Chris appeared at the edge of the beach, megaphone raised, grin somehow even wider than before.
"EXCELLENT work, campers! Well, MOST of you!" He shot DJ a pointed look, and the chicken hat seemed to droop even more pathetically. "Now! Take a few minutes to dry off and get dressed! Part two of the challenge starts in TEN MINUTES! Move it!"
Everyone groaned but slowly started trudging back toward the cabins, pulling on clothes over damp swimwear, wringing out hair, trying to look marginally less like drowned rats.
I pulled my shirt on, still processing everything that had happened. Nearly died. Saw something I wasn't supposed to see. Made allies, maybe made enemies.
And the day's not even half over yet.
The Boys' Cabin - Waiting
The boys' cabin was organized chaos. Owen was struggling with his shirt, Tyler was groaning about his stomach, and Duncan had claimed the best spot to change without asking anyone.
I finished dressing quickly and sat on my bunk, waiting for the signal to head back out. The girls would take longer — they always did.
Harold approached, fidgeting with his still-damp glasses. "Hey, uh, Noah?"
"Yeah?"
"That whole... shark thing. That was intense. Are you really okay?"
"I'm fine," I assured him. "Thanks to quick thinking and Geoff's rescue timing."
"Still." Harold sat on the bunk across from me. "That was scary to watch. I thought..." He trailed off, then seemed to gather courage. "Also, uh, on the trail earlier. When I pointed out the falcon. I did actually see one! But I also noticed you looked like you were having some kind of crisis, and I figured the distraction might help everyone. Multi-tasking!"
I blinked, surprised by his honesty. "You... you did that on purpose?"
"Well, half on purpose. There really was a bird! But yeah, timing seemed good." He smiled nervously. "Did it help?"
"Immensely," I said with complete sincerity. "Seriously, Harold. Thank you. That was... really perceptive of you."
His entire face lit up. "Really? You're not mad I, like, interfered?"
"Mad? You saved me from a situation that would've been mortifying on national television. I owe you."
Confessional - Harold:"Noah thanked me! And meant it! Usually people just tell me I'm being annoying or reading too much into things. But he actually appreciated that I noticed and helped. That feels... really good."
"So," I said, genuinely curious now. "Where did you learn to be that observant? And the diving technique, the bird facts, the knot-tying from earlier... you've got a really diverse skill set."
Harold's eyes lit up even more. "Oh! Summer camps! I've been to, like, tons of them. Survival camp, diving camp, bird-watching camp, wilderness skills camp, tech camp, martial arts camp—"
"Wait, how many camps have you been to?"
"Uh..." He counted on his fingers. "Maybe... fifteen? Twenty? I lose track."
I felt a small twist in my stomach. That many camps. That's... that's a lot. Is this another situation like Heather? Parents who don't want him around?
"That's... impressive," I said carefully. "Do your parents make you go to all those camps?"
"Make me?" Harold looked confused. "No, they encourage me! They have this whole philosophy about life — you only get one, so you should experience as much as you can. Try everything at least once, develop new skills, find new passions." His enthusiasm was genuine, not forced. "They're always asking what I want to try next. Last year I told them I was interested in falconry, and Dad spent three months researching camps until he found one that did it."
Oh. Relief flooded through me. Not another bad situation. Just... good parents who maybe go overboard with the opportunities.
"That's actually really cool," I said honestly. "Supportive parents who want you to explore your interests."
"Yeah, they're great!" Then his expression dimmed slightly. "The only downside is we move around a lot for their work, and with all the camps... I'm not usually anywhere long enough to make real friends. Like, I'll meet people at camp, but then it ends and everyone goes home to different places, and..." He shrugged, trying to look casual about something that clearly hurt. "It's fine. I'm used to it."
"That sounds lonely," I said quietly.
Harold looked at me, surprised I'd said it out loud. "Yeah. Sometimes. But that's why I'm here! Reality TV, stuck on an island with the same people for weeks. Can't run away to a new camp this time." He grinned. "Maybe I'll actually make friends who stick around."
"You're already doing better than you think," I said. "Half the guys in here respect what you did today. The dive, helping people, being genuinely skilled without being an ass about it. That counts for something."
Confessional - Noah:"Harold's not broken or damaged. He's just... lonely. And that's somehow sadder. Because it's not malicious neglect, it's just the unintended consequence of well-meaning parents and a transient lifestyle. At least this summer, he'll have people who know him for more than two weeks."
"So," I asked, shifting topics, "out of all those camps and skills, do you have any that you're more invested in than others? Or is it all equal exploration?"
"Oh, definitely!" Harold sat up straighter. "I'm really into Japanese culture. Like, heavily. Martial arts, anime, traditional crafts, the language — all of it. That's probably my biggest passion."
"Anime?" I said, interested despite myself. "What kind?"
"All kinds! Naruto, One Piece, Attack on Titan, Fullmetal Alchemist — the classics, you know? The ones everyone says are the best."
I made a face. "See, that's where you lose me."
Harold gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like I'd physically wounded him. "What?! Those are masterpieces!"
"They're fine," I said with a shrug. "But I'm not really a mainstream guy. Those shows everyone says are 'the best' just don't do it for me. I'm more into good isekai."
"ISEKAI?!" Harold looked genuinely offended now, but there was humor in his eyes. "Baka! You have no taste! Isekai is trash!"
"Some isekai is trash," I corrected in Japanese. "But the good ones explore interesting concepts about identity, purpose, and adaptation that mainstream shounen just punches through."
Harold blinked. "Wait, you speak Japanese?"
"Conversationally. You?"
