“That’s what I like to see,” Molly yelled.
“Me drenched in sweat? Again?”
“The determination in your eyes. It’s not that you can’t do things, Megan, it’s that you need someone to challenge you. You can and you know it. I know you don’t like lying, but you’re going to have to get used to it if you want to make it anywhere on the show. Now tell me, how do you feel?”
Megan felt like a wet dog. “Great?”
Molly narrowed her eyes.
“Great!” Megan raised her arms above her head and waved them around. Ouch. That hurt.
“Better. I almost believe you.” Molly slapped her magazine shut. “Now go get cleaned up. Your meeting is in an hour.”
Megan wanted to respond, but she didn’t have control of her breathing yet. Her sister had put her through the wringer, but instead of feeling stronger, Megan felt sore, weak, and ready to collapse. She climbed into her waiting car without so much as a wave to Molly and blasted the air conditioning, turning the vents to point at her overheating body. Perhaps Molly’s goal was to run her so hard that a week and a half on The Leftover would feel like a piece of cake.
Mmm, cake. Megan’s mouth watered, but she shook the delicious thought from her mind. No time for food. She needed to get home, jump in an ice cold shower, cool down, and head over to KETO. Mike had called an organizational meeting to explain everything to the contestants. Megan was anxious to check out the competition, especially because that was literally all she would be allowed to do. Mike had stressed that there would be no talking—the number one rule until the show began the next day.
Megan pulled to a stop in front of her home and opened the car door. She was unsure as to how she would make it all the way to the bathroom, but swinging her legs out of the vehicle was a good start. One step at a time, up the walk, Megan cheered herself on. When she opened the door, she lost all resolve. Her comfortable couch beckoned and she fell over its side, splaying out. Just for a minute, she promised herself. She’d rest and then get ready for the meeting.
Chapter Seven
Megan stretched and rolled to her side. She didn’t need anything more than her couch. And maybe a burger . . . She opened her eyes halfway. What day was it? She thrust herself up into a seated position. The meeting! She sat up and squinted at the clock across the room. She had ten minutes until she was supposed to be among the other contestants at the mandated silent meeting. She grabbed her glasses from the nearby coffee table and slammed them onto her face.
There was good and bad news. The good news was she could still make the meeting if she hurried. The bad news was she had to leave immediately. Forget the cool shower or even a comb.
Megan grabbed her keys from the counter and stuck them in her mouth as she pulled the hair tie from the depths of her disheveled ponytail. The humidity combined with her dried sweat had turned her hair into a frizzy mess—even by her standards. Without a shower, there wasn’t much she could do. She pulled her front door shut behind her with a foot and wrangled her hair back into a messy bun. It was in no way smooth, but it was better than leaving it down.
Cane shuffled some papers and reviewed the safety guidelines. Preparing the contestants on the show for what could happen was part of his job. He would much rather respond to an emergency situation than speak to a room full of people about one. When he was on Accept This Dandelion, he had been able to forget the cameras around him and interact with people as he normally would. Dating Eva came naturally, and he never had to make big speeches with everyone looking at him. His confidence had risen a bit after his encounter with Eva the other day, but now that he was standing at the front of the conference room and the contestants and other station staff were starting to gather, his blood pressure was rising.
Cane tore his eyes from the papers and studied the people entering the room. It was weird that everyone was so quiet, and the silence only heightened his nerves. He recognized the men and women from when he had performed their medical exams, and he already had formed opinions about a few. He searched the room. Someone was missing. Where was Megan?
Mike, the show’s producer, took his position beside Cane and cleared his throat. The quiet guests sat at attention as Mike snapped his clipboard on the podium in the front.
“Welcome, everyone,” Mike’s confident voice greeted them. “And thank you for agreeing to be a part of The Leftover. We have a lot to cover today so listen closely. And keep in mind if anyone breaks rule number one, he or she will be replaced. Get used to the silent rule. We’re a small operation and we will maintain only a skeleton camera crew overnight. While we will film all day long, at night, silence will reign. One camera operator will stay on set at all times just in case, but between the daylight hours, no talking.” He narrowed his eyes and swept them across the room, making his point loud and clear. “Now, I’d like to introduce you to the show’s medic, Cane Trevino. You’ve already met him during your exams and now he will go over some important safety information for you to keep in mind as the taping progresses. Cane?”
Cane nodded and stepped behind the podium as Mike edged into a seat in the front row. He began writing something on his clipboard and Cane was certain he wasn’t listening, but everyone else in the room was. Cane opened his mouth to speak. What was it you were supposed to do when you were nervous in front of a group? Imagine people in their underwear?
The conference room door opened and Cane’s attention, along with everyone else’s, swiveled to the back of the room. Megan appeared, biting her lip. She gave the others a small wave and pushed her glasses up on her face before lowering her head and making a beeline for the nearest chair. Cane frowned. What had she been doing? Walking in a wind tunnel? She wore a ratty old t-shirt, boy’s basketball shorts and sneakers, and her hair had definitely seen better days. He smiled and his shoulders relaxed. She was more of a mess than he could ever be. He’d focus on her and try to get through this session.
