Chapter 3
Hunter
I walk up the gangplank with two boxes of lettuce on my shoulder, headed for the galley.
“Hunter! You helping out again?”
I wink at Marisol, the head of ship hospitality, who’s setting tables in the dining room with her small crew of stews.
“I can’t sit still,” I tell her with a grin. “Saw these boxes on the dock and decided to bring them up.”
I breeze into the galley and place the produce on the counter, giving a high five to the chef and waving at the rest of the galley staff.
“Thanks, Hunter.”
“You got it, chef.”
“Try this soup.”
I take a slurp of something creamy and wonderful. “Chowder?”
“Any good?”
“Fantastic,” I tell him. “Save me a big bowl for later!”
“You got it, Hunter!”
Back through the dining room, I hoof it up the stairs to the third-floor upper deck. There are twenty-three cabins up there where forty-five members of The Astonishing Race production crew, including me, are living and working for the next three weeks.
The Cabin Deck, on the second floor, has twelve cabins larger and nicer than ours that are allocated to the contestants of the race and the show’s host, Nat Keegan. It also has a lounge, a bar, and a large open deck area with a hot tub. I overheard some guys on the production crew talking about hidden cameras placed in and around the hot tub, hoping to catch illicit moments between opposing team members.
This whole ship is covered with cameras, in fact. Every hallway, shared, and private space (with the exception of lavatories) is wired to catch every juicy comment, every little argument, every scheming contestant. I get it that the little intrigues of the show can boost its popularity, but it skeeves me out a little, too. I’m glad I’m part of the production staff and not a contestant, whose every word and gesture will be scrutinized by the TV audience at home.
“Hey, Hunter!”
My roommate, Rick Jones, opens the door to our shared room and lets it slam shut behind him.
“Hey, Rick.”
Fact: Nick was not lying about Rick Jones. He is a total and complete douche.
A little younger than me, in his midtwenties, he’s a spoiled rotten nepo-baby, who leaves all the work to his assistants and barely lifts a finger to help us. I can’t stand him.
“What’s shaking, old man?” he asks me.
And I fucking hate it that he calls me “old man” just because I’m in my thirties.
“Not much.”
“Well, I just fucked Cynthia,” he says, plopping down on his bed. “What do you think about that?”
Cynthia’s on Marisol’s team and looks just out of high school.
“Is she over eighteen?”
“Barely,” he says, waggling his eyebrows.
“You like her?”
“I liked her mouth on my dick.”
Douche.
“You’re a real sweetheart,” I say.
“What can I say? The ladies love me.”
Well, your coworkers don’t, I’m tempted to retort, but I bite back the words. I really would like to create a strong working relationship with Jones’s Tourism, and Rick’s my “in.” I don’t want to rock the boat.
“Hey, um…did you make sure the pit stop for tomorrow was ironed out?” I ask.
“Huh?” He looks up from his phone. “Nah. I told my dad that you or Tit would do it.”
“Kit,” I say, “is looking for a birding expert in Sitka since the one you found fell through.”
“Then you do it…somewhere else, if possible,” he says distractedly. “Cynthia’s coming up in a sec. And I told her to bring a friend.”
If this was Tanner or Sawyer? I’d drag them off the bed by their shirt lapels and kick their asses into next week. But he’s not my little brother (thank God), and I know he’d go crying to Daddy if I put hands on him. I guess I’d better go find Kit and make sure that between the two of us, we’ve got tomorrow—and all the other upcoming locations—under control.
“Thanks for the help,” I grunt.
Rick grins at me before sliding his eyes back to his phone. “Anytime.”
I leave our room feeling disgusted and take the stairs up to the top deck where Kit’s been working at a table in the Sun Lounge all morning. There are papers scattered all over the table, held down with empty mugs that were once filled with coffee.
She looks up as I approach, her phone pressed against her ear, and mouths, “Thank God!”
“Need help?” I ask.
She nods, holding up a finger. “Yes, sir. That’s twenty people. Five teams of two, which is ten, and a cameraman and soundman for each, which makes twenty.” She covers the mouthpiece of her phone with her hand. “Rick forgot to account for the production crew when he booked the boats. We need another crabbing boat for tomorrow.”
“Did you find one?”
