Chapter 21 #2
Then Mimi lunges at me, scooping me into a hug. She is squeezing the life out of me and all I can see is a camera lens, hidden in a plant pot, reflecting the sun.
‘So, no more bottling things up. You have friends here,’ I say, keen to end the conversation. ‘Friends who will listen and help.’
Mimi sniffs up the last of her tears. ‘I’m just so terrified of being rejected.’
There goes the voice of our generation.
I hold her at arm’s length and look her straight in the eye. ‘Why? I mean, I know it’s unpleasant. I have been rejected so many times from jobs, from guys, from social media. I have like no followers but, Mimi, that’s just life. What makes it feel so terrifying for you?’
She stops to think. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘Look, the way I see it is that every rejection is a lesson learned. I tell my class to look at it as an experiment to be a better person. We can’t all get into the football team. We can’t all be Head Girl. We can’t all go through life winning all the time. That would be weird.’
The camera lens is still winking at me, making me conscious that all of this is potentially broadcastable.
‘Erm, life is full of surprises. We just need to embrace it and be as resilient as we can. If you never try something new, you’ll never know what might happen. And at the end of the day. You. Are. Worth. It.’
I sound like a shameful rip-off of Chris Martin if he was doing a TikTok hair commercial.
Mimi agrees. ‘Libby, you are so right. No more trying to be someone I’m not. It’s not a popularity contest. I am enough. No more trying to get their attention.’
It’s precious moments like these that make teaching so worthwhile. Then her phone trills, making us both jump.
‘I got a text!’ she screams at the top of her lungs. She leaps up, waving her arms in the air, and runs off round the garden, bellowing for everyone to join in. I see her running into the villa screaming, ‘I got a text! I got a text! We won the challenge! We won it, Carlton!’
Well, at least I tried.
Everyone pours out of the villa with their hands over their ears.
Mimi clearly did not listen to a bloody word I said.
She’s still waving her arms in the air even as we all stand around waiting for her to stop screaming.
Thankfully she runs out of steam, and breathlessly tells us that her prize is a round of mocktails for everyone tonight.
It’s immensely underwhelming. I flop down on a giant beanbag. I must go and get ready for this evening. My hair is still wet and hanging down my shoulders. It will dry naturally if I’m not careful. And I have no make-up on yet.
‘Can I grab you for a quick chat?’
I look up into the earnest face of Carlton, who plonks himself down next to me.
For a committed loner, I haven’t been pulled for a chat so much in my life, and I have to admit, it feels nice.
It feels nice to be confided in and considered a confidante.
It feels especially nice to be desirous and to be desired.
I am experiencing a whole plethora of emotions I haven’t felt in a long, long time.
‘Help me,’ he pleads. ‘I can’t take any more of her.’ He points to Mimi.
‘It’s okay. She’ll probably settle down once the twenty kilos of sugar in her system dissolve. She’s just excited over the text.’
He looks unconvinced. ‘She lay staring at me for over an hour this morning. Just lay there. Staring.’
‘And you’re sure it wasn’t an absence seizure or just sleeping with her eyes open? Or meditating very deeply perhaps?’
‘I wish,’ he says, grinning. ‘She kept sticking her tongue out at me and winking. And because we’ve won the challenge, they’re sending us on a date.’ He tuts. ‘But I’d rather be with you. I think we have a good vibe. And you’re naturally beautiful and funny.’
Do not get sidetracked by this charming man and his wonderful comments.
‘But I bet you have a great time with Mimi. And Amber is very nice. Have you thought about getting to know her? In fact, they’re all really nice.’
He ignores my advice and shuffles closer. ‘You have stunning eyes.’
‘Thank you. You have… erm, a very good forehead. Nicely shaped.’ Polite but not too flirty. Solid middle ground as far as compliments go.
‘Who’s your ideal man? What do you look for?’ he says, raking a hand through his thick dark hair and blinking slowly at me with deep brown come-to-bed eyes.
‘Good question. Before I came here, I didn’t really have a type on paper,’ I say.
Carlton is manspreading and running his hands lazily up and down his thighs.
He’s gazing at me as though I’m telling the world’s most interesting story.
‘But now I’m here, I’ve realised that I value kindness.
I love a man who is thoughtful and creative.
’ A picture of Cam’s lovely face springs into my mind.
‘I love soft light-brown hair with a natural curl. He has to have eyes that you can lose yourself in for days and that tell a story, you know?’ My gaze wanders off to the middle distance.
‘Eyes that swirl with the worldly colours of blue and green, and flecks of gold like the sunrise. And when he smiles, it lights you up from within, because you were the one to put it there.’
My heart flutters with the warm breeze. I can feel a smile spreading right across my face.
‘Don’t you mean dark brown hair and dark brown eyes?’ Carlton says, leaning in with a grin.
‘No. Not at all.’ I’m lost in a daze. A delicious dreamy daze.
Carlton frowns at me but I am saved by my phone pinging. I look down at the text. It says:
Do not react. Meet me in the PANTRY.
‘Sorry, Carlton. You’re a lovely guy, but I have to go. Catch you later.’
I half run, half walk to the outside kitchen, trying to hide my excitement.
Cam must need to see me pretty badly to risk it during the day.
It must have been what I said. He must know I was talking about him.
My stomach is a hive of butterflies as I smile casually at the smattering of Islanders wandering around.
Compared to what you see on TV, it’s really quite boring here when we’re not all at the firepit or doing a challenge.
I feel so nervous. I hope I’m not rushing Cam into something he isn’t comfortable with.
The kissing and heavy petting have escalated because of our situation – me, forever in varying provocative states of undress, and him, forever in charge, with swoon-worthy capability.
And of course, my feelings may well have been exacerbated by the forbidden sexual chemistry.
I wander into the PANTRY in time to see the fake wall creak open. It opens tantalisingly slowly. My heart is literally in my mouth.
I shake my hair out and adopt a relaxed but flattering pose, hand on hip, shoulder slightly dropped. I am aghast to see a woman’s bony, long fingers with blood-red nails beckon me through.
A cold sensation sweeps over me as I slide through the gap. This is not going to be good.
‘We need to check your microphone. Apparently, it is faulty.’ Porscha is screwing her eyes up at me. ‘I have checked the logs, and it appears there are times when it doesn’t pick up sound.’
Keep calm. Deep breaths. I tell myself that this is no different to being in front of the head teacher when he says he is going to observe a lesson as a matter of routine protocol, when what he means is he has heard rumours that you have lost control of the classroom.
I take the microphone pack off and hand it over. Porscha immediately inspects it before handing it back. ‘If you ever disable this pack yourself, or do something that we can’t see on camera, then you are out. Do you understand me?’
I look to the floor, wishing I could stand up to her, but she’s a very intimidating authority figure with rhino hide and a very bitter aura.
‘Who do you really fancy? What game are you playing?’
My head snaps up. ‘Sorry?’
‘Your top three,’ she demands. ‘Carlton, Giovanni and which other one?’
‘Which other ones are there?’ I say, trying not to sound too facetious and at the same time give the impression that I haven’t been fed all of the information beforehand. ‘I mean, it’s hardly like we’ve had a chance to get to know them in any great depth.’
‘Does it matter?’ she says sharply. ‘They’re all boneheads. Just start getting to know them and pick one,’ she says, wagging a finger at me. ‘I’m watching you like a hawk.’