Out of the corner of my eye, I see Colton’s Adam’s apple dip as his eyes scan me like a copy machine. “You look … your dress … Uh, the team did swell.”
I raise a brow. “Swell?”
“Well,” he amends. “I mean, the team did well. With the way you look, er, that dress looks, fits, er … It looks nice.” Colton nods too quickly before pointing to the beach. “We should find out where the film crew wants us for the interviews.”
“Yeah.” My brain feels fuzzy with his compliment. At least, I think it was a compliment. But then again, it’s Colton, so it was likely an insult in sheep’s clothing. “Let’s go,” I say, happy to turn away from Colton and focus on something … less Coltony. I hike up the hem of my dress to my ankles and pivot in the sand.
When we arrive on the beach, Colton and I pass Shannon and Penny, who are huddled around a tablet discussing something about bags and bars. We’re quickly whisked away by someSunsets and Sabotagecrew members who show us to a pair of matching seats, which we promptly occupy.
The seats are true to the plane crash theme ofSunsets and Sabotage. They are the same semistiff seats you’d find on an airplane, but ours are a bright teal, the same color that’s all over the outfits we wore to the airport. The same outfits we’ll change into after the opening interviews and wear for the entirety of our time on the island. But for now, I soak in the fact I’m in proper undergarments and not a swimsuit that’s giving me a wedgie every two seconds.
Looking around, I see that we’re sitting in two of fourteen seats on set. All of which are divided up by the seven different team colors. The seats form a crescent shape around a familiar fire pit. It feels absolutely unreal to be sitting on a set I’ve been watching through a television screen since I was a teenager.
I itch to grab my cell phone and take pictures from every vantage point for Paige, so that somehow I can bring some of this experience back to her. But since our phones were confiscated several hours ago, I settle for memorizing every last detail—the film crew with their cameras and spotlights, the detailed staging with bits and pieces of plane wreckage scattered around us, the powdered sugar sand that clings to my feet, the tropical breeze that brings the smell of the campfire and the freshness of flowers as it blows past. It’s all more than I could have imagined—including the nerves that are running through me like track stars.
Instead of letting my jitters get in my head, I lean over Colton’s body to greet the couple sitting in amber-colored seats next to us. I thank my lucky stars that the team who did my makeup and hair love to chat as much as I do. They had eagerly spilled the tea on all of the show’s contestants, and I promptly devoured it.
And, if their information was to be trusted, then the man and woman are Team Amber—two former tennis athletes whoboth won Gold in their singles divisions in the 1992 Summer Olympics. The couple looks sweet with their bright smiles and intertwined hands. The man’s hair is mostly gray with a few wisps of brown while the woman’s hair is black with a few streaks of gray. I wave to them, and they wave back, the woman replying with an “Hola.”
I respond with an “Hola” of my own.
I like them already.
After Colton and I chat with Team Amber, my eyes move down the line of chairs, spotting Team Violet—two female comedians that seem to favor self-deprecating humor, if their continual jabs at their “marshmallow-shaped nose” or “gizzard chin” have anything to say about it. They’re both wearing brightly colored power suits, and their hair is done up in matching brunette chignons. They are beautiful with their rosy smiles and infectious laughs, but it makes my heart sink every time I hear a demeaning joke just to elicit a reaction. Yes, I know it’s a form of comedy, but I also know it’s rooted in insecurity. I desperately want to walk over to the pair and show them just how stunning they truly are.
But then I spot the pair of guys sitting next to them—Team Ruby. Both were former contestants on a reality dating show. They’d played the “bad guys” of their season as they’d both brought their “matches” to tears in the final episode. They look like gym bros through and through with their bulging arm muscles that press against their white dress shirts. Their flat-billed hats have the wordsheartbreakeron one andtearjerkeron the other, both nicknames they’d been given on their season of their reality dating show, and apparently, were proud to own.
I’m making a mental note to keep an eye out for those two when Heartbreaker looks up, catching me staring. He winks at me, his lips curving into a wolflike grin. I flinch with hardcore ick, but then Heartbreaker’s eyes shift to Colton, andHeartbreaker instantly goes rigid. Suddenly, Colton clears his throat before turning some rather fiery eyes away from Team Ruby. Whatever Colton just did, I can tell he has Heartbreaker rethinking his wink.
Just then, one of the guys from the makeup-and-hair team approaches me, brushing my face with another layer of powder. I thank him. Between the humidity and the nerves exercising my sweat glands, my face likely looks like a bike reflector, something I’ll have to get used to for the next eighteen days, but for now, I’m grateful for the powder bath. The stylist moves to my hair. I can already feel my long curls starting to frizz, but the man is quick on the draw and sprays another round of antifrizz hairspray.
When the stylist moves on to Colton, he, too, gets a face-full of powder, but as soon as the stylist attempts to touch Colton’s hair, he is not so subtly turned away. No one but Colton touches his hair. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the other personal items in Colton’s backpack is hair gel.
As the stylist moves down the line of chairs, I can sense that we’re moments away from starting. More film crew file in and assume their places behind cameras and boom mics while Benji and another drone pilot send their camera drones into the air. I eye the airborne technology that flies high into the sky, figuring they must be equipped with night vision to get anything worth airing. It makes me wonder why we’re doing the opening interview at nighttime anyhow. While the show loves to mix things up every season, I’ve never seen the opening interviews take place at night.
I’m quietly contemplating the implications of a nighttime opening interview when I spot Team Peach, a man and woman who are apparently voice-over artists for a popular kids’ cartoon show. They walk down the torchlit path and onto the set, followed shortly by Team Fuchsia.
Legend is wearing a forest-green velvet suit that crops at the ankles, showing off a pair of sockless brown loafers. Silver is wearing a shimmering silk dress that reminds me of every James Bond seductress to ever grace the silver screen. She’s beautiful and lethal. Her heavily made-up eyes flick over to me. There’s no question in my mind that after Shannon’s little show of making me and Colton out to be the supposed “dream team,” Silver’s already tagged us as a threat.
Squirming anxiously in my seat, I glance at Colton, wondering if he’s feeling Silver’s poison eye darts like I am, but Colton’s mouth is open, his eyes wide with … shock? Delight? For a moment, I think he’s gawking at the striking Silver in her little temptress outfit, but his eyes don’t trail her form when she takes her seat.
I follow his line of sight to find the last of the seven teams, Team Lime, walking to their bright-green chairs at the end of the crescent. The shorter of the two men looks to be in his mid-forties, and the other in his early twenties. Both share similar features—high foreheads, friendly smiles, dark-brown skin, and an athletic build. They must be the father-son partnership.
“You okay?” I ask Colton, who seems more than a little starstruck.
“Yes. No … I mean, yes.”
Colton Downing tongue-tied for the second time tonight? Now I’m starting to get worried. Colton’s never been one to fumble words. He is a Downing. They are born rich and perfect. Well, except in Colton’s case. He’s rich and perfectly annoying.
“Careful, don’t let the flies in,” I say, tapping on his jaw that still hangs open. “It’s not a good look for our team.”
Colton brushes my finger away, his smooth jaw tightening into a grimace.
“Do you know them?” I ask as we watch Team Lime introduce themselves to Legend and Silver who sit in the fuchsia seats next to their lime ones.
“It’s Joseph Williams and his son, Tyrone.”
“Oh, right,” I say, recalling their names from my stylists’ info dump.
