The Thunder Bay airport is tiny, but I try to put some distance between us at the baggage collection. I notice he picks up a guitar case off the carousel, which is another huge Ick. There’s nothing wrong with playing guitar, but unless you’re literally on tour then travelling with one is unforgivable.
I packed lightly—not entirely by choice, as Dylan stole most of my clothes—which allows me to quickly collect my one suitcase and get outside to wait for my ride.
It’s surprisingly bright and warm, so I peel off my hoodie. I close my eyes and tilt my face up to the sun. When I open my eyes again, the Flip-Flop guy is also there, waiting, but he’s keeping a respectful distance. The funeral excuse really threw him off. I’ll put it in my back pocket for the next time I need to ward off an overly friendly stranger with exposed toes.
Another person joins us—a girl, about our age, with her face buried in her phone. She doesn’t acknowledge either of us.
After a few minutes, a black van pulls up. The Flip-Flop guy throws his bags in the trunk, and as he’s climbing into the van, he stops. “Hey,” he calls out to me. “Are you going to be okay there on your own?”
Huh. Why’s he being so nice to me? I wave. “I’m good, thanks.” He pauses for a second, then waves back before disappearing into the van.
The other girl heaves an impatient sigh, but when I turn to look at her, she’s still staring at her phone. I notice now that she’s so stunning it’s borderline rude. She’s got thick, curly hair that’s twisted into a loose chignon at the nape of her neck, the exact perfect balance of polished and undone. It’s a golden, honey blonde, either the result of great genesor a great stylist, and it makes me self-conscious of my straw yellow out-of-a-box job that Cori did in my bathroom two days ago.
In fact, this girl is everything I’m not. She has soft, round curves, while I’m all skin and bones. Expensive athleisure next to my Walmart sweats. Spotless white sneakers and shiny Prada sunglasses, versus ancient Converse and gas station shades. I’m glad she doesn’t seem to notice me.
A few minutes later, a white van pulls up. Gabby climbs out, smiling so intensely she looks a little unhinged. “Hi Cleo,” she says, beaming at me. And then she turns to the gorgeous girl. “Sue-Ellen, hi.”
Of course, the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen is going on this reality TV show, too. And somehow, I have to beat her.
Chapter Six
You’ve got to be kidding me.
If the blonde—Sue-Ellen—is the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, then the other three girls in the van are all hot on her heels for second place. I’m so screwed.
“Let’s get to know each other!” Gabby says, hitting her hand against the steering wheel. “Why don’t you all introduce yourselves, but don’t say too much—we’re playing an on-air get-to-know you game later, and we wouldn’t want to spoil it!” Everyone nods eagerly in agreement, except Sue-Ellen, who is still wearing her sunglasses, looking unimpressed.
“I’ll go first,” says the girl seated beside me, whose close-cropped hair highlights her exquisite bone structure. She’s wearing large, delicate gold hoops, and her fingernails are a bright pop of coral against her dark brown skin. “I’m Harmony. I live in Austin, where I’m doing my PhD in microbiology.” Beautiful and brilliant, great, just fucking great. She smiles broadly, revealing two rows of gleaming white teeth. I’m equal parts annoyed by her perfection and charmed by her easygoing poise.
The redhead behind her squirms. “I guess I’ll go,” she says in a breathy voice. She looks around, like she’s waiting for someone to save her, but when no one does, she says “My name is Trina. I’m from Des Moines. I’m an ICU nurse.” I try to imagine this beautiful creature in scrubs—she looks like she’d be more at home on a catwalk. Her skinis so pale it’s almost translucent, creating a stark contrast with her waist-length fiery red hair. She’s all sharp angles and long limbs, and her cheeks flush as she speaks. “And that’s it,” she says, looking at me.
“My turn,” I say, injecting some extra sweetness into my voice. We aren’t filming yet, but I have to establish that I’m a girl’s girl—that’s almost as important as getting a guy to fall for me. “I’m Cleo, from Vegas. I’m a waitress in a casino.” I beam at the other girls, and they all beam back. Except for Sue-Ellen, who looks supremely bored. “What about you?” I say to her, sweetly. Maybe if I befriend her, she won’t come for me? Unlikely.
She pauses, then pushes up her sunglasses, revealing her wide, chestnut-brown eyes and thick, dark eyebrows. Somehow, she manages to get even more beautiful. “My name’s Sue-Ellen,” she says, a hint of a Southern accent warming her words. “I’m an actress. I live in LA but I’m from New Orleans.” It’s bold of her to mention she’s an actress. I’ve omitted that detail from my bio, so no one assumes I’m here for the Wrong Reasons, but she doesn’t seem bothered by what anyone else thinks of her.
“I love NOLA,” says the brunette beside her. She’s petite and compact, with a riot of dark curls tumbling down her back, and thick, dark lashes framing her wide-set hazel eyes. “My name is Valeria,” she says, her tongue flicking over the ‘r.’ “I moved to Miami from Cuba seven years ago. I’m a yoga teacher and wellness coach.” She’s got a gravelly voice and a throaty laugh, and even though I bet that she gets up and meditates before sunrise, she’s cute and I can’t hate her.
After our introductions, Gabby fills the silence with incessant chatter. She’s justsoexcited about everything! Can we believe this weather? It’s the warmest, driest summer on record for seventy-two years! Thunder Bay is actually the sunniest city in Eastern Canada! Did you know that Lake Superior is the world’s largest freshwater lake?!
She has an endless supply of fun facts, but mercifully, she quiets down as we pass the city limits. The highway narrows to two lanes. The buildings along the roadside start to thin out, and before longthere is nothing but a vast expanse of plush evergreens and blue sky in every direction. I lean my head against the windowpane, lulled by the gently winding road. I drop into a daydream about the moment I win the show, a faceless guy beside me, gasping in well-rehearsed shock when we hear our names.
The next thing I know, we’re slowing down.
Gabby turns onto a narrow dirt road. Clouds of dust billow up around the van as we bounce over potholes. Eventually, we pull into a small parking lot. There is a break in the trees marked with a hand-painted signpost that says “Camp Minisaabik this way” in faded letters.
Gabby unloads our bags from the back of the van. The other girls are laden with luggage, which has me feeling self-conscious, until Gabby says we have to take a “little hike,” and then I can’t help but feel smug, especially as I see Sue-Ellen struggle with her enormous suitcase, duffel bag, and several garment bags.
“Did the sherpas get stuck in traffic?” Sue-Ellen asks dryly.
Gabby smiles, a tightness in her face. “Come on, girls! It’s only a few miles to the lake!”
“The camp is on a lake?” Trina asks.
“On an islandinthe lake,” Gabby says. “Pearl Lake, to be exact. One of the largest lakes in Ontario, after the Great Lakes, of course.” I nod, likeof course. “Our island is Minisaabik Island, which is about three and a half miles offshore.”
“And let me guess, we have to swim to the island?” Sue-Ellen mutters, delicately mopping her brow with a handkerchief.
“Oh no,” Gabby says, chuckling. “It’s much too far to swim. We’ll take the canoes.”
