Seven Exes Are Eight Too Many

by Heather Wardell

  "Princess?"

  His voice was barely a whisper but it scared me half to death. I spun around to see the dim outline of a camera man.

  "Sorry," he said. "Are you okay?"

  I so didn't want to do this. I didn't have much of a choice, though. Having stood up, my need was rapidly becoming dire. "I... do you know where they dug the latrine?"

  He shook his head. "I was following the other guys. But Dom might know." He turned and poked the other camera man, lounging on my rock. I had a brief flash of indignation before realizing how silly it was to be possessive over a rock.

  "Dom, man, wake up."

  After several pokes and a few muttered curses, Dom was alert enough to point out the appropriate path. I thanked the first guy and took a deep breath, preparing to start my trek.

  "I can take you if you want."

  "I don't want to be filmed!"

  He gave an embarrassed cough. "I wasn't going to film you. I have a flashlight."

  "Okay." It wasn't, but neither was breaking an ankle stumbling through the night.

  Dom now sat upright, his camera pointed in my direction. Great. The first guy, his flashlight aimed away from the sleeping men, headed into the jungle, and I followed, picking my way over rocks and fallen trees. Not much of a path, but I could tell my exes had tried to clear it.

  After walking in silence for a few minutes, we reached an area where the trees thinned, allowing a hint of moonlight through. He stopped and shone the flashlight toward some scruffy bushes. "The path ends over there, so that'll be it. I can wait for you if you want."

  "No, that's okay. Can I keep the flashlight, though?"

  "I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to give stuff to you, not even for a few minutes."

  Which was better, struggling to find my way back in the dark or letting a strange man wait a few feet away while I peed?

  I'd made the trip safely. I could make it back by myself. "Then I'll meet you back there."

  "If you're not back in ten minutes, I'll come find you." Before I could respond, he said hurriedly, "Unless you think you'll take longer. I mean... I'm not asking what..."

  "If I need help, I'll yell, okay?" I said, smiling despite my embarrassment. His took the edge off mine.

  "Gotcha."

  Once the sound of him crashing over the ground faded away I moved cautiously toward the bushes. I found the ditch, fortunately not by stepping in it, and managed to not make a mess of myself. The box which had held the hot dogs now sat on the ground, faintly illuminated by the moonlight, crammed full of leaves. I assumed, I hoped, the guys knew the difference between safe leaves and poison ivy, or whatever passed for poison ivy in the jungle.

  Once I returned to the path, the darkness was all-encompassing. I could almost feel it on my skin. Step after tiny step I moved forward, and after what seemed like a few minutes I began to worry that I was lost.

  Fifteen more steps, and then I'd have to give up and call for help. I didn't want to. If I fell apart on my first real challenge, how would I ever survive the rest?

  On the thirteenth step, I saw the light. Literally. A wavering beam shining in my direction, flickering through the trees. Go into the light, MC. The camera man shut off the flashlight and whispered "Good job" as I reached him. I smiled as best I could, feeling Dom's camera lens staring at me, and returned to the shelter.

  Buried in sweaters, surrounded by snoring men, twitching every so often to make sure the rat wouldn't sit on me if it returned... not exactly what I'd envisioned for my television debut.

  *****

  Aaron flicked a spider from his arm. "What do we need with us?"

  "Nothing. Wear shorts and running shoes." Peter, immaculate in khaki shorts and a deep blue polo shirt that matched his eyes, returned to his boat, taking last night's camera crew with him and leaving the new one behind.

  I shook out and refolded the clothes I'd used overnight, trying to decide what to wear. I hadn't brought shorts or pants, only a gym skirt with built-in shorts for kickboxing in my hotel room. My clothes were all new, a little sexier than my regular clothes, and Liv-approved as suitable for snaring a man. But they were hopelessly unsuitable for island life.

  The state of my poor pink dress after a single day told me I wouldn't be able to wear the gym skirt the whole time, but for now it would do. I found it, a tank top, and clean underwear, and fought my way a few feet into the jungle to change, amazed by the many bug bites I'd already acquired.

