by Erin Teagan
“Not even a kid that’s almost five? Because I’ll be five any day now.”
The animal trainer smiles at her. “Your birthday isn’t for another two months.”
Isabel flops onto the ground, tantrum style. “Please! Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease!”
One of the props guys walks by with a tub full of dead swamp muskies and holds one out to her. “Give me a fish smile!” he says, making the fish talk. I gag at the sight of the dead animals. It’s just a reflex I guess, because I’m so kindhearted, but Isabel thinks it’s the most hilarious thing she’s ever seen.
She stands up. “Can I hold one?” Laura thanks the props guy and hurries away with Pudding’s leash.
Isabel reaches into the tub and pulls out a muskie half the size of her body. “Are you sure those are all dead? Because they bite,” I say to the props guy.
“I would never let Isabel get hurt,” he makes the fish say to me. He turns and tickles her. “Right, Isabel? Right?” She writhes and laughs and drops her fish. Why is everyone constantly tickling this girl and going on and on about how cute she is? Hasn’t anyone noticed that she still picks her nose and eats it?
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see two people coming out of the woods by the fire road. Two people who don’t belong on set. Ronnie and Theo.
I drop my plate of breakfast and run, still chewing, across the field to get to them before they can round the corner and see the full set. They can’t find out the truth about Survivor Guy before I even get the chance to explain it myself. But it’s too late. By the time I reach them, their expressions have changed, Theo’s neck reddening.
“Hey.” It’s like I can’t breathe, the thick swamp air collecting in my mouth, choking me. “Guys, I—”
“Is this the set?” Theo asks.
They’re looking past me, taking it all in, and when I turn around, I see Survivor Guy through their eyes. The circus tents and million-dollar campers. The five-man crew building a makeshift raft. Isabel and the props guy. The teatime cart parked by the dining tent. And then the animal trainer walks past us with a giant black mountain lion on a glitter-pink leash.
“I thought you didn’t have any shelter?” Ronnie says, looking like she might cry, whatever idea she had of Survivor Guy—of me—shattered.
“I know . . .” I begin.
“This is all for Survivor Guy?” Theo is getting louder. “You lied?”
“Wait . . .” I back up and run directly into Isabel.
She holds up my pop tart. “You dropped this!” she says. “I dusted it off so you can eat it. Chef’s not making any more, you know.”
“You have a chef?” Ronnie exclaims, and then she throws something at my feet, turns, and runs back into the trees.
Theo gives me a long, hateful look and races after her.
“That was not nice,” Isabel says, while I stand there frozen. “You’re not supposed to throw things.”
She bends over and reaches down. Ronnie and Theo are gone, disappeared into the thickness of the dismal woods.
“What is it?” Isabel asks, turning the compass over.
“Just something my dad gave me.”
She shakes it. “Maybe I can play with it sometime?”
When I don’t answer, she pokes my side and hands it to me. And even though I’ve found my most treasured possession, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve lost something even more important.
Twenty-One
The next day we’re supposed to go on a hike to forage edible plants and look for small rodents to kill, even though the prop tent has a thousand stuffed rabbits and plastic rats and possums. I call it the death march, especially since Muscle Mindy is coming in case I can’t “keep up the pace.”
“Is someone really going to kill an animal?” I ask. “Because if that’s the case then I am philosophically against this ‘hike,’ as you call it.”
Muscle Mindy runs up next to me, jogging in place. “I love the smell of swamp in the afternoon.” What a totally disgusting thing to say. I walk faster, splashing mud on my boots.
Adam, Jake, and the props guy are up ahead, whispering about something, so I nose myself between them, nearly tripping over a pricker bush.
Adam peels away from me with a loud sigh, jogging to catch up with Isabel, who’s collecting pinecones. He scoops her onto his shoulders and spins her around. “Now, this is the real thing, Isabel. Don’t ever forget it.” He says this just loudly enough for me to hear, and I know what he’s getting at, but I pretend like he doesn’t even exist in my world.
