Seven Exes Are Eight Too Many

by Heather Wardell

  When I tried to stifle a yawn, he said, "Go get some sleep. I'm fine here."

  "Then so am I," I said, turning to face him. "We'll both sleep here."

  He shook his head, smiling. "That kind of defeats the purpose, you know."

  "Really?" I batted my eyes at him. "Then we might as well both sleep over there."

  "MC," he began, then laughed as I batted some more. "You're impossible, you know."

  "Thanks. I do my best."

  He shook his head again then gave in. "If you're sure."

  "I am."

  And I was. Until we stood facing each other across the bed.

  I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept slept with a man. Greg had never stayed over. Had Aaron? Maybe, but that was nearly a year ago.

  "You first," we said in unison, then burst out laughing.

  "What are we, twelve?" He grinned at me. "Last one in has to... umm..."

  "Dig a new latrine for the other court?"

  "Good one," he said. "Okay, one... two..."

  I jumped into the bed right before he said 'three', and he did the same.

  "You're too smart for me. I knew I should have gone on two."

  "Cheater."

  He chuckled. "You cheated too."

  "Yeah, because I knew you would." I pulled the duvet to my chin, loving the fluffy feel and the fresh clean scent. "How will we go back to those crummy shelters after this?"

  "I don't know," he said. "This has ruined me for the rest of the game."

  I didn't think he was only talking about the bed. "Me too."

  "Good night, MC."

  My lips tingled with the force of my need for another kiss, but I knew it wouldn't happen. Couldn't happen. "Good night."

  Not just good. The best night of my life.

  Chapter Twenty

  I woke to the sunlight filtering through the bed's canopy, feeling more relaxed and calm than I'd been in months, maybe even years. A peek at Kent's side of the bed revealed I was alone, so I wrapped the duvet more tightly around myself, not ready to get up. When I did, it would all be over.

  Our night together had been incredible, but I had to get back into the game. Yes, being in his arms was both ecstasy and as comfortable as my favorite fuzzy sweatshirt. But I'd have to be able to trust him, and forgive him, if we got back together, and I just couldn't.

  I pulled the duvet over my head, wishing I could hide under it forever.

  "MC?"

  He'd obviously seen me move and realized I was awake, so I freed myself from my protective covering. "Good morning."

  He held up a glass of orange juice. "Hi. They brought more food."

  "I have to get up, right?" I said, feeling shy still being in the bed we'd shared.

  "Right." He smiled, looking unsure of himself. "Or I could bring the table over there."

  I shook my head and threw back the duvet. "Thanks, but I can get up." We needed to cool things down between us, and breakfast in bed wouldn't help.

  After inhaling the gloriously clean fragrance of my clothes in the suitcase, I picked out my gym skirt and a t-shirt and changed behind some bushes then sat beside him at the table.

  "How'd you sleep?"

  "Like a log," I said. "I don't even think I had any dreams. You?"

  "Not bad, thanks." His smile was more relaxed this time. It was strange waking up together for the first time in years. No wonder he felt awkward too.

  "Good. Wow, look at all the fruit. I haven't even seen some of these before."

  "They gave us rice, too," he said, and laughed as I pretended to throw up. "I hear you." He handed me a muffin topped with a small plastic ghost.

  "What's with the ghost?"

  "I think it's Halloween today," he said.

  I dropped the muffin. "It is?"

  He looked puzzled, then said, "Wait, this is the day your mom and brother died, isn't it?"

  I nodded, touched he remembered and also miserable. "I've never been away from Dad for it."

  He squeezed my hand. A faint echo of the previous night's passion rang through me, but I could put it aside. The game was back on. "I'm sorry. Your dad will understand, though."

  "I know, but it stinks."

  Kent's arm slid tentatively around my shoulders. I leaned into him, and he pulled me closer. "We should ask Peter if you could call home."

  "He'd never let me. Not unless it was a contest or something." I wanted so badly to stay snuggled up to him, but I forced myself to draw back.

  He released me at once. "Look, about last night. I..." He shook his head. "I don't know what to say."

