by Becky Wicks
’We appreciate you sharing, Joshua,’ she says, sincerely. ‘We’ll see you soon, I’m sure.’
I nod, stand, keep my back straight, adrenaline still pulsing through my veins.
On the way out of the boardroom, right before the pimply kid gets up in front of me and orders me to keep my eyes forward, I see a girl. Her brown eyes lock onto mine as I step over the threshold and in the space of a millisecond I take in her short black hair, pushed back with a green band; her knee-length purple dress bunched in at her small waist. I recognize her.
Time slows for a second as my sidekick closes in and I nod surreptitiously in her direction as I pass, keeping my face straight. A look of amusement crosses her features; the kind of animated expression that would usually make me turn back out of intrigue, but I’m frogmarched back down the hallway just as she’s called into the boardroom. Where have I seen her before?
I can still see her face in my head as I’m led back to my room. I shut the door on the kid, head to my backpack for some Advil. I’m already picturing her on an island with the turquoise sea behind her, standing there in some bikini and vine leaves, holding a spear. It’s stupid, but the vision makes my pulse throb and my palms sweat. She bothers me.
I down two pills with a mouthful of water, study my face in the mirror as I grip the basin. I’ve had no one else to bring this dream to life with so far. I’ve told no one I’m applying for Deserted; not Harri, not Mitchell, not even my mother. Out of nowhere now though, the way is clear but there’s another human standing in my path.
Maybe it’s the pimply kid; maybe it’s the intensity of everything I just had to go through, but as I stare at my reflection, survival mode kicks in. From out of nowhere an indelible line is drawn between myself and a girl I haven’t even met.
5
Alyssa
‘So, we have the jock, the mother figure, the ethnic student, the secretive recluse. How do you feel about being the celebrity, if we choose you?’
The girl in the cloud tank is twizzling her ponytail, looking at me with interest, but not as much interest as the guy in the glasses. I fight the urge to head for the water cooler. I’m hungry and thirsty. I think they’re creating discomfort on purpose but I know I can’t crack. I raise an eyebrow at her. ‘Celebrity?’
‘We look for certain personalities to star in the show - I’m sure you’ve seen that before. You just broke up with Sebastian Moreno, right?’
I nod as his name snaps like a rubber band at my heart and I inhale sharply. Focus. ‘That’s right,’ I reply, sitting up straighter. ‘I see you read The National Enquirer.’
She smiles. I was expecting this. I talked about Sebastian in the video application Chloe helped me make. It was a compilation of things from the past year. She edited the whole thing together on her laptop the night before she left – three packed minutes of photos, YouTube clips and sound bites that played on my doomed fling with fame. She even had Noah talk about me for ten seconds: ‘Vintage goddess, actress, show off, couldn’t catch a fish to save her life,’ was what he said. Chloe said it gave me an edge. She was right.
‘You’ve led a pretty interesting life lately, Alyssa. Some might say charmed? Would you say someone like you is really cut out for a show like Deserted?’ Lanie says.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I say, meeting her eyes. She’s being impertinent but she knows it. She’s trying to see how I handle conflict. They’re doing it to all of us, I’m sure. I force a smile onto my face. I’ve prepped for this. The idea of being on this show grew from a seed of doubt into a whole frickin’ tree of YES I CAN DO THIS, pretty much overnight. I blame my Greek heritage, which always seems to force me into action like Achilles in the Trojan War whenever any shit hits a fan.
‘To be honest with you, Lanie… that’s your name, isn’t it?’
‘That’s me.’
‘I think someone like me is perfect for the show,’ I say, flashing her my best angle, which Sebastian and Marie Claire both say is my left side with my chin slightly down. ‘I can tell you, there are no wilder animals on the planet than a pack of paparazzi on the hunt. You can put me in a jungle any day.’
The others behind the table bash into their iPads excitedly. I know they’ll quote that; it was pretty good. Lanie picks up what looks like a green juice and takes a slurp, studying me over the rim. ‘Would you say you’re broken hearted?’ she asks.
I shake my head, adjust my headband and look straight at her, clearing my throat. ‘I’m not going to lie to you, Lanie,’ I say, ‘this has hit me pretty hard, but that’s not something I’m planning on bringing with me onto the show if you pick me.’
