“As long as you hold the handle and stay on the wood, you’re in the game. But if you let go of the handle, it releases a flag.” Rick nods to the staffer, who releases the handle. Behind her, a large black flag with a yellow sad face in the middle pops up. “If you fall off the wood, or if your flag goes up, you’re out of the game.”
It’s a straightforward concept, and on a good day, I’d think we had a chance. But with Jess’s sprained ankle and my mangled wrist, we might as well say good-bye right now. When I turn to her, it’s obvious she’s thinking the same thing.
“Let’s go out giving it our best,” she says.
I nod and am about to step on the balance board, when Rick makes another announcement.
“One more detail to make this more challenging.” He points at our feet. “Take off your shoes. You’ll be balancing on the wood barefooted.”
This doesn’t seem like a big deal until my shoes are off and I step on the beam. It’s about a foot high, but less than an inch thick, so the edges dig into the tender soles of my feet. Rick gives us a chance to balance, then reach up and grab the handle, which is thankfully positioned to the right.
Once we’ve all stopped wobbling, he gives the word. “And this challenge is on.”
It’s probably the quietest challenge we’ve had. There’s no yelling, no encouraging each other. There isn’t even any moving. At least none I can tell. Jess is to my left, and on the right is Malcolm and then Layla. I can kind of see them, depending on how far I swing my eyes from one side to the other, but there’s no way I’m moving my head for a better look. I’m barely even breathing, because I know the slightest movement or shift in weight will throw my balance right off.
“We’re five minutes into this challenge.” Rick speaks with the soft breathiness of a golf announcer.
“Only five minutes?” Layla’s voice is stretched tight. It sounds like she’s in pain.
And if she’s hurting, I can only imagine how Jess feels. I want to tell her to walk away and elevate her sprained ankle, just like I want to stop the torture being inflicted on the one part of my body that didn’t hurt prior to this challenge. But she doesn’t want to go out that way, and neither do I. I’m going to stay on this stinking beam, with my fingers around the handle and all the blood draining from my arm, until I can’t stand anymore.
“Ow!”
It takes all the control I have not to look in Layla’s direction and see what’s wrong.
“What’s going on, Layla?” Rick asks.
“My arm. Muscle cramp.” She yelps again.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement. Then I hear the whoosh of her flag going up, and Rick confirms what I think just happened. “Layla is out of this challenge.”
Wow. I didn’t suspect one of them to drop out before Jess and me.
“Monica.” Jess says my name in a hissed whisper. “My foot really hurts. I don’t think—”
She grunts and stumbles forward. Her flag goes up.
“And just like that, we’re down to two players.”
The frustration comes off Jess in waves, so I take the chance of speaking.
“You did great, Jess.”
“I lost.”
“No. We’re a team, and our team is still in this.”
She doesn’t respond, but I hear her shuffle away through the sand.
Beside me, a deep chuckle rumbles from Malcolm. “Well, you wanted to go to the end together. How do you feel now that we’re here?”
“We’re not at the end. We’re final three.”
“Close enough.”
The minutes tick by and the silence stretches. My muscles ache and my feet feel like they’re full of porcupine quills. This is simultaneously the most boring and most painful challenge ever.
A low groan comes from Malcolm. Shifting my eyes as far to the right as possible without moving my head, I detect movement. Could he be faltering? Malcolm’s a big guy, which isn’t helping him in this challenge. His feet are supporting far more weight than mine are. If I’m hurting, he must be in agony.
If I can just hang on a little longer, maybe—pain shoots through my leg, taking my breath away. Teeth clamping down on my lip, I try to remain calm as my calf muscle contracts into a rock-like ball, and my toes curl in on themselves.
No, no, no. Not now. Not when I’m so close.
None of this escapes Rick’s scrutiny. “Malcolm is struggling to regain his balance. This could be Monica’s game. No, wait. It looks like she’s in trouble, too.”