Cane took a deep breath and settled his gaze on Megan’s wire-rimmed glasses, which had tilted up in his direction as soon as she sat down. “Congratulations on being chosen for the show. While this is a local production and not nearly as strenuous as Survivor, there are still some dangers that we need to address.”
Cane went on to detail the signs of sun and heat stroke and encouraged contestants to come to him if they had so much as a headache. He talked about muscle strains, fire safety, and the other elements Mike wanted him to cover. Every time he looked up from his notes, he made eye contact with Megan. Sometimes she was studying the contestants around her, but mostly, she stared at him.
“Good luck to all of you. I look forward to being a part of The Leftover. I hope you understand I’m here to help in any way I can. I have no office hours. I’m available to you twenty-four hours a day for the duration of the show. I’ll be checking in with each of you periodically to get base information on your health so I am able to spot sudden changes, but I hope you will feel comfortable coming to me at any time.” Cane smiled as he spoke the last sentence. He stepped back from the podium and let Mike take over.
“Thanks, Mr. Trevino. Everyone is doing well with the silence rule so far. I trust that the trend will continue, especially during the taping overnights. I’ll be escorting the entire group to the parking lot myself to make sure no one violates the agreement.”
Cane understood why they wanted to capture as much as they could on camera, but the complete silence in the room was a little unnerving.
Cane, a Survivor fan himself, only half-listened as Mike described what would be the contestants’ regular routine, which included a daily group or individual competition, with the winner or winners getting protection from elimination that night and sometimes other rewards. The group would have to find their own food, build a shelter to protect themselves from the elements, and boil water they found to drink. Cane smiled when Mike got to the part about the Protection Piece—that would add a unique twist. But what really caught Cane’s attention was with
regards to any ties in the elimination votes. In the event of a tie, both contestants would be sent home. This was the biggest difference between the national Survivor and KETO’s version.
“I know you’re all dying to hear where the show is being taped.” Mike paused and tapped a pen against his clipboard. “But I am not going to divulge that information. We do not get access to the location until a few hours before we begin taping, and I don’t want anyone vetting the area beforehand to grab an advantage.”
Mike didn’t seem to trust the contestants any farther than he could throw them. And judging by the size of the guy in the front row, he couldn’t throw them very far.
“Grab a sheet on your way out. It has the current approved list of items you can bring with you for the taping. Don’t try to sneak anything else onto the set. We will find it. Return here the day after tomorrow at six in the morning. We will shuttle you to the location.” Mike turned and glanced at the other staff members in the room. “Anyone have anything else?”
No one violated the rule of silence. Not even the crew.
“Okay, then. I advise you to rest up tomorrow and come prepared for a week and a half unlike any you’ve ever had.”
Megan wrung her hands in her lap. She knew she looked like something the cat dragged in and the glances she got from the other contestants confirmed as much. Her nerves were going full force when she walked into the room, but after she caught Cane’s eye, she felt more at ease. His speech should have been scary with all of the precautions, but instead she simply sat back and enjoyed his easy smile and the way his curly hair bounced when he moved.
But once Mike started talking, it all came back to her. She was really doing this. She was going to be on TV, competing against the people sitting around her. She took stock of the contestants. There was an enormous building of a man—like a skyscraper—sitting in the front row. His shoulders were so wide she was pretty sure two of her could fit behind him side by side. At least he would make her feel petite—which not many men could do—but he would also crush her in any type of physical competition. She frowned.
Next to Skyscraper sat a well-dressed woman who Megan thought might be a remainder from the dating show. Her makeup was perfect and not one strand of hair was out of place. It also looked heavily hair sprayed. Her nails were long and, based on the tiny stars they sported, professionally manicured. Megan shivered. Those kind of nails always made her think of bird talons. Megan tried to envision what Talons would look like after a day or two on The Leftover. Probably still better than Megan looked right now.
There were other athletic-looking men, and one man she was certain she’d seen in her bank. He would henceforth be known as “the Banker.” Some of the women reminded her of Molly—long, lean, and up for anything. A girl on the other side of the room caught her eye. She was sitting, but her head was a good six inches lower than the woman next to her. She had beautiful light brown skin and Megan wondered if she might be Polynesian. Her short black hair curled around her ears and her eyes glowed with excitement—and spunk.
Megan needed all the spunk she could get on her side. She hoped petite Spunky Brewster was as friendly as she looked.
Megan’s eye moved to the next woman. Her diamond nose stud glinted under the light of the conference room. When she scratched her arm, Megan noticed a barbed wire tattoo encircling her right bicep. Her auburn hair was chin length in the back and gradually lengthened in the front, so Megan decided to call her “the Wedge.”
As Mike ended the meeting, Megan silently rose, clutching her information sheet. She tried to stay away from the others as much as possible. They’d get used to her smell soon enough, but she wanted to spare them as long as she could. Over a week of body odor . . . with complete strangers!
Megan glanced over her shoulder and caught Cane watching her as she left. She gritted her teeth and made a face at him. He winked and Megan’s pulse quickened. A week and a half . . . with Cane Trevino.
