Tyrel sat up, his eyes wide. “Is it … ?”

  Ravi wiped a waterfall of sweat from his brow. “No. No. It can’t be. She’s just a myth, a legend they tell freshmen to scare them…”

  Marisol slowly lowered her sungsses, her eyes gleaming. “Oh yes, papi. She’s real.”

  Sarah spread her arms wide, her voice reaching a fever pitch of theatricality. “Ladies and gentlemen… fasten your seatbelts, say a prayer to whatever deity you failed on your st exam… I give you… THE WILDCARD!”

  ENTRANT #5 - MELINA “THE APOCALYPSE IN HEELS” VEGA

  The hallway didn’t release her. She became the hallway. Melina Vega didn’t enter; she manifested into her final, devastating form. She wore leather pants that creaked with authority, a bck spaghetti strap top, and a crystal-studded belt that probably doubled as a diplomatic passport. Her hoop earrings were of a diameter that would make a NASA engineer proud, and she carried a radioactive-blue Slurpee like it was the Holy Grail.

  But her most impressive accessory was her entourage. Trailing behind her, in a state of hypnotized devotion, were three random Georgia Tech boys: a frat bro in a backwards cap who looked like he’d just abandoned his keg stand, a skater boy clutching his board like a security bnket, and a pre-med student who, for some reason, was wearing a stethoscope.

  The peanut gallery lost its collective mind. Whispers became a roaring wave.

  “Dang, she fine!”

  “I heard she broke up with a guy by sending him a certified letter!”

  “Bro, she once made a professor cry during office hours… and then gave him extra credit!”

  “She’s the reason they had to add a new cuse to the student code of conduct!”

  Tyrel spped Ravi’s arm repeatedly. “BRO - SHE GOT A POSSE! SHE GOT HER OWN SQUAD! THAT’S THE FINAL BOSS LEVEL RIGHT THERE!”

  Ravi nodded, his face pale. “Her Charisma stat is maxed out. We’re just NPCs in her storyline.”

  On the bench, the other bachelorettes had visceral reactions. Priya took a long, slow sip of chai, her eyes glittering. “She looks like the reason midterm curves get ruined.”

  LaTasha gave a slow, respectful nod. “Okay. I see you. I respect the brand.”

  Dani muttered, scribbling furiously, “Subject E: Aura suggests high levels of confidence and litigiousness. Potential biohazard. Fascinating.”

  Nandita simply slid down in her seat, attempting to use her index cards as a makeshift cloaking device.

  Melina took it all in, her expression one of majestic, divine boredom. And then she moved. She glided past the gawking bachelors, past the contestant bench, her entourage parting the crowd like the Red Sea. She didn’t even gnce at Tyrel or Ravi. They were mere scenery.

  She stopped directly in front of the one calm center in the entire storm: the Commentary Table.

  She looked down at Bharath, who was observing the spectacle with the same polite curiosity he might afford a particurly energetic squirrel.

  Bharath blinked up at her gently. “Hello?”

  Melina looked him up and down with a speed and efficiency that would put a barcode scanner to shame. A slow, dangerous smile spread across her glossed lips. “So,” she purred, her voice like velvet wrapped around a switchbde. “You’re the Bharath.”

  Bharath’s polite smile remained, though a flicker of confusion crossed his face. “I… suppose I am? That is my name, yes.”

  She leaned in, just a fraction, but it was enough to make the entire food court hold its breath. The scent of her perfume - something called ‘Nightshade and Lawsuits’ - wafted over him. “You’re cuter than the rumors,” she decred, her tone leaving no room for argument.

  Bharath’s entire face transformed into a perfect, ripe tomato. He had not been briefed on any rumors pertaining to his cuteness. This was a critical intelligence failure.

  At the hostess table, Sarah and Marisol completely broke.

  “OH, COME ON!” Sarah shrieked, dropping her spoon-microphone. It cttered to the floor, forgotten. “MELINA! HE’S NOT A CONTESTANT! HE’S THE MORAL COMPASS! YOU CAN’T FLIRT WITH THE NARRATIVE DEVICE!”

  Marisol was fanning herself with a stray napkin. “Dios mío, the cojones on this girl! She’s rewriting the script live! I’m not even mad, I’m impressed!”

  Jorge, witnessing this breach of protocol, made a sound like a defting whoopee cushion and had to steady himself on the mood mp.

  Cami, however, was in cinematic heaven. She dropped to one knee, zooming in on the intense, two-shot of Melina’s smolder and Bharath’s flustered innocence. “Yes! Yes! The plot thickens! The wildcard targets the neutral observer! This is Shakespearean! This is better than Jerry Springer!”

  Tyrel shot to his feet, pointing an accusatory finger. “HOLD UP! TIME OUT! FOUL! SHE’S SUPPOSED TO BE OUR DATE! THAT’S OUR FRIEND! HE’S LIKE A SWEET, CONFUSED LAMB WITH TWO GIRLFRIENDS! YOU CAN’T JUST… GRILL THE LAMB!”

  Ravi joined him, his voice squeaking with indignation. “Yes! This is a gross misallocation of romantic resources! He’s not even trying! We’re over here putting our fragile egos on the line, and she goes for the one guy who’s just here for the free emotional trauma!”

  The peanut gallery, however, was fully on Team Melina. They began chanting her name, a low, rhythmic murmur. One brave soul yelled, “YOU GO, MELINA! GET THAT POLITE INTERNATIONAL HOTTIE!”

  Melina, without even turning her head, raised a single hand. The chanting stopped instantly. She treated her simpering fans with the disdain of a queen swatting away a gnat. Her attention remained fully on the blushing Bharath.

  “We’ll talk ter,” she said to him with a wink, a promise and a threat woven into three simple words. She then turned and finally, blessedly, deigned to acknowledge the bachelors and the other contestants. She sauntered to the bench and sat, crossing her legs with a definitive snap. Her entourage settled on the floor around her like devoted courtiers.

  Sarah, finally retrieving her spoon, cpped her hands together, her voice strained with the effort of regaining control. “OKAY! FANTASTIC! Let’s… let’s just get all the contestants to their seats and… proceed!”

  Marisol, still recovering, added with a wheeze, “And the bachelors… try not to faint. Or spontaneously combust. The school’s insurance doesn’t cover idiocy of this magnitude.”

  Melina, ignoring everyone, shot one st, lingering wink at Bharath.

  Bharath, utterly bewildered, blinked slowly in response.

  The peanut gallery sighed in collective rapture.

  Jorge, with trembling hands, lifted the Pizza Hut cpperboard. It was a pathetic, crumpled symbol of a world gone mad.

  CL-CLACK!

  “SCENE TWO!” he yelled, his voice cracking. “TAKE ONE! MAY GOD HAVE MERCY ON OUR SOULS!”

  And just like that, the games had truly, horrifically, magnificently begun.