The ten of us are led into a small, crowded boxing gym. The members of the audience are mostly fans of the show who have answered casting calls for extras. It’s hard not to see them whisper and point as we all settle into the front row. We’ve been instructed to dress for a ringside date night. Whatever that means.

Outside of the Rocky movies, I have next to no knowledge of boxing, but I figured I couldn’t go wrong in lace-up espadrilles and a black gingham romper.

Beck stands in the middle of the ring on a stepladder, shouting directions through a microphone. “Mallory—wave, Mallory!”

Behind her, Mallory waves limply.

“Mallory,” Beck continues, “will be your point of direction. If Mallory motions for you to cheer, you cheer. If she’s telling you to be quiet, I don’t want to hear you so much as breathe. You hear me?”

Stacy leans over and whispers, “Is it weird that bossy Beck is a turn-on?”

I laugh. “Don’t make me ship you two.”

On the other side of me, Anna abruptly announces, “I need to pee. Can a producer take me to pee?”

Mallory sighs and dutifully begins to climb under the ropes. On the way here, Wes gave us a very serious lecture about trying to talk to extras or anyone else we saw while we were out, and we were expressly told not to go anywhere alone.

“I got her,” says Zeke, jogging toward us. He helps Anna to her feet and guides her toward the restrooms.

Stacy groans. “Man, these people will not give us any breathing room. I feel like we’re on a leash.”

I nod. “They don’t want us finding out what’s actually going on in the real world or how we’re being portrayed. Do you ever feel like we’re a bunch of lab rats?” I ask.

She snorts. “Too real.”

After a few minutes, Anna hurries back, out of breath and a little sweaty. “Sorry, they made me go all the way out to the porta-potties. It took forever and it smelled gross.”

I sniff her hair. “You still smell like bubble gum, so at least there’s that.”

A super-ripped announcer dressed like a referee with tattoos running up and down his bulging arms takes the stage.

“That guy looks like a walking advertisement for steroids,” I whisper.

From a few feet away, Wes gives me a we-can-all-hear-you look.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the referee/announcer says into a microphone hanging from the rafters, “my name is Tony Danger and I’ll be your MC and referee for the evening. Tonight, we’ve got two fierce competitors. First, though, I’d like to bring up my special guest, Henry Mackenzie, to introduce them.”

Mallory throws her arms up in the air, and the whole crowd cheers as Henry jogs up the aisle in a snug pair of jeans, a gray T-shirt, and a leather jacket.

“Good evening, everyone,” he says as Tony Danger steps aside. “And thanks, Tony.”

“You got it, man.”

“I would like to introduce you to two women who could single-handedly kick my ass, Druscilla the Destroyer and Holly GoBiteMe!” Henry steps aside and out of the ring to sit next to Addison at the end of our aisle.

Two women, both covered in tattoos and wearing padded headpieces, mouth guards, shin guards, tiny metallic spandex shorts, and matching sports bras, race down the aisles to cheers and boos as they bounce into the ring. A whole crew of hype people with water bottles and first-aid kits race behind them.

Anna leans over. “Is that guy rolling out a cart of pillows?”

Behind the women and their posses, there is indeed a scrawny-looking guy with a whole pile of pillows.

On the other side of Stacy, Sara Claire gasps. “Oh my Lord, is this an actual pillow fight?”

“Like a slumber party pillow fight?” I ask.

Stacy leans back and nods. “Some girls on my Roller Derby team do pillow fight matches during the off-season.”

“You play Roller Derby?” I ask.

Sara Claire shakes her head in awe. “Yeah, could you be any more badass?”

My eyes flick up to Sara Claire. It’s the first time since the elimination two nights ago that she and I have shared a conversation outside of the occasional excuse me and good night.

Anna’s jaw drops. “Is this pillow thing like some kind of weird internet thing?”

I choke on a laugh.

Stacy smiles widely. “I mean, I guess it could be.”

“Hell,” says Sara Claire, “people will pay for anything these days. You know, I worked with a client who was a state congresswoman, and she had to start cropping her feet out of photos because they kept popping up on websites dedicated to feet.”

Anna giggles, and then muses, “I bet there’s some good money in that.”

We spend the next thirty minutes watching two grown women beat the crap out of each other with pillows. I’m about as subtle as an elephant in a library as I try to catch glimpses of Henry sitting down at the end of the row next to Addison. She laughs way too loudly at everything he says and paws at him shamelessly. At least I’m not alone, though. With our numbers dwindling, every girl in this row is wondering if she’ll be next. After this, eliminations will only be one or two people at a time, but it’s impossible to feel safe, especially after knowing I was so close to the chopping block the other night.

With every glance in Henry’s direction, I hope for some sort of nod or smile—some kind of sign that tells me I didn’t make up our late-night/early-morning conversation.

I guess my brush with elimination and talking to Henry made me sure of one thing: I want to be here. And it’s not just for the money or the connections. That terrifies me, but it’s true.

Feathers fly, drifting slowly down as the two women in the ring absolutely wallop each other. In the end, Holly GoBiteMe lands the final blow and drops down onto Druscilla the Destroyer, pinning her to the mat.

“We’ve got our winner,” Tony Danger calls as he pumps Holly’s fist into the air. “Now it’s time for a little bit of audience participation.” He looks to all of us in the front row. “Ladies, any volunteers? Which of you will fight for Henry’s love?”

We all look from one to another, and I get the feeling that no one is too eager to take on this challenge.

Suddenly Addison bolts to her feet.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline from just having watched two grown women beat each other senseless with pillows, or maybe it’s the memory of what Beck told me last night about how much people are really rallying around me, or maybe it’s simply Henry, but whatever it is, I’m on my feet and challenging Addison before any other woman can even raise her hand.