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She begins to waddle in a circle, the costume squeaking with each movement.
“Emperor penguins have one of nature’s most beautiful mating rituals,” she says, her voice taking on that passionate tone I love. “They’re monogamous during mating season, choosing one partner they stay loyal to through the harshest conditions imaginable.”
She attempts another spin, more successful this time.
“The male guards the egg while the female travels up to fifty miles to find food. When she returns, they recognize each other through their unique calls.” Brielle makes a surprisingly accurate penguin squawk. “Even among thousands of identical-looking penguins, they find their one true mate.”
“And did you know,” I say, unable to help myself, “that some penguin species form same-sex pairs? They’ll even adopt abandoned eggs together.”
Brielle’s eyes light up through the costume’s face opening. “Exactly! Life finds a way, even in the harshest environments. Penguins teach us about devotion, perseverance, and finding joy in difficult circumstances. Plus, they look like they’re wearing tuxedos all the time, which is objectively adorable.”
As she continues her passionate penguin lecture, waddling around the stage, I’m struck by the contrast between her performance and everyone else’s. While the others tried to impress me with sexy dancing, Star Wars references, dangerous stunts—Brielle just... showed up as herself. And now, I just saw an entirely new side of her that I love—weird, smart, funny, and unafraid to look ridiculous.
I’ve never wanted to kiss someone in a penguin costume so badly in my life.
When she finishes with an exaggerated bow that does, in fact, tip her over again, this time she rolls with it, literally doing a full somersault in the inflatable suit, the room fills with applause and laughter. Even I’m clapping, unable to keep the grin off my face.
“That was creatively educational,” I tell her as Skye helps her back to her spot. “And brave.”
Brielle gives me a small, knowing smile. “Thanks.”
As all the women line up for my decision, I’m faced with the impossible choice. They’re all looking at me expectantly—Gabby with confident assurance, Serena with intellectual interest, Annabelle with hopeful anticipation, Luna with smoldering intensity, Kavita with dignified poise, and Brielle with that penguin costume deflating slightly around her shoulders. She knows I can’t pick her.
“I want to thank everyone for sharing their talents today,” I begin, stalling, because I can’t make a decision. “You all impressed me in different ways.”
My eyes move from face to face, avoiding Brielle. “The winner of today’s challenge, and my date for tomorrow night, is...” I take a deep breath. “Annabelle.”
The redhead’s hands fly to her mouth, her eyes immediately welling with tears—happy ones this time. The other women offer congratulations with varying degrees of sincerity.
“Your bravery was incredible,” I tell Annabelle, meaning it. “Going for something dangerous, staying focused even when things didn’t go perfectly—that takes real courage.”
As the women begin to disperse, my eyes find Brielle waddling away, penguin costume rustling with each step. Somehow, she makes even that look dignified.
This show was supposed to be part career move, a chance to raise my profile as a photographer, part possibly finding someone compatible in the process. I wasn’t supposed to actually develop feelings this complex, this confusing, this genuine,thisfast.
I sit in the interview chair, plastering on my camera-ready smile and preparing to tell the truth: that many women impressed me today, and I had a hard time picking a winner. My feelings are a ball of confusion, and August would definitely not approve. But then again, August isn’t the one trapped in this gilded cage of my own making, a place where being ripped up inside is the point.
10
The Game Changer
HAYES
Darren approaches with a phone in his hand, saying, “A voicemail. From your son.”
My heart stutters. August. My brilliant, sensitive nine-year-old who can explain quantum entanglement but struggles with playground politics.
“I’ll give you some privacy,” Darren adds, which dials up my nerves another notch.
I stare at the phone, afraid. August wouldn’t call off-schedule unless something was wrong. My mom is supposed to be handling everything—school drop offs, chess club, his dinosaur-shaped macaroni dinner on Wednesdays. I haven’t talked to himin three days, the longest we’ve gone without speaking since... since Sarah died.
My finger hovers over the voicemail icon. Press play, and I take on whatever pain or worry August is experiencing. But he called. He needs me.
I press play.
“Hi Dad.” His voice is higher than usual, with that wobble that means he’s holding back tears. “I know you’re busy with the show and everything, but I just...” A pause, a sniffle. “I just wanted to hear your voice, I guess.”
My throat tightens.