  When I put back my dirty clothes, I spotted a sheet of paper taped to the suitcase. Even after three reads I couldn't believe it. They'd taken everyone's soap, deodorant, and shampoo? The stench in camp would be unbelievable. At least they'd left my toothbrush and toothpaste. Since my hairbrush was also gone I scraped my hair into a ponytail with my fingers, then slathered myself with the sunscreen they'd provided.

  Only Michael and Aaron were around, busy with the fire and a pot of water, and I approached them cautiously, wishing I felt more confident.

  "Hey, baby." Aaron looked up, then chuckled. "You a football player now?"

  "Am I... what?"

  "Those are either the world's worst bags under your eyes or you didn't take off your makeup last night."

  "It's the second one," I said, embarrassed at my grubbiness. Everyone dreads running into an ex when they don't look their best, and I had seven here to see me at my worst. Eight including Kent. "Although it's probably both, really. I couldn't sleep."

  "Accommodations not to the lady's liking?" He grinned. "Want me to clean you up a bit?"

  I scrubbed my thumbs under my eyes.

  "Not even close. Come here."

  He poured canteen water onto the hem of his black t-shirt then used the fabric to smooth away my makeup. I shut my eyes, both to give him better access and to keep myself from staring at his exposed strong chest and taut stomach. The last remnants of his cologne still clung to him, mingling with the fire's smoke and a hint of sweat into something so powerfully male that I had to clench my fists at my sides to keep from touching him.

  "There you go," he said, his voice unusually serious, and I took a step backward before opening my eyes. He was staring at me, a considering expression on his face. Our eyes locked for a moment then I turned away, shaken by the depth of my reaction to him. True, I'd been single for a few months, but still, where had all my self-restraint gone?

  By the time Michael said, "Rice is ready," the rest of us sat in the rock circle anxiously awaiting the food. Sam and Jim had fetched water, and several guys had taken a swim. I'd have to try that myself later; I was already craving a shower.

  Plain rice with no seasoning except the odd little bug with a death wish. Fabulous. We forced ourselves to eat, with Aaron driving us on and insisting we'd need our strength.

  "For what?" Phillip finally said. "It's us against all those women. No problem."

  "Do you even hear yourself when you say stuff like that?"

  Phillip turned on me but Aaron managed to start talking before he did. "We need to keep us all here. On 'Stranded!' the winner is picked by the audience from the team with the most members left. We can't afford to lose anyone so we need to stay strong."

  So that answered that question. It would be a single winner. I would be the single winner.

  Phillip effortlessly transferred his annoyance to Aaron. "But we don't know it's like that."

  "True, but Peter said it was like 'Stranded!', so we don't know it's not like that," Michael said, and the rest of the guys nodded. I'd noticed Michael's opinion carried a lot of weight with the guys, which made sense given he was the only one who'd expected to be here. I'd also noticed Aaron didn't like that much.

  Was Kent having more luck forming his exes into a team than I was? He could hardly be having much less.

  *****

  The boats' arrival ended our unproductive conversation, and in moments we were speeding away. The noise of the motor and the water rushing past made talking difficult, and I didn't try. Instead, I clo
sed my eyes and raised my face, letting the wind stream over me and imagining my nervousness blowing away with it. I didn't want to do this competition dirty and tired as I was, and I wanted to see Kent even less.

  We pulled up to another island and a swarm of people descended on us, attaching wireless microphones to our shirts and wrapping belts with battery packs around our waists. My exes' grimaces made it clear that they liked the idea of their every word being recorded as much as I did. Only Dean, used to being wired for sound, seemed unconcerned.

  "Princess's Court ready?" A voice crackled through a camera man's walkie-talkie, and Phillip and Greg rolled their eyes. The man looked around, checking, then said, "Ready."

  We followed him through the trees until he stepped aside and waved us into a clearing a bit larger than our camp site. Trees surrounded it on all sides, a few paths snaking off into the wilderness, and the ground was covered with scruffy grass. Peter stood in the middle, his hand resting on something big under a blanket.