"Conversationally!" He grinned. "Okay, okay, maybe isekai isn't ALL bad. But you have to admit the harem tropes are ridiculous."
"Oh, absolutely," I agreed. "But the power fantasy fulfillment is the point. It's escapism. Sometimes people need that."
"Fair," Harold conceded. Then, in Japanese: "But your taste is still questionable."
"Says the guy who thinks screaming louder equals character development," I shot back in the same language.
"That's PASSION! It's THEMATIC!"
We traded increasingly ridiculous insults in Japanese, both of us grinning, until Owen interrupted.
"Dudes, are you guys speaking alien language?"
"Japanese," Harold and I said in unison, then laughed.
Confessional - Harold:"Noah speaks Japanese! And likes anime! And we can actually have a conversation about it without him thinking I'm weird! This is the best day!"
Confessional - Noah:"Finding someone who shares interests and can actually debate them intelligently is rare. Finding someone who'll do it in a second language while insulting your taste in media? That's friendship material right there."
Chris's voice boomed from outside. "CAMPERS! GET YOUR BUTTS TO THE BEACH! PART TWO STARTS NOW!"
We filed out, and I felt... lighter somehow. Like something had clicked into place.
Part Two - The Task
We gathered back at the beach where Chris stood with an absolutely gleeful expression that immediately put me on edge.
Behind him sat two massive piles of wooden crates, each stack nearly as tall as Chris himself and bound with thick ropes.
"Welcome to PART TWO!" Chris announced. "See these beautiful crates? Each one contains pieces of something AMAZING that you're going to build!"
"What are we building?" Courtney asked, clipboard already out.
"Hot tubs!" Chris spread his arms wide. "Fully functional, wood-fired, luxury hot tubs! First team to build theirs and get the water hot wins immunity! Losers vote someone off tonight!"
Groans rippled through both teams.
"BUT WAIT!" Chris's grin turned evil. "Remember how I said jumpers earned advantages? Well, here's how that works!" He gestured to the crates. "The Bass got fewer jumpers, so they get fewer crates. The Gophers, who had MORE jumpers—" he pointed to our significantly larger pile "—get MORE crates! More supplies, more pieces, more advantages!"
The Bass team immediately started grumbling. DJ looked even more miserable in his chicken hat.
"Oh, and one more thing!" Chris produced a small wooden cart with wheels. "Since the Gophers had everyone jump—" he shot DJ another look "—you also get this handy trolley! The Bass? You carry everything by hand! Now get moving! Your crates are on the beach, your build site is at camp! GO!"
The Transport - Gophers
Our team converged on the crate pile, and immediately Heather stepped forward, arms crossed, eyes still flashing with residual anger from being thrown off the cliff.
"Alright, listen up!" Her voice cut through the chatter. "We need organization, not chaos. Trent and Gwen, you're the strongest after Owen—you handle loading. Owen, you pull the cart. Katie and Noah, work on untying the ropes. Everyone else, carry what you can. Move efficiently."
Leshawna opened her mouth like she was going to protest, but Heather rounded on her immediately.
"Do you have a BETTER plan? Or are you just going to argue because you're still mad I called you out for throwing me off a cliff?"
"I got you IN the water, didn't I?" Leshawna shot back. "We WON that part because of me!"
"And now I'M making sure we win THIS part!" Heather's voice went sharp. "So either help or get out of the way!"
Leshawna glared but backed down, muttering under her breath.
Confessional - Heather:"I'm soaking wet, my makeup is ruined, and Leshawna thinks physical assault is team strategy. So yes, I'm taking charge. At least I know how to WIN."
Confessional - Leshawna:"Heather's on a power trip, but whatever. Girl wants to boss everyone around? Fine. As long as we win, I'll deal with her attitude later."
I approached the first rope binding our crates, analyzing the knot pattern.
"Bowline with an extra twist," I muttered, working my fingers into the loops.
Katie appeared beside me. "Need help?"
"Always. Grab that end."
We worked in companionable silence for a moment before Justin walked past, carrying a crate with perfect form that somehow made even manual labor look like a photo shoot.
Katie's eyes tracked him automatically, and she opened her mouth like she was about to say something — then stopped, brow furrowing in confusion.
"That's weird," she muttered.
"What?"
"I just... I was about to comment on how hot Justin is, but..." She tilted her head, studying him like a puzzle. "I don't actually think he's that attractive? Like, objectively yes, obviously. But to me personally? Nothing."
"Then why were you going to comment?" I asked, genuinely curious.
She was quiet for a moment. "Because... because that's what Sadie would do. And I'd automatically agree with her." She looked almost shocked by the realization. "I've been doing that for years. Just... echoing her opinions on guys because that's what we did. But I don't think I ever actually figured out what I find attractive."
Confessional - Katie:"How do you spend ten years not knowing what you actually like? How did I never notice I was just copying Sadie's taste in guys?" She looks genuinely unsettled. "What else have I been copying without realizing it?"
"So what do you find attractive?" I asked. "Now that you're thinking about it."
"I have no idea," she admitted with a half-laugh. "Isn't that pathetic? Sixteen years old and I can't tell you what kind of boy I like."
"It's not pathetic. It's honest. Most people don't figure themselves out until way later."
She was quiet for a moment, then asked, "What about you? What kind of girl do you like?"
The question caught me off-guard. I'd never really thought about it in Noah's context, only in my previous life's context, and even then...
"Uh..." I focused on the rope, buying time to formulate an answer. "I guess... I prefer girls who are slim, caring, smart. Someone who has their own opinions and isn't afraid to share them, but who's also willing to follow my lead when I ask for it."
