Chapter 12
STICKS AND STONES WILL brEAK MY BONES, AND WORDS WILL ALSO DEFINITELY HURT ME, TOO
DEAN
“—fucker. What do you mean you don’t know anything? I thought you’ve seen every survival show known to man? Were you watching them with your eyes closed?”
I glare at the back of Seyoon’s head as she walks ahead of me, trekking through the woods at a faster pace than necessary.
When I let her know the slight disadvantage working against us (the disadvantage being my total lack of outdoor ability), she insisted we have a practice run ahead of tomorrow’s survival skills challenge.
Which is how I ended up here, hiking yet again through the forest, a pack of supplies on my back and the afternoon sun beating down on my head.
And, awkwardly, with a small team of camera and sound operators following behind us and doing a bad job of blending in.
“Watching it on TV doesn’t mean I magically absorbed the skills by osmosis.” I huff. “I understand the technical aspect of things, I just haven’t put it to practical application… per se.”
“Feels like the kind of thing you tell somebody before you form an alliance with them is all I’m saying.”
“It was your idea to team up, remember?”
Seyoon mumbles something about a mouse, but I don’t catch it.
I push a branch out of the way. “How much longer do we need to hike, anyway? Can we even be out this far?”
She turns around to wait for me to catch up. “Aw, Goody Two-shoes, aren’t you cute? If it’s the rules you want, listen up, nerd, because here’s the first rule of camping: Get off the beaten path.”
My face is warm with a blush, although I’m not sure if I should care more that she called me cute or a nerd.
Seyoon unfolds the map Garrett gave us before we set out.
“However, with that said, Blake told us we need to stay within the show’s zone permits.
There’s another campsite a little bit away where no one should disturb us. ”
I kindly refrain from telling her that we’re not going to run into anybody anyway because no one in their right mind would be out in this blistering heat when they could stay back at camp, relaxing in an air-conditioned cabin.
Also, because the idea of just the two of us—minus the crew—out here makes my gut churn.
A skill I’ve cultivated over the years is making sure I’m never left alone with someone so as to prevent the horrible situation where I’m anyone’s only option for social interaction.
Unfortunately, it looks like that’ll be unavoidable today.
We continue marching along until we reach the campsite. There’s not much to it besides a firepit and some flattened land. Seyoon sniffs around, then stops so abruptly that I almost topple her over.
“Perfect,” she whispers.
I survey the area in front of us. “What’s different about this patch of dirt?”
“It’s flat, and these trees will help block the wind. Plus, look, there’s enough pine needles on the ground to keep us comfy.”
“Whatever you say,” I oblige.
“Go on, lie down, you’ll see what I mean.”
Skeptical, I set down my bag and stretch out across the dirt, cringing at the pine needles surely getting tangled in my hair. I look up at Seyoon.
“What am I supposed to be getting from this?”
“Nothing.” She shrugs with a grin. “I just wanted to see if you’d do what I said.”
She laughs as I scurry up. “Okay, enough of that. Do you even know what you’re doing, or are you just pretending to be better than me again?”
“Hey, hotshot, I’m not pretending, I am better.” She slips off her bag and tosses it against the tree trunk. “I go camping all the time. Plus, I used to be a Girl Scout.”
So was Meredith. An image of a young Seyoon with pigtails in that dorky Scout outfit flashes in my mind. I roll my eyes. “Well, now what, Scoutmaster Shin?”
“Good to see you putting a little respect on my name for once. How about we start with something easy, like setting up a shelter?”
It turns out setting up a shelter is not easy.
“Have you never built a blanket fort as a kid?” she asks incredulously as the fourth attempt at propping up a basic lean-to collapses under my clumsy touch.
“This is a little different,” I say with a grunt, not mentioning how it was Meredith who built our forts. I was always on snack-retrieval duty.
Seyoon sighs, wiping sweat from her brow. “That’s okay. Uh… let’s try another skill then. Tying knots?”
An hour of unsuccessful knot-tying attempts later—with plenty of rope burn to show for it—and it’s clear I’m failing at this, too.
“But,” Seyoon says with a tinge of hysterics in her voice, watching my shaking fingers try to loop the rope the way she did. “Your shoelaces have knots. How did you put them on this morning if you can’t tie one?”
The camera operator steps on a branch as they circle around me to zoom in on my hands, and the crunch! makes me jump. “Hold on. Just let me…”
But no matter which way I fold and loop and tuck, it’s useless. I throw the rope down, collapsing against the dirt in frustration.
“Are they permanently laced up?” she mutters. “That must be it. So you can just slip your feet in without having to tie a knot every—”
“Seyoon?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
“No, you shut up. Ugh. Let’s just move on,” she says in the same kind of weary tone that Dad gets when I still don’t understand the difference between a 2-4-5 defense and a 3-3-5 defense in football, no matter how many times he tries to explain it. My hands twitch in the dirt.
“Maybe you’re better suited to other things, like foraging,” Seyoon says.
Except I can’t tell a chanterelle from a poisonous lookalike, and Seyoon smacks my hand when I go to pluck it because 1: That’s a jack-o’-lantern mushroom, do you really want to shit yourself on national television?
And 2: Did you not hear me when I said, “Leave no trace”?