  I only glanced at him, though. Kent was entering the clearing from the other side, his exes following. I didn't want to look at him but I couldn't help myself.

  He'd always smiled when he saw me, but I hadn't seen a single smile from him yet. Our eyes met, and I saw nothing in his. No anger, no bitterness, no feeling toward me at all, just an almost dead coldness. It made me shiver.

  Didn't my presence bother him at all? His was certainly bothering me. He wore black shorts and a grey t-shirt, and he definitely hadn't let himself go after we broke up. I hadn't either, but I knew my rough night showed. He, on the other hand, looked casual and relaxed. Big difference. His hair was wet, so he'd probably been smart enough to swim and wash away the night's dirt.

  Swim, surrounded by his bevy of bathing beauties.

  I took a deep breath. I would not show him how awkward I felt. When we were close enough to speak without shouting, I said, "Good morning," pushing the words out to keep my voice from wobbling. We hadn't spoken to each other since the day I'd left him, and all I could think of was how he'd let me down and how he'd looked before I'd walked away.

  "Hi." Still no smile, but he added, "How are you doing?" and his eyes showed a hint of concern before the blankness returned.

  I nodded, trying to look calm and confident and not like his flicker of support had sent a thrill through me. "Surviving. You?"

  He nodded back. Hardly scintillating conversation, but at least we were talking. Sort of.

  "MC, I had you pegged as shy," Peter said. "I'm surprised you're starting conversations."

  Not again. If I had a nickel for every time someone thought that, I wouldn't need the stupid million. "I'm not shy. I just don't like sharing every little detail. I like my privacy."

  "This isn't the best place for privacy," he said, earning himself a gold medal for stating the obvious. I formed my lips into a line that vaguely resembled a smile and said nothing.

  Taking the hint, he said, "Well, let's get started." He didn't, though, and we stood in silence for maybe three seconds before he said, "Good morning, all," as if we'd just arrived. I realized they weren't going to broadcast his visit to our island. Or to Kent's if he'd gone there too. They'd only show the really interesting parts.

  So I'd simply make sure I did nothing crazy enough to be shown.

  "Welcome to your first full day. A few notes before we get started. Any contest after this one could involve swimming. You're welcome to swim in your clothes, or you can wear a bathing suit to each contest if you prefer."

  The only thing worse than showing off my tiny bikini would be starring in a wet t-shirt contest. I'd have to remember to wear my suit.

  "And apparently I also need to remind you not to speak to the camera crews."

  I jumped, but he wasn't looking at me.

  "They seemed bored so I thought we could have fun chatting." Summer beamed at Peter.

  His mouth twitched. "They may well be bored but still, no fun with the staff, please."

  "Oh, fine," she said, rolling her eyes at Kent, who shook his head and smiled at her.

  Rattled by the obvious affection between them, I didn't realize right away Peter had turned to me. "You too, Princess," he said when I'd focused on him. "The crew is off limits."

  My face burned, and Phillip said, "On the prowl already? Seven guys aren't enough?"

  "It wasn't like that," I hissed, hoping to shut him up.

  Peter said, "That's true, but now that you--"

  Oh, please don't.

  "--know where the latrine is, there's no reason to talk to them, right?"

  I nodded without looking at him, blushing so hard it hurt. I was overreacting and I knew it, but knowing made it even more embarrassing, and the more I blushed the less I could control it. I could feel the weight of everyone's eyes on me, crushing me.

  Fortunately, Peter got down to business, taking the attention away from me. "We have three different kinds of contests for you. Today, we'll play the first kind, for a prize."

  One of Kent's exes said, "Aren't you going to tell us how the money works?"

  Peter looked like she'd suggested he drop his pants and dance naked for us. "Why?"

  "Well, so we know how it works."

  "You know everything you need to know."

  "We don't know anything," she retorted.

  Peter smiled that bland smile and said, "If you say so. Back to the contest."

  "What's the prize?" Aaron asked.

  "You really want to know?"

