Reality Gold

by Tiffany Brooks

  But I hadn’t even realized Willa had been photographing me, which had got me thinking: Why were we positive that the giant cameras Harry and Lou lugged around were the only ways we were being filmed?

  “Maybe Deb did film us, but we didn’t know it. We know they use drones sometimes. That’s not a secret. But who says they don’t have tiny little hidden cameras everywhere? They obviously have access to some high-level technology. Harry could have stalked us with a really pro camera. We would have been really easy to follow. We weren’t that careful.”

  “I don’t know.” AJ still looked doubtful.

  “The other thing is, why would they give us these phones? I know Deb said it was to use our pictures and videos to supplement the official footage, but really? Seems like a risky thing to do. Willa can definitely handle herself on both sides of a camera, but how many of the rest of us can even take a decent photograph? I can’t imagine that any pictures I took would be good enough to be used in the show.”

  AJ swallowed, hard. I could see his mind racing. “But you saw it, that shrine had to be legit.”

  “Was it? We weren’t there very long, it was pretty dark in there, and it was so exciting that we weren’t exactly inspecting it for authenticity. Remember, we’re here for a TV show, with people who are used to creating props and sets. They seem pretty good at it. That arena changes into something new for every single challenge.”

  “Oh my God,” AJ said. “Oh, my freaking God. If this is a hoax, I am going to kill someone, I swear. The treasure is why I came here. If it turns out not to be real—”

  “Maybe the reason there was no treasure at the spot is because Deb is so busy that she didn’t get a chance to plant it yet.”

  “No.” AJ shook his head. “I refuse to believe it, and you know why? This show can barely keep its own shit together. They’re barely remembering to feed us—you think Deb could come up with clues like this? They’re hard, and they follow the proper methodology for sign interpretation. No way she managed that. And why make us think there’s someone else searching? Way more dramatic and worthwhile if we have to dig up the markers ourselves instead of someone basically handing them to us.”

  “But—”

  “Nope.” AJ help up his hand. “Not buying it.”

  I wished I was as confident as he was. I hadn’t used my old question test in a while, but this was the perfect time.

  AJ: self-deluded, or confident?

  I watched him walk to the boys’ cabin. He was actually whistling. No doubt if asked, he’d choose the second answer, confident, and wasn’t what he thought of himself really the only thing that mattered? If the treasure hunt did turn out to be a sham, he’d still probably find a way to make it work for him.

  26

  Nearly everyone made it to the Snack Bar for Rohan’s shredded chicken tacos. It was one of the best dinners we’d had so far, but it wasn’t enough to put us in a good mood.

  Rohan was partly to blame. “Eat up,” he advised. “The word I’m hearing is that this show is hanging on by a thread. One more bad thing happens, and the studio might pull the plug.”

  The fact that Taylor didn’t react with screams and an endless repetition of Oh my God was even more depressing, because it meant even she had seen the writing on the wall.

  After dinner, Cody made an executive decision and signed both of us up for dish duty, which was really just an excuse for him to convince me to drop the treasure hunt.

  “Let’s hold on to the shrine as our ace in the hole,” he said, pulling plates from the soapy sink water and handing them to me to dry. “If the show gets yanked, we’ll tell Deb about it and claim the two hundred and fifty grand. But the treasure prize isn’t worth risking the show right now. You got me? No distractions. We all put everything we’ve got into making sure this TV show keeps going.”

  I agreed. Now that there was a possibility the clues had been faked, the show was all I had. No gold, and no Porter. If I wanted to leave with something to show for the experience, I needed the show just as much as everyone else.

  Anxiety over our future meant the gathering at the fire pit was rowdier than it had ever been.

  Justin collected some wood to get the fire started. “At the hospital, I heard Deb and Katya talking,” he told us. “Did you guys know the losers are all stuck in a bunkhouse in the crew village on Challenge Island? Deb’s keeping them there so they can’t go home and tell everyone any show secrets. Can you imagine how much that sucks? I thought the benefit of getting voted off would be that you’d get to go to a hotel with a real bed and Internet access.”

  “You’d leave for a better bed?” Maren asked. “Lame. You should vote yourself off for that. No one will stop you. I’ll even applaud.”

  “I had no idea I bothered you so much. In that case, I think I’ll stay.”

  Who was Justin going to tell he wanted to leave, anyway? There was no one in charge. I’d gotten used to seeing crew members in their black Reality Gold shirts scuttling around camp all day long, but in the past two days we’d barely seen any of them. Even Joaquin had started to shed his costume, and in his T-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops he was starting to blend into our group of players. I was more used to seeing him that way, and occasionally it was hard to remember that he wasn’t actually our age and a player on the show. I’d tried to watch him for signs of the perviness Alex had been so worried about, but he seemed fine. One of us. A little lost without a shooting schedule and a clear purpose, but that wasn’t enough to set off any alarm bells. What else was the guy going to do?

  Porter was the only one missing, but my heart flipped when I saw him walking on the beach. Three full days he’d been sick. That was three days I’d spent getting used to not having him around.

