Tiff stood on tiptoe and gave me a quick kiss on my cheek. "There's nothing wrong with your face, Michelle."

  I blushed and looked down. I didn't know if she felt the same way about me as I did about her, but my cheek was burning where her lips had touched it.

  There was a hard bang on the bathroom door. "All right, you guys," Ink said. "We're coming in."

  The door swung open, and the floating camera crew started to file in.

  "We were just leaving," Tiff said as she slipped past them. I couldn't slip past anyone anymore and had to stand there, like an idiot, until they backed out of the room.

  The sound guy clipped a mic onto the neck of my hoodie. I sat in the Confessional chair and started pulling the braids out of my hair.

  "You don't need to do that." Ink had changed her tats again. Now there were a series of typewritten questions on her arms. But she had kept the Mayan images on her face and legs. "They look nice. You're one of the prettiest girls on the show."

  I shrank back in the chair. Well, as much as my girth would allow me to. No one thought I was pretty anymore.

  "So, why do we always have to drag you into doing your Confessionals?" Ink asked.

  The red eye of the camera blinked on. They were rolling again, sucking me into that meat grinder. I looked at Ink so I wouldn't have to look in the camera again. It didn't love me anymore. "I know I haven't done as many Confessionals as everyone else. I guess I just didn't have much to say."

  A disappointed expression slipped across Ink's face. I knew I was making her job more difficult, but of all the things we did on the show, this was the one that made me most uncomfortable. Tiffani loved Confessional. I don't know why. The Maharajah had started calling her the Little Nun because she was always in there. So we had all called her that—until the Maharajah got voted off.

  "So, what do you think about the other contestants, now that we're getting close to a reshuffle?"

  I noticed that the end of one of the ties on my hoodie was frayed, and I started to worry it. My hands had been so beautiful. Now the nails were ragged and the cuticles raw. I heard Ink make a throat-clearing noise, and I knew I had to answer her.

  "I guess . . . I guess I like most of the other players." I glanced up and saw Ink frown at me. "I mean, I like my teammates. The ones that are left. And I think Dragon Girl is sweet, even if she is, you know, kinda young to be on the show."

  "What about Rosa Loteria?"

  I looked away from the camera. I wished she hadn't asked about Rosa. "Well, I don't know her all that well," I said. "I've only really seen her at press stuff."

  "But how do you feel about her?"

  I sighed. I had to talk—it was in that damned contract. "I don't think she cares about being a hero. She only cares about making money and being famous."

  "And that's bad, right?"

  I looked up at the camera this time. "No, it's not bad to want those things. But this isn't about getting money or being famous. It's about being a hero."

  "Do you think Tiffani is heroic?"

  "I think she tries to be." I assumed Tiff felt the same way about American Hero that I did. She had had my back. She'd told me she had never voted against me, not once.

  "Well, what do you think a hero is?" Ink asked.

  "It's not just acts of physical courage. What's a hero, if you can't trust them to keep their word? What's a hero, if they would betray a friend? What's a hero, if they think of themselves before anyone else?" I looked Ink straight in the eye. "That's not being a hero. Anyone can do that. We all do that. But a hero tries to do better."

  I dropped my head again, and my hair covered most of my face. I scrunched down into the chair and didn't say anything else. After a few minutes, Ink told the camera crew to stop rolling.

  "You did great, Michelle," she said.

  "You're supposed to be calling me Bubbles," I reminded her. She gave me a funny smile.

  "What're you working on now?" I asked.

  Jetman was in the garage tinkering with yet another of his gadgets. Since the Maharajah had been voted off, Jetman pretty much kept to himself.

  "I'm not sure what it is yet," he replied. "Things just . . . change as I'm working on them."

  He started looking for something in his toolbox, and I handed him a Phillips head screwdriver. He grunted and took it from me. Sometimes I hung out with Jetman when he was gadgeting. Whenever he couldn't find something in his toolbox, I gave him a random screwdriver. It seemed to work. Or maybe he was just humoring me.

  "You know, I thought you were going to vote me off during Discard," I said.

  "Actually, I was thinking about voting Tiffani off," he said. "But then I thought you might get pissed."