Katie stopped working, turning to look at me with wide eyes. "Wait. Isn't that... isn't that kind of misogynistic?"
"What? No." I blinked, surprised by her reaction. "Why would it be?"
"The whole 'follow your lead' thing. That sounds like you want someone who's just obedient."
"That's not what I said," I clarified carefully. "I said someone willing to follow my lead when I ask for it. Not someone who has to obey me or who I'm forcing into submission. Just... someone who's naturally a bit more on the submissive side in a relationship. Someone who prefers to trust their partner's judgment sometimes instead of fighting for control of every decision."
Katie's expression shifted from defensive to thoughtful. "So like... a preference, not an expectation?"
"Exactly. I'm not saying women should be submissive. I'm saying I'm personally more compatible with someone whose natural inclination leans that way, the same way some people prefer partners who are more dominant or more independent. It's about matching personalities, not enforcing gender roles."
"Oh." She processed that for a moment. "That... actually makes sense."
We continued walking in silence for a bit, moving crates onto the cart.
Confessional - Katie:"The more I think about what Noah said, the more sense it makes. Not just for him, but..." She pauses, looking uncomfortable. "I think I might be someone who prefers to follow. Not in a doormat way, but like... I'm happier when someone I trust is making the decisions and I can just support them. That's probably why my relationship with Sadie worked the way it did — she led, I followed, and I was okay with that."
She's quiet for a moment. "And I've noticed I've started kind of... following Noah? Like, listening to his advice, trusting his judgment, letting him guide conversations. And I feel better doing that than I've felt in a long time. So maybe that's just who I am."*
She blushes slightly. "Also, um, I might be figuring out what kind of boy I like faster than I expected."*
We'd reached the halfway point when Katie asked to stop.
"Um, Noah?"
"Yeah?"
She looked embarrassed. "This is really awkward, but... I really need to use the bathroom. Like, woods bathroom. And I don't want to go alone with the cameras everywhere, and—"
"Say no more." I understood immediately. "I'll stand guard. Make sure no one wanders over."
"Really? You don't think that's weird?"
"Katie, we just jumped off a cliff into shark-infested water. Standing twenty feet away so you have privacy is the least weird thing that's happened today."
She laughed, relieved. "Okay. Thank you. Just... give me a minute."
She darted into the treeline. I positioned myself with my back to where she'd gone, arms crossed, deliberately looking bored so any passing cameras wouldn't think this was interesting footage.
Confessional - Noah:"Basic human decency shouldn't be complicated. Someone needs privacy, you give them privacy. Someone needs help, you help them. It's not heroic, it's just... being a decent person."
Katie emerged a couple minutes later, looking relieved. "Thank you so much. That was mortifying but also necessary."
"Anytime. Though maybe invest in better bladder timing for future challenges."
She laughed, and we rejoined the group hauling crates up to camp.
The Build
The camp center had been transformed into a construction site. Both teams' crates were piled nearby, and Chef stood with a massive pot of tools, looking entirely too pleased about something.
"ALRIGHT!" Chris announced. "Time to open your crates! But there's a catch—" Of course there was. "—you have to untie the crates with your TEETH!"
Everyone groaned.
"No hands, no tools, just teeth and determination! GO!"
The next thirty minutes were arguably more humiliating than the cliff jump. We knelt by crates, gnawing on rope like deranged beavers, getting splinters and rope burn on our lips.
"This is disgusting," Heather muttered, spitting out rope fibers.
"At least it's not Chef's cooking," I said, working on my own rope.
Confessional - Heather:"If I get tetanus from this, I'm suing. The network, Chris, the rope manufacturer — everyone."
Eventually, we got the crates open and started pulling out pieces. Hot tub panels, a firebox, piping, a massive metal basin, instructions that looked like they'd been written by someone who'd never seen a hot tub before.
"Okay," Heather said, immediately taking charge again. "Trent and Gwen, you're on frame assembly. Owen and Leshawna, firebox. Katie and Noah, you handle the piping and plumbing. Lindsay and Beth, organize pieces. Everyone else, follow instructions and don't break anything."
We fell into a rhythm. It was actually... kind of nice? Working together, figuring out problems, Heather's bossy organizational skills actually being useful for once.
I worked alongside Katie on the piping system, which was more complex than expected.
"This connects here," she muttered, studying the diagram. "No wait, here. Actually—" She rotated the piece. "There. That's how it should fit."
"You're good at this," I observed.
"Mechanical stuff just makes sense to me." She smiled, fitting another piece into place. "It's like a puzzle where all the pieces are logical."
"Engineering," I reminded her. "This is literally engineering."
"Yeah." Her smile grew. "Yeah, it is."
Confessional - Katie:"Working on the hot tub was the most fun I've had all day. Everything just... clicked. Literally and metaphorically. And Noah was right there helping and he never once made me feel stupid for taking time to figure things out. That's..." She pauses, smile soft. "That's really nice."
Across the way, I spotted Lindsay struggling with sorting pieces, looking frustrated and confused.
"Hey, Lindsay?"
She looked up, and I saw relief cross her face. "Oh, thank goodness! Um, Nick? Can you help me? I can't figure out which pile these go in."
"It's Noah," I corrected gently. "And sure, let me see."
She handed me several pieces, cheeks pink. "Sorry. I'm really bad with names."
"It's okay. There's a lot of us." I showed her the sorting system Heather had set up. "See? Hardware here, panels there, piping in that pile."
"Oh!" She brightened. "That makes sense! Thank you, Nathan!"
"Noah," I said again, but smiled to take the sting out. "Hey, Lindsay? Do you have trouble remembering things in general, or just names?"