  What do you want to say? "Blame it on the location?" I suggested, giving him an out so he wouldn't say he hadn't meant to kiss me. I didn't want to hear that.

  He studied me, then said, "Curse you, Internet voters," shaking a fist at the sky.

  I laughed, fighting off a ridiculous disappointment. Had I really expected him to tell me he wanted me back? Of course not.

  He grinned. "Eat up, Princess," he said, moving the platter of fruit closer to me.

  "I will if you don't call me Princess."

  "Eat up, scullery maid."

  "Shut up, he-who-digs-the-latrine."

  We laughed and began working our way through the food, chatting casually. A couple of times I felt like he wanted to say something more meaningful, but he never did.

  I heard Peter calling, "Good morning, folks!" and grimaced.

  Kent caught my hand and said, "MC, listen, you--"

  Peter walked in, camera crew following, and Kent pulled his hand away. Oh, for ten more seconds alone. What had he wanted to say? And why had he waited so long?

  "How are you two?" Peter sat down at the table and picked up a muffin. I had an irrational urge to order him away from our table, to refuse to go back to the game.

  "Fine," Kent said. They locked eyes, and the sudden tension confused me but I figured Kent was probably equally annoyed with Peter's timing.

  Peter looked away. "Glad to hear it." He turned to me. "And you're okay?"

  I nodded. "Pretty full," I said, gesturing to the table, "but that's good too."

  He smiled. "You might not think so when we start today's contest."

  *****

  I'd definitely have been better off with an empty stomach. My seasickness grew as we sped over the water toward the contest. My nervousness grew too: how could I return to competing with Kent after what we'd shared?

  We walked into the clearing to find our exes already assembled. Clearly we'd been the only ones allowed showers. I felt a pang at the realization that we'd soon be as dirty as everyone else again and it would be almost like our time away together had never happened.

  "So," Peter said to me once I stood with my guys, "I trust you had a good night?"

  His bland smile told me I'd been right: our kisses had been on camera. I nodded and returned it, refusing to react. "Very nice, thank you."

  "Glad to hear it. Now, today's contest." He walked to a table which held two platters covered with silver domes. "We attempted this one earlier, but now it's back on. Back on the menu, shall we say?"

  He uncovered the platters and my poor belly lurched again. Monkey brains revisited.

  Kayla, hand at her throat, said, "They're not the same ones as last time, are they?"

  "We froze them. Waste not, want not."

  I certainly didn't want.

  "So, this one's pretty simple," Peter said. "Each Court has to eat every last bit of monkey brain from its platter, but anyone who spits it out or throws up is out of the contest."

  He arranged us around the table, each court at its own end, and placed the platters in front of Kent and me. My stomach roiled yet again.

  "Are you ready?"

  "No," we chorused.

  "Good. Three, two, one, go."

  I reached out but couldn't touch it. It's meat, I told myself. Think of it as steak.

  A nice grey steak.

  Repeating 'steak' in my head, I took a ti
ny piece, unpleasantly rubbery. "Help yourselves, boys," I said, my voice strangled by the revolted tightness of my throat. Aaron, Jim, and Greg each took pieces no larger than mine, and so did Kent and Ashley, but nobody else moved.

  I took a deep breath, held my nose, and dropped the piece into my mouth.

  Steaksteaksteaksteaksteaksteaksteak and I swallowed it.

  Kent's smile made my knees feel as weak as my stomach. "Nice job. How bad was it?"

  It was getting worse. The rubbery feel in my mouth lingered, and knowing what I'd eaten disgusted me. "Tastes like tofu, sort of."

  Kent shook his head. "Only you would compare... well, this... to tofu."

  The feeling in my mouth was fading, and pleasure at its departure made me giddy. "Try it yourself and we'll see what you say."

  I reached out for another piece as Aaron said, "Okay, guys, let's do this." He grinned, and counted down like Peter, then he, Jim, and Greg tossed their pieces into their mouths.

  Jim put both hands over his mouth and chewed faster and faster. He swallowed once, then again. Then he turned to the side and threw up.

