Chapter Eight #2
Another quad rumbles into view, driven by a short, muscular guy with a buzz cut and dimples in both of his cheeks.
He’s wearing a tangle of gold chains around his neck and has a blurry tattoo of the Virgin Mary on his bicep.
There’s nothing unattractive about him, objectively, but Damian is a hard act to follow.
He hops off the quad and ambles over, kissing each of us on the hand.
It’s so cringey I want to burst into flames.
“Well, aren’t you the charmer?” Natasha says as he kisses her hand. “Giovanni, welcome! Tell us about yourself.”
“I’m Giovanni, I’m twenty-two, and I’m a mechanic’s apprentice. I’m your typical Italian Jersey boy, y’know what I’m saying? I’m all about family and food, and I’m looking for a girl who can provide both.”
Ah, casual misogyny, lovely.
“Any girl would be lucky to do it, am I right, ladies?” We all clap, obligingly. “Giovanni, tell me, is there a girl here that you could see yourself with?”
“Mmm,” he says, looking us all over. “I’d take any one of them, but I gotta say, I like the look of this one right here,” he says, pointing to Valeria. “Qué pasa, mami? You Puerto Rican?”
“Cuban.” Valeria bats her long eyelashes.
“Sweet,” Giovanni says, with a wolfish grin.
“Oh, do you hear what I hear?” Natasha cups her hand to her ear, leaning toward the beach path. “Here comes our last male camper! Everyone, let’s hear a big welcome for Keiji!”
At first, I only notice that he’s an improvement from Giovanni. This guy is tall and tanned, with a welcome absence of gold jewelry. And then I see his face, and I know it—the full lips, the chiseled jaw, the thick dark eyebrows.
Oh god. It’s the Flip-Flop guy from the plane.
My first instinct is to hide. He’ll know I’m a bullshitter, and he could ruin everything for me if he wanted to. But I have no choice but to clap and cheer with the rest of the girls.
“Keiji, welcome! Tell us a bit about yourself.”
“It’s really nice to meet you all,” he says, too quickly. He pauses to take a deep breath. “My name is Keiji,” he says, this time more slowly. “It’s Japanese—my mom is Japanese—but you can call me Kei, like the letter ‘K.’ I’m a singer-songwriter from Vancouver.”
This elicits some impressed noises from the girls, but they don’t know he wears flip-flops on airplanes.
“And what do you think of these gorgeous girls? Is there anyone who you’re especially interested in getting to know?”
He scans the group, and when he lands on me, he stops. Our eyes meet.
I know you, his seem to say.
Please don’t expose me, mine reply. A little smile plays on his lips.
“They’re all beautiful,” he says, looking at me. I feel a flush rise up my neck. “But I think your red hair is lovely,” he says, turning his gaze to Trina. “And there’s something about you,” he says to me with a grin. “You seem like a really genuine person.”
He’s messing with me, but I have to act flattered, so I tilt my head and do a cutesy pout.
“I guess we’ll find out! Now,” says Natasha, with a single clap.
“Here’s how it’s all going to work.” Her tone has become businesslike.
“Over the next five days, you will all have the chance to bunk with one another, so if there’s someone you have your eye on, you’ll definitely get to spend some time with them.
” She pauses, and we all cheer, but like everything else, my enthusiasm is fake.
I don’t want to get to know anyone but Isa—he’s the Fuckboy to my Girl Next Door—and the sooner I start developing that relationship, the better.
“But for the first day, it’s Gentlemen’s Choice.” The guys cheer and clap one another on the back.
I fix my gaze on Isa. Pick me, I silently implore.
“But don’t worry,” Natasha continues. “It’s only for 24 hours—every day at noon, we’ll meet here for a Bunk Shuffle, and you’ll be assigned your bunkmate for the next twenty-four hours.
Once you’ve all been bunkmates for one day, the girls will get to choose their bunkmates going forward at the first official Couple-Up Ceremony. Sound good?”
More clapping and cheering. All this enthusiasm is exhausting, and it’s only an hour in.
A balding guy in his early thirties appears and places a placard bearing each of our names at our feet.
