This is a shift day. There are two updates today.
"Technicolor Wishes & Hi-Def Dreams"
14. And Stompers
He'd known she would be there, and that may have terrified him more than the load of would-be models who'd be standing there, because the fact was he wasn't sure he could pull this one off.
It wasn't for lack of familiarity with the show, though he would never admit to it. His sister would watch it every week, and on several occasions she had insisted on having him sit and watch with her. It wasn't a hard sell, an hour of scantily clad girls, but regardless he called it 'their little secret.'
Still when he had awakened he had initially been very confused. He didn't get where he was, but this was of a lesser concern to what he was wearing. He'd worn the odd uncomfortable costume for Glee Club, but he had an ability to override shame most times. No matter how ridiculous he might have looked, he owned to it, and then no one could tear into him about it. He was untouchable. The clothes he found himself in this time though could have tested that resolve, several times over. And they weren't even the worst thing about this situation. That prize would go to the shoes.
They were monstrous, a beast, and the thought that he might be expected to walk in them must have been the universe paying back for some idiocy he'd committed in his life. He hadn't known where he was yet, but there was something about the shoes that had begun to put the possibility in his mind. It wasn't until he'd peered outside the room he was in, with the shoes in his hands rather than on his feet, that he discovered he was in the reality-based world of America's Next Top Model. It didn't take long for him to connect the dots between the clothes and the shoes and understand who he was meant to be.
And then someone had come along to inform him about the 'surprise challenge' the contenders were to be given following their photo shoot, the prize for which would come into play 'at a critical stage in the next few weeks.' His attention had gone liquid as soon as he'd heard the word 'runway.' Of course, because what else would it be?
He took the news that they would pick him up in a couple of hours as his one and only tool. He'd have to use those hours to somehow tackle those shoes and learn to walk that catwalk like he'd done it for years. He'd have better luck showing them how to score a touchdown.
For something like fifteen minutes he'd sat there, staring at the shoes. Then finally his brain had ticked back into order. If anyone could take on a challenge, it was him. That was what he did, he found a way, all the time. This would not be the exception to the rule.
The first time he slipped the shoes on and tried to stand, he tripped and almost faceplanted. The second attempt had been initiated more cautiously. He could be agile, more than people might expect, he knew he could. Once he could at least stand, he would try walking.
He nearly twisted his ankle right off, though not on the first step. He'd managed to take two or three very uneasy steps, and he was starting to feel confident, thinking it wouldn't be as hard as he thought… And then came the twist. He'd injured it before, playing football, and the pain he felt now was not giving him confidence. He couldn't even walk yet, much less take on that runway with even a shred of what he'd need to be able to do. Now he had to try and walk through an injury.
He got back on his feet because of her, because he couldn't let Rachel down. He wanted to get back home as much as she did, though if the words were arranged properly, he'd say it was more like he wanted to get her back home as much as she wanted to be there. If he couldn't put in a performance as close as what was expected of him, then they might be stuck here. He could play through pain, he'd done it before.
He'd been forced to leave the room and use the hallway, having too little space to work with otherwise. He didn't want people seeing him, but he had to chance it. He had his motivation, his goal, and so he kept at it. Cautious steps grew more confident, although he could feel his ankle give complaint every so often. He didn't listen. Solid steps became rock hard, and he could gain a certain ease. He had to remember he was demonstrating a girl's walk, so again he'd sucked up his pride and he'd committed.
When the time had come to leave for the challenge, he was walking on those two beasts wrapped around his feet like they were part of him.
The moment Rachel had seen him, he could see her, shocked on one end, trying not to laugh on the other. What if he couldn't do this?
The girls' cheering had been nothing short of salvation to him. It lifted his spirits, told him to put his game face on and get to it. So long as he could go to the end and come back, and he didn't fall over the edge, then he'd have done his job. That was all he had to do and then he could sit back and watch the rest of them try their hand. They would all wipe the floor with him, he guessed.
He'd taken his march, all the while telling himself to forget his ankle, forget the girls watching, and just for the length of the walk, forget Rachel too. He couldn't be nervous, he had to be, well… fierce.
He couldn't remember the next part too well, and maybe all this walking was starting to flood him with too much pain to bear, but before he knew it the girls were parading before him, one by one. When Rachel's turn came, he could see under the mask of confidence she presented: she was scared to death.
"On with it," he clapped his hands together, enough to get her attention, and he bowed his head: you can do this.
And she did do it, she must have. The next moment they were feeling the jump coming on.
TO BE CONTINUED (FRIDAY)