Episode 8 Celeste
By day nine on this island, my body has stopped pretending it has any reserves left.
I trudge onto the challenge mat behind Beya and Lex forming a single file.
The morning heat is already causing my lower back to bead with sweat.
When glancing at Paya, she looks healthy.
Rested. Glowing with the kind of confidence that only comes from hammocks, pillows, a real night of sleep, and victory.
I look toward my teammates and I know this challenge is going to be another uphill battle.
Beya’s shadows under her eyes have shadows of their own.
Lex is leaning hard against Dana to keep upright and Bo is looking off into space.
If we lose today’s reward, I don’t know what shape my team will be in by the next immunity challenge.
“Remember these?” Steph announces, hands on her hips, an ear to ear dimpled grin on her face. She gestures to the long wooden table set up between our two teams. A crew member yanks back the tarp on top.
Eleven pieces of luggage line the center of the table.
Every name tag is completely covered with duck tape.
Carry-ons, checked bags, hard-shell rollers, and a duffle bag.
I’m silently judging whoever owns the hot pink suitcase with rhinestones on the handle.
I clock my burgundy carry-on, then scan the row and pause at one covered in cat stickers. I bet that’s Beya’s.
“Today is a fun reward challenge.” Steph paces the length of the table. “It’s called Baggage Claim…because I bet some of you have a lot of baggage. We’re about to find out.”
Paya’s eyes find me again briefly and we share a smile. If only she knew the type of business baggage I’m actually carrying. I lead my team to our end of the table on the far left. Team Femme is on the right side.
Steph stands at the center. “Today, you’re going to work within your teams to identify whose luggage is whose.
You’ll have five minutes to scramble down your side of the table and dig through whatever lands in front of you.
It could belong to someone from your team or your opponent’s.
Write your final guesses on your scorecards.
Each correct name is one point. Key questions in this challenge are: how well do you know the players in this game so far? And are they who they claim they are?”
For once, I’m glad I packed light.
“Want to know what’s on the line?” Steph pauses for our cheering. “Winners get bragging rights, two items from the losers’ camp, and the power to send one teammate to the other side overnight as a houseguest.” She claps once. “That’s a whole lot of intel. Let’s play.”
My brain goes into overdrive thinking of all the benefits. Talking to Paya again being number one. We must win this challenge.
“Go!” Steph yells.
My team rushes to the luggages and I start distributing them one by one.
Sounds of zippers, thuds and random yelling from both teams echo in the air all around me.
Sliding down the line, I halt directly in front of a dove gray carry-on near the middle.
I push my locs from my face and unzip the top, failing to ignore how intrusive this feels.
I’m immediately hit with a familiar scent of perfume.
I push the sun-warmed fabric aside. Poker chips. Sunscreen. Then I spot a red dress and can’t help my smile. I quickly write Paya’s name on our team’s scorecard and slide down to the next one, refusing to inventory the rest of what’s in there. I don’t need to see her things.
There’s a metallic snap. From the other end, I hear Saffron shout as she aggressively shuffles though luggage, turning it upside down, clearly not caring about reorganizing someone’s life.
“I have a dad hat! Flannel!” she yells, holding up a crinkled photo across the table. “And a picture of a goat farm! This has to be Dana, right?”
“Yes!” Three voices shout in unison from the other side.
My head jerks up. Paya is already staring right at me, her hands paused on whatever bag she’s been working through. I return my focus on the next luggage on our side, unzipping a matte black hardcase.
I speed up this time, pulling out a VR headset, an invoice wilderness survival course, a tablet, brown loafers, and a New York City sticker on the inside.
Stumped, I stare at the gear. Unable to recall anyone mentioning working in tech, I glance down the table trying to think who the items could possibly belong to.
No clue. I push it to the side and move to the next one.
“Two minutes left!” Steph calls.
Clothes, shoes and travel size plastic containers are flying everywhere as people sprint from bag to bag.
To my left, Lex flings the checked bag open and dives in with both hands.
“I got a bag of crystals, a pamphlet with an emu, and a tarot deck. This might be Saffron’s, but I want to make sure.
” She squints, digging deeper. “Hold on, I think there’s an umbrella or a flashlight or a—”
“A what?” My brows pinch together at her frozen in place, eyes wide.
She yanks her hands away and slams the bag shut. She swallows. “I think it’s Saffron’s.”