Her expression fell. "Oh. Um. Is it that obvious?"
"Not obvious," I assured her quickly. "I just noticed you mixed up a few names. Nothing wrong with that."
She bit her lip, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening. "I have dyslexia. Really bad dyslexia. Reading is... really hard. And remembering names when I can't see them written down properly is even harder. Everything just gets all jumbled in my head."
Called it.
"That makes sense," I said. "Dyslexia's pretty common. Nothing to be embarrassed about. Want me to help you with names? We can use association tricks. Like, Trent has a guitar, so Trent the instrument guy. Gwen is goth-Gwen, they rhyme. Owen is big and loud like 'oh-WOW'—"
"Oh! That helps!" Lindsay's face lit up. "So you're Noah... like Noah's Ark? Because you're helping everyone?"
"Sure," I said, amused. "That works."
We spent the next few minutes going through names with associations that would help her remember. By the end, she was beaming.
"Thank you so much, Noah! That really helps!"
She'd gotten my name right. Progress.
Confessional - Noah:"Lindsay's dyslexic, probably severely. And no one's ever taught her proper coping mechanisms. That's not stupidity, that's failed education. If I can help her even a little bit, maybe she'll have a better shot at this game. And, you know, life in general."
Confessional - Lindsay:"Noah's really nice! He didn't make fun of me or anything! And the name tricks actually help! I remembered like, five people already!"
I made a mental note: help Lindsay learn basic life skills when possible. Common sense, general knowledge, coping strategies. If she was going to survive this summer—and life after—she'd need it.
Then I noticed Heather.
She was working on attaching a panel to the frame, arms stretched overhead. Her face was tight with concentration, but I caught the moment she winced—subtle, quickly masked, but there. Her left arm trembled slightly before she lowered it, adjusting her grip to favor her right side.
I walked over. "Need help with that?"
"I'm fine," she said immediately, not looking at me.
"No, you're not."
Her head snapped toward me, eyes flashing defensively. "Excuse me?"
"You're favoring your right arm. Something's wrong with your left." I kept my voice low, matter-of-fact. "You can either accept help or struggle and slow us down. Your choice."
For a moment, I thought she was going to tell me to go to hell. Her jaw was set, eyes hard.
Then her shoulders sagged, just slightly. "Fine. Hold this side steady while I secure the bracket."
I moved into position, taking the weight of the panel so she didn't have to hold it overhead. She worked quickly, efficiently, not meeting my eyes.
"Thank you," she muttered when it was done, voice barely audible.
"Anytime."
She walked away without another word, but something had shifted. Not trust—not yet. But maybe the beginning of it.
Confessional - Noah:"Heather's hurt and trying to hide it. I don't know the full story yet, but I know enough to understand that pushing for answers would be the worst thing I could do. Sometimes help means knowing when to not ask questions."
The hot tub was coming together surprisingly well. Our team worked in sync, Heather's organizational skills actually making the chaos manageable, people helping where needed, problems solved collaboratively.
Across the way, I could see the Bass struggling. They had fewer supplies, no cart advantage, and the absence of one jumper meant less materials to work with. DJ was there, working hard despite his chicken hat, but the disadvantage was clear.
The Finish
"And... DONE!" Trent called out, stepping back from our completed hot tub.
It was actually impressive. Rough around the edges, definitely cobbled together from chaos, but functional. The firebox was lit, water was heating, all the pieces fit together.
The Bass were still working frantically on their final connections, Courtney barking orders while trying to troubleshoot a leak.
Chris appeared with his megaphone. "TIME'S UP!"
He walked over to inspect our work, then splashed a hand in the water. "Warm, structurally sound, no obvious safety violations..." He grinned. "Victory goes to the SCREAMING GOPHERS!"
Our team erupted in cheers. Owen immediately cannonballed into the hot tub, splashing everyone. Heather shrieked. Katie laughed so hard she nearly fell in.
Confessional - Owen:"We won! We built a hot tub! And now I'm IN THE HOT TUB! Best day ever!"
Chris turned to the Bass. "Sorry, Bass! Solid effort, but not solid enough! You'll be voting someone off tonight at the campfire ceremony. Head back to your cabins and decide who's going home."
The Bass trudged away, defeated and exhausted. DJ still wore his chicken hat, shoulders slumped.
Our team, meanwhile, was celebrating. People were actually getting in the hot tub, still in their clothes, just enjoying the victory and the warm water.
I sat on the edge, feet in the water, watching.
Katie plopped down beside me. "We did it!"
"We did." I smiled. "Good work on the piping."
"Good work on everything." She bumped my shoulder gently. "Thanks for today. All of it."
"Anytime."
We sat there in comfortable silence, watching our team celebrate, and for the first time since arriving on this island, I felt like maybe — just maybe — I was exactly where I needed to be.
Small Kindness
I was collecting my things from the build site when I noticed Courtney still sitting by the Bass hot tub, arms wrapped around her knees, staring at nothing in particular.
Her left eye was swollen to nearly twice its normal size, the skin around it angry red and mottled purple. The horsefly had gotten her good during the build — I'd seen it happen, watched her swat it away and keep working without a word of complaint.
Classic Courtney. Ignore the pain, maintain the image, never admit weakness.
But now, with her team scattered and the adrenaline fading, she was alone. And she looked exhausted.
I pulled the small tin from my pocket — antiseptic ointment I'd packed specifically for situations like this — and walked over, making enough noise that I wouldn't startle her.
She looked up, and for just a moment, her expression was unguarded. Tired. Hurting. Then the walls came back up.
"Noah." Her voice was carefully neutral. "Shouldn't you be celebrating with your team?"