“No, I’m not.” The words hiss out through clenched teeth. I’ve endured so much physical pain over the last however-many days, there’s no way I’m going to let a muscle cramp take me down. For once, my best is going to be more than good enough. For once, my best is going to be better than everyone else’s.
“She may not be in trouble, but I am.” Malcolm barely puffs out the words before he falls off the beam, landing on his hands and knees in the sand.
“Monica wins!” Rick has abandoned his golf voice and moved straight on to you-won-the-Super-Bowl yelling. “Monica is the last person standing!”
It takes a moment for it to register that the challenge is over. My fingers are still tight around the handle when Jess tackles me in a hug and knocks me off the beam.
“You did it! I can’t believe you did it!” We continue to stumble backward until we land in the sand, alternating between laughing and saying “ouch.”
When we calm down and struggle to our feet, I see Layla hugging Malcolm, patting his back and telling him it’s all right. He smiles at me over her head, a sad little smile that says he wanted to win for her, but he’s still happy for me. Which is exactly how I would have felt if he’d won.
Rick walks over to them and puts a hand on Layla’s shoulder. “Malcolm and Layla, you won’t be the last family standing. It’s time to pick up your things and go.”
Tears well up in my eyes as they leave the play area. Who would have thought I’d become so attached to the people who were supposed to be our competition?
Bob and Tracy leave the benches and stand next to us. Then Rick does his summation.
“This is proof that you never know what’s going to happen until it happens. The four of you have beaten every other team to get where you are, but now, it’s out of your hands. Tomorrow, your former opponents will have the chance to ask you why you deserve to win. After that, the vote goes to America, and they will decide who will be the last family standing.” He takes a dramatic pause while making eye contact with each one of us, then smiles. “Head on back to camp.”
Jess and I are both limping now but, despite the pain, I feel lighter than I have in a long time.
32
There’s a surprise waiting for us when we wake up the next morning. A large table has been set up on one side of camp, and it’s loaded with food. Fresh fruits, covered bowls of scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon. Baskets of croissants and muffins, and tall carafes of chilled orange and cranberry juices. But the best thing of all sits on a table all its own.
“Coffee.” Bob nearly hugs the thermal pot in his excitement.
“This is so great,” I say, ripping the top off a blueberry muffin. “I guess they figured there’s no point in starving us anymore.”
Jess shakes her head. “Nah, they want us to have plenty of strength for tonight’s inquisition.”
Tracy stops in mid-pour as she fills her juice glass. “How bad can it be? The physical challenges are over.”
“Thank God.” I do a little raise-the-roof movement with one palm pointed heavenward.
“No kidding,” Tracy says. “All we have to do tonight is answer some questions. Piece of cake.” With a grin, she bites into a slice of coffee cake for emphasis.
Jess spears a chunk of pineapple with her fork and brandishes it in the air. “This Q and A can be brutal. Remember when they were in the Seychelles? When Tina accused Big Al of being a racist, which he wasn’t. And then she grilled him about what he di
d for a living, and he finally admitted he was a hair stylist?”
Tracy wrinkles her nose. “Oh yeah. I do remember that. Poor guy.”
“Do you really think anybody in this game would be that vindictive?” I look to Bob, hoping to get the opinion of the other mature—aka, old—person on the island.
His hands are wrapped protectively around his coffee cup, which he holds inches away from his mouth, as if he can’t bear the thought of being separated from the hot, brown liquid any longer than necessary. “I don’t think so. I mean, what would they have to gain from acting like that?”
“More airtime,” Jess says. “Tina ended up in almost every clip montage they put together.”
Another excellent point. When it comes right down to it, even the tiniest bit of fame can be a powerful motivator. Or there could be people who are mean-spirited, simply because they didn’t get to the end. There could also be people who find Bob and Tracy more deserving, so they’ll bash Jess and me. Which could go the other way, too. It all comes down to one thing.