Her eyes widen as she speaks into the phone. “Yes, sir. That’s right.” She looks up at me, nodding emphatically. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” When she puts down her phone, she looks up at me. “I just got a second boat, but they don’t leave from the same dock as the first one.”
“So what do you need?”
“We have two buses going from the cruise port to the same dock,” she says. “Can you call the bus company and arrange for one bus to go to Berth 3 and the other to go to Ward Cove?”
“Sure thing,” I say. “So half the teams will go on one boat, and half the teams will go on the other?”
She nods. “It’s the best I can do. I’m lucky I even found a boat that can take twenty people. Most of the crabbing boats I called are a lot smaller than that.”
I call the bus company and make the change, then send an email to the production staff, letting them know that tomorrow’s challenge will have two separate boats leaving from two separate locations.
“Did you change the pit stop for tomorrow?” I ask Kit.
Last night at our production meeting, the host of the show, Nat Keegan, had a hissy fit when he found out that the first pit stop was at a local museum.
“Are museums exciting? Are museums eye-catching?” he demanded, his Scottish accent stronger with his annoyance. “No, they are not. Rick! Fix this! We need a sexy spot for our first pit stop!”
Rick had assured Nat it would be taken care of, then delegated it to me and Kit as soon as he could.
She sighs. “Yes. Teams will meet Nat at the Great Alaskan Lumberjack Show instead.”
“Under the marquee?”
“Yep.”
“Nat will love that.”
“I know,” she says with a sigh. “I even arranged for two of the lumberjacks to stand on either side of him as the teams arrive. Shirts optional.” She takes a cigarette pack out of her breast pocket and lights one. “I can’t believe I’m only getting paid a few thousand dollars for this shit.”
Kit’s been working on reality shows for the last twenty years, so she’s a seasoned vet when it comes to location glitches. Because of her experience, she should be the Location Manager instead of Rick, but nepotism doesn’t make for a level playing field.
“What next?” I ask her.
She lifts a mug and slides a pile of papers over to me. “Sitka’s detour challenge. Contestants have two options: the Raptor Center and the Fortress of the Bears. Which one do you want to manage?”
“I’ll take the bears.”
As we sort through the details of the upcoming locations, I notice some activity on the dock below. A blue rug is unfurled with the show’s logo on it, and a camera guy sets up a tripod and some lights.
“What’s going on down there?”
Kit takes a long drag as she glances over the side of the ship. “My guess? Teams are starting to arrive.”
“But I thought they weren’t getting here until tonight.”
She shakes her head. “They’ll be arriving all afternoon. Welcome dinner with Nat for all cast and crew is at seven tonight, so they all have to be checked in by then.”
I stand up and walk over to the railing, looking down at the dock to see if I can see anyone approaching the ship, and sure enough, I spy two women, dressed in identical hot-pink outfits, complete with ballerina tutus and shiny go-go boots, walking toward us.
“I think Team Barbie is here,” I say.
Kit stamps out her cigarette and leaps up to stand beside me. “Phew! Hotties.”
I chuckle at her. “Do you often hook up with contestants?”
“I’ve been known to sample the goods from time to time. On the sly, of course.”
The women stop on the blue carpet to talk to Nat Keegan, who’s arrived to welcome them. I can’t hear their exchange from where I’m standing, but there’s a lot of giggling and jumping up and down by Team Barbie.
“Do the teams choose their names or do we?”
“It depends,” says Kit. “Some apply to the race with a team name already chosen. These two are sorority sisters from Ole’ Miss who think it’s a hoot that they’re both named Barbara. Unusual name for this generation.”
“But timely, with the movie and all.”
“Yep. They’re riding the wave. It’s their schtick.”
“Are the teams required to have a…schtick?”
“No. But it helps with viewer support. That’s for sure,” she says, sighing longingly when Barbie #1 raises her arms over her head and spins around, long blonde waves bouncing up to catch the sunshine. “These two won’t last.” She turns to me. “Who do you think will win? We’ll start a pot this afternoon after the meeting.”
“What do we bet on?”
“Winner and runner-up, first and second eliminated, and who’ll hook up with who.”
“I agree with you about these two,” I say, watching them lean in on either side of Nat to kiss his cheeks while a photographer snaps promo pictures. “They don’t look ready for rough and rugged Alaska.”