  Fourteen exes and two fake royals nodded, so Peter drew the blanket away to reveal pillows and more blankets, and a black metal object with a wicked point at one end and a loop of rope at the other.

  "Fishing spear," Michael murmured, and Peter nodded. "Winner takes all. Now, you'll solve a series of puzzles. I'll give you the first three items and you decide what the fourth is. For example, if I said A, B, C, the next would be D. Got it?"

  We got it.

  "If you ask me to check and you're wrong, the other Court wins. Prince and Princess, you choose the teams, which will consist of yourself plus three of your Court members. You have one minute to prepare."

  I studied my exes, trying to ignore Aaron practically jumping up and down to be chosen. "Greg." His skills as a high school math teacher couldn't hurt. Sam the video game fanatic was next, and then one more. I thought hard.

  "Phillip."

  "Why him?"

  "Because I said so, Aaron." Truth was, I didn't know why him, except that he was a lawyer and therefore presumably logical, so maybe he'd be good. And maybe the other guys would like him more if we won. So far he'd caused most of the arguments around camp.

  Peter directed my other exes to a bench opposite Kent's exes, and I tried to ignore the staring and giggling passing between the groups. I'd never been into straight-on puzzles like this, so I was likely to be the weak link and I needed to focus.

  With Phillip and Sam and Greg, I stood in front of a large podium covered by a sheet of wood. Kent, standing across from me with Summer, Tara, and Kayla grouped around him, stared down at his podium, and his lack of interest unnerved me again.

  Peter checked to make sure both teams were ready, then said, "Three, two, one, go!" Greg pushed the wood away and we were off.

  We worked well together, even Phillip accepting corrections without taking offense, and soon had five answered. The sixth and final puzzle, though, eluded us.

  Sam said, "A, T, T... then what? Any idea, guys, anything?"

  I tried everything I could think of. All the tiny technology? Apricots take turns politely? Aardvarks taste terrible uncooked?

  "Talk it through out loud," Phillip said. "Might help." Or not.

  Greg muttered, "Alaska, Texas, Timbuktu... no..."

  Sam slapped his hand against the podium and whispered, "Tu, that's it! Ace, two, three."

  Of course! I wrote '4' in the space and we yelled for Peter, who came over to check. Just as he reached us, Phillip snatched the chalk from my hand a
nd changed my last answer to 'F'. Horror swept me. Had he changed it in time? I stood, hardly daring to breathe.

  *****

  United for the first time, eight voices sang "We are the Champions", each in a slightly different key and with varying recollection of the lyrics, as we arranged our bounty in the shelter. Dean winced but joined in anyhow. I'd forgotten how beautiful his voice was, rich and full.

  I butchered the end of the song by shrieking when a rat, maybe the rat, scampered from under the shelter, narrowly avoiding running over my feet, and disappeared into the jungle.

  "Don't tell me you're afraid of rats, MC."

  "All right, I won't," I said, echoing Phillip's joking tone.

  He winked, making me grin at him without meaning to, and he smiled back. Our victory had mellowed him like I'd hoped, and he hadn't even criticized me for my near-fatal mistake. "Are you afraid?"

  "Not really. Not a huge fan of rodents, though, I guess."

  "Sleep with one eye open then."

  "I had them both open most of the night." The guys laughed, and laughed harder when I added, "I think we've met before, me and that rat. It climbed over my leg."

  "MC's got a boyfriend," Aaron chanted, and I rolled my eyes.

  "If you really don't like it we could try to chase it away," Sam said.

  "It's not that bad now that I know it's there. If only it wouldn't skitter around like that."

  "Wouldn't be a rat then," Jim said.

  Michael cleared his throat. "Sometimes on 'Stranded!' teams name an animal and treat it as a pet."

  "You want to name a rat?"

  He stared at the ground and didn't answer.

  "I think we should," Jim said. "It could be our mascot."

  Strange, but no stranger than this whole experience. "What'll we call it?"

  Aaron and Phillip said, "Kent," and the others laughed and agreed.

  "Come on, we can't do that."