Chapter Five Hell Is a Three-Legged Limbo Race
Chapter Five
Hell Is a Three-Legged Limbo Race
Chase is chatting with our producer, Leah, when I rejoin them on the sofa. Leah holds up a bundle of bright-purple Velcro straps. “Let’s get you two tied up.”
Leah takes my leg and snuggles it up next to Chase’s leg, binding us together from our ankles to our knees. I’m a foot shorter than Chase, so I can already tell this is going to throw us off as we try to stand up.
Leah looks at my face. “You’re red. Give me a sec.” She roots around in her bag for a moment before producing face powder. She fluffs a pouf in my face a few times and then tilts her head as she checks her work. “A little better,” she says under her breath.
“I can hear you,” I tell her.
“I mean, you look great! Why don’t you two head to the starting line? Try to get used to moving together.”
“Sure. Chase, why don’t we—” I begin, but Chase starts walking away without so much as a glance at me, and I’m dragged along like a Chihuahua attached to a Great Dane. And sure enough, within a few steps, the two of us crash into the sand. I go down face-first.
Damn it. Before the show, I’d prepped for the physical challenges: I’d upped my cardio, practiced sprinting to my classroom on school days, and taken the stairs up to my mom’s apartment instead of the rickety elevator. But now it’s clear I’ve made a crucial mistake. The challenges aren’t just about me, they’re about us. Chase and I may work well together in our daily lives, but out here, in this totally different world of reality TV, Chase and I aren’t in sync at all.
Plus, I’m super drunk.
“We need a real plan,” I say to Chase, spitting sand out of my mouth. I eye the beach and try to marshal my fuzzy brain into working order. “A real, actual working plan. With steps. And action items. And…”
“Aw, babe, you’re tipsy!” Chase says, patting my shoulder. “I say let’s not overthink it. We just need to, y’know.” Chase gestures a walking motion with his hands.
Of course, that’s the exact moment Daniel and Selena drop down next to us in one smooth motion.
“You guys good?” Daniel asks.
“Very,” I say. “Extremely. Super. And I’m completely sober.”
Daniel looks at me, a little concerned. “Sober? Slayer, did you—”
“I’m fine!” I insist quickly. “May the best couple win.”
“Secret alliance!” Selena cheers, pumping her fist before she and Daniel take a graceful leap toward the starting line.
“Okay, let’s just coordinate our moves, and—” I don’t get to finish because Chase stands up, leaving me flailing after him. I loop my arms around his waist, hanging on for dear life as he lopes along toward the starting line. We’re the last couple to take our places.
I glance around at the competition. Every couple here has their own distinct style. I can almost imagine the casting department picking out the country-cute couple rocking cowboy hats and boots paired with their rustic plaid swimsuits, then putting them next to a boho-chic couple sporting flowing blond hair with flowers woven in. The woman is wearing a crochet bikini top and artfully faded jean shorts, while the guy wears a yellow tank top with an image of a sunrise on it and a fringed vest. Selena gives us a conspiratorial wink.
“Final four,” she mouths.
“Secret alliance,” Chase mouths back with a fist pump. They beam at each other.
Chase has formed a secret alliance with my high school nemesis and his girlfriend. It really hits home how completely I’ve lost control of this situation.
But it’s not too late to get things back on track. I summon up my list of goals. Right, I have to assess my competition. The show didn’t release any information about who we’d be competing against until today, so I didn’t get the chance to study up on them beforehand. Instead, a cram session will have to do.
I survey the people beside me. Selena and Daniel are known quantities. The couple on our other side looks like they just came straight out of bottle service at a Vegas nightclub. The guy is wearing distressed jeans and a muscle tee, and his partner is wearing a tight swim cover-up that somehow manages to make her look less covered up. But while this choice of outfit probably thrilled the producers, I can tell she’ll have trouble running in that skirt. She’s tiny, and her boyfriend is massive and absolutely ripped. They’re even more mismatched in size than Chase and me.
Also, this guy seems totally distracted. I catch him blatantly ogling the other women on the beach until his partner notices and grabs his arm, pulling him into a deep—and distinctly slobbery—kiss to get his attention.
