“And your dad? What did he say?”
Like the flip of a switch, Colton’s features change from lighthearted to heavy. A muscle works in his jaw. Colton glances down at the camera and mic on the lapel of his shirt, reminding me that we are live and pretty much everything we say and do is recorded for public consumption.
I instantly regret asking Colton my prying questions. I know Senator Downing has high expectations, especially when it comes to public image, so I can only imagine how his dad must have responded to his sons’ rendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner,” but I don’t need to air the Downings’ dirty laundry for all of America.
“Let’s just say, I learned to respect the National Anthem a little better after that.” He smiles as if somehow it was a happy memory, but I know it’s just for the cameras.
Thinking of the show and those watching right now makes my stomach churn. We were so close to going home tonight. If Colton and I don’t turn things around fast, we won’t be in this game much longer. But how in the world are Colton and I going to get America on our side so we’re not voted into last place?
Just then, I notice Colton’s hand move subtly to the space between us, tracing letters in the sand.
I keep my body, as well as my lapel mic and camera, facing straight ahead so that nothing Colton writes can be seen by those watching. He does the same. To any viewer back home, we look like we’ve gone back to stargazing in silence.
I glance down at Colton’s sandy words and read “Talk. Private.”
My eyes flash to his before I erase his message with my hand and write a new one. “How?”
“Put camera on bed.”He erases the message, then writes more.“Leave while ‘sleeping.’”
I think through his plan. Every night I take my lapel mic and camera off and place them on the side of my bed. Tonight, I can just face my camera toward the wall, and no one will be the wiser. The show’s camera-and-drone crew will have gone to bed for the night. But of course there are the other contestants’ personal mics and cameras to consider. Who knows when another contestant’s camera could get a glimpse of us, but maybe if I pretend I’m going to one of the bathrooms, then no one will suspect anything is off, and Colton and I can have some time to talk off-air.
Accepting this plan, I write “Where?”
When the other contestants are asleep, Colton and I make our individual escapes to the “bathroom,” meeting just behind the tail end of the plane. For good measure, we travel a few yards into the jungle. I try not to pay attention to the fact that I’m barefoot and that the jungle is riddled with fist-sized spiders and life-squeezing snakes. I step closer to Colton, somehow feeling better as I do.
When we get to a spot in the trees where we can speak without drawing attention to ourselves while also seeing the flood lights beaming off the exterior of the plane, Colton and I turn to face one another. Simultaneously, we both let out a long breath. It turns out that not being recorded twenty-four seven is a literal relief to us both.
Colton jumps right to the point, likely trying to reduce anyone’s growing suspicion of how long we’ve been in the “bathrooms” if somehow we were spotted.
“I thought it would be good if we talked strategy without an audience.” Colton crosses his arms in front of his chest, emphasizing his muscles. His very defined muscles. He does not skip arm day, that’s for sure. “Missy,” he says, breaking through my Poseidon thoughts.
“Yes?” I refocus, training my gaze on trusty Hairy.
“I think it’s time we consider stepping up our game.”
I swat at a pesky mosquito hovering in front of my face. “And how do you propose we do that?”
“I think we should”—Colton clears his throat—“become a couple … or a showmance, or whatever it’s called … for the sake of the show.”
“What?” I cough out. That is not what I thought he was going to say.
Colton does an awkward shuffle of his feet on the damp ground. “I mean, well, if you don’t already have a guy at home?”
I raise a brow. “A guy? Like a boyfriend?”
“Yes, a boyfriend.”
“No, I don’t. But that doesn’t mean I want to date you.”
He blows out a breath. “Look, it’s no secret that America doesn’t exactly love us right now.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“Exactly, so we need to get ahead of this. We need to find a way to climb in their votes or else we could be the next team to leave. And as much as I personally dislike this option, I know showmances can be a game-changer.”
I narrow my eyes at him, knowing which showmance he’s talking about because it’s likely the only one he’s ever seen. “Are you seriously referring toThe Hunger Games?”
Colton flicks his hands out. “It worked, didn’t it?”