“How about Team Nerds?” she asks, gesturing to another couple walking toward the ship.
I raise my gaze to find two brothers wearing khaki pants hiked up to their mid-chest, dark hair slicked down flat, and eyeglasses held together with duct tape. They’re twins who attend MIT together and decided to do the race mostly for free airfare to Alaska, where they plan to study lichen for the rest of the summer.
“They’re book smart,” I say, “but I don’t know if they’re practical.”
“They’re Earth Studies majors and siblings. I say they finish in the top three,” says Kit, ogling the Barbies until they disappear up the gangplank. “Historically speaking, pairs with a strong bond tend to finish first. Married couples, siblings, family members. That is, if they don’t bicker too much. Arguing about dumb stuff is the kiss of death when you have to work together.”
In the distance, one more team starts walking toward the boat, and I don’t need to squint to recognize who it is. They’re a male-female couple—the man taller and younger, but both dark-haired and tan-skinned. Dressed in jeans, hiking boots, white T-shirts and black hoodies with MEXICO written in bold white letters over the red, white and green Mexican flag, I know exactly who they are.
My heart thunders with anticipation.
“The Primos,” says Kit, gesturing to them with her chin. “Primo means cousin in Spanish.”
I lean away from the railing, crossing my arms over my chest. “You don’t say.”
“These two are from Seattle. The boy worked on crabbing boats last season.”
“And the girl?”
“She’s a schoolteacher.”
“What odds do you give them?” I ask Kit, my voice cool.
She leans her elbows on the railing, staring down at the duo, who take their time making their way to the blue mat, where Nat is still interviewing Team Nerds.
“Cousins is good, assuming they’re close. And they’re not dressed like idiots, which is a plus in my book. He has practical knowledge of Alaska, and she can’t be too stupid if she’s a teacher…” Kit tilts her head to the side. “But they aren’t chatting and they haven’t glanced at each other once. It may be that she has a fierce resting bitch face, but I’m sensing tension between these two. I’m betting she’s pissed off with him. Not a great way to start the race.”
I take a closer look. Kit’s right. Isabella does not look happy.
“So?” I ask. “What are their chances?”
“Top three if they can get their shit together,” she says. “Bottom three if they can’t.”
Interesting.
I’m anxious to talk to Isabella, but I remind myself that I have plenty of time. I turn away from the arriving teams, and head back to our table to get some work done.
***
Isabella
In the information packet we received, it said that The Astonishing Race had rented a small cruise ship for moving the contestants and production crew north from Ketchikan to Whittier, so naturally, I’d pictured something out of a Royal Caribbean brochure. The ship we’re approaching, however, looks less like a yacht and more like a washed-up ferry that’s seen better days.
On the ubiquitous blue mat, Nat Keegan interviews two guys fresh from the set of Revenge of the Nerds, while Beto and I stand awkwardly to the side, waiting for our turn.
Things have gone from bad to worse between me and my cousin. He didn’t return to our hotel room the night before last until four o’clock in the morning, and he was so drunk, he pulled the shower curtain off its rings and fell to the bathroom floor while trying to take a shower.
Luckily, he didn’t hurt himself too badly, and after patching him up with a few Band-Aids, I was able to help him into bed. But he was in no condition to drive three hours later, which meant that I had to do the drive to Prince Rupert while he alternated between puking into a plastic bag and napping in the back seat of my car.
Once on the ferry from Prince Rupert to Ketchikan, we avoided each other for the entire seven-hour ride, with me reading a book in the forward observation lounge while my cousin “caught rays” on the upstairs sun deck. When we arrived in Ketchikan, we parked my car at the airport, which offers parking for two dollars a day, and called a cab to take us to our hotel.
Now, here we are, barely speaking, waiting in line for our first interview. We’re not going to be a very convincing team if we can’t stand each other.
“Beto,” I say softly, nudging him with my elbow, “we can’t come off like enemies for our first interview.”
“We’re not enemies. I don’t hate you, homes.”
“I don’t hate you either.”
“But you’re all up in my junk.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“You’re worse than my moms, yo. Always picking.”
“Okay. I get it. I’ll ease up,” I tell him. “In return, can you at least act like we’re friends? On camera?”
He takes a deep breath and sighs.
“Yeah,” he says. “Just chill the fuck out, bruh, and it’ll be good. Be cool, okay?”