We’re walking in the general direction of Camp Dig. I can’t be sure exactly where it is, but I’m hoping and crossing my fingers that we don’t stumble upon it. Or run into Ronnie and Theo scavenging for wood. My stomach aches thinking about what happened and I decide I’m going to avoid them like an infectious disease the rest of my time here. I look over my shoulder and pay special attention to the brush around me.
“Do we have to take all this stuff off for the scene?” I say to the group. We’re wearing matching sweatshirts that say YOU’VE BEEN SURVIIIIIIIIVED! on the backs, our hoods pulled over our heads, cinched up tight to protect us from the yellow flies. It’s about a hundred million degrees, and sweat is dripping into my eyes, but at least we’re not getting bitten. Jake has on the bug-net helmet that Betsy Sue’s kid died in, but the rest of our faces are exposed. The gnats are awful, flying into my nose and mouth and swarming around my eyes. “Aren’t you worried you’ll get bit?” I ask Jake.
He waves toward Claire, who’s laughing at something Dad said, leaning her cheek on his shoulder. “She’s got my EpiPen. I’ll only have my gear off for a few minutes anyway.”
I look around, fanning the gnats from my face, worrying that it will only take a minute for the yellow flies to find Jake. They are the worst in the woods, especially in the afternoon. And then what? We’re at least a twenty-minute hike from the set.
“When are they making the official announcement?” props guy asks, adjusting his heavy backpack.
“What announcement?” I say, pumping my sweatshirt in and out for some air. “I keep hearing about this.”
Adam turns around and gives Jake a look, Isabel still on his shoulders.
“What?” I ask.
“Talk to Dad,” Jake says, and so I do, backpedaling past Muscle Mindy doing squats and Bianca polishing her lens, inserting myself directly between Claire and my dad.
“We were just talking about you!” Claire says. “Isabel absolutely loves you, Ali.”
I ignore her. “Jake says there’s going to be an announcement, Dad?”
Dad and Claire exchange not-so-secret eye signals, making my face burn fire.
“Am I the only one who doesn’t know about this?”
Rick, who’s been leading the group, stops at the edge of what looks like a drop-off and turns around to face us. “Okay, let’s start rolling.”
Bianca jogs past us, her camera poised and ready, Wes trotting along beside her.
“Let’s talk about it in a little bit,” Dad whispers, taking his sweatshirt off. But I can already feel myself getting jittery-upset.
“Did you add another shoot after this?” I say, because this is supposed to be the last episode of the season. And then he’s coming home so we can be a family and all the puzzle pieces will be in the right place.
Rick claps once. “Okay, maybe some foraging or hunting and gathering could happen right about now?”
We take off our protective layers, and the sweltering swamp air feels cool for a second on my sweaty skin. Claire stands next to Jake, holding his EpiPen and his bug helmet.
Dad kisses me on the forehead. “Let’s find some food for tonight and then we’ll talk.”
Wes captures the whole thing on audio, standing way too close all of a sudden. I pull my ponytail tighter, hitting him right in his boom mic. Accidentally on purpose.
Jake holds up a dead squirrel. “Would this work for dinner, Dad?”
&nbs
p; “Did you just kill that thing?” I ask, horrified, but then I see the props guy behind a tree, zipping up his backpack.
“Yep. Bare handed.”
When I get closer, I see it’s only a stuffed animal.
“Great job, son,” Dad says. “How about a few of these guys on the side?” He holds out his hands, revealing a swirling mass of earthworms.
I gag. I can’t help it.
“FACT! Earthworms are easy to find in a survival situation and provide protein and nutrients vital for the human body.” He holds one up like he’s going to eat it. “They taste good too.”
And then he laughs, breaking Survivor Guy character. “Did you think I was going to do it?” He slaps his knee, handing the worms back to the props guy.
Rick is standing at the drop-off now, looking over the edge. “George. Come and take a look at this gully. What if crossing this is the only way back to camp?”
Dad inspects the ravine, looking at Jake and me, waving us over. Bianca falls in step with us, Wes fastening little wireless mics onto our shirts.
“I could jump this no problem,” Jake says, pushing his chest out. “I did the long jump in track that one year, remember?”
“It’s narrow and pretty dry.” Dad looks at me. “What do you think, Ali?”