“In the name of fairness,” Natasha continues, “we’ll go alphabetically. That means Damian, you’re up! Which girl would you like to share a bunk with tonight?”
“Slow it down!” Gabby calls from the sidelines. “Take some time before answering, okay Damian? And I want you to use this phrasing: ‘The girl I want to bunk with is…’ Got that?”
Damian nods. He glances down at Harmony’s name plate. She leans toward him, smiling confidently. He pretends like he’s thinking, rubbing his chin and furrowing his brow for the camera, but then his face bursts into a smile. “The girl I want to bunk with is…Harmony.”
We all cheer wildly as Damian plants a kiss on Harmony’s cheek and then stands behind her with his arm around her waist.
“Let’s hear it for our first couple, Damian and Harmony!” A cameraman hovers around them, catching their satisfied smiles up close. “Garrett, it’s your turn now. Which girl do you want to share a bunk with tonight?”
Garrett shifts, nervously. He’s looking at me. No! Don’t choose me! Leave me for Isa! He clears his throat a few times. “The girl I want to bunk with is—”
“Louder, please, Garrett,” Tyler calls. “You’re mumbling. Speak clearly into your mic.”
Garrett clears his throat again. “The girl I want to bunk with is…” Not me, not me, please not me. “Sue-Ellen.”
Oh, thank god.
Sue-Ellen holds her smile as Garrett jogs over to her, but she flinches as he puts his arm around her waist. I cheer with more genuine enthusiasm than I’ve felt so far.
“Alright, Giovanni, you’re next! Which girl do you want to get to know first?”
He stands, hands on his hips, staring directly at Valeria. “How long do I gotta wait?” he asks Gabby.
“Just a minute.”
“’Kay. I know who I’m picking, though.”
“That’s okay, it’s just to build suspense for the audience.”
“’Kay.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, like a kid who needs the bathroom. “That long enough?”
Gabby sighs. “Yes, okay, go ahead.”
“The girl I wanna—what am I supposed to say again?”
“The girl I want to bunk with is.”
“Got it. Okay, okay. The girl I wanna bunk with is Valencia.”
A pause. “Valeria,” calls Gabby, exasperated. “Can we do that again?”
It takes a few tries for Giovanni’s pea-sized brain to get the phrasing right, but Valeria doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe I’m not the only one who’s faking it.
“Moving on!” says Natasha, once Giovanni is finally standing with Valeria, looking as if he’s staked his claim. “Isa, it’s your turn. Which girl do you want to share a bunk with for your first night?”
I arch my back, slightly, pushing my chest forward. This is not the time for subtlety. Isa clocks my efforts and winks at me. I hold his eye contact. And then—what, why is he looking at Sue-Ellen with that little frowny face, like he’s sad he can’t pick her?
“The girl I want to bunk with is…” He’s still looking at Sue-Ellen. But then his eyes slide to me. “Cleo.”
I refrain from throwing a smug look in Sue-Ellen’s direction, and instead I focus on Isa’s gorgeous brown eyes.
He leans in to give me an air kiss on both cheeks before wrapping his arm tightly around my waist. Up close, I notice his scent.
It’s something sharp and pungent, not exactly bad but not appealing, either.
It’s fine, I’ll just breathe through my mouth when he’s near me.
The only campers left are Kei and Trina, but he very charmingly acts like she’s his first and only choice for a bunkmate. Trina flushes so deeply that her skin almost matches her hair as he rests his hand on her hip. I look only at her to avoid catching his eye.
We pose for the cameras in our couples, and then we line up behind Natasha. She addresses the camera directly, reading from the oversized cue cards held by Tyler.
“There you have it, America—the first official couples of Camp Couple-Up Season One!” We clap and hold aloft our champagne glasses, which have been empty for some time now.
“Over the next four weeks, we’ll put our campers to the test with challenges, plot twists, and maybe even some surprise guests, while they work to strengthen their connections and find love.
And we’re hoping you’ll fall in love, too, with our campers!
We’ll be looking to you, our viewers, to vote for your favourites each week, or choose who you think might not be here for love.
