens into a sepia sheen. I walk into the pleasantly warm sun. Nobody turns my way.

The cameras are running and not getting attention in the mansion is a sure way of a ratings drop. If I am going to be First Lady, a ratings drop is unacceptable.

I unwrap my dress, revealing a matching white bikini. I consider an arching dive for a split second, until I remember Candid near the deep side. I take a running leap instead, curling into a compact, but powerful ball before hurling myself into the cool water. By the time I surface, Candid is already standing and cursing.

"Nice one Bitter!" A voice from behind me says, as two arms wrap around my waist. Stud. That's his name, not how I feel about his looks. Although the smooth and sinewy chest pressed against my back makes him objectively attractive in many girls' minds. Or at least that's what he always likes to remind me.

Stud's nose nuzzles itself into my neck and I laugh before pushing myself away and backstroking to the shallow end of the pool. With my ears submerged I can barely hear Candid's shouts. I almost forget that the cameras are running. As I make it to the steps, I know it's time to make up for lost ratings.

"What the hell, Bitter?" She always spits out my name as if it's some kind of poison. "This is a raw silk Chanel. Do you know how many credits a raw silk Chanel costs?"

"I'm guessing too many if it doesn't do the most basic function of swimsuit," I say as I pull myself from the pool. From the corner of my eye, I see Stud watching us. The corner of his right lip is pulled up slightly. Stud has always been my biggest cheerleader, but lately he has been quieter. I assume because he anticipates my permanent departure from the mansion.

I turn my attention back to Candid just in time to see something in her eyes switch. I know that look all too well. I dread that look. "I never found that function of a swimsuit necessary," she says before reaching behind her neck. "What's the point of swimming if you can't feel the water wash over all of you."

The top is gone and she is stepping out of her bottoms. The automatic censors will be on her now, but it doesn't matter. Her ratings are going up by the second. Candid slides into the shallow end and smiles up at me. A sneaky, sly smile that I have come to hate. "Aren't you going to join me friend?"

My face goes as red as her suit. I have never been as open as her—about my body, about guys, about anything—but the viewers love that I am fun. Childish, really. I sneak a glance at Stud and discern the slight shake of his head. He doesn't understand how important the ratings are. He's never really cared about them.

My hand goes to the bottom of my top. It's only skin after all. I just wish I could stop shaking. Stud pulls himself out of the pool and I fumble over the knot at the back of my suit. I had triple-tied it to make sure such a malfunction didn't occur. Just as I manage to loosen the knot, I feel a warm arm around my waist.

I am plunged into the water.

The cool water shakes me back to my senses and I manage to scowl at Candid through dripping lashes. "I'm fine just the way I am." Or at least that's what I mean to say before Stud shoves my head under the water. As I come up, he grabs my leg to keep me off balance and attacks my lower stomach. I shriek in laughter, using my free leg to try to kick him away. His grip is steel.

Finally, I manage to break free. I spin around to gloat only to see that his hand has slackened. Something else has caught his attention. Candid has stepped out of the pool and all 5'8 of her is glistening. She grips her long hair in her hand, wringing out the water as she gives Stud an easy smile.

I try not to, but I scoff as I push myself out of the pool. "Bit, I'm sorry." Stud has the decency to at least sound abashed.

"What do you have to be sorry for?" I say, keeping my voice light.

"Because you're my best friend and she's your arch-nemesis?" We are back inside now. Stud pulls me into an empty side room and looks at me in earnest. His silkened hair, which normally falls into his eyes, is slicked back from his jaunt in the pool revealing inky eyebrows and angular cheekbones.

I pull away slightly and sit on the couch with practiced ease. I wonder, not for the first time, if they have slept together. If they did, Stud has had the common decency not to tell me. "It's fine. I get it. She's hot. I should be mad at you for throwing me in the pool before I could take my top off." I shove him in the arm. He laughs.

"You know that's not you, Bit."

I feel a burning tingle in my cheeks. "It could be."

He raises both coiffed brows. Stud pulls me into his lap before pressing his forehead against mine. "That's why you're the only girl in this mansion who hasn't made out with me."

"I've made out with you." My voice comes out in a low hiss as I shove on his chest for space. He chuckles, the sound reverberating against my lips.

"Asking me to teach you how to kiss when you were 14 doesn't count." I reposition myself so that my legs are still sprawled over his. "You're this close to the prize. Remember what makes you so likable to the audience and stop trying to be her."

"Everybody likes her."

"I like you," he says. "You're the House Baby and I've enjoyed taking care of you all these years."

I mean to tell him I can take care of myself. Instead, I say, "have you ever thought of it? Being president?"

"Not for me Bit." Stud gives me his kindest smile and tugs on my lower lip, pulling it out of the confinement of my teeth. "Even you have to grow up and ride out to DC on your own ..."

"Tenacious?" The name slips out in a whisper. The one I thought loved me before he dumped me on National Television.

Stud grimaces. "Just focus on the prize. Don't worry about Candid or Tenacious or anybody else. You got this First Lady thing in the bag."

I laugh. "I need to get on the show first." And to do that, I need to beat Candid in the ratings. I have no clue how I'm supposed to do that if Stud is forcing me to keep my top on.