Chapter 5
Today marks day one of The Final Summit. We’ve been at sea for hours and I’m already over being on this boat. The competition hasn’t even started yet. It’s too early in the morning for this much thrashing around on less than six hours of sleep.
My curiosity to study the other women standing around ends abruptly when another turbulent wave crashes into the boat.
I grip the metal railing, my fists white knuckling.
After blowing the flyaways from my damp forehead, I clamp my eyes shut and breathe in the salty fresh air.
Are we almost to the island? When do I learn more about my “secret role” I was promised?
The door swings open and Misty, the field assistant, steps out. A shorter white woman, early twenties with round glasses, her blonde curls as restless as her demeanor. She glances at her clipboard and back up a few times.
“Paya Richardson?” Misty says my name, and I confirm with a nod. Once I’m standing next to her, she awkwardly scans the rest of the boat and with both hands funneled over her mouth, shouts, “There’s paperwork for you to finish!”
Her cheeks redden slightly, her sympathetic eyes meet mine when I grimace from the screeching in my ears. I brush it off and promptly showcase my smile.
A bout of nervous laughter falls from her mouth, but ceases when she notices I’m not joining her. “This way, please.”
I’m led through a door with dark tempered glass windows and down a narrow set of stairs into the lower cabin.
Up ahead is a lanky woman similar to Misty’s blonde hair, but shorter.
Peering toward the woman’s feet, I spot immaculate tan boots, as if she took them out of the shoebox mere minutes before I entered.
“Aunt Claudia, Paya is here to see you.”
“Misty.” A red lipstick smile spreads across her face, despite the scalding tone. “What did I tell you about formalities around the contestants? Please call me Ms. Hefferhorn.”
Taking a closer look between the two women, I can see the obvious resemblance. They share the same wiry hair and pencil-thin bridged nose.
“I cannot wait to get my maiden name back,” Claudia mutters a little too loudly when motioning for me to sit in the chair across from her. “Paya Richardson. Good to see you.”
“Misty said something about paperwork?”
“That was just to get you here unsuspected,” Misty speaks up. “We’re here to talk about your role for this season. You’re a production plant.”
“A plant?” So I’m here to perform. Again.
“Yes.” Claudia’s cuts in, words speeding up.
“Stir up drama You’re scheduled for a soft exit if you reach the top ten.
No—top six. Peak exposure. Great for you.
Better for ratings.” Claudia jumps to her feet and starts pacing in excitement.
She snaps her fingers like Misty’s a dog and points, sparking her field assistant to scribble in her notebook.
Claudia spins around to face me. “You’re charming.
You used to be in acting, right? That papaya girl with the treehouse. ”
I blink a few times, struggling to catch up with how fast she’s speaking. “The show was called Paya’s Playhouse.”
“Right. That’s what I said.”
She paces while talking to herself again.
This woman reminds me of my old manager back when I was acting.
All flap and no brakes, Grandma GG used to say about him in that tone when she was fed up.
Just speeding through every room, missin’ the point entirely.
Grandma GG calls it like she sees it. There’s zero doubt she’d have a few words to say about Claudia. I bite back a smile.
Recalling the mention of a soft exit, I fidget with my fingers in silence, entertaining the possibility of winning the entire game. “What if I want to keep playing?”
They pause and stare at each other, mouths agape.
“Can she even do that?” Claudia breaks the silence, then huffs, and responds to herself. “No. Of course not. It would be asinine for us to pay a production plant stipend and the prize money to one person. Misty. Tell her.”
Frantic, Misty flips through a small stack of papers, then shifts her grimace from Claudia to me. “Technically, she can compete for the entirety of the challenge per the contract she signed—”
“Fire the idiot who finalized that,” Claudia snaps, her eyes forming into slits.
Misty stares back, tapping her pen against the clipboard. “Uhm…that was you, Aunt Claudia. Before your divorce.”
Claudia crosses her arms over her chest and rolls her eyes. “Quit dwelling on the past. We’re moving on.”
Misty looks at me. “You absolutely could become The Final Summit’s Sole Champion—” Claudia shoves her out of the way.
“Paya, hon. You’re not here to win the prize.
You are the prize. The internet is already going wild about this season.
