Chapter 9 #2
But then I look up to see Cole, his shoulders square and his expression etched with determination, and all thoughts of sitting out evaporate immediately.
Do I really want him to think of me as a quitter, as someone who puts their own needs above everything?
I don’t even think he’d be angry with me, just disappointed, but somehow that seems even worse.
Alex clears his throat, snapping me out of my reverie. “On the count of three, I want those of you who have decided to sit out of the challenge to raise your hand,” he says. “One … two … three.”
Steeled with newfound resolve, I keep my hand down. The rest of my tribe follows suit, although Beck’s hand twitches briefly. I’m a little surprised nobody took the bait, especially the three who are in the minority, since they have less to lose.
Meanwhile, two of the Sikas have raised their hands: the tall one who looks like he’s barely over eighteen, and the older man with thin hair. “Elijah and Minh, sitting out of the challenge,” Alex says. “I’ll give the rest of you a moment to prepare, and we’ll get started.”
The cameras turn off, and the two Sika sit-outs, Elijah and Minh, stand off to the side while Neema and Steve give us a walkthrough of the challenge.
This time, the walkthrough lasts barely five minutes, less time than it takes for the fourteen of us who are competing to get situated on our platforms. I hoist my pole up onto my shoulders, trying to get comfortable with the weight.
Meanwhile, Minh and Elijah sit on a bench that Steve brings out, eating their food. I do my best to ignore them.
As soon as we’re all ready, the cameras turn on again, and Neema signals to Alex. “This challenge is on,” the latter says.
Once again, he’s met with silence, although this time it’s punctuated by the sounds of delighted munching. I close my eyes, trying to tune them out. I sure hope I made the right choice.
The first few minutes pass fairly quickly, but soon after that, my shoulders begin to burn and my legs start to go numb.
Every five minutes, a producer comes around and hangs sandbags off our poles—one on each side, to maintain balance—making it that much harder to carry.
The pain grows higher, but I grit my teeth and push through, ignoring the sweat dripping down into my eyes.
Finally, after twenty-five minutes of torture, I can take no more, leaving Cole, Beck, and Jing from our tribe, and Mustache and Green Hat from the Sikas.
I’m impressed with them—each Meru is carrying a hundred and forty pounds, and the Sikas have even more, since they had two people sit out.
Less than a minute later, Beck drops out.
He’s followed almost immediately by Jing, leaving Cole up there alone, carrying the hopes of the Meru tribe on his shoulders.
Thankfully, Green Hat steps down bare seconds after Jing does, setting up a showdown between Cole and Mustache.
Come on, Cole, I silently urge him, not wanting to break his concentration.
He barely moves, even when the producers add more weight onto his pole, but I can see cords standing out on his neck, and his hands shake. I know you can do it.
And then, seemingly out of nowhere, Mustache drops his pole. It takes a moment for us Merus to realize what happened, but when we do, we start cheering. “I knew you could do it, Cole!” Marina shouts, clapping her hands together. “Never a doubt in my mind.”
Meanwhile, Cole waits for Alex to announce that we’ve won before dropping his pole, then steps off the platform and immediately collapses in relief. “I’m okay,” he announces, laying spread-eagle on the muddy ground. “Celebrate without me.”
Days 8-9
The next few days fall into a bit of a routine, or as much of one as is possible with cameras watching our every move.
Most of the daylight hours are spent doing chores around camp or resting, except for when we have an immunity challenge.
Then, at night, if we’re not at tribal council, we sit around the fire talking to each other or just looking at the stars until bedtime.
Our continued work on the shelter gets it to a point where sleep is bearable, rather than almost impossible.
Even better, the weather holds up, although we do get some more rain on day nine.
It still gets chilly at night, but our improved shelter does an okay job of breaking the wind, and we’re all long past the point of feeling embarrassment at huddling together to conserve body heat.
Between the fishing gear and the extra beans, we’re eating better than we were before.
