Chapter 5 #2
As the stylist moves down the line of chairs, I can sense that we’re moments away from starting.
More film crew file in and assume their places behind cameras and boom mics while Benji and another drone pilot send their camera drones into the air.
I eye the airborne technology that flies high into the sky, figuring they must be equipped with night vision to get anything worth airing.
It makes me wonder why we’re doing the opening interview at nighttime anyhow.
While the show loves to mix things up every season, I’ve never seen the opening interviews take place at night.
I’m quietly contemplating the implications of a nighttime opening interview when I spot Team Peach, a man and woman who are apparently voice-over artists for a popular kids’ cartoon show. They walk down the torchlit path and onto the set, followed shortly by Team Fuchsia.
Legend is wearing a forest-green velvet suit that crops at the ankles, showing off a pair of sockless brown loafers.
Silver is wearing a shimmering silk dress that reminds me of every James Bond seductress to ever grace the silver screen.
She’s beautiful and lethal. Her heavily made-up eyes flick over to me.
There’s no question in my mind that after Shannon’s little show of making me and Colton out to be the supposed “dream team,” Silver’s already tagged us as a threat.
Squirming anxiously in my seat, I glance at Colton, wondering if he’s feeling Silver’s poison eye darts like I am, but Colton’s mouth is open, his eyes wide with …
shock? Delight? For a moment, I think he’s gawking at the striking Silver in her little temptress outfit, but his eyes don’t trail her form when she takes her seat.
I follow his line of sight to find the last of the seven teams, Team Lime, walking to their bright-green chairs at the end of the crescent.
The shorter of the two men looks to be in his mid-forties, and the other in his early twenties.
Both share similar features—high foreheads, friendly smiles, dark-brown skin, and an athletic build.
They must be the father-son partnership.
“You okay?” I ask Colton, who seems more than a little starstruck.
“Yes. No … I mean, yes.”
Colton Downing tongue-tied for the second time tonight? Now I’m starting to get worried. Colton’s never been one to fumble words. He is a Downing. They are born rich and perfect. Well, except in Colton’s case. He’s rich and perfectly annoying.
“Careful, don’t let the flies in,” I say, tapping on his jaw that still hangs open. “It’s not a good look for our team.”
Colton brushes my finger away, his smooth jaw tightening into a grimace.
“Do you know them?” I ask as we watch Team Lime introduce themselves to Legend and Silver who sit in the fuchsia seats next to their lime ones.
“It’s Joseph Williams and his son, Tyrone.”
“Oh, right,” I say, recalling their names from my stylists’ info dump.
“You say that as if you’re not beholding greatness.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. For some reason I thought they were baseball players.”
“They are.”
“Exactly.” I smile and brush a mosquito off my arm.
“But him. He’s Joseph Williams.” Colton emphasizes the name as if he expects me to pop out of my seat and perform Thunderstruck like I’m a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader. Instead, I shrug.
“He was an outfielder. In his last season he hit .346 with
forty-two home runs and 132 RBIs. And his son, Tyrone, just got signed by the MLB.”
I blink. Someone could have just spoken Gaelic to me, and I would have understood them more than Colton’s last three sentences, so I settle for “Cool.”
“Not just cool. Joseph’s legendary.” Colton visibly freezes as Joseph glances in our direction.
When he looks away, Colton blows out a pent up breath.
“But despite being the best, he was forced to quit early for something he didn’t even do.
Sometimes I hate politics.” As if realizing what he just said in the proximity of cameras, the future senator shuts his mouth and looks away from me as if our conversation never happened.
But suddenly, there’s a restlessness among the contestants surrounding me. I look up and see what everyone is staring at. My breath catches in my chest. Delightful little goosebumps rise across my skin as I watch the one and only Niall Bose enter the set.
“How’s everyone doing tonight?” Niall, the Sunsets and Sabotage host of fifteen years, says in his familiar baritone voice.
I gape and join in the excited claps of the other contestants as Niall steps within jumping distance of me. Just like on my screen back home, he’s medium height with a slim build, is in his mid-forties, and has black hair and dark skin that reflect his Indian ancestry.
Niall makes a point of recognizing each one of us in our finery.
But our apparel looks at odds with his own.
He’s wearing his outfit, or really, the only outfit I’ve ever seen him wear on the show.
He’s got on formal suit pants and wears the finely pressed button-up shirt of an airplane pilot.
He’s the captain of this soon-to-be-stranded group of contestants as we strive to survive on the island.
Colton leans over to me. “Careful, don’t let the flies in.”
I shut my mouth. I deserved that. But I don’t care. Niall Bose is here and so am I.
“Thank you for being here. All of you are amazing,” Niall says, reining in our star-studded excitement.
As a whole, we all lean in to hear his words.
“I can’t tell you much until we start filming, but what I can tell you is that this will be the most unforgettable season yet.
We’ve handpicked each of you because we knew you would make this season stand out among all others.
So, without further ado, make sure your personal cameras and mics are on.
Then, what do you say we get this show started? ”
Once more, we all start clapping, then Colton and I, along with the other contestants, find our lapel cameras and mics and turn them on.
Mine are fastened to the sparkly edge of my square neckline.
I flip the minuscule switch on both pieces of technology, then wait for the green lights to blink at me, signaling that they are on just as Benji instructed.
When I look up, Niall takes his place in front of the firepit, same as he does at the start of every season.
“Contestants ready,” Shannon calls to all of us in a commanding voice as she puts a headset over her ears and stands just behind the camera operators.
My senses go on high alert.
I feel the heat of the fire.
I hear the soft whir of the drones.
I watch Colton’s thumb and forefinger tap together in his signature show of nerves.
Soon enough, Colton’s facial features morph into the poised-and-contented mask he puts on before any public appearance. I do the same when I see the camera lights turn red. My heart seems to beat inside my eardrums, blocking out the silence around me.
And then, a voice rises above all else. “We’re rolling in 3 ... 2 ... 1.”