  It took me aback. I would never get pissed at Jetman for voting the way he wanted to. I told him that.

  "Yeah, I realized that," he said. "But I knew that you and Tiff were planning to get rid of Matryoshka after the last challenge. So I figured, go along to get along."

  I leaned against the bench running along the west wall of the garage. I was baffled. "But we didn't ha—"

  "C'mon, Diamonds!" Tiffani yelled from the end of the driveway. "We're going on a mysterious ride."

  "Our master's voice." Jetman wiped his hands on a greasy rag. We went outside, and he pulled the garage door shut behind us. There was an SUV limo waiting for us. Tiff was already inside, and Jetman and I piled into the spacious backseat. It was roomier now that there were only three of us left on the team. "Where do you think we're going?" I asked.

  Tiff shrugged. "Reshuffle. After all, all the teams have lost at least two players."

  "I hope it's a reshuffle," Jetman said. "We can't afford to lose anyone else."

  The limo took us to the Warners back lot, where American Hero was taped.

  We piled out of the back of the SUV, and Ink led us through one of the soundstages to makeup.

  Peregrine was standing under a spotlight, arguing with one of the directors about her lighting. "I'm telling you, if you don't put a decent filter on that thing I'm going to look like a crone," she said.

  "Peregrine, my goddess," the director replied. "You will never look like a crone. I don't care how hard you try."

  Peregrine gave him a lethal glare. "Shameless flattery is one way to get around me, but don't think I'm not going to notice if you don't fix that."

  Ink left us at the makeup area backstage. We were used to doing the whole makeup, blocking, hurry-up-and-wait routine that was part of the show taping.

  The hair and makeup guys finished with us, and we took one last good look in the mirror.

  Jetman looked as if he'd had no makeup done at all. He was a kinda plain-looking guy, but they'd made his skin perfect, as if a blemish had never been allowed to mar his face. And Tiffani . . . well, she was as beautiful as ever. It was a pity she was so short. Had she been taller, she would have made a great model. I took a quick glance at myself. My eyes did look great, and they did bring out the best in my skin—as much as they could, given how crappy my black hair made it look.

  Ink finally came back. "Okay, guys," she said. "We'll be taping a short segment with Peregrine."

  When we arrived back onstage, the Hearts were sitting in a row of director's chairs. Three empty chairs faced them. Hearts had won the most challenges; there were five of them, and only three of us.

  We sat in our chairs. Mine gave a loud groan. I heard a Heart laugh, blushed, and hung my head.

  "Asshole," I heard Jetman say softly.

  Peregrine swept onto the stage. When I'd been younger, I'd really admired her. Not only was she a great model, but she still went out and did things with her wild card ability. I guessed she must be in her fifties now, but you'd never know it. She usually wore very revealing couture gowns, but today she had on long palazzo pants, a gold-sequined halter top, and four-inch-high sandals. Her wings fluttered behind her, making her look like a disco angel. "Are we ready to shoot this?" she asked.

  "We're rolling," said the director. "Start anytime."

  "Welcome to American Hero," Peregrin said, looking into camera one. "We're halfway through the competition, and we've lost quite a few of our heroes. But some of the teams have fared better than others." She turned to camera three and her wings fluttered. "I know that some of the players here think we might be reshuffling the teams tonight."

  There were groans from the Hearts.

  "But we've decided to keep the suits separated for now."

  The Hearts gave a small cheer. "However," Peregrine continued, "our Diamonds team has not done well, and they are at a distinct disadvantage. So we've decided to let them draw one member from Hearts to even the teams up."

  There was stunned silence from the Hearts, and then an angry murmur bubbled up. "You've got to be kidding!" shouted Drummer Boy, jumping to his feet. "We're being penalized because they suck?"

  Curveball placed a hand on one of Drummer Boy's lower arms. "Calm down. It's just part of the game."

  "It's bullshit," he said.

  I glanced at Tiff to see how she was reacting. There was a Mona Lisa smile on her face. "Do we have to choose now?" Tiffani asked.

  "No, you have twenty-four hours to decide. We'll be bringing you back tomorrow night for the pick."

