Reality Gold

by Tiffany Brooks

  Also tugging at the back of my mind was a growing fear that Deb had lied to me. I used to be the kind of person who took everything at face value, but not anymore. No way. Assume everyone is out to get you, that’s my credo these days. So what was up with Deb going out of her way to assure me that the show wouldn’t have much to do with the real treasure? Filming on Black Rock was just a gimmick, she’d said. Something to give the show an interesting theme.

  Not so much, it turned out. The question was why.

  A string of small islands popped into view through the porthole windows above the hand-holding girls. My stomach flipped. There it was, at the heart of the island chain: Black Rock Island. Big black mountains in the dead center, a banana-shaped beach on the right, lots of green everywhere else—a deceptively tranquil view of a place that over the years had soaked up enough blood to earn its cursed reputation.

  I nudged Taylor and enthusiastically pointed to the islands, a peace offering of sorts, a gesture she seemed to appreciate based on her squeal of excitement.

  Everyone turned to look, even Deb.

  “There it is, gang,” she called. “The largest island—the one in the middle—is Black Rock, your home for the next twenty-six days. That is, if you’re lucky.”

  Everyone contorted themselves to find a view. I didn’t want any of the players to know I’d been to the island before, so I did my camo thing, staring out the window and ooh’ing and aah’ing like everyone else.

  When we all slid back against the helicopter walls, I noticed that Joaquin, the on-camera host of the show, was standing next to Deb. We’d been introduced to him briefly before takeoff.

  “Joaquin is going to do another welcome speech in case we don’t like the footage we shot back at the airfield,” Deb explained. “Double-up filming is probably going to happen a lot, but we need you to play along and listen as if you’re hearing it for the first time.”

  Joaquin was handsome in an outdoorsy way. Dark brown hair with high cheekbones that were naturally ruddy from spending time in the sun. He was wearing what basically looked like a costume, a rugged outfit in the style of Indiana Jones: khaki shorts and a safari shirt with lots of buttons and tabs. He had such a strong presence that his jungle attire didn’t even make him look out of place against the stark metal consoles and screens and wires.

  A cameraman knelt down on the floor in front of him.

  When Joaquin spoke, he gave the exact speech he had made a couple of hours before in the same lilting Latino accent. “You are about to embark on a journey in a land full of rich traditions. My people have lived here since the time of the Incan Empire,” he said before launching into a background of the Incas, their bravery, and most importantly, their gold. “Since the early 1600s, treasure hunters have come to this island searching for hidden treasure, and now it is your turn—to find the treasure hidden within yourselves.”

  It was just as cheesy the second time around, but if anyone could pull it off, Joaquin could. His earnest, easy­going charm allowed him to say things that would seem fake if anyone else tried.

  He kept going, but I was having a hard time paying attention because the helicopter was descending at a rapid rate. We weren’t over the island yet, but we were very low and close to the water.

  “And so here we are, Black Rock Island, or as my people would say, Ilha da Rocha Negra. For many of you, this will be your home for the next week or two, maybe three, and for a few lucky ones, a little bit longer,” Joaquin continued. “And in honor of the bravery and daring of the Incan warriors and the treasure seekers who have come before you, I invite you now to dive into our beautiful waters and swim to your new shore.”

  There was silence for a second, and then a pop of earsplitting noise as everyone understood what he meant. We wouldn’t be landing on the island. We were going to have to jump from the helicopter.

  I’d once woken up to ninety-three texts, countless snaps, and even a few missed calls—a true rarity—but that wasn’t much worse than the Oh my God, what have I gotten myself into? feeling that surged over me when I looked down at the water, a million feet below.

  3

  Reactions exploded around me, ranging from fear to excitement.

  Taylor turned toward me, as incredulous as I was.

  “Did you know we were going to have to do this?” she asked. I had noticed earlier that her rapid-fire way of talking made her sound excitable, but that was nothing compared to how hyped up she was now.