  Turned out that wasn’t long enough to keep my insides from dissolving into mush when I saw him.

  “No need for a standing ovation,” he said when he arrived, although Cody stood up anyway and gave him a hearty handshake and a Welcome back, son.

  Something was different about Porter. He was wearing a T-shirt instead of his usual button-down, but that wasn’t it.

  “Hey, Frisco,” he said, coming over and standing between me and the fire.

  Oh. That was it. He was talking to me again. Nice, but also a little annoying. I tried not to look as if I thought him coming over was the best thing that had happened to me in three days, which wasn’t easy.

  “Hey.”

  “So . . . I think the game was getting to me the other day. Either that, or I’m turning into some kind of whacked-out conspiracy theorist.”

  “Is that an apology?” I asked. “It’s hard to tell because there are some words missing.”

  He scratched his neck, looking rueful. “I was thinking I could just come over here and say hey, and then you’d say hey back, and then we’d forget about all that other stuff and you’d move over so I could sit down and tell you all of the amazing things that came out of my body in the past few days.”

  “I might agree to some of that, if . . .”

  “If . . . ?”

  “If . . . you know.” I gave the universal hand signal for keep talking.

  He sighed exaggeratedly. Always had to be the funny guy, I remembered Maren saying. Well. Was there something so wrong with that?

  “Okay, okay. I’m very sorry I accused you of plotting to conspire against me on national television, now scoot over.”

  I did, and he sat down on the log next to me. There wasn’t much space so we were sitting hip to hip. I realized that the crew must have been slowly removing logs as people got eliminated so that we always had to cram next to each other. I hadn’t even noticed. Tricky.

  “Is that what you did, accuse me of conspiring against you? Because I was a little confused, it happened so fast.”

  “Eh, maybe we can move on. Can I interest you instead in a conversation ab
out vomit? Because I’ve become quite an expert on the subject.”

  “Hmmm. Charming.”

  “You know, I’ve actually been called charming before. Quite a bit, although sadly it’s usually only the moms at our country club who think so. Girls my age usually just call me hot.”

  I couldn’t help it, I laughed.

  Cody interrupted everyone with a loud whistle, the kind that used both fingers.

  “Alrighty, y’all,” Cody said. He hitched his thumbs into the belt loops at the waist of his jeans. Add a cowboy hat and boots and it was easy to picture him the way he must look on his ranch. “Our friend Rohan here has used his great influence to procure for us a bottle of the finest vodka, which I will hand off to you, good madam.”

  Cody gave the bottle to Alex, who was closest.

  “Please do us the honor of starting us off and then passing this fine bottle around this most excellent campfire.”

  Cody was slurring, and doing that overexaggeration thing people do when they’re drunk. He’d obviously already become very familiar with the contents of that bottle tonight.

  “But our contract with the network says no drugs or alcohol,” Maddie said.

  “Feel free to pass the bottle along to someone else if you want to, Maddie. No harm, no foul. But I believe we’re entitled to blow off a little steam after what we’ve been through so far, wouldn’t you agree? I think most of us will be partaking. Joaquin, my friend, what do you say to passing the bottle around?”

  “I say cheers!”

  No surprise. Joaquin was having a great time. He was probably one of those guys who went back to visit his old school on vacations and hung out in the student center, eventually doing that year after year until he’d been there long enough to befriend kids who hadn’t even gone there when he had.

  “The drinking age in Brazil is eighteen,” Joaquin pointed out. “So for most of you this is perfectly legal, and for those of you who are close? Well, let’s just say that the network hasn’t exactly had my back here, either, so it’s not as if I’d be free with any information. Loosen up, have some fun for a change. All work and no play, et cetera, et cetera.”

  That little speech right there was exactly what my mom would call Peer Pressure and what my friends and I would call hashtag peer pressure. Joaquin reached for the bottle, and then for the can of soda that had started circulating as a chaser.

  “Good man,” Cody said as Joaquin took a drink.

  Porter held off. “I think my stomach and I would permanently part ways if I tried anything like that tonight.”

  I took two swigs. One for me and one for him. It hit me fast, though, and I realized it had been almost a year since I’d gone to a party. I took a third sip to deal with that nice bit of reality and then took a turn with the soda.

  Willa decided it was the perfect time to teach us all how to “runway walk,” even getting Maren to try. The boys were the best, though. Justin, Porter, and Cody did their Zoolander impressions down the strip of sand Willa had lined with tiki torches, and AJ showed off some moves that immediately disproved the myth that nerds couldn’t dance.

  Then the cornhole boards came out, but it didn’t take long until most of the beanbags were accidentally flung into the darkness. Maddie had definitely taken a few drinks after all, because her usual Little Miss Bubbly personality was quadrupled.

  “Let’s play Murder in the Dark!” she suggested. And then suggested again, and again, louder and more manic each time until we finally agreed, mostly so she’d stop talking about it. Plus, Cody miraculously produced another bottle of vodka, which upped the interest level dramatically.