  "And cut," came the director's voice.

  Peregrine cupped her hands over her eyes and squinted up at the lights. "Did you put the filter on that spotlight?" she asked.

  "So, who do you want to bring over from the Hearts team?" I asked when we were back in the limo.

  "Drummer Boy," Tiffani said at once. "He makes the most sense. He's the most powerful player on their team."

  Jetman opened the fridge in the limo bar and took out a beer. "You think he's more powerful than Hardhat or Earth Witch?" he asked.

  "Well, how handy is making steel thingamabobbies?" Tiffani asked. "Are we really going to need a trench anytime soon? And Wild Fox? Don't even get me started on how crappy his power is."

  "We could take Curveball," I suggested.

  Tiff made a face. "Michelle, you and she have almost the same power. Why would we duplicate that? We've got to get someone who'll work well with our team." She leaned forward and touched my leg. "Taking DB will demoralize Hearts. It'll break up their alliances. And if he's got any show-mances going, it'll stop them, too."

  "Showmances?" Jetman asked.

  "You know, when two people on a reality show become romantically involved for the duration of the show. Sometimes they stick—like Boston Rob and that joker chick from Survivor, what was her name?"

  "Amber," Jetman replied. "She looked like she was a big chunk of amber. She even had bugs stuck in her skin. It was pretty gross, but I guess you never know what's going to float someone's boat."

  Tiff gave Jetman a big smile. "They won the money because they had this amazing alliance. I heard one of the PAs say that Drummer Boy's been making time with every willing girl on the show. Ever since Curveball dumped him, that is. And they may be getting back together after that little scene when we were taping."

  Aside from Curveball calming him down at the studio, I didn't really see much going on. But, honestly, I'm bad about picking up on that who's-doing-whom stuff.

  "I just don't get all this intrigue," Jetman said. "I think Drummer Boy's a conceited jerk."

  "He's a big guy, though," Tiff said. "He could probably be handy in a brawl. Besides, if we lose again, we can get rid of him instead of one of us."

  I had to admit, Tiffani's plan sounded good, especially the last part. I hated the idea of one of the last three Diamonds going home.

  Jetman was fixing breakfast in the kitchen the next morning. He'd started doing that after we lost our first challenge. His cooking was a bit uneven—and he couldn't seem to make breakfast without dirtying every dish in the house.

  He was just scooping eggs onto a serving bowl when I came in. "Morning, Bubbles," he said, passing the eggs to me. "You want pancakes or waffles this morning?"

  I looked at the table. A stack of bacon and about twelve sausages were piled on one plate. A large bowl of fresh fruit salad sat next to it. There was a basket overflowing with pastries—croissants, cinnamon buns, kolaches, and muffins.

  "Uhm, I think I can find plenty of stuff to eat. You really don't need to make anything else."

  "Oh," he said. I turned toward him and saw a hangdog expression on his face.

  Crap.

  "But you know I can't resist your pancakes," I said. Actually, his pancakes were really bad. But he brightened and pulled another bowl out of the cabinet.

  I sat down, put the bowl of eggs on the table, and loaded my plate with pastries, bacon, eggs, and fruit.

  "Remember, you've got pancakes coming," he said.

  "Herummm," I replied around a mouthful of food. My wild card power made me fat, but otherwise, I could eat anything I wanted and stay skinny.

  Tiffani straggled in a few minutes later. Her face was sleep-swollen. I thought she looked adorable. With her kimono-style robe wrapped around her, she appeared tiny and delicate.

  "Pancakes, Tiff?" Jetman asked.

  "Gah, no," she said. "Just coffee until I can get my heart going."

  "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

  "And caffeine is my drug of choice. Don't get between me and my fix."

  I poured her a cup from the carafe on the table, put three sugars and a dollop of cream in it, and then passed it to her. She took a long pull and smiled at me. I felt my stomach flip-flop.

  "I'm glad you're all up," said Ink as she sauntered in with one of the mobile crews. "The producers think all the heroes need a break from the competition."

  Tiff took another hit off her coffee. "How about three days and four nights in Jamaica?" she said.