But I’m not suited to purifying water, either, apparently, because every time I try and dig a pit for a solar still, the walls cave in.
I am able to hang a bear bag on a rope, but I fail tirelessly at hoisting the bag up on a tree branch.
Finally, we get to the very last of the day’s tasks and Seyoon’s patience.
“Why would you save the hardest thing to do for last?” I ask.
Between us in the firepit is our tinder nest of dry grass, leaves, and bark: the optimistic start of a campfire.
Seyoon sits across from me with her legs folded beneath her, her bangs stuck to her forehead with sweat.
I’m in no better shape, covered in dirt and splinters.
Even the crew members look exhausted. The sunlight glints off the camera’s lens, blinding me every time the operator hurries around to record my pathetic, despaired reactions.
“Because I was hoping you’d be able to get some of the easier tasks right and build up to this,” she snaps.
Although the temperature is finally starting to drop as it nears evening, it’s clear the sun beating down on us all day has sapped her composure.
“If you can’t do it, it’s fine, at least then we can head back and take a shower. ”
My nostrils flare. Seyoon reclines on her elbows, head lolling to the side. Her eyes are half-lidded in disinterest; she’s already given up on me. She knows I’m going to fail.
She knows I’m going to let her down.
I glare down at the piece of wood in front of my lap.
The fireboard, I think she called it. Trying to recall the instructions she went over a million times, I cut a V-shaped notch into it with the jagged edge of a rock.
I blearily search for a stick—the spindle?
—and jam it into the notch. Seyoon’s eyelids have fully shut now.
Even the camera operator yawns. Frustration pools in my gut, and I wish I could transfer some of that heat into the wood as I start rolling the spindle between my hands, praying for sparks.
“You’re not rolling fast enough,” Seyoon drawls. She’s not even looking. Maybe she can do this in her sleep. Or maybe she just expects me to mess up. Grunting, I try to speed up, but my hands are clumsy, slow.
“You’ll go faster if you run your palms up and down while you roll.”
“Okay,” I grit out, the warmth in my gut ebbing into shame.
“Are you putting enough pressure on the bo—”
“I’m trying!” I snap. That gets the camera operator’s attention. They swivel their camera directly at me. Damnit.
She sits up. “What are you getting mad at me for? I’m helping you.”
I keep grinding the spindle into the board, glaring daggers at the stick instead of at that awful camera that’s the window to a million eyes who’ll watch this and see just how inept I am. “Maybe if you gave me more than two seconds, I’d be able to get it right.”
“More than two seconds? We’ve been out here all day.”
“And you”—The spindle slips and I grunt, repositioning it—“have been on my case all day.”
Seyoon scoots over and shoulders me out of the way, snatching the fireboard and spindle from my hands.
She stabs the stick into the notch I made and rolls the spindle between her palms with so much force that the veins in her hands bulge.
Within a minute, smoke billows out from where the spindle meets the plank. My heart sinks into the ground.
She keeps going until the smoke is a plume, then taps the ember onto a waiting piece of bark, transferring it carefully to the nest of tinder we—she—prepared.
Crouching now, Seyoon blows until sparks catch and ignite the dry leaves.
Before long, a roaring fire sits at our feet.
The flames are nothing in comparison to the pure heat licking at my insides.
I stare into the fire, digging my nails into my palms as the shame shame shame seethes along my skin.
There’s another crunch, and the crew member operating the boom mic curses under her breath as she nearly trips over a rock.
My gaze flicks over to the camera. The sun’s practically set now, and without its light glinting off the screen, I can see my own reflection in the dark glass.
My face is heavy. My eyes dull. For the first time, I think, I look like Dad.
At least, how he did when I first told him I didn’t want to be on Forest Feud.
Disappointment had settled into the creases of his face like it does on mine, now.
Why am I so upset?
I know why: because I said this would happen. I never wanted to be here. I knew I didn’t have what it takes. Now, so does Seyoon, and once this airs, so will everyone.
Seyoon’s glare is a physical sensation on my turned cheek, a hot iron against my skin. “Should I explain how I did that, or would I just be getting on your case again?” she says.
I know if I speak, I’ll just make this worse. Seyoon doesn’t take my silence well.
“Ignoring me again. Great. Why would you listen to me, anyway? I couldn’t possibly know better than you.” She laughs bitterly. “Fine. If you don’t need me, we should just end things here.”
Seyoon stands and kicks dirt at the fire until it fizzles out. The action douses my anger, too. All at once, embarrassment and remorse floods through me, sobering me up.
“Fuck…” I mutter as I stand. It’s not her I’m upset with; it’s myself. “Seyoon, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you. Or your advice. I’m just…”
I lose my train of thought watching her expression morph. Her face is as cold as the last of the sun’s dying light setting around us. Even though I stood up, I feel tiny beneath her gaze.
“Just so you know,” she says, voice hard and steady. “It doesn’t matter that you can’t build a shelter or start a fire or any of that stuff. I don’t care about that. What I do care about is having a teammate who will actually work with me.”
Then she leaves. I want to follow or call out with another apology, but my shame keeps me silent and rooted in place. By the time I’ve gathered the courage to say what needs to be said, Seyoon’s out of earshot.
I messed up.