  Only half of us had ever played the game before. I vaguely remembered playing once at my summer camp in Maine, but not enough to remember the rules. Something about passing out cards, and whoever gets the ace is the murderer. Everyone else walks around quietly in the dark while the murderer sneaks around and finds people when they are alone and whispers you’re dead one by one until either everyone fake-dies or the detective, the jack, yells Murder in the dark! Upon which everyone tries to guess whodunit.

  Joaquin passed out the cards, and we played one exuberant, if not skillful, round. I hid with Willa in the Sol hammock, but the murderer/Cody heard us flip out of it and collapse into laughter, and he fake-killed us right away.

  After the cards had been passed out the second time, Porter took me by surprise.

  “Come on,” he said, close, right in my ear. My neck prickled, and a tingly feeling of anticipation rolled all the way down my body. Omigod. Everyone was dispersing to their hiding places, so it was easy to slip away on our own. Once we were past the Snack Bar, Porter turned backward so he was facing me, holding both of my hands. We walked like that for a few seconds, smiling at each other like one of us had told a funny story or a secret, and it felt like every single part of me was on high alert waiting for the moment he would pull me in closer.

  In the distance, Taylor screamed—leave it to Taylor to scream during a fake murder—and we both laughed for real, instinctively moving nearer, and then suddenly we were together together. I wasn’t the most experienced girl in the world, so I wondered—in the seconds before a hookup, is it just me who thinks Is this really happening? And then, when it does: Oh my God, yes it is.

  There’s something about the first few seconds of any kiss. It’s this tiny, fleeting, rare speck of time where two people are choosing each other wholeheartedly and there’s no denying that you are essentially both saying to each other I like you, you like me and I don’t know, it’s a little strange, but also a little amazing. All the dancing around and posturing has suddenly disappeared and all that’s left is this expression of pure honesty, because you can’t really claim you aren’t into it, that you didn’t want to be there. After those first few seconds—hey, anything can happen and things can and do definitely go wrong. But not then. Not at the beginning.

  Someone, I think it was Alex, yelled, “Murder in the dark!”

  “Should we go back?” I asked, not meaning it.

  “Definitely not,” he answered, and there it was again, a flutter of amazement that he was here with me. Not Willa, or Alex, or anyone else. Me.

  It seemed like only a few minutes went by and then some urgent sounds started coming from camp. People yelling, and then a crash, like glass breaking.

  “Uh-oh,” Porter said. “Is that Rohan?”

  “Do they have bar brawls in Florida, like in the movies? I could see him starting fights. Pushing people just so they’d get mad and start fighting.”

  I waved my fists around. The vodka was starting to hit me. I lost my balance, even though I was standing still, leaning against a tree.

  “Whoa, how much did you drink? You might need to call it a night.”

  “No, no, no.” Now I could hear myself slurring. “I’m finnnnnne.”

  “Actually, you know what, I’m not feeling too great.”

  “Poor wittle baby. Your tummy feeling bad?” I really did not know where that came from. It had sounded funnier in my head.

  “Okay, okay, settle down. I’m predicting that I feel only half as bad now as you’re going to feel tomorrow.”

  Porter held my hand and we started to walk back. Wow, Rohan was really yelling now. I told you, get the hell away!

  It wasn’t easy to walk in the woods in the best of times, but the vodka hadn’t helped. I tripped and fell, nearly pulling Porter down with me. There’s a point in the arc of any drunken evening where things aren’t hilarious anymore, where you know you are acting stupid but you are too far gone to really stop, and I had found that point.

  Porter helped me up and there was a fair amount of sorry and don’t hate me and generally a lot of other things I wish I hadn’t said. We made it back to camp to see Rohan and Justin circling each other in the Snack Bar, just like a real bar fight. Chairs had been knocked over
, tables pushed to the side. There was even blood spattered down Rohan’s shirt.

  Taylor was screaming at them to stop. “You guys, we are on the same team! We are supposed to be friends!”

  Willa was crying, but when she saw us, she looked hopeful.

  “Porter!” she called frantically. “Help!”

  I think he asked me if I was okay before he ran off to answer her call of distress. Later I would pull this moment up and try to re-create it, looking for signs he hadn’t ditched me and run to her, but honestly, I’m not sure there were any to find.

  I had enough sense to realize I needed to avoid whatever was going down and put myself to bed. Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough sense to go the right way, and I wandered off toward the boys’ cabin instead.

  Whoops. I was about to redirect myself when I saw Cody in the trees. That was weird. Why wasn’t he trying to break up the fight?

  I tried to back up quietly. That didn’t go so well, because I crashed into a bush and lost my balance, which sent me into another bush. When I finally straightened myself out, Cody was staring at me as if I was some kind of stalker. That was . . . weird. Usually his howdy ma’am demeanor made him the friendliest of the group.

  “Heyyyy, Cody,” I think I said. Or something equally eloquent.

  I heard a bang, like the sound of something hard dropping. He stood up, looking a little mad, or was it guilty? Hard to tell—I wasn’t in the best mindset to read facial expressions, but what I could definitely appreciate was what a very big guy he was. Talk about bar fights—if anyone got into one, it would be him.

  There was a full bottle lying on the ground next to him.