"Probably." I sat down beside her, not too close, leaving space. "But I figured you could use this more than I need another round of Owen's victory speeches."
I held out the tin.
She stared at it, then at me. "What is it?"
"Antiseptic ointment. For your eye." When she didn't take it, I added, "That bite's going to get infected if you don't treat it. And before you tell me you're fine, we both know you're not. You keep touching it when you think no one's looking, and you've been squinting for the past hour."
Her jaw tightened — that familiar Courtney defensiveness, the reflex to refuse help because accepting it meant admitting vulnerability.
She hates this. Hates needing help, hates being seen as weak, hates losing control of the situation.
But then something shifted. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was because I'd helped her before, back in the cafeteria this morning or because I silently encouraged her to jump during cliff challenge.
She took the tin.
"Thank you," she said quietly, unscrewing the lid with careful fingers.
I watched as she dabbed the ointment around the swollen area, wincing slightly when she touched the worst of it. Her movements were precise, controlled — even in pain, she maintained that air of competence.
"You know," I said after a moment, "most people would've stopped working after that bite. Complained, asked for help, made it everyone else's problem."
She paused, looking at me sidelong. "That would've slowed the team down."
"Exactly my point. You pushed through because the team needed you." I leaned back on my hands. "That's not weakness. That's strength wearing a different face."
For a long moment, she was silent. Then she closed the tin, holding it out to me.
"Keep it," I said. "You'll need to reapply tomorrow. And probably the day after."
"I can't just—"
"Courtney." I met her eyes. "We're on different teams. We're competing for the same prize. But that doesn't mean I want you to suffer unnecessarily. Take the ointment. Consider it preventive maintenance for a worthy competitor."
She looked at me for a long moment, something complicated moving behind her expression — surprise, gratitude, and maybe the beginning of trust. But underneath it all, I could see her relax slightly. Because I'd framed it as her choice. Her control. Not charity, not pity. Just pragmatism.
"Thank you, Noah. Really."
I stood, brushing dirt off my shorts. "Don't mention it. Literally. If Heather finds out I'm being nice to the competition, she'll probably stage a coup."
That earned a small laugh. "Your secret's safe with me."
As I walked away, I heard her voice again, quieter: "Noah?"
I turned back.
"You're a good person. I know you hide it behind sarcasm and pretend you don't care, but..." She paused, searching for words. "You notice people. The parts they try to hide. And you help anyway. That matters."
I didn't know what to say to that. So I just nodded and left before the conversation could get any more emotionally complicated than it already was.
Confessional - Courtney:She's holding the tin of ointment, turning it over in her hands. "Noah didn't have to do that. We lost. I'm not his responsibility. But he saw I was hurting and he helped." Her expression softens. "Most people just want you to be okay so they don't have to feel uncomfortable about your pain. But Noah... he actually cares. He sees you struggling and he does something about it." She pauses, voice dropping and unsure. "If we were in one team… maybe It would be okey to follow his lead sometimes?
Dinner Scene - The Cafeteria
The mess hall was loud with the competing energies of victory and defeat.
Our team — the Gophers — had claimed the left side of the room, Owen already launching into his third retelling of the challenge with accompanying sound effects and wild gestures that nearly knocked Cody off the bench.
The Bass sat on the right side, and the difference was stark. Shoulders slumped. Quiet conversations. The weight of knowing that in a few hours, one of them would be gone.
I sat at the end of our table, as far from the chaos as I could manage without actually leaving. My stomach growled quietly, but I ignored it. I'd eaten one of my energy bars earlier, and I'd eat another later in the privacy of the cabin. The less attention I drew to having personal supplies, the better.
Limited resources. Can't share what I don't have enough of. And the moment people know I have food, they'll expect me to share.
The gray sludge on everyone else's plates looked like it was plotting revenge. Owen seemed unbothered, shoveling it in with enthusiasm that bordered on concerning. Most others picked at it with varying degrees of disgust.
I pulled out my notebook instead, pretending to review observations from the challenge while actually just avoiding the dinner situation entirely.
Across the room, the Bass conversation was getting more intense. I could hear Eva's voice cutting through the ambient noise, blunt and uncompromising.
"Look, we all know who's going home. DJ didn't jump. Cost us supplies. End of story."
I watched DJ's shoulders slump even further, his massive frame somehow looking smaller. "I know. It's fair. I let you guys down."
"It's not your fault you're scared of heights!" Bridgette protested, always the defender of the gentle ones.
"Don't matter if it's his fault," Eva shot back. "We lost because of it. That's just facts."
Courtney tapped her clipboard — of course she'd brought it to dinner. "Statistically, Eva's correct. The missing jumper created a supply disadvantage we couldn't overcome. The math is clear."
"But he worked really hard on the build!" Sadie said, voice wavering. She'd been doing better today — I'd watched her actually participate without constantly looking for Katie, had seen Eva's aggressive support starting to work. But the distress was creeping back now.
Then I saw Ezekiel shift in his seat. His mouth opened. His expression had that particular quality — the look of someone about to contribute to a conversation they fundamentally didn't understand.
Oh no. Here it comes.
I knew that look. I'd seen it in the show, watched this exact moment unfold. This was when he'd say something catastrophically ignorant about gender, get himself voted out first instead of DJ, and start his tragic descent.
Not happening. Not on my watch.
I stood, stretching casually. "Gonna get some air. This place is loud enough to violate noise ordinances."
I walked past the Bass table on my way to the door, slowing just enough as I passed Ezekiel.
"Hey, nice jump today," I said offhandedly, not quite stopping. "Takes guts to actually go through with it when you're up there."
