Rude, mean, thoughtless, I want to say.
“I didn’t mean to say it like that,” he says, his damp hair curling against his forehead.
I push back the embarrassment I feel remembering the interview. This is not the time for emotional replays. This is the time to give this show everything I’ve got.
Colton pulls the oars closer to him. “I know you don’t want to, Missy, but we have to put everything behind us. Just for now,for this show, let’s work together. I promise I’ll have your back. I just need you to trust me this once.”
The sincerity in Colton’s eyes catches me off guard. Is he being serious? Can I trust Colton to have my back? Can I trust that Colton wants to win this show as badly as I do?
I heard his answer to Niall. The real one. Not the one he tried to turn into a whole do-gooder speech. He’s here for the fun of it—or for flashy toys, or whatever. He has no real need for the money. So when it comes down to it, can I really trust that Colton will have my back even when things get hard or exhausting or inconvenient, or when we can’t get along?
But one more glance in Colton’s persuasive eyes makes me rethink my doubts. The thought of having a genuine ally in this game is an undeniable asset. But how often have I been lulled into a false sense of security and trust only to have my hopes dashed against the rocks? My own mother couldn’t keep her promise to me, so why would I trust that Colton would?
I hear the drones hover closer, and I take a shuddering breath. We are wasting valuable time. I break my eyes from Colton’s. No, I can’t trust him. In the end, it’s me holding my own, a lifelong lesson I’d be stupid not to stand by. Without another thought, I leave the oars in Colton’s hands, grab the crowbar, and jump into the ocean.
Water rushes up to greet me, swallowing me whole before I break through the surface. Lugging the crowbar out of the water, I swim off-kilter toward the closest crate.
“Missy!” Colton yells over the churning waves, frustration evident in every letter of my name. I know I’ve just swatted at a hornet’s nest, but we need supplies. He may be a future lawyer, but I doubt any skills they taught him at Yale ever included scaling coconut trees or making deodorant appear out of thin air. He might be frustrated now, but he’ll be thanking me for the next eighteen days.
I reach the crate, realizing just how much bigger it is at water level. There is no way I can even reach the top, let alone crack it open with the crowbar, but neither can Colton leave for the island without me.
Water streams down my face, my curls now drenched and swishing around my shoulders as I hold onto the side of the crate and watch as Colton reluctantly rows the boat closer to me. His sharp jaw is tight, and his gaze is cold.
“Give me the crowbar, Missy, and get in,” Colton says.
“We are not leaving without supplies,” I demand. I didn’t get soaked for nothing.
“I know,” he grumbles through bared teeth. “Hand me the crowbar so I can open the crate.”
I’m about to ask him for the magic password when I realize that we’re not in one of our normal spats, and this time I have a future at stake. I doggy-paddle next to the boat and hand Colton the crowbar. He immediately goes to work, wedging the crowbar between the two wooden slabs that make up the opening. All the while, I fight for my life as I try to hike an arm and leg over the rim of the boat in my fully clothed and sopping state.
My glittering daydream of a dress has just become my nightmare. I attempt to get into the rowboat three more times, grunting like a warthog with every unsuccessful try. I’ve practiced a lot of things in an evening gown, but climbing into a rocking boat in the ocean at night is not one of them.
By the time Colton finishes loading the crate’s contents into our boat, I’ve gotten stuck with one knee and one hand hooked over the boat’s edge, making me the world’s best-dressed barnacle. Fortunately, despite the anger I know is simmering under Colton’s stoic features, he takes pity on me and grasps my arm, pulling me out of the water with surprising ease.
“Thanks,” I say, righting myself and readjusting my bunched-up dress.
Colton doesn’t say a thing, nor does he look at me. He just grabs both oars and rows like he’s one ofThe Boys in the Boat.
I look back to find that Team Peach and Team Violet are several yards behind us while Team Amber is scavenging a nearby crate. Ahead of us, Team Ruby, Team Fuchsia, and Team Lime row closer to the island. With the three boats in front of us, I can only imagine how ticked off Colton must be, but we’ve been in worse scrapes than this, and we’ve always come out of it just as annoyed with each other as we started. We’ll be fine.
Now that Colton has gone into Hulk mode with the oars, I take to sorting through the items we got from the crate. My heart lights up like a kid who’s just collected a good haul of candy on Halloween night. At my feet, I find over a week’s worth of airplane food wrapped and packaged like TV dinners. I smile, knowing how long this will last us.
Below the meals, I find sunglasses, a Swiss Army knife, and a hygiene kit with toothbrushes, deodorant, and toothpaste. Helpful. The last item is a kids’ coloring book with pictures of little airplanes on each page along with a pack of crayons. Less helpful. But it’ll do.
As we row ever closer to the beach, we pass several scavenged crates with their wooden lids ripped off and floating in the ocean. My heart sinks every time we pass one. The more supplies we miss out on, the worse off we are. That’s when I see a sealed crate directly in the path ahead of us. I’m about to let this one slide for the sake of our team’s future partnership, but then I think of how nice it would be to have flint and steel for a fire or even a machete.
Once again, I glance back, finding two of the three teams behind us working on opening new crates. Surely, we have enough time to crack open just one more box and not come in last.
“Colton,” I say, in my nicest tone. I point to the crate that is coming up on our right. “We should stop for at least one more.”
Colton huffs out a humorless laugh. “Whatever you do, don’t jump in.”
“Does that mean we’re going to open the crate?”
His eyes pierce mine. “This is the last one, Missy. The last one.”
“Okay,” I say, feeling a spark of joy.
