Page 120 of Unscripted

Gemma sagged a bit but didn’t pause for a break, making her way over to the couch she would hold court from for the night. My loveseat was right next to hers, front and center. The rest of the cast was seated on other couches and risers behind and around us, in descending order of elimination, so that we could all be seen in one big shot.

Gemma didn’t look over at me, didn’t say anything to anyone. Instead, she shuffled a stack of cards that a producer handed her, going over the order of the show.

I looked away, and my eye caught on the video monitor across from Gemma, playing a live feed of what was being broadcast to the audience at home. It had been placed at a diagonal from her, low enough that it wouldn’t appear on camera but close enough that she could see what was on screen. Focusing in on it, I saw my face. And then Callum’s. We were on a boat, smiling and laughing. As I continued to watch, I realized it was footage of our final date.

It was the first time seeing myself on television. The first time seeing any footage of Callum and me. We looked happy. We were happy.

Now, I was sitting here, waiting to take responsibility for our actions, all alone.

The juxtaposition between then and now hit me like a slap in the face. I winced and looked away just as the past version of Callum and I kissed on screen.

It felt like being rejected all over again, and as my eyes begin to prickle, I blinked rapidly, desperate to keep the tears that started to form at bay. Digging deep down inside myself, I tried to grasp the anger I felt earlier. That, at least, kept me less tearful. I was clearly not anywhere near over Callum, but right here, live on stage with Gemma waiting to ask me how I was doing, was not the time nor the place to give into it.

The recap package must have finally finished because Gemma was sitting up straight and saying into the camera, “What a summer. There’s lots to get into so let’s start right away with the topic that I’m sure is on everyone’s minds.”

And here it was.

Gemma turned to angle herself toward me. I tried to smile, tried to make it seem as though it was just any other day. That I wasn’t dying on the inside, wanting to get up and run away from everything.

A hint of regret crossed Gemma’s face for a moment as she looked down at her cue cards and the notes on them. She herself had been at the center of a few high-profile break-ups that had been splashed about the British media. I knew without her saying anything else that she didn’t love turning that microscope onto me now.

I tried to take solace in her hesitance and the kindness it signaled for as long as I could.

But this was show business, and the entertainment machine that was Bella Amore was one that would not be stopped, no matter how badly anyone felt. It was only a matter of seconds before Gemma was back on form and plunging ahead.

“So, Poppy. Was any of it real?”

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Iopened my mouth to reply, but nothing came out.

Blinking back at Gemma, I willed myself to string together an answer. Over the past two days, I had thought about what I would say when I was inevitably asked this question. I had even come up with a few generic lines about how Callum and I really did care for each other.

Now, though, my mind was tragically blank.

All I seemed able to do was focus on everything else around me. The blinding studio lights, the creak of the other Bellas’ chairs, the shuffle of the cameramen just feet away. I could have picked up on a pin dropping in the audience. All of that, and yet no answer to the question at hand.

The empty space next to me didn’t help. The absence of Callum felt like a taunt. Like the universe was saying to me, “You’re on your own, kid.”

Across from me, Gemma shifted in her seat and subtly pressed on the earpiece in her ear. She was likely getting notes from producers about how to deal with my sudden silence.

I needed to get a grip and handle this like I had planned to.

Taking a breath, I finally started to speak.

“I—”

It didn’t last long.

Commotion behind camera had whatever I was about to say dying on my tongue. Someone was yelling. Loudly.

“Stop!” they cried.

It wasn’t until a figure was stepping out of the studio’s shadows, until the world slowed and stopped and then started again, that I realized I knew that voice.

Callum was pushing past producers and running onto set.

Gemma stood up, trying to greet him while salvaging the live show. The audience was going wild, some cheering, some booing. Almost everyone had their cell phones out to record what was happening.