Behind them, I can see another couple that’s all business. They’re both decked out in blazers, which seem hilariously out of place on the beach. The woman has her black hair slicked back in a short ponytail. Beneath her blazer, she’s wearing a white shirt covered with the words Rise and Grind. Instead of suit pants, though, she has on black bikini bottoms. Her partner matches her. He’s wearing a hawklike expression, his sharp eyes narrowed and his dark, perfectly groomed eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He adjusts his glasses as he scrutinizes the course like he’s trying to pick it apart.
“Make room for the winners,” an obnoxiously loud voice calls out. Mr. Rise and Grind is shoved to the side by a redhead wearing a muscle tank with frat letters plastered across the front. As he barrels past, I clock the barbed-wire tattoo circling his bicep.
“The hell?” Mr. Rise and Grind snaps.
“What? Sorry, I don’t speak loser,” the guy says.
“Dominic, you’re so bad,” his partner says, playfully swatting his arm. She’s a sporty-looking woman in army-fatigue joggers and a black sports bra. Her long brown hair is pulled back into messy pigtails, and she’s got earrings in that look like daggers. The two of them are in matching camo trucker hats.
“We’re not here to make friends, Zya,” he tells her. “We’re here to win!”
She rolls her eyes. “Please, these other girls are going to be too busy worrying about messing up their makeup to be any match for me.”
I already sort of hate this couple. They’re competitive, which I can respect, but also obnoxious as hell. I make a note to steer clear of them.
I can’t really scope out the rest of my competitors without making it obvious what I’m doing, so I turn my focus to the obstacle course before us, which is laid out on the sand next to the waterline. There are limbo poles speared into the sand about thirty feet apart, three in total before a finish line. The poles get progressively closer to the ground, each one more difficult to limbo under than the last.
I’m still studying the course when one of the production assistants signals us to quiet down. Dawn Taylor saunters over to face the cameras.
“Babes, it’s time to limbo your way out of Limbo!” Dawn Taylor says, doing a little shimmy. “The first couple to make it through the obstacle course will win a luxury date in our Paradise Cabana. The losers get to spend some quality time on the beach. And whoever comes in dead last? Well, you’ll be dead to us—and eliminated from the competition.”
One of the cameramen runs parallel to the line of contestants, getting one last shot of us lined up. I concentrate on looking determined while Chase strikes a pose, flexing his muscles like an old-timey strongman.
Dawn Taylor raises her hands. “Love is hell. Can you take the heat? We’re about to find out! Your journey begins now !” We start to launch ourselves forward.
“Everyone, hold your places!” Peter Dixon calls from the sidelines. “Dawn, DT, love it, no notes. But let’s get a few more takes with some other catchphrases. Freya, take this.” Peter Dixon waves over the PA who was handing out drinks earlier, a timid-looking woman with black hair in two braids, and has her run a piece of paper over to Dawn Taylor.
A flash of annoyance crosses Dawn Taylor’s gorgeous features, but once she’s facing the camera, she flashes a brilliant smile and fires off a dozen phrases.
“Get ready to catch hell!”
“There’s gonna be hell to pay!”
“Let’s raise hell!”
Is this really funny or am I just drunk? Maybe it’s a little of both. I put my hand over my mouth and try to quiet my laughter, but I catch Lex the sound tech looking over at me. Clearly, they can tell I’m laughing, thanks to the mic pack I was outfitted with earlier.
Meanwhile, Dawn Taylor is still going. How long is this list?
“We’re about to have one hell of a time!”
“Ready, set, hell!”
At that last one, she turns to Peter Dixon. “I think we got it. Let’s move this along.”
“But you’re just getting to the good stuff,” Peter Dixon says.
“Pete, honey, I love you, but if I don’t get a glass of mango iced tea right this second, I’m not going to be able to say another word today,” Dawn Taylor says, pouting.
Peter Dixon chuckles. “Fine, you win. Can someone get DT here a drink?” One of the crew breaks from the pack, scurrying away toward the tents.
“Thanks a mil,” Dawn Taylor says. She flounces her way off to the side, toward a colorful beach chair with a matching umbrella. I don’t know how she’s managing to walk in heels on the sand. Sorcery, maybe. Or Pilates.