‘Really?’ The guy in the glasses looks unsure. ‘Do you not think you’re maybe trying to run away, and that the pain will just follow you when you’re cold and lonely and hungry out there in the middle of nowhere? There won’t be any Egyptian cotton sheets or hair straighteners or Michelin-starred restaurants on the island. No creature comforts. It’s a very different world – the real world.’
I fold my arms, lean back and study his smug face. I know what he’s doing. They’re smart, all of them. I have to hand it to them.
‘Those little luxuries were nice when I was travelling with Noah Lockton’s band. But they’re not who I am,’ I tell him. ‘And as for my break up, I don’t think putting myself on the TV would really be helping me get away from the media frenzy, would it?’
He shakes his head. ‘Not so much.’
‘I just want to do something amazing on my own,' I say, truthfully. 'I need a challenge.’
They’re all hitting their iPads frantically now and I can tell they’re seeing a story in me. They’re probably already planning how to air my troubles to the masses and in which camera angles, as soon as I crumble in the jungle. I don't know if I'm more heartbroken or humilated over the whole thing. My confusion is confusing me but I'm not about to let that show.
‘I like your spirit,’ the glasses-guy tells me and I nod, meeting his eyes. ‘So, back to the celebrity role…’
‘I can’t see how I could be anything else for you,’ I say, leaning forward. ‘Unless you want to cast me as the cheerleader? Although, I never was very good at that. These babies always threatened to knock the team out.’
They all laugh as I motion to my chest and I don’t miss all of them taking a lingering look. I enhanced my cleavage on purpose in my favourite vintage dress. I’ve got them, I know it, just like Chloe said I would. Victory soars through me, but it tangles in my throat.
I can’t let it show. I won't. But I question my ability to go the distance if they really do send me into the wilderness with a bunch of strangers. I’m not actually all that certain I wouldn’t crack. The thought of Sebastian’s arms and smell assaults my senses whenever I don’t want it to, and looking at them all now, I’m flung back to just last night when he was ignoring my calls and I was gulping for air on my bathroom floor. The Hollywood Gossip posted a photo of him talking to a blond girl outside his gym. That’s the side of me nobody sees. That's the side they’ll televise in a heartbeat if anything breaks me.
But, the million-dollar prize money would free me from K-Lame and his low-hanging fruit, forever. I could send myself away to cooking school – do what I really want to do, on my terms. I really do want a challenge.
‘We’ll start the IQ test now,’ Lanie chirps before slurping the icy remains of her green juice and offering a plate of cookies to the others. ‘After this, you’ll head to the psychiatrist to be read the results.’
‘Sounds good,’ I respond, trying to silence the rumble in my stomach. She’s teasing me. I wish I’d eaten more at breakfast. I really don’t know how clear my head is for answering their complex questions right now but I guess everyone else here is in the same boat. Even that ridiculously hot guy who walked out of here before me.
I wasn’t supposed to look at him – they’re weird about that stuff here. I guess they don’t want us sizing each other up or trying to tra
ck each other down to discuss anything before the show. I was expecting some people to recognize me. I’m not sure if he did; I didn’t have long enough to look at him, but aside from his ripped body and the fact that he was well over six-foot tall I did catch something in his eyes that made me even more nervous for some reason. Judgement? A warning?
If this all goes ahead, it won’t just be about surviving the elements on an island, will it? It will be about surviving the words, actions and intentions of other people.
I sit up straight again, try not to clench my palms. If the past year being named and shamed in the lights with Sebastian has shown me anything, it’s that no matter how strong you are, no matter how good you are at hiding your pain, you really can’t trust anyone.
6
Joshua
‘Are you serious?’ Harri cries, practically choking on a nacho. She swallows hard and takes a sip of her soda, banging dramatically at her chest till she finds her voice again. Her blue eyes are as wide as our plates as she looks at me over the table. ‘You got on the show? Does Mitchell know?’
‘No,’ I say, shoving a nacho into my mouth and grinning. She laughs and shakes her head.