In all reality, this so-called gully isn’t as narrow as I’d like, not to mention it’s deeper than the deep end of our pool, but I feel the camera on me, feel the weight of the mic on my chest. “Yeah, sure. No problem for me either.”
Dad turns to the camera, his voice deepening with urgency. “It’s getting late. We’re vulnerable out here in the wilderness full of flies and snakes and panthers. We’ve come far only to find we can’t go any farther. Not unless”—he looks pointedly at the trench—“we jump.”
“Dad.” Jake stands next to him, hands on his hips. “Let me go first. To test the danger.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, let him go first, Dad.”
Muscle Mindy stops her leg squats and calls to me, “Want me to take this one for you, Amy?”
“It’s Ali,” I say. “And no. Thanks.”
Rick is peering into the ditch. “Hey, is that a snapping turtle?”
Dad bends down for a closer look. “Yep.” He kneels at the edge, pulling out a pair of binoculars. “Yep, yep, yep. You don’t want to fall in there.”
“Great,” I say.
Adam snickers beside me. “One hundred percent there’s no turtle.”
I cross my arms, looking down into the deep gully just as Jake shouts, “Now, that’s a big snapping turtle!”
I don’t tell him, but Adam’s right. The ravine is empty except for mud and rocks and leaves.
Dad speaks into the camera. “Snapping turtle. Indigenous to this area. Vicious and territorial. One slip and—FACT!—you will get bitten.”
“I’m going,” Jake says, coiling up to jump. “We need to get across.” And then he leaps, legs stretched, coming down into a body roll on the other side.
Dad stands up, patting me on the shoulder. “There’s only one way out of this swamp, Ali,” he says. “You’ve got to get over this gully.” And then he gestures behind me, and Muscle Mindy bounces over. The makeup lady rushes out, dabbing some redness onto her chin to look like pimples, which I don’t appreciate.
“Wait,” I say. “I want to do this part.”
Everyone freezes and Bianca lowers her camera.
“No,” Rick says. “This is why we got you a stunt double.”
I groan, because now more than ever I want to do this shot. I don’t want to play a Survivor Girl on camera anymore. I want to be Survivor Girl. “Dad.”
“Sweetheart,” Dad says. “We want you to look like your best Survivor Girl on camera, remember? Girl power?”
“Let her do it,” Adam says, stepping in front of his dad. “Just let her try it.” Rick shakes his head, looking sternly at Adam. “She’s going to hurt herself. This is why I’m the producer. I make these decisions, not you.”
Adam stalks off, mumbling about how none of this matters anyway.
“You took away my tree climb,” I say, breaking the awkward silence. “I can do this, Dad.”
Muscle Mindy is clearly annoyed, sighing and grunting and hopping from foot to foot, warming up.
“George?” Rick says, and I see him glance over his shoulder at Adam, that same look in his eyes from before that makes me ache inside. “She’s your daughter, you make the call. I’m not always right.”
“One chance, Ali,” Dad says, Claire patting him on the back. “And let’s get going. We’ve got to get through this.”
Rick nods his head in agreement and then everyone moves aside and I get my chance. With about ten pairs of eyes watching, all expecting me to fail. And, honestly, we all know jumping and leaping are not my strongest survivor skills. But I’m not letting some old lady play me on camera whenever something gets tough. I have dignity, you know.
The gully is wider than I thought, and I size up the gap in my mind. Even if I splash-landed in the muddy water, I could run up the other end, narrowly missing the pretend snapping turtle. That would make for good TV, right? I ignore Mindy breathing behind me. I count to three and then run, my legs pumping, gaining speed, and—jump. Leap. Soar. I’m a ballerina instead of a mediocre archer playing a survivalist on a TV show. And I almost make it. I touch the other side with the tip of my shoes, but the tiny bit of land beneath them gives way, falling into the gully below, and I follow hard and fast. I land crumpled against the side of the ditch and it’s slippery and mud-soaked, sending me sliding and rolling into the little bit of water, where I land head-first on the pointed edge of a rock.
I know I’m hurt when I see Bianca dump her camera on the ground and slide in after me, followed by Adam and Jake and Claire. “Nobody touch her!” Claire yells.