“So, should we start?” I ask.
“Oh, yeah. Um, please go,” the quiet PA—Freya, my mind supplies after a beat—says.
Ripples of confusion move through the line of contestants.
“Did she say go?”
“Are we starting?”
“Go, go, go!”
And we’re off. The part of me that’s attached to Chase is already running. Chase is two feet from the starting line before he seems to remember that we’re Velcroed together.
“Chase! Too fast!” I shout.
“Sorry, babe, got too excited,” Chase says, flashing me his trademark golden retriever grin.
Chase all but scoops me up. This time, I keep my arm wrapped around his waist. It works for a couple steps, but Chase is too tall and I’m too short, and our strides are hilariously mismatched.
New strategy: I’m going to cling to Chase with everything I’ve got and let his momentum carry us through this.
Ahead of us, several couples have already made it to the first obstacle. Selena and Daniel bound up with an annoying amount of confidence, and Selena even manages to do a cute little shimmy as she ducks below the pole. The Rise and Grinders pause, but only long enough to figure out that they can make it if they stagger their turns underneath the pole—then they, too, are racing to the next obstacle.
How is everyone making this look easy? The way things are going, Chase and I won’t even make it out of Limbo. And then our failure is going to be broadcast on television to millions of people—to all my friends, to my co-teacher, to Coach Raza and his husband, who I know are tuning in because they watch every reality show under the sun. Hopefully not to my mom, who exclusively watches tai chi videos on YouTube and K-dramas. The worst part is that Daniel, my high school nemesis, is here to see it all live and in person.
Like hell am I going to go out without a fight. I channel every last bit of spite I have into moving my aching legs. The gap between us and the next couple shrinks, and we reach the limbo pole just behind them.
It’s the couple that looks like they just left the club. The bodybuilder is too huge to easily make it under the limbo pole, and his bulging bicep nearly knocks over the pole. And his partner has to drop to her knees to shimmy under the pole, thanks to the skintight cover-up.
Chase barrels toward the pole. I yell, “Wait! Let me go first—” But it’s too late. Chase rams me into the pole.
“Ow!”
“Oops, watch out!” Chase says, maneuvering to give me space. He scoops me up again, and we’re off, definitely worse for wear. At least we’re neck and neck with our closest competition now.
The bodybuilder glances over at us as we sprint by.
“Blake, are you kidding me?” his partner screeches. “You’re checking that chick out now ? Right in front of me?”
“Bella, baby, I wasn’t! I was just seeing where they were!” Blake protests, pointing at me.
Bella whips her head around to glare at me. In a flash, I remember Bella’s jealousy, Blake’s wandering eye. I give Blake an almost cartoonishly suggestive wink.
Bella’s voice rises an octave. “What the hell? Did you hook up with that girl? She’s not even your type!”
This is our chance. I urge Chase onward, and we edge around them, running up to the second limbo pole. At this point, I think I’ve got the hang of it. In our best moment of coordination yet, my weight helps pull Chase under the pole, and we clear it without too much struggle.
Bella and Blake, on the other hand, are too busy arguing to see where they’re going, and they run smack into the second pole. Blake scrambles to get up, but his tight jeans are keeping him from lunging wide enough to stand. I can hear Bella’s furious shrieks as Chase and I make it past the third limbo pole, then half limp, half run to the end.
“We did it!” Chase shouts as we cross the finish line. Once I’ve undone the Velcro around our legs, he twirls me around. “Babe, we’re still in the game!”
I laugh along with him, buoyed by our close finish. We’ve survived to fight another day. But my moment of elation fizzles out when Dawn Taylor announces, “And the winners are…Daniel and Selena!”
She triumphantly raises Selena’s and Daniel’s hands, beaming. A cameraman pans around them as Selena shimmies and Daniel does a Superman pose.
Everyone cheers, with Chase cheering the loudest. He lets out an enthusiastic whoop before mouthing secret alliance at me. But through the applause, I can tell that other people’s smiles are strained, almost angry. We all came to win, and Selena and Daniel just pulled ahead of the pack.