  “God, no,” I answered.

  We exchanged exclamations of disbelief. Taylor used her hands to punctuate everything, and her fingers flew wildly from her temples and down her neck until she finally pushed both palms flat against her chest, as if to keep her heart from pushing through her chest.

  “Do you know how long it took me to straighten my hair this morning? I wanted at least one day with good hair. Oh my God. I can’t believe this.”

  Taylor had thick hair even longer than mine, hanging well below her shoulder blades in a crisp, even line. If it wasn’t naturally straight it must have taken hours to flat iron.

  “Do you have a hair tie?” Her hands flew into prayer position. “Please? I can’t deal if it gets ruined so soon.”

  I had two hair ties on my right wrist, buried beneath a row of leather bracelets. I pulled one off and gave it to her, resisting the urge to point out that there was no way anyone’s hair was going to stay dry jumping off this thing. My own hair would naturally dry straight, but I decided to loosely braid it to stay out of my face during the jump. Taylor used the borrowed hair tie to twist hers into a tight bun high on top of her head.

  I hoped the cameras caught the exchange. See, world? I knew how to share.

  “I’m Riley.”

  “Taylor, and oh my God, you literally saved my life,” Taylor said. “I’m serious. You shouldn’t keep those on your wrist, though. I heard some girl got an infection and died from her hair tie being too tight.”

  Around us everyone was still buzzing. But I don’t have my bathing suit on. How far will we have to swim? Is this dangerous? And from Porter and a similarly preppy guy next to him, Hell, yeah and some more fist bumping.

  Taylor leaned over. “That’s Willa Kisses over there, right?”

  I started to turn in the direction where Taylor was staring.

  She grabbed my arm. I felt her fingernails; this girl was intense.

  “Don’t look now,” she hissed. “The girl across from us, the really gorgeous one.”

  “Her last name is Kisses?”

  “No, dummy. WillaKisses_xo. That’s her Instagram!” Taylor released my arm and swatted me gently. “She’s got like a billion followers. I can’t believe it might be her! I knew some famous people would be doing this thing. I can’t believe we won’t have Internet this whole time. I can’t wait that long to look her up.”

  Oh, so that was it! I had seen that girl somewhere: Insta­gram. How embarrassing. Back at the airport, I’d almost asked her if she was also from San Francisco because she looked so familiar. I felt a flush of satisfaction at Taylor’s no Internet comment. I hadn’t brought the satellite to investigate the competition, but looking everyone up would be a nice side benefit. WillaKisses_xo was definitely going to be my first search. Still, I felt a twinge about Taylor getting so excited when she’d recognized Willa. If she was looking out for people worth identifying, she might pin me next.

  Deb walked up and down the aisle between us, holding onto ceiling straps along the way as if they were monkey bars.

  “Before you arrived, I asked you to dress yourselves as a form of an introduction by wearing clothes that reflect who you are. This is going to be your second chance to show yourself off to the audience, so make a statement,” she urged.

  I looked around, scoping out the competition. Hard to tell what they’d be like in the context of the game, but as for what we looked l
ike, it was pretty obvious we’d been cast to fill every possible stereotype. Several different ethnicities were covered—Indian, African American, Asian—distributed across a variety of personality types. There were jocks, preps, hipsters, sorority-type girls, and nerds. It wasn’t hard to tell who was trying to be what, based on the outfits. I hadn’t wanted to stand out, so I’d gone for average, wearing simple jean shorts and a light blue V-neck T-shirt. But there were a few who had taken things to the extreme. The guy who’d tossed his cowboy hat exuded country charm, a football fan in a Patriots jersey had the sporty thing down, and the girl with purple-tipped hair was definitely edgy, possibly even a little scary. Maren, I’d heard her say her name was. I made a mental note to stay out of her way.

  “Are you ready to show you can be a contender?” Deb called. “Let’s see your stuff! Come on, who’s first? Porter? How about you?”

