Chapter 17 A Day at the Beach
A Day at the Beach
Aliona shepherds us through the wallpapered hallways of a nearby budget hotel, stopping to let me buy some “dinner” from the lobby’s concession stand.
“Here we are,” she yawns, tapping her key card to unlock a room with two queen-sized beds. There’s an empty space where a TV usually is, based on the loose wires and dust-free rectangle of wall.
Circling us, she deftly unfastens our mic packs and shoves them into her bag for charging.
She produces a roll of masking tape from her pocket and holds it aloft.
“We’ll know if you leave the room, so stay put.
Your crew members will be waiting outside your door with your clue envelope at seven sharp, but they will never wake you if you sleep in.
This is the only warning you’ll get about that.
Okay, see you bright and early tomorrow. Hopefully.”
She gives a little wave and lets the door fall shut. The sound of the masking tape being pulled and placed on the outside of our doorjamb prompts me to say, “I feel like we’re on a middle school field trip.”
But gone is cordial Adventureverse Yumi. In her place is a stone wall.
“I’m gonna shower,” she says, her plastic-wrapped pack hitting the bathroom’s tiled floor with a thud. “That okay?”
I would like to change, obviously, but I don’t want to do it without showering. “Yeah, I’ll use it when you’re done,” I say.
She shuts the door before I can finish my sentence.
Damn it. I run my hands over my face, loose a sharp sigh, and walk over to the bed by the window.
The bag of shitty, prepackaged lobby sandwiches dangles from my elbow, swinging with my movements.
I pull out Yumi’s sandwich, a paltry ham and cheese with lettuce and tomato, and a chocolate croissant, placing them on top of the duvet.
She’s always had a sweet tooth, and while I’m not foolish enough to think that buying her a little treat will soften her toward me, I at least hope the sugar improves her mood.
It just made sense to get her something I knew she’d like, since we’d have to forfeit any money we had left after the sandwiches. Also, I just—
I don’t need to defend the purchase of the chocolate croissant, okay?
Since I’m still dripping wet, I pull the outer trash bag off my pack and spread it out on the floor so I have something to sit on as I eat my chicken salad on white bread. The pitiful crinkle it makes when I settle onto it feels like a laugh track at my expense.
I knew this would be my personal hell. I knew that, and I chose to do it anyway. It’s for my dad. If I just keep coming back to that, reminding myself that this is for him, then I’ll be able to survive my former best friend hating me.
This isn’t my first rodeo—I’ve been alone like this before.
My mom’s death felt like a day at the beach, looking up to discover I’d drifted so far from the shore I couldn’t see it anymore.
I kept searching for land, listening for lifeguard whistles, kids’ laughter, and pop music from too-loud personal speakers. But it was just me, barely afloat.
I’d reach into a pocket for my wallet and come up holding one of her socks. Riptide. A friend’s parent saying, Ask your mom if you can stay for dinner. Undertow. My slow, anonymous sink to the seabed felt like a matter of time—until Yumi pulled me out of the water.
The second time I drowned, there was nobody else to rescue me. So I did it myself. I deleted every picture of her off my phone. I rearranged my class schedule to see her as little as possible. I got out of bed. I made breakfast. I took my dad to the hospital. I learned to swim.
I survived then. I’ll survive now.
The next morning, we fling the door open at seven on the dot to find Bo and Petter already filming, Adventureverse envelope held in our cameraman’s extended hand.
“You get to read this one,” Yumi says pleasantly. It’s the second thing she’s said to me this morning. The first was, “Your alarm,” when I didn’t turn my watch alarm off fast enough.
My dad, my dad, my dad. I force a smile onto my face as I tear open the envelope and announce, “ ‘Teams, make your way to Ezeiza International Airport to find your next clue. Stop, don’t read this to camer’—oh. Sorry.”
“Yeah, you’re not supposed to read that part to camera,” Bo says flatly.
“Sorry,” I repeat, blushing. Some superfan. I didn’t even know the clues could have parts you weren’t supposed to read to camera. It makes sense, but it’s just not something I’ve heard anyone mention. Being privy to this secret, true-insider knowledge, cancels out my embarrassment.
“Can we get it again?” Petter asks, shifting his weight. “But with a full stop after ‘clue’ this time, and then, like…” He whisks the air with his free hand. “Interact. Reaction shot. Energy up.”
I nod, snapping into character. “ ‘Teams, make your way to Ezeiza International Airport to find your next clue.’ ” I look to Yumi, big smile. “Ezeiza?”
She grins just as wide, shaking her head. “I have no idea where that is,” she laughs.
“Let’s find out, then,” I say, tilting my head down the hallway. We take off running, side by side, until Petter calls cut.
“You can read the rest now,” Bo says before turning to consult Petter about something quietly.
With Yumi looking over my shoulder, I pull the clue back out.
STOP, don’t read this to camera.
CAST INFORMATION: You are in the FIRST GROUP.
Production has already booked flights to Ezeiza International Airport in Buenos Aires.
Your flight departs at 10:30 A.M. (CEST, Paris time) and arrives at 9:30 P.M. (ART, Buenos Aires time).
Upon arrival, DO NOT pick up a clue. For continuity and logistical purposes, teams will go to their hotel and sequester there until 7 A.M. (ART).
At 7 A.M. (ART), your crew will be waiting for you outside your hotel to return to the airport and retrieve your clue.
The Second Adventure will continue normally from there.
ON HOTEL DAYS: Breakfast, lunch, and dinner will be brought to your room as applicable. You may be pulled for an interview at any time without warning.
I blink and read it again, trying to wrap my head around this SAT math question of a message.
If a team leaves France at ten a.m. and arrives in Argentina at nine p.m., given they have to sequester until seven a.m., how long will Yumi spend ignoring Noelle? Round up to the nearest hour; show your work.
It’s a trick question, of course. Because it depends.
Is anybody watching?