“Congratulations, you’ve won a date in the sexy cabana,” Dawn Taylor says, doing a sensual body roll. She follows that up with, “As for all of you losers, you get to rough it on the beach for your date. But before that, we must bid farewell to Blake and Bella. The two of you fell victim to Limbo. It’s time for you to get the hell out of here.”
Bella and Blake link hands. I feel a rush of gratitude for this train-wreck of a couple, and even for my neon bikini. I bet that’s why Blake looked at me. The beacon-bright yellow color is as good as a signal flare.
“Say your goodbyes,” Dawn Taylor says solemnly. “Your flame in hell is about to be extinguished.”
Two PAs start to bring over a pair of torches, but Peter Dixon waves them off.
“Freya, Anton, we don’t need those,” Peter Dixon calls out. “DT, love this direction, but hell is literally on fire. Why are you putting out their torches?”
“It’s symbolic ,” Dawn says sweetly.
“I think we should skip it.”
“ Pete , we agreed to this months ago.”
“It’s coming off a little derivative. Too Survivor. ”
“That’s a good thing. Our whole pitch is Survivor in relationship hell, remember?”
“I hear you, DT. But you know what they’ll say online.”
By the looks going around, I can tell we’re all starting to feel the weird vibe between Peter Dixon and Dawn Taylor. I think they can tell, too, because in a flash, Dawn Taylor flips her scowl to a charming smile.
“I guess torches are a bit passé,” she says. She turns on her heel to face Bella and Blake again. “Bella and Blake, say your goodbyes. Your journey through hell ends here.”
On cue, Bella’s face crumples and a single tear tracks down her cheek. Blake goes in for a side hug, and she shrugs him off, clearly still pissed. The other contestants crowd around them.
“I’m so sorry you’re leaving. I’m gonna miss you so much!” the girl in the cowboy hat cries, throwing her arms around Bella.
As Bella pulls away, her eyes fall on me.
“You bitch !” Bella sobs. “You distracted my man with your feminine wiles !”
“Hang on,” I protest. “I didn’t wile anyone—”
Bella lunges for me, but the cowgirl catches her, holding her back. “Sweetie, don’t do this. No man is worth embarrassing yourself on TV for.”
“But she—” Bella struggles for a moment, and then sags, her head hanging. “Ugh. You’re right.”
Cindy’s warnings about getting the villain edit ring in my head. I have to make things good with Bella now, before the narrative takes hold. I say, “I’m sorry about the wink. It was just a joke. A stupid one.”
Bella looks at me, her face glistening with tears. “I forgive you. It’s not your fault that you’re super hot.”
There has to be some kind of sexy alchemy at play because no one’s ever called me “super hot” before. I have got to get in front of a mirror and find out what I look like in this bikini. I’m fully aware that my attractiveness level is “model in an Old Navy ad campaign” at best. In a Jane Austen novel, I’d be called “tolerable,” and that suits me just fine.
Before I can respond to this mind-boggling statement from Bella, Leah swoops in. “I think we’ve got enough footage here. Let’s debrief, kiddos.”
As she takes me and Chase away, the smell of food hits me, and my mouth immediately starts watering. The other contestants are heading for the catering tent, where a sumptuous buffet has been laid out—and is that a whole roast pig sizzling over an open fire? My stomach rumbles, and I realize that I haven’t eaten anything since before we jumped off the boat.
“Dinner?” I ask hopefully.
“Later. When you’re done with your interview,” Leah says firmly.
Leah leads us over to a dusty rose–colored love seat in the shade and gestures for us to sit. There are already glasses of champagne on the table beside us.
I think longingly of the water bottle I chugged and abandoned hours ago and pour myself onto the love seat next to Chase.
Lex is there, and I drunkenly wave to them before remembering that I’m not supposed to talk to the crew. They ignore me, like the professional they are.
The cameraman focuses on me as Leah checks her notes.
“So, Alice, do you feel lucky to be staying?”
“Yes! So lucky.”
“Okay, try that again, but I need you to repeat my question in your answer. That will help give context to the viewers. For example, ‘Do you feel lucky to be staying?’ ‘I feel lucky to be staying.’?”