’So, wait… rewind. That’s why you had to go to L.A the other week?’
‘Yes ma’am.’
Harri leans back on the bench, lets out a long sigh through her nose. She’s half smiling. ‘You’re crazy. I mean, Joshua, this is mental. You’re going to be on Deserted, in front of millions of people, cutting down coconuts and… you could win a million dollars! This is going to change your life.’
I shrug as my heart boxes my ribs. She’ll never know how much.
‘Are you ready for it, really?’ she says, reaching for my hand. Concern crosses her features and makes me uncomfortable.
‘As ready as I am for the apocalypse,’ I tell her.
Harri nods. She’s the only person I’ve told about the show since I got accepted, aside from Evan, who really had to know. I lean forward over my plate, rest my chin on clenched hands and watch her pretty face as she starts up with talk about beaches and sleeping with rats and forming alliances with people who will just go on to stab me in the back.
I nod and zone out of the diner we’re sitting in. They could come for me at any moment, according to the email that landed in my inbox - the one I almost didn’t see. I don’t check email all that often. It was all bold and ominous:
You will be collected at any point from November 01 to November 03. Please inform all friends, loved ones and your place of employment that from this point onwards you will be out of contact and unavailable for a maximum of eight weeks. Carry a bag with you during this time. This bag should contain your passport, a change of clothes (please avoid corporate logos) and one personal item - not including food, matches or weaponry. Keep your eyes and ears open. You are about to be Deserted.
I look around me. The place is busy with groups at every table, biting into burgers and fries. It’s November 02. I’ve got my backpack at my side with my baseball hat and passport in it, a pair of board shorts and a toothbrush. The notebook I keep everything in is in there too, but I’m sure I won’t be allowed any of it when we get there. My heart’s been a damn jackhammer since yesterday morning.
I trail my eyes around the diner again. Harri does the same thing. No one here looks too suspicious, but judging by the pimply kid back at the interviews, anyone could turn out to be working for the show.
My car’s parked at Evan’s house. I took the bus to meet Harri. Who knows what kind of fines I’d get if I left that thing parked somewhere while I was dragged off to an Indonesian island for eight weeks. That’s still all I know – the fact that we’re going to Indonesia. Where exactly, we’ve not been told. I guess telling us would've meant we could have researched, but I did a little anyway.
I know the kinds of fish I might have to spear and avoid. I know the kinds of plants I might have to eat. I knew to dress for the past two days in clothes I might have to spend eight weeks in – jeans and a T-shirt. I can slash and burn either if I have to.
‘So what’re you taking with you?’ Harri asks, motioning to my backpack. ‘They’ll search you, you know? I hope you’re smuggling some protein bars between your bum cheeks.’
She grins and I have to laugh at the ‘bum’ part. Harri’s great, even if she’s the moodiest chick I know; and even though she drinks too much sometimes. When I think too much I feel bad for ending things the way I did but it's for the best. She doesn’t know the truth. She can’t. I told the producers I didn’t want anyone to know on the show either, and thankfully they seemed to be OK with that. I’m already wondering how the hell I’m going to deal with some shit out there, but I guess the name of the game is to deal with it as it happens and that’s what I’ve had to do anyway, for the last two years.
I motion to the waitress for the check but she’s looking at her cell. I get up from the bench as Harri picks up her own cell, make my way to the counter. On the way over, a magazine on the edge of a table catches my eye. It’s some girl’s mag - In Touch.
I stop. Noah Lockton’s on the cover with his girlfriend - that pretty photographer chick with the blog everyone seems to love. But there’s someone else next to them.
‘Can I see this?’ I say to the teenager it belongs to. She nods, slurps on her shake as I pick it up. It’s the girl from the interview; the one who was standing outside the boardroom. She’s a celebrity? I thought she looked familiar.
‘What’re you doing?’ Harri’s standing next to me now.
‘This girl,’ I say, tapping at her face with my finger.
‘That’s Alyssa The Greek,’ Harri says.
‘Who?’
‘She’s dating Noah Lockton’s drummer. Well, she was. I think he ditched her.’
