That’s apparently Adin and Siddharth’s invitation to fully approach. Even Aeneas, who had been lingering at the farthest edge of the clearing, comes to join the group gathering around our campsite.
Seyoon, who thrives in social situations that would kill a lesser being (me), singsongs, “Come one, come all! Witness the incredibly talented Dean Parker start a fire with his own bare hands injustunder a minute—”
“Stop that,” I hiss at her.
“Alright, no time constraints, but he will do it.” She turns to me with an affirming smile on her face. “Youcan.”
The only thing Icanis nocando.
15
SEE, I TOLD YOU PEER PRESSURE WORKS. RIGHT?SAY IT WORKS. DO IT. COME ON, EVERYONE’S SAYING IT
SEYOON
Dean looks like he wants to kill me. Harsh. He’ll thank me later, though. This is good for him, I promise. As volleyball captain, I know one thing kicks asses into gear better than anything else: peer pressure. All great things are created under pressure, after all. Diamonds, the hit Queen song. Other things, probably.
I step back into the semicircle of contestants, camera operators, and other crew members that has formed around Dean. Even Blake and Garrett idle along the sides. Garrett turns to one of the cameras near him and stage-whispers like he’s the Crocodile Hunter.
What we see here is a fundamental component of the teenage hierarchy system at work: social pressure. Dean, a member of the lower tier, anunderdog,some may say, is being forced to participate in a humiliation ritual in front of his peers; a common demonstration of the powers that be dominating—
“I can hear you,” Dean grits out. Garrett lowers his voice and steps farther away.
“Ignore him,” I say. “You know what to do.”
He gives me one last pleading look. I shoot him two thumbs-up. I wouldn’t be putting him on the spot if I didn’t think he could do it. Alright—if I wasn’t 85 percent sure he could do it.
Dean sighs in front of the tinder pile we collected earlier. His shoulders are tense, his movements stiff, as he hesitates with where to start. But then he grabs the fireboard and holds it in place with one foot. His eyes dart to mine. I nod subtly, and he gets back to work, more confident.
It’s dead silent as Dean positions the spindle into the notch of the board. Soon, the only sound filling the clearing is the grating of the spindle as he twists it against the wood. Shit. He’s still not doing it fast enough. I open my mouth—
Then shut it.Give him a chance,Seyoon.
The others aren’t as patient as I am, though.
“I’ve never seen it done at this… speed before,” Aeneas says.
“They’re going to have to make this an extended episode,” Vendredi whispers.
Dean, abruptly, drops the wood and sits back on his heels. My heart falls.
But he’s not giving up. He’s just pushing the sleeves of his crewneck sweater up, drawing my attention to his lean but surprisingly defined forearms. With elegant fingers, he pushes his hair out of his flushed face. A bead of sweat drips from his temple, across his sharp jawline, and runs down his throat before disappearing under the collar of his sweater—
Oh.
CONFESSION TAPE—Beck McLaughlin, Contestant
Oh!
CONFESSION TAPE—Adin Zavary, Contestant
Oh.
CONFESSION TAPE—Carter Moxley, Contestant
Ugh.
I swallow, rubbing the side of my neck. Dean gets back to it, more aggressively than before. Another minute passes. Then two. Then it becomes too painful to keep counting them. I look up and spot Blake wincing, writing something down on her clipboard. A note to trim this part in the episode, I hope.