All queer women cast on a survival show?
And you, Paya Richardson, are going to be the face of it all.
” She swipes a hand through the air. “Sapphic Siren. The gameshow plant. You’ll be the talk of the world for years.
Do the soft exit and the opportunities will be endless. Trust me.”
I contemplate her words for a moment.
Claudia dangles a small rainbow charm hanging from her bracelet. It still has the tiny white rectangular price tag on it. “See? ‘A’ for Ally.”
My brows knit together. “That’s not what that means—” I start to correct her, but she’s already on to her next point.
Women like Claudia litter the entertainment industry.
Obnoxiously self serving. They’ll ingratiate themselves with anyone, as long as it leads to a bigger paycheck.
I hate to admit it, but the promises are working.
Sapphic Siren does have a nice ring to it.
“We’ll be in touch,” Claudia concludes our meeting.
“Now, go blend in and make friends. Ratings are higher when there’s attachments.
Ollie is our Confessional Director in charge of contestant interviews.
As part of your special role, you’ll be getting more camera time.
Since interviews are private, that’s when you can touch base with Misty.
Exciting, right?” She pumps her manicured fists in the air with a little pretend cheer.
“They’ll come get you as needed. Understood? ”
When Claudia’s sight snaps back in my direction, I nod like a bobble-head doll and stand.
Ollie enters from the back room, a white person with short, shaggy brown hair and broad shoulders, carrying a soft middle and a massive pile of production gear into the cramped space.
They’re wearing a graphic tee featuring an illustration of a bird holding binoculars.
Behind thick-framed glasses, their warm eyes and kind smile offer a quiet, comforting contrast to Claudia’s frantic energy.
They lug the heavy camera equipment over their shoulder, twisting the door handle with a free hand.
Overhearing them conversing with Claudia, the accent tells me they're from an Idaho region. I turn to follow Ollie out the door, eager to get back to mingling with the others and away from Claudia’s suffocating energy.
A shadow steps out from the dark wood paneling by the narrow hallway.
“Sorry about my aunt.”
I jolt forward in shock, my hand automatically slapping against my chest. “Jesus, Misty. I didn’t see you there.”
“Yeah, sorry. I get that a lot.” She releases a nervous laugh, her fingers gripping the top strap of her backpack. “I have something that may help you with the production plant role. I created this binder with profiles on all the players. Just some observation notes from the casting videos.”
As Misty flips through the pages, I skim over color photos and typed paragraphs before something about looking through the profiles feels invasive. I push the binder away. “I better get back out there before people wonder where I went.”
“Of course.” She opens the door and gives a curt nod. “Plot. Persist. Prevail. May the odds be in your favor, Paya.”
Upon stepping back onto the deck, my sights pause on a lean Brazilian woman standing alone at the railing, a person foolish enough to wear a black leather jacket this close to the equator.
I recall her face from the glimpse of Misty’s binder.
Arlie. We make eye contact briefly. Her long brown hair whips in the wind, framing her tan skin complexion and stern face.
I file Arlie away and walk in the opposite direction.
A neon yellow blur slams into my shoulder, spinning me hard against the deck. I catch myself against a wooden crate.
“Oh god. I think I’m going to get sick again.” The woman wearing a highlighter yellow tank top waves a hand behind her.
Before I get the chance to snap at her, she’s lunging for the railing, probably discarding her breakfast. Her face is a shade of pale I’ve never witnessed before. Poor thing. That’s brutal.
A woman my age wearing a boho headband taming a mass of crimson curls steps up beside me, her voice straining against the wind. “I hope she rallies. I’d hate to come all this way and not make it through one challenge.”
I nod in agreement. “The waves are pretty harsh today. Guess we’re in for a treat.”
She extends her hand for a greeting. “I’m Saffron.”
I hesitate for a moment, then accept the gesture. Deep down, I appreciate the warm welcome. “Paya.”
“This is wild, right?” Saffron motions to the sky and beams. “I still can’t believe I’m finally here. I’ve been applying to get on the show for ages. Look. I’m all gross and sweaty on a boat with cameras.” She giggles. “This is everything I’ve dreamed of.”
“Big fan of The Final Summit?”