“Got it,” I say. “I feel really lucky that we’re still in. If Bella and Blake hadn’t totally melted down, we’d have been in big trouble. Like mega, Godzilla-sized trouble.”
I fling out my arms, gesturing widely to make my point. Chase snorts, and then I giggle, and soon the two of us are laughing so hard it hurts. Leah folds her arms and glares at us.
“Sorry,” I say. “Did that answer your question?”
“Yes, but not in any way that’s helpful. It’s fine.” Leah jots something down. “Chase, what did you think of Bella going after Alice?”
“That was wild,” Chase says, his eyes wide. “Bella was so mad. But I knew my girl Alice would stay calm. She’s always cool as a cucumber.”
“That’s me,” I say, feeling the giggles start to bubble up in me again. “A cucumber.”
Leah rubs the bridge of her nose. “Uh-huh. Alice, can you say something nice about Blake and Bella? We need the viewers at home to know that there are no hard feelings. Something like, ‘Bella and Blake are total sweethearts. I’m so sad to see them go.’?”
“Yeah.” It feels like she’s slipping me the answers to a pop quiz. “I’m so sad to see Bella and Blake going home. They’re total sweethearts. I feel so bad. But also relieved that they’re going home and not us.”
“Usable,” Leah mutters to herself. “Okay, we’re done. Go eat.”
Relieved, I get to my feet. Blood rushes to my head, and I waver before catching myself. I really need some food in me.
I hurry to catch up with Chase, who’s already making a beeline for the catering tent. We pass by the winners’ cabana, and I crane my neck to see if I can get a glimpse of Daniel. When I do, I wish I hadn’t.
Daniel and Selena are snuggled up together in a white hammock with a fluffy blanket across their laps. The PAs must’ve worked hard to set this all up, because it’s the picture of a romantic getaway: Strings of tropical flowers dangle from the cabana ceiling and candles cast a soft, warm glow. Selena is resting her head on Daniel’s chest. His arm is tucked around her, and I can see the swell of his muscles gleaming in the candlelight.
There’s a tattoo that circles Daniel’s bicep, a series of thick dashes. He definitely didn’t have that when we were in high school.
Daniel was cute back then. I would’ve rather died than admit it, but it’s the truth. He had this dorky haircut and his uniform was always too big for his frame, but the way he grinned when his team pulled into the lead—it was like there was a magnetic field around him, pulling my gaze in. But seeing him now, I’m struck by how he’s both the same infuriating team captain I knew from so many years ago and someone completely different. His cocky attitude has mellowed out into an easy, understated confidence, and he’s handsome in this comfortable, effortless way. He looks like he’d be right at home on a page of Instagram thirst traps or strolling down the cereal aisle at the grocery store.
In the cabana there’s also a couple of crew members, a cameraperson, and Peter Dixon himself. As we pass by, I can hear Selena brightly saying her soundbites and nailing every one of them.
“One thing’s for sure. We’re in for one hell of a ride!” Selena chirps for the camera.
“Perfect,” Peter Dixon says. “Mark that take. Use it in all the promo spots. That delivery was, mwah, chef’s kiss.”
Selena beams. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do. We all want this show to be a hit, Mr. Dixon.”
“With your help, it will be,” he says. “Seth, I think we’re done here. Enjoy your night, folks.”
While Selena and Daniel hang back to chat with their producer, Seth, Peter Dixon and another producer start walking toward the catering tent—and toward us. I speed up, hoping to avoid any small talk, but Chase waves to them.
“Bryan, Mr. Peter Dixon, hi!” Chase calls. The producer named Bryan gives Chase one of those upward nods that bros do when they see each other in the wild. He must be Chase’s lacrosse friend who got us onto this show.
“Chase and Alice, was it?” Peter Dixon asks, offering Chase a handshake. He reaches for my hand next, but I’m still a bit unsteady on my feet. Instead of shaking his hand, I end up patting his arm. “What’d you think about your first day on the island?”
“It sucks,” I blurt out.
“Shit, what happened?” Peter Dixon asks, looking genuinely concerned. “Who do I have to fire?”