“We won’t know what to expect until we get there, so let’s not ruin our amazing breakfast by stressing over it.” I point near Bob. “Would you pass the strawberries, please? And the whipped cream?”
As I dip succulent red berries into light-as-air whipped cream, I do my best to heed my own advice. Nothing we do now will make one bit of difference tonight. Still, I can’t help but go over the possible scenarios. Have I made anybody angry? Have I given anybody a reason to want to embarrass me? Until the last week, Bob was my biggest problem, and if I’d been asked to pick someone I thought would treat me badly, it would have been him. But now, not only have we come to an understanding, we’re heading into the questioning together. Bob has just become the least of my worries.
After breakfast, I go to the latrine area. I’m about to return to camp when I change my mind and head over for one last trip to the confessional.
Ponytail greets me with a huge smile. “I cannot believe you made it to the end.”
I look at her sideways as I plop down on the familiar log. “Are you really supposed to tell me things like that?”
She shrugs. “Today’s the last day. I’m feeling a little loose with the rules.”
“Okay then.” I skooch myself around until I feel semi-settled. “To be honest, I’m beyond shocked that I made it to the end without some serious head trauma.”
“That comes tonight, Hon,” she says with a wave of her hand.
“Yeah. Back at camp, they’re all talking about how brutal tonight will be. But I just don’t see it.”
“Why’s that?”
I shrug. “Because, for the most part, we all got along. And I don’t think any of those people are mean-spirited.” When Ponytail doesn’t say anything, I continue. “I’m trying not to worry about it.”
“And how’s that working for ya?”
Laughing, I shake my head. “It’s not. I can’t stop obsessing and playing out worst-case scenarios in my mind.”
“What do you want people to know?” Ponytail is serious now. “If you could make sure they leave here knowing one thing about you, what would it be?”
“That winning doesn’t matter to me. I came here to be with my daughter, so we could start building a relationship. And we have. Whether we win or lose doesn’t mean a thing to me.”
“Yet here you are, making it all the way to the end.” Ponytail laughs to herself. “That alone is enough to make some of them dislike you.”
“Great. I’m offending people by my very existence.” I push up off the log. “Guess this will be the last time I see you. Take care.”
Ponytail nods. “You too.”
I’m walking away when I hear her call me back.
“Hey, Monica!”
I look over my shoulder.
“Good luck.”
Smiling, I give her a nod of thanks, then continue on. In just a few hours, the grilling will begin.
***
The final play area has been made over so it feels more like an amphitheater. Four chairs sit on top of a bamboo-looking stage that fills the center space. The two-tiered benches are empty, but ready. And around the whole thing are blazing tiki torches. It’s ironic how hard we’ve worked all this time to maintain fire, and now we’re surrounded by it.
The four of us file in and take our seats as Rick offers a greeting.
“Bob, Tracy, Monica, Jess . . . congratulations on being the final two families standing. And now, let’s welcome everyone you had to beat to get here.”
They file in, entering in the order that they left the game. Some of them, like Sal and Gracie, smile when they see us. Others, like Maxie and Marcy, wear expressions that are impossible to read. But they all have clean hair and are wearing clean clothes, which should put them in a good mood. I hope.
Once they’re all sitting, Rick resumes. “America will vote which team deserves to be the last family standing. But we want to give them plenty of information to base their decision on. So a spokesperson from each team will now address the group.” He turns pointedly toward the benches. “You can make a statement or ask a question to either or both teams. Sal, you’re up first.”
Sal bounds up to the stage, still grinning. “Hey, guys. First, congratulations.” He glances back at Gracie, then continues. “Since we left the game so early, we didn’t get a chance to experience a lot. So what Gracie and I want to know from each one of you is, what was the biggest challenge you faced?”
I smile back at Sal, hoping he knows how thankful I am for that question. “For me, it was trying to stay away from the medics.”
Laughter breaks the tension. The others provide their answers, and we move on to Evelyn. Another friendly face, another nonantagonistic question. This is turning out to be much easier than I expected.