  "Jim is out of the contest," Peter announced.

  "Lucky bastard," Aaron muttered.

  "Sorry." Jim wiped his mouth with a napkin. "I thought about what it was and I lost it."

  He wasn't the only one; within the next five minutes Dean quit and Kent had only himself, Ashley, and Faith remaining. I ate tiny little pieces so I didn't have to chew and tried not to listen as people threw up and left the game.

  My team was making progress, but Kent wasn't far behind. He plucked another chunk from the platter and forced it down. "You know what? It is kind of like tofu. Gross slimy tofu."

  I smiled, but it froze on my face as my eyes met Dean's furious ones glaring at me from the loser's bench.

  Kent took another piece, one of the largest. He tried to swallow but started coughing.

  My heart pounding, I watched as he struggled to get the piece down.

  The coughing grew more intense, and his face turned an alarming shade of purple.

  I leaned forward, trying to remember the first-aid course I'd taken years ago, but with a last violent cough he too tossed his brains, and most of his breakfast, onto the grass.

  "So much for that," he said when he'd recovered.

  "Are you okay?" I said. "It looked painful."

  He turned to me, even though Summer was clamoring for his attention, and nodded. "It was either choke to death or cough it up."

  "Good choice."

  He gave me a half-smile. "I thought so."

  I smiled back, and Michael said, "Are you quitting, Princess?"

  Startled, I looked at him. "Why would you say that?"

  "You're not eating."

  "You haven't even started eating."

  He swallowed a chunk whole. Shooting a defiant look at Kent, now sitting with Summer, he said, "There, piece of cake."

  I stared at Michael. What was he doing? Did he want everyone to know he had feelings for me? He stared back, and for one terrified moment I was afraid he'd confront me right there.

  Aaron threw up, breaking the tension.

  "Sorry, baby. God, that's the grossest thing I've had in my mouth since--"

  I put my hands over my ears. "Don't say it. I feel sick enough."

  Peeling my hands away, he said, "Since I accidentally drank six-month-old milk in college. Why, Madeleine-Cora, whatever were you thinking?"

  "Nothing, Louisa," I said, blushing. "Knowing you, it could have been anything."

  "Yeah, but it wasn't." He winked. "Enjoy your brains."

  I shuddered, and he laughed and sat beside Jim on the loser's bench. I put another piece into my mouth and tried to swallow, but my throat felt paralyzed. The thought of six-month-old milk didn't help. Then my mouth started to water and in moments I was awash.

  I gulped, trying to clear my mouth and maybe get the piece down at the same time, but my stomach twisted even harder than before and I knew I was done. I spit out the piece.

  "You're out, Princess," Peter said, then added, "You've eaten more than anyone else on your team, though, so well done."

  I muttered, "Thanks," wishing I'd been able to keep going.

  Greg and Michael picked unhappily at the platter. Michael only ate another two pieces, but Greg was developing a pretty good rhythm until his cheeks bulged and he too threw up.

  "It's all up to--"

  "I quit," Michael said.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  "Dean, you've got something to say?"

  One look at Dean's red face and raging eyes told me I wouldn't like it, but I sat on my exile-ceremony throne and tried to look unconcerned.

  "Fine, Peter, if you want me to go there. This whole thing is bullshit."

  Peter waited for him to go on. He didn't have to wait long.

  "They stay together overnight and then she's damn near throwing herself at him right in front of us. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what happened."

  I cut off Peter's response. "And what would that be?"

  Dean rolled his eyes. "Obviously you slept with him."

  My heart began to pound. "I did not."

  "So Kent's team wins and now one of us has to go home because she can't focus on the contest. It's not fair."

  "If you're going home," I said, trying to hold the anger back, "it's because you haven't done anything since we got here."

  "Yeah, right. What's your precious Kent done? Besides whatever you guys did last--"

  "I didn't sleep with him!"

  Dean looked at Peter. "You had cameras there, right?" At Peter's nod, he said, "So what happened?"

  "This is between you and the Princess. I'm not saying anything."