“Don’t call me br—I mean…fine. Okay. Yes. I will chill.”
Nat Keegan waves us over to the mat, so we approach him together, standing side by side.
“Smile for the cameras. The more personality, the better,” he instructs us. “What’s your team name?”
“Team Primos, bruh,” says Beto, putting his arm around my shoulders.
I’m about to nudge him when Nat Keegan chuckles with delight. “Okay, bro! It’s Beto and Izzy, right?”
“Isabella,” I say.
“Izzy plays better. It’s more fun,” Nat Keegan tells me, gesturing to the camera guy to start filming. “Hellooooo, Astonishing Race Nation! I’m here with my bro, Beto, of Team Primos! How’re you doing today, Beto?”
“I’m ready to win the mil, bruh!”
“Ha ha ha! I’m loving the enthusiasm, Beto…the Great-o!” says Nat, ribbing Beto on the shoulder. He points at me. “Who you got racing with you?”
“This is my cuz, Izzy!”
“You two are cousins, huh?” asks Nat, even though he already knows we are.
“We are family!” belts Beto, appropriating the Sister Sledge tune as he squeezes me closer, hip bumping me back and forth. “I got all my cousins with me!”
“Well, you’ve certainly got a theme song!” says Nat, delighted with Beto’s antics.
“Bruh, me and Izzy are in it to win it, yo!”
“I love it. I love it,” says Nat, high-fiving my cousin. Suddenly, his voice gets serious. “So tell me, Beto, what Alaskan destination has you the most nervous?”
“Nervous? Callate, bruh! I got nerves of steel.”
“No worries, huh? Bold words! How about you, Izzy? Are you as confident as your cousin?”
I lean forward a little, about to answer, when Beto laughs gregariously. “Izzy is all confidence, yo! We’re the team to beat!”
Feeling annoyed that I can’t get a word in edgewise, I smile at Nat. “We’ve got this.”
“You heard it here first, Astonishing Race Nation! Team Primos has got it!”
Nat steps between us, putting his arms around both of our shoulders for a photo op.
“Thumbs up, kids,” he mutters, flashing his pearly whites.
When the camera stops flashing and clicking, he steps away from us without a second glance.
“Any more teams right now?” he asks his assistant as a makeup person blots the sweat on his forehead, then dusts his face with powder.
“You’ve got a little break. Next team isn’t coming for…half an hour.”
“I’m getting a drink,” says Nat, stepping back onto the boat.
I feel like an idiot, still standing on the blue mat, but not Beto. He’s taking a series of selfies with his tongue out, thumbs up, tongue in, peace sign…my head spins.
“Um,” I say to the assistant, “are we done here?”
“Yeah,” she says distractedly. “You can go on board to check in. Find Gita—she’s at a table in the dining room. She’ll give you your cabin assignment—John! Do we have a bead on the next team? Yes or no?” She speaks into the microphone attached to her headphones. “What? Damn it! Nat just went to the bar, so stall them, huh? I’ll try to get him back.” She turns to me, eyes wide, voice annoyed. “Was there something else?”“N-No,” I say. “We’ll…go find the dining room—um, check in.”
I trudge up the gangplank with Beto trailing behind me, my eyes adjusting to the dim light inside the ship after the bright sun outside. A frazzled-looking woman sits at a round table, surrounded by stacks of paper, keycards, and various sound equipment.
“Team Primos?” she barks without looking up from her laptop.
“That’s us,” I say, stepping up to the table. “Are you Gita?”
She doesn’t answer. “Roberto and Isabella Gonzalez, yes?”
I nod. “Yes.”
She grabs a manila envelope and thrusts it toward me. “Cabin assignment, key cards, waivers, and schedule for today and tomorrow. Return the forms to your purser. Your cameraman will be assigned at dinner. Sound changes daily. Any questions…” She throws up her hands. “Find someone else to ask.”
I back away from the table with Beto behind me, no doubt posting his selfies to social media while I’m left to find the way to our cabin. Our shared cabin. (God help me.)
“Excuse me,” I call to a uniformed crew member walking toward us. “Can you point me toward…” I look down at the manila envelope. “Cabin 208?”
“Lucky ducky,” says the crew member, whose name tag identifies him as Yuri, “you’ve got an admiral class cabin. Follow me.”