My arm is bent under my body and the rock is hard and cold on my skin. “Dad?”
Claire is there, touching me lightly on my forehead, helping me sit up, and I can hear the sound of something like sobbing, and I think it’s me. And I wish it wasn’t.
How did I think I could ever be a real Survivor Girl? It’s like I was lying even to myself.
There’s a golf cart, and somehow I’m in it and we’re driving slowly back to the set and I take out my compass and hold it and ignore the blood on my hand and on the towel Claire keeps folding over and placing back onto my head. I pretend I’m on a bouncy school bus heading home, with Harper sitting next to me, and she’s not mad anymore and we’re sneaking gummy bears and laughing at our own bad jokes.
I pretend that for a long time, and Harper tells me it’s not too bad and holds my hand and maybe it’s weird that it’s not my mom’s hand I dream about. Then a headache, sharp as the rock, pulls me out of my pretending and I’m sweating on a cot in the medical tent, a fan blowing directly onto my body. Jake and Dad are hovering in the doorway, whispering to Claire. I sit up, an ice pack falling into my lap. “Ouch.” My forehead is thumping and when I touch it, there’s a giant bandage.
Dad hurries over and sits on the end of the cot. “Scared me back there, Ali.” He’s inspecting my head. “Cut yourself pretty good, right on your forehead.”
“You missed dinner,” Jake adds. “And also dessert. Ice cream. Want me to get you one?”
I try to shake my head but it hurts too much, and I see through the opening in the tent that the sun is low over the lake now. Almost sunset.
“Claire says you might have a concussion,” Dad says. “I’d like you to sleep here tonight.”
“What? No, I’m fine, Dad. I just need my own bed.” I don’t look at Claire. “My camper bed, I mean.”
Dad straightens the sheets. “Claire’s real good at taking care of people. I don’t know what to do for concussions, Ali.”
“Dad.”
He’s standing up though and stretching. “We’ve got a nighttime scene to shoot and then I’ll come back and check in on you, okay?”
I pull m
yself out of bed, teetering on tingly legs. “What about me? Shouldn’t I be in the scene?”
Isabel tiptoes in from outside, her face a mess of chocolate sauce and sprinkles. “Mom?” But then she sees me and rockets over, giving me a chocolaty hug. I flop back onto my bed and Claire pulls her off me.
“If I’m so injured, maybe I should go to a real hospital.” I cross my arms, this time looking hard at Claire. Because for all I know, she’s just an actress too. With so much fakeness all around, how am I supposed to know what’s real?
“Ali.” Claire puts the ice pack on my bed, ushering Isabel to her hammock area. “You need to stay here. With me, okay?” Like all of a sudden she’s my mom or something.
“She’s sleeping here with us?” Isabel shouts, throwing her stuffed animals into the air. “Like a sleepover?”
Dad kisses me on the forehead and Jake punches me in the shoulder, and then they leave and I’m choking on the awkwardness of it all.
Even though the air is thick with swamp in this tent, I pull the covers over my head and close my eyes, pretending I’m in my own bed at home, far away from this place. I ignore Isabel’s little-girl sounds while she plays with her dolls and gets ready for bed with her mom, singing the brush-your-teeth song. I pretend I’m sleeping when Dad comes back and reads Where the Wild Things Are to Isabel, now tucked in her hammock. I don’t listen when Max in the book is being really awful. Or when he makes it to the island. Or when Isabel wants to know if there are wild things living in the Great Dismal Swamp. I don’t even get up when Claire brings me some dinner, set aside just for me from the chef, and leaves it next to my hospital cot.
Where the Wilds Things Are used to be our story, mine and Jake’s and Dad’s, before things got complicated. Dad read it so much, we could all recite it from memory together.
I wonder if Dad even remembers.
Twenty-Two
Everything hurts when I get out of bed the next morning. It’s not just my head anymore. But I lie when Claire asks me how I feel.
“Great.” I stretch and bend over to get my shoes, a searing pain rocketing up my leg. She hands me some medicine and a bottle of water, shaking her head.