  Dean laughed. "Which means, yeah, she slept with him."

  "Why does it matter?" I was out of my stupid throne and in front of him in a second. "Even if I did, which I didn't, why would you care?"

  He stood up, glaring at me. "Not because of you, don't flatter yourself. Because it's not how the game should be played. Look me in the eye and tell me nothing happened."

  He was stomping all over my memories and they might not be as beautiful afterwards, and I couldn't bear it. I took a deep breath. "No."

  He turned to Jim. "See, I told you--"

  "No," I said again, louder, "because it's none of your business. What I do is no concern of yours, and I'm not telling you a damn thing." I walked back to my throne, managing to sit down before my knees started shaking.

  As Dean returned to his log, Peter said, "Are you finished?" in a neutral voice.

  "She needs to focus. If she'd tried harder at the contest, we wouldn't be here."

  How dare he? "If I'd tried harder? You were out way before I was."

  "Whatever. I'm not the one who's loopy about the competition," he said. "You don't honestly think he cares, do you? He's all over Summer on their island, snuggling and whispering to her. He doesn't want you at all, and why would he?"

  His words struck me as if they'd been written on rocks. Kent and Summer were still together? He'd said they weren't. And I believed him. But why would Summer have lied about it?

  "Didn't know that, huh? They told us last night. You idiot. He just wanted a quick fuck."

  The unexpected word, and the anger and scorn in his voice, froze me in place, but Aaron was on his feet in an instant, hands in fists. "Shut up."

  Dean stood up again, putting them inches apart. "Truth hurts, Aaron? Your 'baby' is nothing but a cheap--"

  "Shut up, now." Aaron's tone was controlled, but I could hear fury vibrating beneath it.

  Apparently Peter could too: he stepped between them. "Dean, that's more than enough. Aaron, sit down." He waited until they were both back in their places before turning to me. "Are you ready to make your decision, Princess?"

  Before I could speak, Dean said, "You're pathetic, MC. You latched onto Sam, and then he got hurt and you moved on to Aaron, and Michael too, I think. And now you're t
hrowing yourself at Kent. Who will it be next?"

  Aaron left his seat, but I didn't need his help. "Not you. You're exiled."

  *****

  Dean had barely stormed from the clearing when Michael turned on me. "You promised."

  As soon as his words were out, he clearly realized he shouldn't have said them, but too late. "We'll talk later," I snapped. How could he be so stupid?

  Peter looked at him, then at me, his eyebrow raised. "No time like the present."

  Oh, Michael, you idiot. He looked too horrified at what he'd done to speak, so I took a deep breath and sighed it back out, doing my best to look uncomfortable. Surprisingly easy. "He wanted me to exile him, and until Dean mouthed off I was going to."

  Peter, of course, said, "Why?"

  The truth would embarrass Michael and devastate his wife. I could only see one option. "We hate each other."

  Michael started but fortunately he kept quiet.

  Peter said, "So you promised to exile him."

  I nodded.

  Aaron turned to Michael. "You've wanted to be on 'Stranded!' forever and you throw a contest to get away from MC? Truly pathetic." He shook his head in disgust.

  "I didn't throw the contest," Michael said, sounding shocked. "Really, I didn't." He looked at my remaining exes in turn as he went on, his sincerity clear. "I couldn't handle eating brains, and when everyone started getting sick it was even worse. When I was the only one left, I saw how well Faith and Ashley were doing and I knew I couldn't beat them."

  "So now you're still here," Peter said, ignoring Aaron's "You could have tried" comment. "Can your Court trust you to do your best in the next contest?"

  Could we? He hadn't tried at all. Would that happen again?

  "Absolutely. I won't let you down, guys, I promise." He looked at them but ignored me, which was good. We'd have to keep the charade going at all times from now on.

  Peter said, "Well, this has been quite the ceremony. Anyone else have anything to say?"

  Thankfully, nobody did. Not right then, anyhow.

  *****

  Michael escaped into the jungle when we returned to camp, and I wished I could do the same. Slink away and never come back, never see Kent again.