  "No can do," Ink replied. "We're shooting 'Diamonds Pick a Heart' tonight."

  "So, what's the 'break'?" I asked, using my ironic air quotes.

  "You have a choice," Ink replied. "You can have a thousand-dollar shopping spree, a trip to Disneyland, or a spa day."

  "I'm guessing this isn't an off-camera event," I said.

  "Nope. It's going to make for some great footage. But you do get out of the house for the whole day. And, even better, no press obligations and no workouts."

  Jetman and Tiff both looked chipper at that. Neither of them liked working out.

  "I've always wanted to go to Disneyland," Jetman said as he ladled pancake batter into a pan. "I think I'd like to do that."

  Ink smiled at him. It was a great smile. "You'll be getting the VIP treatment while you're there. I think you're going to have a wonderful time." She turned toward Tiff and me. "And what are you two going to do?"

  "I'd like to go shopping," Tiffani said. "I've never even seen a thousand dollars in one place. But I don't want to go alone." She looked at me hopefully.

  I was torn. I had plenty of clothes—even if most of them didn't fit me anymore. And Disneyland sounded like fun. So did having a spa day. But Tiff gave me a pleading look, and I couldn't resist. "I guess I'll go with Tiffani," I said.

  Ink looked disappointed. I guess they hoped we'd each take a different "prize" so there would be more diverse footage to work with. "Be ready in half an hour."

  The Beverly Center wasn't as swank as Rodeo Drive, or as trendy as Mel-rose Avenue, but there was a great variety of stores. We decided to start at Bergdorf's and work our way through the mall from there.

  "Oh my God," Tiffani said, stroking a bright red cashmere wrap. "You've got to feel this."

  I smiled. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been that excited about shopping. After all the modeling, I'd started to hate clothes. I usually wore inexpensive off-the-rack stuff and some of the nicer pieces that the designers would send around. That was one of the perks of the job. I had loads of status symbol accessories that were only mine because some designer thought Jill Blow would covet his $500 sunglasses because she saw me wearing them in In Style magazine.

  Tiff picked up the price tag and blanched. "It's four hundred and fifty dollars. Every bit of clothing my sisters and I bought last year didn't cost that much."

  Without thinking, I said, "You're kidding."

  Tiffani rubbed the cashmere against her cheek. "Nope. When I said we were poor, I meant real poor."

  "I thought there was just 'poor'."

  She laughed and carefully put the wrap back on its shelf, then ran her hand across the rainbow colors of the rest of the shawls. "We never went to see movies. They cost too much money. We didn't go out to eat. We never had cell phones, or clothes that hadn't been worn by someone else first. Or an inside toilet."

  I stared at her. "You're kidding. How did you find out about American Hero?"

  She laughed. "Honey, everyone has a TV. Even the folks without indoor plumbing."

  We wandered over to the perfume counter. Tiff took a bottle of Joy 1000 off the tester tray and spritzed a little on her wrist, then sniffed. She held her wrist under my nose. The heavy aroma of jasmine and roses wafted up. "It's okay," I said. "It's just not my cup of frothy cappuccino."

  Tiffani sniffed her wrist again. "Mmmmm, I think I like it." She glanced around for a salesgirl. One rushed over. I think she noticed the camera following us.

  The salesgirl gave us a bright smile. "How can I help you?" she asked.

  "How much is this?" Tiffani asked.

  "Do you want the perfume or the cologne?" the salesgirl asked, putting bottles on the counter.

  "Uhm, I'm not sure."

  I leaned over and whispered in Tiff's ear. "Cologne will be cheaper, but doesn't last as long as the perfume."

  "Tell me the price on both," Tiff said.

  "The perfume is one-hundred and sixty, the cologne is seventy-eight."

  "Does it buy you dinner, too?" Tiff asked. She looked between the two bottles, then put them both back on the counter. "I do want to get some things for my family. If I've got anything left, maybe I'll come back."

  The salesgirl plastered on another toothy smile. "Certainly. We're here until nine P.M."

  Tiffani was already wandering toward the shoes. The salesgirl leaned over the counter. "Are you from American Hero?" she asked softly. "Is that Tiffani?"