  Porter nodded, making an I got this face. All around him his new friends were raising their fists in solidarity. He started to stand, but Deb held up her hand.

  “Great, but hold on,” she told him. “Joaquin needs to be the one to get this party started.”

  Deb retraced her monkey bars walk, ending near the cockpit, away from the cameras. Suddenly the ramp started to lower.

  It only took a few seconds for the ramp to yawn all the way open. Wind and noise and chaos poured inside. It felt a bit like we were inside a giant whale, ready to be spit out.

  Wait. My mind flitted to the pile of bags at the back. The compass might survive a swim, but the satellite and my notes definitely wouldn’t. I’d have to leave my bag. We all would. But . . . that was fine, right?

  Or was it? My trust issues kicked back in. We’d been specifically told to pull out our most valuable things and put them in those small, separate bags. Why? All our stuff was supposed to end up at the same place. What was the point of sorting anything out?

  Maybe it was an easy way for the crew to do a more detailed search of the bag where we’d most likely hide any contraband. That was worrisome. The satellite might not pass a close inspection.

  I was getting a bad feeling about all this.

  Another helicopter hovered a short distance away. The sun glinted off a camera lens in the open door, just in case I had any doubts our plunges would be commemorated from every angle.

  “To ease your minds, we’re only fifty meters from the beach,” Deb said, “and as you can see, there is another helicopter out there. Experienced medics are on board in full scuba gear, ready to jump in. Not that anyone will need it.”

  Joaquin took over.

  “Swim to shore, where you’ll be self-sorting yourselves into two teams,” he said. “You will find two baskets of bandannas on the beach at the high-tide mark. Since there are twenty of you, each basket holds ten bandannas. The yellow bandannas represent the Sol team, in honor of the sun god worshipped by the Incas. The green bandannas are for the Huaca team. Huaca is the ancient word for natural, revered objects like rocks and caves.”

  He swept his arm toward the door. “Choose well, and let the games begin!”

  At the door, Porter did a few exaggerated arm stretches, then turned, gave a wave, and hopped out the door in a straight line.

  Naturally he’d gone first. He seemed like someone who’d be right in the middle of everything. I’d been crazy to think I had a chance with him; everyone was clapping and watching his jump in admiration.

  Plenty of people were lining up to take their turn, even a couple of nerdy-looking guys who I never would have thought would be at the front of the line. I’d been counting on them to put up a fuss—I really didn’t want to be the only one to hesitate. I didn’t want to be a troublemaker. I wanted to fit in. Doing what everyone else does is what keeps you safe.

  “I’m totally freaking out,” Taylor muttered as she stood up. She motioned urgently for me to stand, too. “Come on.”

  I reluctantly stood, apparently too slowly for Taylor because she went ahead, wiggling through the crowd to slide behind Willa and her friend, who might have been even prettier than Willa. Alex, I was pretty sure her name was. Was she famous, too? She looked vaguely familiar, but maybe it was just that the combo of thick eyebrows and light green eyes was a popular look right now. Even more impressive than the buttery color of her blond hair was how silky it looked, even from a distance.

  After Willa positioned herself in the middle of the ramp, she took off her T-shirt and shorts and flicked them daintily at Joaquin. She was wearing a tiny white crocheted bikini. Of course she was—although with a body like hers, I probably wouldn’t wear clothes unless I had to, either.

  Then she and possibly-Alex held hands and jumped together.

  Taylor was next, and there were a few laughs as her wail floated up in her wake.

  “The rotor wash is pushing these kids underwater,” the pilot’s voice said through an intercom. “I’ve got to go higher.”

  A heavy guy, the football fan in the Patriots jersey who had called everyone “bro” back at the airport, was next in line. His last name was Murchison but he’d told everyone to call him Murch.

  “Say what?” Murch had that slow, deliberate confidence that seemed as if it was issued to sporty guys along with their team uniforms. He wasn’t a prize, physically: overweight, with crooked front teeth. Still, his innate swagger meant he probably had a huge group of sports-minded followers back home, wherever that was.

