Joshua

Number 92 is insufferable. The ten minutes I have to spend with her cannot end soon enough.

She tries to ask me questions, and I answer her in as little words as possible. I don’t smile at her or even make eye contact. I make her feel my lack of interest until she gets visibly upset, slowly realizing that I don’t like her and I was going to dock her points.

By eight minutes, she seems to have given up.

I’m doing all this for Chaeyoung. Getting rid of the bullies, making them feel bad, making them want to cry… it’s a great way to get back at them. It’s what they deserve for being mean.

Chaeyoung is partnered with Seungkwan. I did steal a glance at them earlier, and she looks comfortable with him. It’s a good thing, but I’m not gonna lie… it does bother me a little that she’s getting along so well with him. He seems to make her laugh. I make her laugh too, but damn it, he’s the one who can talk to her now.

When the first round ends, and Number 92 gets out of my face, I tell the producer that I want to dock her 1000 points. The next “random” number flashes on the screen. Number 38, who just happens to be Number 92’s friend. I watch as Number 38 squeals with excitement when she sees her number on the screen, and how the excitement dies when Number 92 gets closer to them, and she looks like she’s about to cry.

And so Round 2 begins.

“What did you say to Number 92?” Number 38 says when she gets on stage. “She was so upset.”

“Nothing,” I say, keeping with my strategy of saying as little as possible.

“Well, aren’t you hard to please,” she mutters in response. “Your face says it all. You don’t like me either.”

“I don’t like how you make assumptions about me,” I respond.

“I know your game Joshua. If you want to disqualify me and my friends, just do it. Don’t put us through this bull and claim it’s random. I bet 122 is next, right? Did your precious Chaeyoung tell you we were giving her a hard time?”

She’s onto me. .

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I respond. “You’re very bold coming up over here with all these accusations. The game is to make me like you, not hate you.”

“You already hate me,” she tuts. “And I know I’m going home after this, so might as well use this time to tell you something. Your girl Chaeyoung… she’s a .”

It takes everything in my gut to stop myself from reacting to that. To pretend that means nothing to me. To pretend I don’t want to spit in her face for saying that about Chaeyoung. I inhale and keep a calm demeanor.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed she’s been spending a lot of time with that Seungkwan boy, giggling at him and whatever. If I had your attention like she does, I wouldn’t look twice at another guy, but she’s over there acting all cutesy with someone else. How can you just watch that happen?”

“I think I’ve had enough of you,” I say, biting back the sour taste in my mouth. “Get off the stage.”

“Maybe he’s next,” Number 38 says. “His number will probably ‘randomly’ appear on the screen, you’ll dock his points and disqualify him too. It’s going to happen, I know it is.”

“I said leave the stage.”

She stands from her seat, a hint of a grin on her face. “You might want to check the cameras in the dorm she slept in last night. I heard a little rumor that he slept with her.”

She turns and leaves. I am now visibly tense and irritated, with images of Chaeyoung and Seungkwan together poisoning my thoughts and making me want to scream. I storm off backstage, the staff following me asking me what’s wrong.

“A brief intermission,” I say. “I need to use the bathroom.”

But I don’t need to use the bathroom. Instead I go to where the media offices are, where the editors are sifting through footage from last night.

“Show me dorm footage from Building 8!” I demand.

After the editors scramble to show me the footage they gathered from each of the rooms, I identified that Chaeyoung was sleeping in the bottom bunk of the first wing in Room 4. Seungkwan took the top bunk.

We fast-forwarded through the footage until I saw Chaeyoung climb up to where Seungkwan was. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but he immediately sits up cross-legged in front of her. They sit, they talk. She laughs. He does too. She reaches out and holds his hand, and he holds her hand too.

Then they both dive under the covers, together.

I watch, aghast. My heart is beating rage through my veins.

What the is happening?

“Would you uh… like us to disqualify them?” asks the employee who is showing me the footage.

I keep watching as the figures under the covers move. A minute or two pass, and they both come out, laughing like whatever happened under there was a treasured secret. She then descends back to her bed, and I see him lay back with the goofiest smile on his face.

“ this,” I mutter.

“Disqualify?” the employee mutters again.

The producer of the game, frantically runs over to me. “Mr. Joshua, the game… we have to continue the game…”

I don’t want to play the stupid game anymore. My head is too preoccupied imagining what happened under those covers, replaying the sight of them holding hands in the dark, laughing.

How could they? How could they both?!

“Mr. Joshua…” the producer says, more firmly. “We have to finish filming this now. We can talk about what to do about those two later.”

She pulls my arm back to the hall. Reluctantly, I follow. My whole body is seething with so much tension, I feel like I’m going to explode. I can’t continue this game like this. I need to punish them, confront them, or do something…

And then, I get an idea.

“I want you to change the next random contestant who goes up on stage with me,” I tell the producer.