Nothing. Nothing at all. He feels great about all of this.
In other news, he’s probably going to vomit.
“And who knows,” Maureen says cloyingly. “Maybe you’ll even find real love by the end.”
He won’t. That’s the one thing he knows for absolute certain.
The car comes to a smooth stop, and Maureen pockets her phone. “Now, when we get out, you’ll meet Dev, your new handler, and he’ll coach you through the entrance ceremony.”
Charlie wants to ask what was wrong with his old handler, but the driver turns off the engine, and without another word, Maureen gets out of the car and disappears into the night. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to follow her, or just sit in the car like a pretty puppet until someone shows up to pull his strings.
He chooses the former, refusing to relinquish every ounce of his free will as he embarks on this two-month journey through reality television hell. He dramatically throws his weight against the door… which gives with suspicious ease.
Because it turns out someone is opening the door at that exact moment. He’s thrown off balance. In one fluid motion, he lands facedown at someone’s feet.
“Shit. Are you okay?”
Suddenly, there are hands on him, hoisting him into a standing position exactly like a pretty puppet. The hands belong to a tall man with dark skin whose Adam’s apple is at Charlie’s eye line. There is something disconcerting about having to look up that drastically at another person. He looks up. Dramatic cheekbones and intense eyes behind plastic-framed glasses and an amused mouth. The man gripping the front of his tux （Dev?） slides his fingers into Charlie’s hair to adjust the crown, and it’s too much.
Too much touching.
Too much everything, too quickly.
The anxiety hijacks his brain, and in a panic, he throws himself backward against the car door to break contact. The new handler raises a single eyebrow in response. “So, no touching, then?” He flashes Charlie a crooked smile, like this is all a big joke.
Touching is never a joke to Charlie. He doesn’t hate it as a general rule, but he does prefer advance warning and for hand sanitizer to be involved. He knows he signed up for this show where touching is required, so he attempts to explain. “You can touch me anywhere you like,” he starts.
And he realizes he’s phrased this inelegantly when the man’s other eyebrow shoots up.
“Wait, no, what I meant was… I don’t mind being touched by you, but if you could just… uh… if you could wash your hands first? Not that I think you are unclean. I’m sure you are very clean. I mean, you smell clean, but I have a thing about germs, and if you could maybe warn me? Before you touch me?”
This is what he gets for attempting verbal communication with a stranger. At first, his handler simply stares at him in openmouthed silence. Then… “No!” he says firmly. “Get back in the car.”
Dev yanks the door back open and kicks at Charlie’s legs with the toe of his Converse. Charlie’s reentrance into the car is about as graceful as his exit two minutes before. He tries to scoot backward to make room for the very tall man who is now halfway sitting on top of him.
Dev asks the driver to get out. “I’m sorry,” Charlie blurts. Apologizing always seems like a good idea when he doesn’t understand a social situation, and he has absolutely no idea what’s happening right now.
“Please stop talking!” Dev plunges his hands into a gigantic shoulder bag and pulls out a tiny bottle of green hand sanitizer. He lathers his hands, and Charlie is weirdly moved by the gesture. Then, when he realizes the hand sanitizer means more touching, he is weirdly freaked out by the gesture.
“Lean forward,” Dev orders.