  Deb poked her head inside the cockpit and a few seconds later the helicopter rose up.

  “Higher. Great. We really have to do this?” Murch asked Joaquin. “Listen, man. I know I look like I’m one big floatation device, but I’m not. I’m gonna sink like a stone, guaranteed. You want my drowning on your head? How about we just land this thing on that flat beach over there so the rest of us can get out, nice and dry.”

  “Interesting, Murch. I wouldn’t have guessed that you, of all the players, would want to look so weak,” Joaquin told him.

  Ouch. Murch made a skeptical face. “Weak? Hell, no. Fine. Bring this thing higher and let’s do it.”

  I stood, reluctantly. I couldn’t risk leaving my bag behind. Arriving without the satellite I’d be just another player in the game. It wouldn’t be enough. Not by a long shot. The satellite was my key to success—if I found the gold, or even anything of importance, I’d be able to get online for advice. I’d even set up a cloud storage account so I could upload photos. I had a single chance to get this right, to accomplish something. Once I left the island, that was it.

  Deep breath, Riley.

  Jumping: no big deal or huge mistake?

  Refusing to jump: calling attention to myself for no reason, or a necessary action?

  Everyone’s eyes were on me. No doubt they were wondering why I was standing there not doing anything. I felt exposed, raw, the way I felt whenever I stumbled unsuspecting onto a nasty comment or a bad picture of me. I couldn’t go back to living like that.

  “I’m not going to do it,” I told Joaquin. “You can call it weak, or whatever you want, and you can bring me back to the mainland, but I’m staying in the helicopter.”

  For a few seconds no one did anything.

  There was only one other guy left on the helicopter besides Murch, and he spoke first. “Me neither,” he said. “I’ve got to protect the foot! I didn’t get a soccer scholarship just to lose it when I crack my ankle on some underwater junk down there.”

  The others joined in, agreeing. No one left wanted to jump. A few girls toward the front of the line quickly sat down.

  I relaxed a little bit. Once you weren’t the only one not doing something, things got easier.

  “It’s your choice to jump or not,” Joaquin said, quieting everyone down. “However, as I mentioned, the players who already jumped are likely to judge that decision and it may come back to haunt you. Are you still choosing not to jump?”

 
; I nodded. Others joined me.

  “Well, if they aren’t jumping, then I’m not going to, either,” Murch said, obviously relieved despite all his earlier bluster.

  Annika, a tall girl in athletic shorts wearing a knee brace, sat next to me. “Thank you so much! I really did not want to do that.”

  I got a few thumbs-up from the other girls. Okay, good. I had my bag and the gratitude of some of the other players. Not a bad start.

  Maren was the only one who wasn’t looking overly appreciative, and her purple-streaked hair and dark makeup made her look downright gloomy. She had been in the jumping line but at some point she’d sat down. Funny. She looked like someone who would have jumped to look tough, to prove she wasn’t scared.

  Deb updated the pilot and the ramp began to rise. The wind immediately died down when it was fully closed, although the helicopter still bobbed in the air a bit.

  “Perhaps there will be a benefit to your choice after all,” Joaquin said. “The eight of you will be allowed to carry your personal packs onto the beach.”

  Well, well. Validation flooded through me. It had been a trick.

  “What do you mean? The others don’t get to keep their little bags?” Maren asked.

  “They will get their clothing bags delivered later, Maren, just like you will. But their personal packs?” Joaquin raised his shoulders. “They left them behind. They must not have considered those packs important.”

  Maren stood up. She looked excited, or at least as excited as a girl with black lipstick can. “You’re not going to hand them out later?”

  Joaquin shook his head. “A good treasure hunter should always keep his tools with him.”

  “Or her,” Maren said. She went to the pile of packs near the cockpit, rifling through them and calling out names.

  “Riley?”

  I raised my hand, and Maren tossed my bag over.