I look back to the image. She’s as beautiful as she was in person, in the second or so I got to take in her face. Angular cheeks, short, styled hair. Tiny waist with proper curves. But something stirs in my stomach as I study her in the glare of some paparazzi’s flash; her glossy lips, her tiny red dress, her manicured hand gripping Chloe’s arm. It’s the same discomfort I felt back in L.A. She makes it real, what I’m doing. She’s competition - if she even made it in.
I’m about to tell Harri what I know when the doors to the diner fly open and three people stroll in. One is Mitchell. Two are hidden by cameras.
‘Gotcha!’ Harri cries suddenly, springing away from me. A grin has broken out on her face. My heartbeat quickens and I stand rigid as a camera guy runs up to me and everyone in the room stops to stare in confusion. Ed Bernstein appears. Cell phones spring up all around me. Shit.
‘Joshua Brenner!’ Ed cries. He’s the show’s presenter, here in the flesh. He’s headed up the last ten seasons, hosted all the challenges and council meetings. He’s shorter in real life. A girl in the corner is almost choking on her burger, struggling to breathe as she tries to take his photo over the back of her booth. America loves Ed Bernstein.
I pull myself together, try not to look as shocked as I am. Harri’s next to Mitchell now. Both have their arms folded. ‘Nice one, Potter,’ I hear him tell her.
‘Sorry to walk in on your lunch, Joshua, but your friends here agreed to see you off in style,’ Ed says, holding a mic up to my face. ‘I hear the bacon cheeseburgers are the best in town – I hope you had your fill. Got everything with you?’
‘Yes sir, got the yacht right outside,’ I say, walking back to the bench and grabbing my backpack. A camera guy trails me. I look at the nachos we didn’t finish. Will they become the last proper thing I had to eat, and then abandoned? I consider reaching for Harri’s leftover Diet Coke, just ‘cause I’ll be drinking nothing but coconuts and water for the next eight weeks, but I force my brain to unscramble. This is the start of everything.
I turn to the lens pointed at me. ‘Take me to paradise, Ed Bernstein,’ I say with a grin as more flashes go off and everyone in the room erupts into a cheer.
Ed talks mo
re about Austin and how the guys at the climbing center were all in on the surprise. He’s wearing his trademark jeans and un-tucked brightly colored shirt with no logo. This one’s blue. His buzz cut looks fresh. I shove my hat onto my head. What the hell am I doing?
‘It's day one of Joshua’s adventure of a lifetime, folks,’ Ed says to the camera as he leads me past the tables of clicking cell phones and whispering people. ‘This is his chance to show that he can endure being deserted. Here’s where he waves goodbye to life as he knows it, oh, and decent food - mind if I have a fry?’ He snatches a French fry from a girl’s plate and she laughs, snapping another shot of his perfectly sparkly TV grin.
My adrenaline races as he motions for me to follow him. He’s so dramatic. Twenty million viewers demand it. I put my backpack over both shoulders and Harri shoots me an apologetic look. I should’ve known. Why didn’t I see this coming? She never wants to eat at the diner.
I spot the magazine again on the way towards the door – Alyssa’s face looking up at me. Is she out there somewhere being collected like this and marched towards abandonment, or will Ed go for her separately? Is she ready? Does she know what she's doing any more than I do?
A black Escalade is waiting on the curb outside with its engine running. The show’s logo is on the side and people from the street are crowding round. Harri runs outside with Mitchell close behind. ‘See you soon,’ she says, throwing her arms around me suddenly. I breathe in sharply, the scent of her shampoo, loop one arm around her shoulders as she squeezes me in front of everyone.
‘See you soon,’ I say, although it’s not exactly true. I won’t see Harri soon. I’ve been in the middle of nowhere before and eight weeks is a hell of a long time. Anything can happen in eight weeks.
7
Alyssa
‘Let’s go over the PowerPoint print outs while we wait,’ Kenneth says, laying a bunch of papers out on the table. I sigh to myself. I don’t miss the coffee stain on the front of his pale blue shirt, but I can’t focus on the stupid presentation we’re about to give. K-Lame doesn’t know I’m going to be on Deserted. I told him I was going to volunteer with orphans in Cambodia for a bit.