He’s joking, I think. “No one! Everything’s been great. I just mean, we almost lost,” I rush to explain.
“ Almost is the key word there,” Peter Dixon says. “You’re not out yet, so you still have a fighting chance. And hey, I’ve got a good feeling about you two. I’m rooting for you.”
“Damn right,” Chase says, slinging an arm around me. “We’re taking this all the way to the top, baby!”
“Hell yeah,” Bryan says, high-fiving Chase.
Peter Dixon holds up his phone. “Duty calls. You all have a good night now,” he says, and veers away from the path to the catering tent.
Once Peter Dixon’s gone, Bryan brings Chase in for a one-armed hug, clapping his back. In this light, he looks a bit like Chase, if Chase had close-cropped brown hair, a PGA Tour baseball cap, and a trust fund.
“Good to see you, man,” he says. “I’m glad you both made it on the show. Saved my ass, actually. This new kid Anton thinks he’s some kind of hotshot, but he’s the worst PA ever. Managed to erase half the database of talent we had lined up, and it turns out it wasn’t in the cloud. Took weeks to sort that out.”
“Happy to help,” Chase says. “Anything for a lax bro.”
“Thanks for thinking of us,” I say.
“Of course.” Bryan jerks a thumb toward Peter Dixon’s back. “Anyway, I gotta go. Dawn Taylor wants me to tail him, make sure he gets where he needs to go. Peter Dixon’s a great guy, real Hollywood trail-blazer, but he’d lose his Stanley mug if it weren’t in his hand. See you around.”
“How do you know him again?” I ask after Bryan gives Chase a goodbye that consists of three more fist bumps than is strictly necessary. “You said you were on the lacrosse team together?”
“Yeah, in college. We go way back. We met in freshman year and took a few lectures together. I lost touch with him after he moved out to Hollywood, but he reached out that day when, you know…”
“When my mom’s apartment nearly went up in flames,” I say.
“Yep. Why do you ask?”
“No reason. Just curious.”
Before, I’d assumed that Chase’s lacrosse buddy had tapped us for the show as a favor to Chase. But after the conversation we just had, I’m starting to wonder if we’re actually the ones doing him a favor. After all, it shouldn’t be hard to recruit for a show like this, even if you’re in a pinch and didn’t back up a few files. Maybe Bryan wanted to bring someone he knew into the cast, for whatever reason.
I don’t bother speculating about any of this aloud. Chase is just so trusting, there’s no way he would be willing to question Bryan’s motivations. But I was raised by a woman who would clip out newspaper articles about homicide cases and leave them on my desk for me to read. You don’t survive in America as an Asian immigrant without a healthy dose of paranoia, and my mother never let me forget it.
As Cindy pointed out so many months ago, I’m on a remote island with no cell service, surrounded by perfect strangers. The only person I truly have on my side is Chase, and that isn’t exactly reassuring.
I’m taking one step after another, my feet sinking into the soft sand, and I have to focus to avoid stumbling. I reach out to steady myself on Chase’s shoulder, but he’s no longer matching my pace and is rapidly leaving me behind.
I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the deep exhaustion settling into my bones, but for a second, I’m struck with the feeling that I am completely and utterly alone.
[INTERVIEW FOOTAGE: SOLO TALKING HEAD—DANIEL CHO, ALICE CHEN]
DANIEL CHO: Seeing Alice here was certainly a surprise.
[Cut to Alice on the beach, squinting into the sun.]
ALICE CHEN: Are you kidding me? What are the odds that he would be here? Am I cursed?
[Cut to Daniel, leaning against a palm tree.]
DANIEL CHO: Were we close? I wouldn’t say that, but we were friendly, in a competitive way. We went to different schools, but we were always crossing paths at academic events.
[Cut to Alice, scowling and wiping sweat off her forehead.]
ALICE CHEN: He was the literal bane of my existence.
[Cut to Daniel with a smile on his face.]
DANIEL CHO: We haven’t seen each other since high school. I’m excited to catch up with her.
[Cut to Alice, glaring at someone off camera.]
ALICE CHEN: All I know is he better stay out of my way.