None of us has used a Hawaiian sling before, but Katie has some snorkeling experience— “My girlfriend is from Key West, and I swear it’s like a religion down there, so we go whenever I visit,” as she puts it—so she becomes our primary fisher, bringing in a few small fish each day.
Meanwhile, on day eight, Marina discovers a papaya tree with several ripe fruits, which gives us a nice change of pace for a couple of meals.
It’s not enough to sustain us long term—I wouldn’t be surprised if we’ve all lost ten pounds by now—but it’s an improvement, no question.
We may be hungry pretty much all the time, but at least we’re not starving.
To be honest, it could be worse, because no matter how much I might think Cole is a threat, I can’t deny that he makes what little food we do have downright delicious.
Somehow, with the spices and the beans from the pirate ship reward, the rice we were given on day one, and whatever fish and fruit we’re able to scavenge from the island, he’s able to make meals that I never would have expected to find on a desert island.
If we had actual plates and silverware, I could almost believe we’re eating at a fancy restaurant back home.
“How do you do it?” I ask him while he cooks breakfast on day nine, trying and failing to keep a note of envy out of my voice.
The others are doing their daily chores or recording confessionals; I should be with them, but Cole asked me to help him, so here I am,tting uncomfortably close to him, chopping coconut meat with the machete while he stirs rice over the fire.
“I mean it. How can you make this stuff taste like real food?”
“I’ve had a lot of practice.” He looks up and gives me a quick grin before concentrating on the rice again.
“Honestly, though, the ingredients are about as good quality as you’d get back home.
Maybe even a little better, since they’re fresh.
” He reaches for the glass vial of paprika and shakes a precise amount into the rice pot before returning it to its place.
“The real trick is knowing how to treat them so that each element speaks for itself. It’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it. ”
“Easy, huh? I think I’ll have to take your word for it.”
He chuckles. “Let me guess, you’re one of those people who can’t even boil water for pasta?”
“I’m not quite that bad, thank you very much. I’ve been known to make a mean grilled cheese from time to time.”
This time, he outright laughs, and for a second, there’s a warm feeling deep in my chest that has nothing to do with the fire.
“My apologies for underestimating you,” he says.
“Seriously though, I’m sure you’d be a great chef if you had the time for it.
You’re really smart, Ry. I’m sure you could do anything you put your mind to. ”
The warm sensation returns with interest. “Thanks, but I really think you’re puffing me up. I’ll never be as good as you.”
“Maybe not,” he replies with a shrug. “But don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve been through a lot, and you still managed to get through law school and be a successful lawyer. There’s no way in a million years I’d ever be able to do that.”
His words hit me with unexpected force, and I barely avoid flinching.
He doesn’t know about Arielle, does he? I don’t see how he could have found out, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling irrationally anxious.
“How did you become a chef?” I ask, desperate to change the subject.
“You must have started early on if you’re this good now. ”
“I played baseball in high school. Shocking, right?” He looks away, splotches of red on his cheeks.
“The coach was a real hardass, and he insisted that we all go on a high-protein diet so we could build some muscle. I hated every second of it. I just wanted to eat what I wanted to eat, you know? So I started doing research into different types of diets, nutrition, that sort of thing. I guess I had this idea that I could convince him he was wrong, and I could go back to eating burgers and fries all the time.”
“I’m guessing he didn’t agree with you?”
He shrugs. “To be honest, I never got the nerve to bring it up. But I did find some cool recipes that met his conditions and didn’t sound terrible, so I asked my mom if I could try to make a few of them, and she was all for it.
The first few weren’t great, but I learned quickly, and…
” He gestures at the pot. “Well, here we are.”
“That’s awesome.” Without even thinking about it, I gently pat his shoulder. “I’m glad it worked out for you.”
Now he looks up at me, giving me a slow grin that makes my heart begin to race. “Thanks, Ry,” he says. His eyes are locked onto mine, and I have this crazy feeling that he’s going to reach out and touch my shoulder too, or maybe even wrap his arm around me and pull me close, or—
But then the moment passes, and he clears his throat and looks back down at the rice. “How about you? Why did you become a lawyer?”