Ezekiel's face lit up. "Oh! Uh, thanks, eh!"
I kept walking toward the door, then paused and half-turned back, like an afterthought. "Actually, you grew up on a farm, right? You know anything about setting snares? I've been reading about it but theory and practice are different things."
"Yeah! Pa taught me loads about trapping, eh!" His enthusiasm was immediate and genuine.
"Mind stepping outside for a minute? I've got some questions and it's too loud in here to think."
"Sure!" He stood immediately, clearly pleased to be asked for his expertise.
The Bass barely noticed as he followed me out. They were too absorbed in their elimination debate.
Confessional - Gwen:She's watching the door where Noah and Ezekiel just left. "So that kid Noah from our team just pulled one of the Bass guys outside. Don't know why. Don't really know Noah either — we've barely talked. But he's got this quiet observer thing going on. Makes you wonder what he's actually thinking."
Outside the Mess Hall
The evening air hit like a cool hand after the stuffiness of the cafeteria. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple, turning the lake into liquid gold. Somewhere in the distance, a loon called out — lonely and beautiful.
Ezekiel followed me a short distance from the building, looking eager. "So what'd you want to know about snares, eh?"
"Actually," I said, leaning against a tree, "I mostly wanted to get you out of there before you said something you'd regret."
His expression shifted from eager to confused. "What d'you mean, eh?"
"Your team's elimination discussion. You looked like you were about to jump in." I studied him carefully. "And I got the feeling whatever you were going to say wasn't going to land well."
He deflated slightly. "Oh. You could tell, eh?"
"Body language. You had that look people get when they're about to say something they think is helpful but probably isn't." I kept my tone conversational, not accusatory. "Want to tell me what you were going to say?"
He hesitated, then shrugged. "Just that I was surprised we lost, eh? Your team had more girls, and usually that means—" He stopped himself, finally reading my expression. "That's... that's what you meant, isn't it?"
"Yeah." I let the word sit there for a moment. "Ezekiel, real talk — you showed a lot of courage today. Going up to that cliff, looking down at the water, and jumping anyway even though you were scared? That takes real guts. Most people would've chickened out."
His face brightened immediately. "Really? You think so?"
"I know so. Fear is natural. Courage is doing it anyway." I paused. "But here's the thing — you've got good instincts about a lot of stuff. The jump today proved that. So I'm curious why you think having girls on a team is a disadvantage."
"Well, Pa always said—"
"I know what your Pa said," I interrupted gently. "But did you watch the challenge today? Really watch it?"
"Yeah, eh?"
"Then you saw Eva. She's probably the strongest person here. Period. She hauled supplies nobody else could lift, didn't complain once, pushed through exhaustion." I met his eyes. "Meanwhile Tyler — who's definitely a guy — tried a triple flip, ignored all advice, and face-planted so hard he couldn't help with the build. So who was the better team member there?"
Ezekiel frowned, processing.
"And Courtney organized your whole team's build strategy. Calculated everything in her head, delegated tasks, solved problems, and jumped off that cliff even though she was terrified." I kept my voice level. "That's not weakness. That's leadership and courage combined."
"I... I guess I didn't think about it like that, eh."
"Your Pa learned what he knows from his Pa, right? Going back generations?"
"Yeah, eh. Family knowledge."
"And maybe a long time ago, when the world was different, those ideas made sense. But we're living right now. And right now, today, you saw with your own eyes that girls can be just as strong, just as smart, just as capable as guys." I softened my tone. "You seem like a good guy, Ezekiel. Kind heart, good instincts. Don't let old ideas make you look stupid. You're better than that."
He was quiet for a long moment, staring out at the darkening lake.
"Thanks for telling me, eh," he said finally. "I'll think about it. Really think about it."
"That's all anyone can ask." I pushed off from the tree. "And seriously — that jump took courage. Remember that."
His smile was small but genuine. "Thanks, Noah."
Confessional - Ezekiel:He looks genuinely thoughtful. "Noah said some stuff that's got me thinking, eh? About what Pa taught me and if it's actually true." He fidgets. "Eva IS really strong. And Courtney IS really smart. Maybe... maybe I should watch what people actually do instead of assuming, eh?" He pauses. "Feels weird questioning Pa. But maybe that's okay sometimes?"
Confessional - Noah:He looks tired but satisfied. "Ezekiel's not malicious. He's just sheltered — raised in a bubble where his parents' word was law. But ignorance is fixable if someone's willing to learn." He pauses. "In another timeline, he says something sexist, gets torn apart, eliminated first, and spirals into tragedy. But maybe — just maybe — one conversation can change that trajectory. Small interventions. That's all I've got."
Bass Celebration - The Gift
The Gophers had claimed the area around our hot tub like conquering heroes. Owen was already waist-deep in the water, somehow eating and soaking simultaneously. Heather sat on the edge, feet dangling in, looking simultaneously pleased with the win and annoyed by Owen's splashing. Trent had his guitar out, strumming something mellow that got lost under the general chaos.
I sat on a log nearby, close enough to be part of the group but far enough to avoid getting pulled into the water by Owen's enthusiastic flailing.
The Bass, meanwhile, had gathered in a tight cluster near the campfire pit, voices low and serious. Chris appeared with his trademark megaphone and even more trademark grin.
"KILLER BASS! Time to face the music! Campfire ceremony starts in five minutes! Don't be late, or you'll be eliminated by default!" He lowered the megaphone, smile widening. "And trust me, that would make GREAT television."