Oh…I scribble Saffron’s name down, then sprint to the next one. Worn black leather jacket, a small box with nitrile gloves, and hemp rope. I investigate the key ring tangled in the front pocket. There’s a mini fire truck and a helmet with a station number. “Who’s the firefighter again?”
“Arlie!” Beya yells out the answer from three bags down our side. I write the name down.
The scramble intensifies as the clock winds down, everyone sliding left and right on their respective sides, trading places and shouting clues across the table. We have one minute left.
I pace down the line, glancing at the remaining bags and take my best guesses. “Lex, you have Blair’s. She owns an art studio.”
She nods and jots down the name.
“Bo, the wing tips, belt and brush are Lex’s,” I say, recalling that Lex works for a modeling agency downtown Atlanta.
“I’ll go confirm.” Bo’s already sprinting toward Lex at the opposite end.
I move to another and point to the bright pink softcase. “That’s either Bo’s or Jeida’s.” I laugh.“Going with Jeida.”
“How are you doing this?” Beya mutters to me, her fingers flying as she searches the bag in front of her.
“I don’t know. I have a thing with patterns,” I tell her with a shrug.
“Thirty seconds!” Steph shouts.
I scan the scorecard one more time, checking our answers. I notice the slot for the matte black tech bag is still blank.
“Bo,” I call out. “Do you know whose that is? I think it might be ”
Bo startles, then her gaze points downward. “Uh...it’s mine.”
I blink at her across the table. My eyes bounce between her black tank top and rugged camo pants and the VR headset and corporate office shoes nestled inside the open compartment. I thought she said she was Tennessee. You’ve got to be kidding me.
This is the same person who has spent the last week bragging about her advantages hunting and fishing skills, hikes in Alaska and. No wonder she hasn’t caught anything.
“Time!” Steph shouts the game before I get a chance to say anything else. “Hands up. Step back from the table.”
We do as we’re told and wait as Steph approaches. My hands are shaking in antipation.
After collecting the scorecards, Steph stops at each end of the table and starts tallying the correct matches.
“Team Femme.” Steph writes a number on a poster and holds it up. “Four.”
I shove my hands into my shorts pockets so no one sees, my mind still reeling over Bo’s discovery.
“Team Masc.” My stomach twists as Steph writes down a number. She slowly turns it over, hands flying to the sky. “Seven. Team Masc wins reward!”
Relief floods from me. Cheers erupt from my team. Finally we’ve won a challenge. We tightly huddle circles up like a basketball team to discuss strategy. What could possibly go wrong with one of us staying the night with a bunch of hot femmes?
Lex leans in. “Okay. We want food and could use another knife and someone can handle pressure in case they try anything.”
Beya’s already looking over at the other team. “I’ll go. I can handle it.”
Lex gives her a look. “You only want to go because of Arlie. That woman will eat you alive. You’ll return at sunrise in tiny pieces."
“I’ll go,” Bo speaks up.
Dana shakes her head. “We need someone with a good poker face. Who can act calm under pressure.”
Beya rubs her chin in thought. “Like that blonde woman who got medevac’d. What was her name, again?”
Dana shrugs. “I don’t remember.”
“Me either,” Lex says with a sigh. “Anyway. Who’s going?”
An idea hits me. My original plan to plant the fake relic at the next Summit voting ceremony vanishes, replaced with something much better.
“I’ll go,” I finally say.
The huddle goes quiet. All eyes are on me.
Beya’s the first to speak. “You sure, Celeste?”
I firmly nod. I’ll be directly on Team Femme’s territory. I have a whole night to hide my fake relic. Volunteering to go to their camp has absolutely nothing to do with Paya. At least, that’s the lie I’ll keep telling myself.
* * *
“I come in peace.” I wave a hand in the air, attempting to mask the bundle of nerves that comes with infiltrating enemy territory.
Team Femme doesn’t exactly look ready to murder me, but they aren’t rolling out a red carpet either.
Jeida gives me a tight, evaluating nod, while Blair stands near the woodpile, her arms crossed and her posture rigid.
Still, as Saffron takes me on a brief tour of their camp, my analytical brain can’t help but be deeply, irritatingly impressed.
It feels less like a survival outpost and more like an eco-resort.
They have a massive, sturdy bamboo shelter, elevated flooring, and a clothesline made of rope catching the ocean breeze.
It’s clean and organized. Their camp is bliss compared to the leaky roof and rocks I have as seats back at camp.