In the end, you’ll vote for the couple you think has the strongest connection, and, if that weren’t prize enough, who will leave with our record-breaking prize of $250,000! ”
Some of the campers whoop and cheer at this, but I’m careful to just applaud demurely, as if the money weren’t my entire raison d’être.
Gabby leads us to the Chore Board, a big dry-erase board with the day’s roster, nailed to the side of the Mess Hall cabin. Isa is holding my hand, which feels weird, but I’ll go with it. There’s always that couple that goes hot and heavy right from the start, so I guess that’s us.
Whatever it takes.
Gabby is talking about the chores like they’re some amazing bonding opportunity, like emptying the compost and scrubbing the toilets together will strengthen our connections.
Isa and I are rostered to clean the Bunkhouse, which sounds awful, frankly, but I put on a happy face, like it’s my dream to clear cobwebs and unclog shower drains with this stupidly hot man.
We head to the Bunkhouse, armed with a bucket of cleaning supplies, when Tyler intercepts us.
“You guys make a cute couple,” he says, practically leering.
“Listen, we need you to talk about how happy you are to be bunkmates, what you’re looking for in a relationship, stuff like that.
Get your chores done, but remember that the cameras are on, and we need content to build your storyline as a couple, okay?
” He pats my arm and sends us on our way.
“So,” I say, as we head toward the Bunkhouse, “I’m happy you picked me.” I notice we’re passing a camera, so I lean my body into his. Our chemistry has to be magnetic. “I’m curious, why did you choose me?”
Isa shrugs. “I like blondes. Very sexy.”
“Hmmm,” I say. America is not going to fall in love with us as a couple if our relationship is solely based on the current colour of my hair. “As soon as I saw you, I felt this, like, crazy connection to you,” I say, hoping this will prompt him to agree.
“Yes, you are very beautiful. You and the other blonde, what is her name?”
“Sue-Ellen,” I say, holding back an eye roll. “Yep, she’s amazing.” I can’t seem threatened by another girl, so I inject my voice with warmth, but that’s enough about her. “Anyway, shall we start with the bathrooms?”
Such beautiful words to kickstart our romance.
The bathrooms are grim. “Ugh,” Isa says, making a face. “When is the last time this place was cleaned?”
The toilet bowls are ringed with an orange scum, and dead flies lie suspended in the thick, cloudy water. The shower taps have rusty trails leading down to drains clogged with hair and gunk. The mirrors are coated in a thick layer of dust and grime, and the floors are sticky underfoot.
“Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us,” I say, as I snap the yellow rubber gloves onto my hands.
I’ve got my work cut out for me, too, getting him to fall in love with me while wearing rubber gloves.
“Do you want to start with the showers?” I ask, handing him a spray bottle and a scrub brush. He looks at them, and then at me.
“So, you just…” He moves his hand up and down to mime scrubbing.
“You got it,” I say, in a falsely chipper voice, trying to ignore the possibility that Isa may be a Man Child, one of the worst types of men.
He takes the cleaning products with a grimace, holding them as if they might come alive and bite him. I clench my jaw and smile, smile, smile.
I get to work on the toilets. It’s gross, but it’s no worse than the bar on any given Sunday morning. Isa is half-heartedly scrubbing the grout in the shower. I attempt small talk, but I quickly tire of his one-word answers.
Once the bathrooms are slightly less offensive, we move on to the bunk area, which mostly just needs sweeping and dusting.
“Let’s do this,” I say, grabbing the broom. “I can sweep. Do you want to dust?” I mime dusting, and he frowns, but he takes the duster from me.
Now that we’re away from the atrocity of the bathrooms—and firmly back within view of the cameras—Isa comes alive.
He takes every opportunity to come near me, letting his fingers graze my arm, or his hand linger on my shoulder.
He holds the dustpan, looking up at me like some Prince Charming. I bet it looks great on camera.
And that’s what matters. Never mind the Man Child thing. I don’t actually have to like him—that part is easy to pretend. But it has to look good. If I can keep him focused on me—and not the other blonde—then I think we’ve got a chance.