She nods enthusiastically. “It’s my favorite show.”
“What made you join?”
“I want to start a bird sanctuary. Not some sketchy backyard operation, but a real, state-of-the-art haven. Plus, how else am I going to spread Fowl Emotional Labor Awareness to millions?”
My brows scrunch together. Did she say something about birds? I lean in closer. “I’m sorry, what’s that?”
She launches into a rant. “All this talk about eggs on the news. I just think the world would be a better place if we stopped exploiting boobs and birds. Seriously. Love them, don’t cage them.”
“That is—” My words halt when she whips around to show off her tie-dye shirt. I peer at the letters on the back, which read: Eat more pussy, not chicken.
“That is…a much-needed cause I fully support.”
“Thanks. I’m a vegan on a mission.” She turns back around, a toothy grin plastered on her face. “I had to reschedule my statewide protest for emus to be here. I’ll tell you more about that on the island and how you can join.”
“Uh…okay.”
She changes the subject. No objection from me. “Talk about Sapphic Showdown for this season’s theme. Team Masc vs Team Femme? I don’t know whether to be impressed or roll my eyes. I wonder what the masc team is like?”
“Probably just as sweaty and nervous as us.” I chuckle, then peer around and re-check my count from when we stepped aboard.
“There’s seven of us. We all bring something to the table, I hope.
” I glance over to the yellow shirt woman, who clearly could use a sip of water.
“I’m going to go introduce myself to the others—”
“First time on a boat?” a Chinese-American woman intercepts, her black hair in a single neat braid down her back. She’s wearing a dark green v-neck and khaki shorts that stick out over toned legs. Her arms are crossed over her chest.
“I’ve been on a cruise ship, but not whatever this is.”
“This fifty-foot sportfish looks like she’s been through some rough seas, but she’s tough. We’ll make it.” Mystery woman flashes a reassuring grin at my confused expression. “I’m a military ship captain in the real world. Name's Raina.”
After introducing myself, I turn to find Saffron practically gawking. A not-so-gentle nudge with my elbow snaps her attention back, but it doesn’t do much. Saffron’s eyes trail up and down Raina’s athletic frame.
“Aye, Captain,” Saffron purrs.
Giving up on trying to make small talk, already feeling like a third wheel, I search around and point toward a tangled brown rope hooked against the wall. “You’re competent with rope and knots, then?”
She smiles. “Intimately.”
“Bet that’ll come in handy,” Saffron adds.
I open my mouth to speak, but pause when Raina’s smirk stretches to a knowing smile.
Thankfully, Saffron spills her name and continues hanging onto Raina’s every word.
All fun facts about boats and bondage. Saffron leans toward me and whispers something about Raina, and all I can catch is “captains” and “new kink unlocked.”
Somehow, I hold back my chuckle. The Raina charm doesn’t work on me, unlike my new friend, but I play along. Instead of thinking this is a dating show, I seize an easy opportunity to inquire and build trust.
Raina extends her arms toward the sky. “Outdoors. Beautiful views. This is what I live for. Anyway, it was nice to talk to you.” She winks at Saffron and walks away.
“I like her. She seems strong with hands on skills that will be useful around camp,” I tell Saffron once it’s just us two again. “A good asset to have on our team. What do you think?”
Saffron answers by staring at Raina’s backside.
Not subtle in the slightest. When Raina looks toward us and flashes that perfect smile, Saffron boldly responds with an unapologetic shrug and waves, fully aware she got caught checking her out.
She exhales a long sigh. “Okay. Fun’s over.
” Then she turns and points a finger up ahead. There’s a dark speck growing. Land.
She hooks an arm with mine. “Shame, I’ll have to vote her out eventually.
I’d let her rig me up any day.” Her face forms a pout.
“Romance on competition shows is nothing but trouble. We don’t need the distraction.
No matter how devastatingly gorgeous they are.
Besides, you and I already have a goal. Getting to the final three. Right?”
I like the sound of that. None of the other players know the contract I signed. The island is close enough now that I can make out the tree line. A smile paints across my lips toward Saffron, her arm still entwined with mine, like we've known each other for years instead of hours.
Play the part. Stick the landing. I take a breath.
Let the games begin.