Right in the middle of this merriment that suddenly includes a laughing Shandi, Jenascia, Catie, and the pariah-to-be- named-after- this-scene-airs Xiomara is Heather. Who? Exactly. Lying right next to the runway on a purple shag pillow that the management of the Austin Powers Hotel chain is going to charge her for stealing is Catie 2.0, the other eighteen-year-old blonde who hasn't won a walking competition, who hasn't worn a ring at a fancily vague party for a man nine people have heard of, and who hasn't lived a day without a birthmark her well-meaning parents have convinced her gives her face "character" rather than "a Gorbachevian facial blemish that looks like a tattoo of Delaware." Did the producers not want to cut a real contestant this week so they crowbarred in some Cousin Oliver-type replacement and are going to just axe her instead? I tell you, it really makes you wish even one person in this country had seen the Clone High where they invent a character just to kill him off. You'd be with me the whole time. It makes you wonder why Ponce couldn't have three lives like Mario. But Ponce loved littering! Oh, fine. It's like when Dawn just appears on Buffy.

In maybe her first ever confessional, this so-called "Heather" shares with us the following: "They're not very sociable with me, even though I'm very sociable." Could it be the forlorn glares? And the glassy, vapid stare? And the fact that she might be a CGI hologram only the audience can see, like on-field sports advertising or that little guy from Lord of the Rings whose name, I think, might be "Schneider"? She goes on: "In the house, you do need someone. You can't just go through life not talking to anyone." Heather walks forlornly through a scene of sudden and explosive girl bonding in which everyone has laid down their slam books to do each other's hair and gently hit each other with soft, downy pillows. Cut to Heather on the phone with her mom, saying, "I feel like I'm in hell." Her mother sounds depressingly unsurprised, responding, "So, it's not that fun, huh?" Heather starts to tear up, and she's suddenly holding a big wad of tissues, out of which something falls that makes it look like she was crying something solid. But I don't know what it was. CGI really is the downfall of reality television.