Chapter Eight
Megan pulled the rubber band out of her hair and ran her fingers through it. Her sister had finally gone home after forcing her to watch a Survivor marathon to get in “the right mental mode” for the game. Megan wasn’t sure how prepared she was, but she knew one thing . . . she was in way over her head.
The competitors on the national TV show were fierce, not only physically, but also mentally. Did Megan have the right intuition to know who was lying, who was forming alliances, who could be played, and how? She was fairly certain she couldn’t pull off any of those maneuvers herself. Many players flat-out lied just to get an advantage. Megan didn’t like the idea of lying to get ahead, even in a game. She wasn’t prepared to stoop that low. But she promised Molly she would do her best—her sister couldn’t expect anything more from her.
Megan flopped onto her bed and tried to calm her breathing, but her racing mind prevented peace. The producer prescribed rest. Watching TV was better than running stairs, but she didn’t feel relaxed. She had too many questions coursing through her brain. Where would they hold the taping? Would she be able to sleep? What would the other contestants be like? Would she even survive the first vote?
She rolled over and Cane’s face appeared in her mind. Her heart skipped a beat, but her breathing slowed. She went over their few embarrassing encounters. He had to think she was a total freak, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t dream about him. He probably had plenty of fans throughout the city who acted foolishly in front of him, and she had become one of them. Megan closed her eyes and tried to hold onto the image of Cane’s curly hair bouncing on his forehead as he spoke to the group. The way his eyes had held hers made her feel like the only person in the room. And the fact that she had been banned from speaking entirely took a lot of pressure off. Now if she could just avoid tripping . . .
She sighed and fell into a restless sleep.
From his work as a paramedic, Cane understood odd hours and his body had grown accustomed to waking in the middle of the night. He wasn’t the first one to arrive at the beach, but he had a lot of work to do before the contestants appeared.
The crew had set up a tent for him just off the main taping site. The lightweight fabric would give him shelter from the sun and the wrap-around sides would keep any blowing sand and bugs at bay. It wasn’t the Ritz, but it was better than what the contestants would have.
Cane unpacked the cartons he carried in and stashed various first aid items on plastic shelves the crew had carted in for him. He needed to be organized so if an emergency arose, he would know where everything was. They were only fifteen miles from the nearest hospital, so if anything serious happened, they could get the contestant to the facility quickly. But Cane hoped he could handle anything that occurred.
If nothing else, the next two weeks were going to be an experience. He had enjoyed camping as a child, but he hadn’t had much time for it as an adult. The show allowed him to stay within his profession while enjoying some time away from his day job as an EMT. If life had taught him one thing, it was to follow the paths before him and see where they might go. If he stood still too long, he’d miss whatever was ahead.
For too long, Cane had stood still, waiting for Eva. Now that he had decided to move forward, he knew each step he took was one more away from Eva—and that was okay. He still felt a twinge whenever she came to mind, but she wasn’t the girl for him, as much as he wanted her to be. Eva was in his past and though he still had a soft spot for her in his heart, he had a much larger space reserved for the woman he was actually meant to be with.
It took hours to organize all the supplies and inventory everything he had on hand, but as the sun rose over the horizon, Cane was ready. He glanced at his watch. The contestants would be arriving at the studio soon. It wouldn’t be long before they filled the beach near his tent. The Leftover was about to begin.
Megan bumped along in the back of the van with her small bag on her lap. It contained every item on the allowed list including two changes of clothing, a sw
imsuit, sunscreen, lip balm, and hair ties. They were also allowed one personal item, and she had chosen to bring something her sister made for her when they were children. She often carried it in her pocket when she was trying something new—it was a kind of good luck charm. It helped remind her that Molly was always there for her.
The van was too quiet, the contestants still not permitted to speak. Megan was annoyed that Skyscraper was next to her, blocking most of her view. She didn’t know where they were going and it was hard to see out the window.
The Banker sat in front of her and she was surprised to see he was still wearing a suit. At the first stop light, he’d turned and raised his eyebrows at Megan. Megan didn’t know if he was flirting or if he had some kind of facial twitch. She stifled laughter when he turned back around. Were giggles allowed? She couldn’t take any chances. She didn’t expect to make it far on the show, but there was no way she could justify getting kicked out before she was even allowed to speak.
When the vehicle halted, the energy within shifted. Spunky Brewster bounced up and down in her seat with excitement. Megan admired the woman’s enthusiasm—Megan herself felt as though she might throw up. Her tight nerves wound tighter as she leaned to her right and tried to catch a glimpse of their destination. Her eyes widened. She knew where they were!
Cove Bay Beach was a small residential neighborhood situated around a man-made lake. The shore of the lake offered ample space for the development of new beach properties. However, there were plenty of sandy stretches that didn’t yet have houses. Not everyone wanted beachfront property in Nebraska—it wasn’t exactly usable year round.
Molly had dragged her to a party a couple years ago, and the host had lived a few blocks over from where the van was now parked. She was certain the taping was going to be stationed on an empty portion of the beach. They may be able to see houses across the bay, but they would be isolated. It was probably as close as they could get to the national TV show in terms of location.
The Leftover Page 5