The Bass stood slowly, reluctantly. The weight of elimination hung over them like a storm cloud. Courtney clutched her clipboard. Eva's jaw was set. Bridgette looked miserable. And DJ... DJ looked like he'd already accepted his fate.
I watched them file away toward the campfire ceremony area, disappearing into the trees.
DJ's going home. I know it. They know it. It's the logical choice.
But logic didn't make it feel any less heavy.
Katie appeared beside me, settling onto the log with a quiet sigh. "They look miserable."
"First elimination always is," I said. "Reality setting in that this isn't just a game. Someone's actually going home."
"DJ's probably going to be voted off," she said softly. "He's nice. I wish..."
She trailed off, but I knew what she meant. Wished it didn't have to be him. Wished kindness counted for more than challenge performance. Wished the game rewarded being a good person instead of just being useful.
"Yeah," I agreed. "Me too."
We sat in silence for a moment, the celebration continuing around us but feeling distant somehow. Owen's laughter, Trent's guitar, Heather's sharp commentary to Beth about something — it all felt wrong while the Bass were facing elimination.
Katie shifted, glancing at me. "We should do something for them."
I looked at her, surprised. "What?"
"Something nice. They built that hot tub too, even though they lost. They worked hard." Her expression was earnest, determined. "I know we're competing, but... it just feels wrong to celebrate while they're going through that."
I studied her face — genuine compassion, no calculation, just pure Katie goodness that probably would get her eaten alive in this game but somehow made her more human than the rest of us.
"You know they're going to think we're soft if we help the competition," I pointed out.
"I don't care." She met my eyes. "Do you?"
Did I?
I thought about DJ's gentle nature, about how he'd worked hard despite his fear, about how the Bass had struggled with fewer supplies through no fault of most of them. Thought about Courtney pushing through pain, Harold's skills going unappreciated, Ezekiel trying to learn better.
"No," I admitted. "I don't."
Katie's smile was bright enough to rival the fire. "Then help me fix their hot tub?"
The Bass Hot Tub - Engineering in the Dark
We waited until the Gophers were thoroughly distracted — Owen had started a cannonball contest that had everyone either participating or watching — then slipped away into the gathering darkness.
Katie pulled a small flashlight from her pocket. "Okay, so what's wrong with it?"
I knelt beside the Bass team's hot tub, running my hands along the frame. The structure was solid — they'd done good work under pressure — but there were issues that would cause problems long-term.
"Several things," I said, testing a connection. "This panel's loose — it'll leak once water pressure builds. The firebox isn't properly secured to the base. And these support beams..." I pushed against one, felt it shift. "They're not anchored correctly. First strong wind and this whole thing could collapse."
Katie crouched beside me, her flashlight steady on the problem areas. Her eyes moved over the structure with the focus of someone who understood how things fit together.
"The panel we can tighten with the existing hardware," she said, already reaching for a loose bolt. "But the firebox needs reinforcement — do we have anything to work with?"
I pulled out my multitool. "This, and whatever materials they left behind."
"That'll work." She was already moving, hands confident, like this was second nature. "Hold the flashlight here — I need both hands."
I took the light, angling it where she indicated. In the dim glow, I could see her face set with concentration, fingers working quickly through the connections.
"Your dad taught you this?" I asked quietly.
"Mmm-hmm." She didn't look up, focused on tightening a bolt that had been barely hand-tight. "Spent half my childhood in his garage, handing him tools and watching him rebuild engines. He always said if you understand how something's put together, you can fix anything."
"Useful philosophy."
"Very." She moved to the next connection. "Okay, I need you to hold this beam steady while I secure it. Don't let it shift."
I braced my weight against the support beam, holding it in position while she worked. The wood was rough under my palms, still slightly damp from the earlier lake water. Above us, stars were beginning to emerge, sharp and clear in the darkening sky.
"You're good at this," I observed. "The engineering thing."
"I like it," she said simply. "Things make sense when you can see how they fit together. People are way more complicated."
"Can't just tighten a bolt and fix a person?"
She laughed softly. "If only. Would make life a lot easier." She tested the connection, nodded in satisfaction. "Okay, that's solid. Next is the firebox."
We worked in companionable silence for a while. Katie directed, I assisted, and slowly the hot tub transformed from structurally questionable to genuinely solid.
"There," she said finally, testing the last reinforcement. "That should hold. Better than ours, actually."
"Ours is held together by Owen's enthusiasm and denial of physics," I agreed. "This is actual craftsmanship."
She smiled, wiping her hands on her shorts. "Think they'll notice?"
"Courtney notices everything. And Harold's the type to inspect his work compulsively. They'll know someone fixed it."
"Will they know it was us?"
"Maybe. Probably." I stood, offering her a hand up. "Does it matter?"
She thought about that, taking my hand and pulling herself to her feet. "No. I guess it doesn't."
We stood there for a moment in the darkness, looking at our work. The hot tub sat solid and ready, a silent gift from competitors who had no reason to help except that it felt like the right thing to do.
"Thanks for helping," Katie said softly.
"You did most of the work. I just held things steady."
"Still." She bumped my shoulder gently. "You didn't have to. But you did."
Because you asked. Because you looked at me like you believed I'd say yes. Because somewhere between this morning and now, your opinion started mattering more than I expected.
"Well," I said instead, "couldn't let you wander around fixing hot tubs in the dark by yourself. You'd probably fall in or electrocute yourself or discover some new way to injure yourself that physics hasn't invented yet."
"I'm not that accident-prone!"
"You tripped on flat ground twice today."
"Those were flukes!"
We were both smiling as we made our way back toward the celebration, the secret of our small kindness tucked away between us like something precious.