Relieved to finally find someone who appears willing to help us, I fall into step behind him, down a narrow hallway. “Just out of curiosity, why are we lucky?”
“This vessel has five classes of cabins. You’re in the second largest. You’ll have enough room to move around a little. And a real window.”
His comments make me feel hopeful as we follow him up the stairs to the second deck. But when we open the door to our cabin, my heart drops. It can’t be more than one hundred fifty square feet. It’s tiny. It’s a closet with two twin beds, a minuscule desk, and the promised window.
“This…this is a bigger cabin?” I ask. “What do the three cabins below ours look like?”
He shrugs, a smile playing on the corners of his lips. “Smaller.”
I give him a look to show I’m not amused as I pull my suitcase into the room, then hop onto the bed, because with three humans, two rolling suitcases and two backpacks piled into the room, the floor space is suddenly gone.
“Bathroom en suite,” says Yuri, pointing to a door and winking at me.
Huh. Okay. I hadn’t realized it before now, but I think Yuri’s been flirting with me. And while he appears to be at least ten years older than me, he’s not bad looking. I don’t know if I’m interested, but I’m definitely flattered.
Grinning back at him, I nod. “Got it.”
He backs toward the door. “If you need anything, Isabella, just let me know.”
“How do you know my name?” I ask him, hopping off the bed.
“It’s my business to know who’s who on my ship.”
“Are you the captain?”
“First Officer,” he says, tipping his cap to me.
“First Officer,” I say, smiling at him.
“That’s right.” He winks at me again, then turns with military precision and lets himself out of our cabin.
I lean against the door.
A little old, but a lot cute. Hmm.
“Gross, bruh,” grunts Beto from his bed, where he holds his phone over his head, scrolling through TikTok videos. “He’s like, a thousand years old. You can do better, cuz.”
“For the record,” I say, lying down on my bed, “I’m not interested.”
“How do you know my name?”Beto imitates me in a high-pitched voice. “Right. Sure you’re not, bruh.”
“I’m not!” I insist. I mean, that’s the last thing I need with Hunter Stewart on this ship—to get involved with someone else right under his nose. I’m not interested in poking the beast.
But speaking of the beast, I need to warn Beto about Hunter and fill him in on our short and bitter history. “Beto, I have to tell you something.”
“What?”
“Remember when I went to Skagway last summer to see McKenna?”
“Yeah. McKenna’s cool, yo.”
My entire family adores my best friend.
“Yes, she is,” I agree. “So, anyway, you know she got married to that Alaskan guy, Tanner Stewart?”
“Yeah. I heard.”
“Well, Tanner’s brother, Hunter, is working on the production crew for this show.”
“What?” he asks, his eyebrows darting up. “McKenna’s bro-in-law? Awesome! We got an insider on our side, yo! That gives us an advantage!”
I cringe at his enthusiasm, and his face falls.
“Or…” He tilts his head to the side. “A disadvantage?”
“We dated briefly. It didn’t end well.”
He sits up, staring at me. “Cuz, are you fucking serious right now? Have we got a target on our backs?”
I shrug. “I don’t know for sure, but like I said, it didn’t end well. I broke up with him, and he didn’t—I mean, I think I hurt him.”
He stares at me for a long moment, more serious than I’ve ever seen him. “Fix it.”
“Huh?”“Fix it, Isabella.”
Beto hasn’t once—not one time during this already interminable trip—called me by my proper name. It jolts me.
“What? What do you mean ‘fix it’? How?”
“I dunno. But it’s a million dollars on the line. I’m not losing a million dollars because you pissed off some Alaskan dude.” He rubs his chin. “It’s only three weeks, cuz. Get back together with him.”
“Not an option.”
“Why? He doesn’t want you anymore?”
I remember the way Hunter looked at me as I walked down the aisle at McKenna’s wedding. “He pretty much hates me.”
“Fuck,” he mutters. “Prima, we’re talking about a million dollars.”
“I know.”
“You gotta deal with this.”
“How?”
“Not my problem,” he says, popping earbuds into his ears. “But get it done.”
As Beto closes his eyes to relax with his tunes, I stare up at the ceiling, wondering where on this boat I can find Hunter Stewart, and what I will say when I do.