Then Maxie steps up, and even before she opens her mouth, I regret letting myself relax.
“Monica, you’re the only one I need to speak to.”
Uh oh. I lean forward slightly, just to show her I’m paying attention.
Standing straight as a marble pillar, her white hair moussed and spiked into an intimidating configuration, she lets me have it. “You came in here as the celebrity contestant. The big-time chef from Sin City.”
I shake my head, because surely, I’m hearing her wrong. “I’m not a—”
She holds her hand up like a cop stopping traffic. “I get to talk now. You just listen. You’ve done plenty of talking over the last few weeks, ordering people around and acting like you’re better than everyone else.”
None of this makes any sense. Maxie and I hardly had any kind of interaction, which is probably why she’s describing a person who absolutely cannot be me. I want her to give me examples of the terrible things I did, but she’s keeping her rant pretty general.
“The only reason you made it this far is because you’ve been flirting with the host.” She jabs a finger in Rick’s direction. He frowns at her, but doesn’t offer a rebuttal. “Not that anyone should be surprised. A woman like you, who would give away her own flesh and blood, would do anything to come out on top.” Maxie turns her head, spits—she actually spits on the ground—and then stalks back to her seat.
My eyes burn, and I know that if I make eye contact with anyone or try to speak, the waterworks will start. So I look down at the bamboo floor, concentrating on a black mark near the toe of my shoe.
Beside me, Jess rises slowly to her feet. “You’re way out of line, Maxie.” Her voice is low and controlled, full of contained energy like a lion just seconds before springing on its prey.
“And you’re an idiot,” Maxie shoots back.
Now I jump out of my seat. “You can’t talk to her like that.”
Maxie takes a step back toward the stage. “I’ll talk to her anyway I like, and you can’t do a thing about it.”
I may only have one good hand, but right now, that’s all I need. We move toward each other. The only thing that stops the argument from g
etting physical is Jess grabbing me, Marcy holding back Maxie, and Bob jumping in between us.
“Okay, folks. Let’s settle down.” Apparently, Rick has seen worse, or at least just as bad, because he doesn’t sound overly concerned.
My legs are shaking as I move back to my chair. Jess squeezes my hand and leans over to whisper. “Ignore her. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
Still not trusting myself to say much, I just nod.
Payton is up next. He looks at Bob and thanks him for the time they spent talking about the origins of the universe. “I didn’t understand most of it, but it helped distract me from how darn much my bug bites stung.”
Then he looks at me. “Monica, you shared fire when you didn’t have to, so you’re obviously not all bad.” He winks, then goes back to his seat.
He goes back to his seat, passing Trevor along the way. Trevor crosses his arms tightly over his chest, his feet planted apart. He reminds me of Mr. Clean, only not as happy, and with more hair. I brace myself to be blasted, but to my surprise, he ignores me.
“Bob, the plan was for us to go all the way together, which obviously didn’t happen. And now that I’m here and you’re there, I can tell you that I never liked you. Not one little bit.”
Without another word, he turns and walks away. Leaning forward in my chair, I look over at Bob and raise a questioning brow. He shrugs, then says in a low voice, “I guess I won’t ask him to be president of my fan club.”
Tracy snorts back a laugh, but sobers when Malcolm walks up on stage.
“Hi, guys.” He’s relaxed, standing with his hands clasped behind his back. “Being on this island and participating in this game has had a profound effect on me, as I’m sure it’s had on you. So my question for each of you is this: What will you do differently when you get back to civilization?”
Leave it to Malcolm to ask the deep question.
Tracy speaks up first. “I’ve gotten to know my dad a lot better through this experience. So I think, when we get home, I won’t automatically assume he’s wrong about everything.”
Bob rubs her back quickly. “Thanks, kiddo. As for me, I’m not going to take anything for granted. That goes for big things, like my relationship with Tracy, and small things, like a hot, fresh cup of coffee.”
Last Family Standing Page 19