The Return
We rejoined the Gopher celebration just as Geoff was attempting to convince everyone that trust falls into the hot tub were "totally safe, bro, I've done it a million times."
"No," Gwen said flatly.
"Come on! It's team bonding!"
"It's a concussion waiting to happen."
Owen, naturally, volunteered immediately. The resulting splash nearly emptied half the hot tub and soaked everyone within a five-foot radius. Heather shrieked. Leshawna laughed so hard she nearly fell off her seat.
"Did you guys see that?!" Owen surfaced, grinning like he'd just invented fun. "That was AWESOME!"
"That was structural damage," I muttered.
Katie stifled a laugh.
I settled back onto my log, and Katie sat beside me, close enough that our shoulders almost touched. The warmth from the nearby fire felt good against the cooling night air.
Heather had claimed a spot in the hot tub itself, seated with her back against the edge, arms submerged completely beneath the waterline. Her posture was careful, controlled — not the relaxed lounging of someone just enjoying the warmth.
I watched for a moment, noting how she kept both arms under the surface even when gesturing or talking. How she shifted occasionally, subtle winces she thought no one could see. The warm water wasn't just for comfort — it was treatment. Soothing whatever hurt she was hiding.
The bruises. She's letting the heat work on them where no one can see.
She caught me looking and her expression went sharp, defensive. I looked away deliberately, giving her the privacy she needed.
The celebration continued — loud, chaotic, alive with the energy of victory and relief. But underneath it, I kept part of my attention on the treeline, waiting.
It was maybe twenty minutes later when I heard them.
Footsteps. Voices — quieter than before, heavier. The Bass emerged from the trees, walking back toward their cabin in a loose group.
I counted them automatically.
Courtney. Harold. Eva. Bridgette. Geoff. Sadie. Ezekiel. Tyler. Duncan. Izzy.
Ten.
Ten Bass members walking back.
One missing.
DJ wasn't with them.
The Bass moved past our celebration without much acknowledgment. A few nods. Duncan's signature scowl. Courtney's exhausted but composed expression. They looked drained — emotionally wrung out in the way that first eliminations always left people.
Katie noticed my expression. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I said. "Just tired."
DJ's probably on his way to Playa des Losers right now. Two months of resort living versus staying here with Chef's cooking and Chris's sadism. I almost smiled at the thought. He might've gotten the better deal.
Be strong big guy. We are at a loss after losing chance to know you.
To my surprise I noticed few bass leaving their cabin few minutes later. Do they still have strength for confessions?
Confessional - Courtney:She's in her pajamas, hair down for once, looking exhausted but with a small, genuine smile. "We came back from the worst night so far and found our hot tub fixed. Someone did that. Someone from the Gophers, I'm guessing." She pauses thoughtfully. "Noah… was that you?
Confessional - Harold: Process of elimination points to Noah as the most probable candidate, though I can't be 100% certain. Either way, the gesture itself matters more than who did it. After tonight... that kindness meant something."
Confessional - Bridgette:She's smiling sadly" Whoever did this… Thank you."
Late Night - The Porch
I couldn't sleep. Too much adrenaline, too many thoughts circling.
Eventually, I gave up, slipped out of bed as quietly as possible, and headed outside. The night air was cool, the stars clearer than I'd ever seen them in the city. I sat on the cabin porch, letting the silence wash over me.
I wasn't alone for long.
Footsteps, quiet and deliberate. Heather emerged from the girls' cabin, wrapped in a blanket, arms crossed protectively.
She saw me and hesitated, like she was considering going back inside. Then, surprisingly, she walked over.
"Can't sleep?" she asked, voice neutral.
"Too much to process," I admitted. "You?"
"Something like that." She sat down on the opposite end of the porch, maintaining distance. For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she said, quiet enough that I almost missed it, "Thank you. For earlier. During the build."
"You don't have to thank me."
"I do, actually." She pulled the blanket tighter. "Most people would've made a big deal out of it. Asked questions. Made it... a thing."
"Making it a thing wouldn't have helped you," I said simply. "So I didn't."
She was quiet for a long moment, studying me in the darkness.
"You're strange, Noah. You know that?"
"I've been told."
"Most people here are either trying too hard to be liked, or trying too hard to be intimidating, or just..." She gestured vaguely. "Too much. But you're just... you. Observing. Helping when it's logical. Not asking for anything in return."
"Should I be asking for something in return?"
"Most people would." Her voice was bitter. "Everything's transactional. Help comes with expectations."
"Not from me," I said. "I help because it's the right thing to do, not because I want something from you."
She looked at me for a long moment, expression unreadable in the dim light.
"I don't know if I believe that," she said finally. "But... I want to."
"Fair enough."
We sat in silence for a while longer. Not comfortable silence, but not hostile either. Just... coexistence.
Finally, Heather stood, blanket wrapped around her shoulders. "I should go back before anyone notices I'm gone."
"Same."
She started toward the girls' cabin, then paused. "Noah?"
"Yeah?"
"Whatever you think you saw today... just forget about it. It's none of your business."
"I know."
She studied me for another second, then nodded and disappeared into the darkness.
I sat there a while longer, processing the conversation.
She's terrified, I realized. Not of me. Of vulnerability. Of someone seeing past her armor and finding something she's trying to hide.
And I have no idea how to help someone who won't admit they need help.
Confessional - Noah:"Heather's got walls ten feet thick and barbed wire on top. I can see the cracks now, but getting through them? That's going to take time. And trust. And I'm not sure she knows how to give either."
Eventually, exhaustion won. I headed back inside, climbed into my bunk, and finally—finally—drifted off to sleep.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges.
But tonight, we'd survived day one.