I Didn't Come Here to Make Friends by Courtney Robertson Page B

obvious to me that some of these women weren’t going to make it very far on the show. Emily O’Brien, a stringy-haired Ph.D. candidate studying epidemiology, kept giving out hand sanitizer and talking about sexually transmitted diseases. She and Kacie B were talking major shit about Brittney Schreiner, a woman who’d brought her grandma to meet Ben, making her an early target and an outcast. As everyone else joined in on their shit-talking, not even really behind anyone’s back, Brittney gravitated toward me, the other pariah. Her granny left thirty minutes after she’d arrived. I guess it was past her bedtime.
    Not a single person asked me one question about myself or had a real conversation with me. I felt like nobody made an effort to get to know me. It was confusing because I was trying to engage with all of them. I realized this was not a normal situation. It was definitely a competition.
    In an effort to hog maximum TV time, Monica, from my limo, started rolling around on a couch with a “VIP cocktail waitress” named Blakeley Shea. She couldn’t make up a more distinguished, fake job title like everyone else does? How about hospitality executive? “You’re in my life forever,” Monica cooed to Blakeley. They didn’t look like lesbians; they looked like fools. Plus, the next day they got into a fight and hated each other the rest of their time on the show.
    They weren’t the only ones desperate for airtime. Epidemiology Emily did a really lame white-girl rap, Nicki Sterling started a line dancing lesson in the living room, and Shawn Reynolds played soccer with Ben out in the driveway. When all the girls stampeded out of the house like elephants to join in, I hung back. I didn’t want to look like a stage five clinger already.
    I picked out the women in the house who I thought Ben would like best: Lindzi, the horse girl, would go far for sure. Line dancing Nicki, a bubbly dental hygienist with an ass like Kim Kardashian, definitely had a shot. Two gorgeous blondes, Casey Shteamer and Rachel Truehart, a tomboy with a nose piercing, seemed shoe-ins. At one point in the evening Casey and I bonded in the one bathroom that all the women shared. (You can only imagine how filthy it was.) I helped her recurl her hair and we became fast friends. Phew, I thought. At least one girl here likes me!
    I finally got my first private one-on-one with Ben two hours after the party started. He took my hand and led me as far away from the house as possible, which made me feel special. But when we sat down I got a little tongue-tied. Being myself in front of the cameras with the whole crew watching was hard at first. The crowd threw my game off. I kept licking my lips like a snake and playing with my hair. My voice went up three octaves and I sounded like a nervous schoolgirl.
    Ben and I had a short yet intimate conversation. We talked about our connection to Arizona. He actually grew up in Tucson and once owned a house in Scottsdale. While Ben talked, I sized him up to see if I was attracted to him. I definitely was. I did pick up on that sadness I’d seen on Ashley Hebert’s season and I instantly felt myself caring about him. It’s like something innate came over me to nurture him and—I can’t believe I’m saying this— love him. I will say he seemed very serious and I did worry that he was a little boring. I had an urge to tickle him and loosen him up a bit. He also blinked a lot and had a hard time holding my gaze. I wondered if he had trouble with intimacy.
    Even though we had instant chemistry, he gave Lindzi, who had already changed outfits like Beyoncé at the Grammys, the highly coveted first impression rose. I was slightly jealous of her rose, but also a little relieved. It’s a double-edged sword. Whoever gets it may be safe until the next Rose Ceremony, but they are automatically hated and tortured by the other girls. I didn’t need to be hated any more than I already was. After my chat with Ben, I