Top Twenty Contestants — Day 21

It’d been two weeks since I officially turned down Comtel. Sari, the robot attorney, took it hardest. She went faulty and left the company altogether. On her way out, she emailed her personal Gmail in case I needed anything in the future, which I found odd. I assumed she left because of me asking those tricky questions and turning down the contract. Surely, they blamed her. That’s what companies like Comtel did. Blame the genius associate lady attorney for all shitty practices concentrated squarely up top. But we didn’t have time to dwell of Comtel.

The public dwindled the pool of several hundred contestants to seventy-five and we took it from there. We’d selected twenty phenomenal girls. Since our tastes were so different, some of those nights were knock-down, drag out. Iris gravitated toward quirky girls with bangs while Deacon liked demure poise. I found Wesley’s choices most interesting for obvious reasons. He liked outspoken leaders who reminded me of myself. I tried to keep my opinions neutral and allow their trio the choice instead of potential ties. In the end, they deadlocked at twenty-seven and rock-paper-scissored their way to twenty.

We stood in our dorm living room staring at twenty photographs tacked to the wall. Visually, they were stunning. Covering the rainbow of nationalities, races, and styles.

“We did it,” said Iris. “How will we notify them?”

“I think we send a push notification to all registered users and announce the winners in the App,” Deacon said. “Plus, that’ll drive-up App usage per person. Not that we need it, though. They’re already averaging 2.5 hours per day on. Honestly, I don’t even know what they’re doing on there so long.”

I thought of the three hours I’d spent the prior night scrolling suitors. “Not that hard, actually,” I said under my breath, but Wesley shot me a look.

Thankfully, Wesley’s phone rang and took his attention. “It’s my Grad Counselor,” he said silencing the phone without answering. “Have any of you gone to class this week?”

We all shook our heads. “Surprised they haven’t booted us from Pennypacker.”

“They won’t,” said Deacon. “This makes Harvard look too good. They won’t shut us down. Good publicity drives alumni donations and four students turning down a quarter billion from Comtel is damn good publicity.”

“But didn’t the Comtel CEO go here, too?” asked Iris.

“Brown,” Wesley replied. “He went to Brown.”

All four of us let out the guttural sounds of loyal Harvard students turning our noses up at a competing Ivy. I never thought I’d be that – protective of a school I attended. I’d witnessed it down in Alabama. University of Alabama versus Auburn was a foreign rivalry for me. I saw the passion from either side. During football season especially, the sea of orange and blue versus that of the crimson and cream made me scratch my head a bit. But now, I understood. It’s an internal instinct to pick a side and defend it mightily, even if you had little stake in the rivalry. It was a sense of belonging.

I turned my attention to the ladies on the board to make sure our lineup was well-balanced. My favorite was Iris’ first choice – Andrea, a thick-haired brunette from Long Island. She spoke passionately about art mediums and braided gold wire into her hair. Close second though, Samantha, an exceptionally unhinged blond who spoke her mind and would make phenomenal television.

“Should we at least notify the contestant first?” Iris asked. “Give them a heads up.”

“No,” I said. “I think they find out along with everyone else. On the App. We ready to announce?”

Deacon nodded as he typed commands into the back end. “Should we have Cowboy at the top and the twenty contestants lined up underneath? Or just the ladies alphabetically on a swipe along screen?”

“Alone,” Wesley said. “Cowboy’s famous enough. Let them have their moment without him.”

My bottom lip poked out before I realized, and I shook it off. I couldn’t afford founder feelings, though I’d bet money Iris and Deacon were sneaking around behind our backs. “I agree with Wesley,” I said supporting him but not making eye contact. “Let them have the slide along to themselves. They’ll be linked to him soon enough.”

“Alright,” Deacon replied. “Good to post?”

We nodded.

“Done.”