Body Games (Games #5)(4)
Author: Jessica Clare

“Oh, that.” She waved a hand. “If you read in your contract, it said that clothing would be handled in-game.”

“What paragraph was that in?” I asked, tucking the mask into my shoulder bag. The contract had been two hundred pages long and I’d signed so many varied wavers that I felt like I was being mortgaged. I’d tried to read every page shoved in front of me, but I’d eventually been worn down and gave up, just signing as they stuck documents in front of me.

“Pretty sure it was in Section B, paragraph twenty-three,” she told me and handed me another clipboard to sign. “Good luck in the game!”

~~ *** ~~

Luckily for me, the plane arrived on time and I didn’t have to stumble through Nadi Airport blindfolded. The waiting assistant was polite, and when I got in the car, it was time to put on my blindfold. I dozed off in the back seat and woke up when the car stopped and I was ushered into a small, echoing room.

“You can take your mask off now,” the production assistant told me.

I did, wincing at the bright fluorescent lights. I was in a hotel bathroom, the decorative motif a tiki-style, complete with bamboo-edged mirror and leafy plants in the corner next to the toilet paper. I peered into the mirror, wincing at the red lines on my cheeks that the mask had left.

“You can fix your hair and make-up in here,” the assistant told me. “When you’re ready for your pre-game interviews, go through that door there.” She pointed at a door on the opposite end of the bathroom, labeled “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY” with a paper sign. “They’ll notify me when your interviews are done and I’ll come and get you.”

“Okay, thanks,” I told her, and picked through the beauty supplies left on the counter. After rubbing my cheeks for a few minutes to reduce the red line left by the mask, I finger-combed my hair, not entirely used to being a blonde again. I swept my bangs over to the side of my face and pulled the rest of my hair into a knot high on my head, similar to how I’d worn it the last time I was on Endurance Island. I’d learned from my last stint that less makeup in pre-and-post interviews meant less commentary on how ‘whorey’ I looked in real life. With a little bit of eyeliner and lip gloss, I was ready.

I knocked on the door before opening it, and stepped out onto a tiny patio. More potted plants had been set up around a folding director’s chair, and in the distance, the blue waters of the ocean tumbled onto the sand in a rhythmic pattern. The two men adjusting their camera tripods gestured for me to sit in the seat of honor. I sat, clasped my hands on my knee, and waited.

“All right,” said the first man. “You know how this goes. Give us some good sound bites and we’ll get you out of here faster.”

“Got it.”

He tilted his camera and pointed at the lens. “Remember to talk to this, not me. And speak clearly,” he said as the other man came up to me and began to tie a microphone onto the neck of my t-shirt. “Give us a brief intro about you. Job, age, et-cetera.”

I smiled at the camera. “I’m Annabelle Tucker, I’m twenty-two, and I’m going to college at Texas A&M. Well, I was. Right now, I’m just waiting tables and taking a bit of a break.” My smile turned awkward. My break was so I could get over my issues from the last season of Endurance Island, and here I was again. Was I stupid? I must be. “I was previously on Endurance Island, season four.”

“What’s your strategy this time around?” He sounded completely bored, as if my strategy were the last thing he wanted to hear about at the moment.

“Well.” I tilted my head, wondering how much I wanted to lay out on the table. Then, I decided that I might as well put it all out there. Anyone that watched the show regularly would remember me (unfortunately) so there was no point in hiding facts. “Last season, I was extremely gullible and fell for a guy. I thought we had a real thing, but I didn’t realize until after I watched the show that he was using me. So I figure this time, I’m going in with a new, five point strategy.”

“And what are those five points?”

I held up my hand and ticked off the first finger. “Be less gullible. This time around, I’m not trusting anything that anyone says. If they tell me something, I’m going to assume there’s an angle.” I ticked off the next finger. “Play hard. Last time, I played hard, too, but this time, I’m going to give it a hundred and twenty percent.” I ticked off another finger. “Play for me. Last time, I played so me and my guy —” I grimaced at the thought and continued, “- could get ahead. This time, it’s just me.” Another finger. “Fight dirty. No one else plays fair, so why should I? Nothing’s off the table. Except for number five.” I wiggled my spread hand at the camera. “Number five – absolutely, positively no romance this time.”

Chapter Two

“How will I play this game differently than the last one? Well, for starters, I don’t want to be the shoulder that the hot girl cries on. I’m tired of second place — in everything.” — Jendan Abercrombie, Pre-Game Interviews, Endurance Island: Power Players

"Okay, everyone, take off your masks," called a production assistant. "As a reminder, no one is to talk until you get to your assigned base camps. Please wait for cues and follow all instructions. Thank you."

I pulled the mask off my face and rubbed my cheeks again, blinking at the bright sunlight. I’d been wearing the damn thing for two hours and was glad it was finally off. My eyes slowly adjusted to the light and I peered at the faces around me.

I sat on a bench in a tiny wooden boat crammed with fifteen other people – eight men and seven other women – and the pale shores of the island were coming into view. There was no cover for the boat, and it was hot under the blistering sun. Underneath my feet, a bit of water puddled around my water-shoes and the life-jacket around my neck itched. I’d dressed sensibly for the outing – a t-shirt and shorts – but I’d expected a casting change of clothing before being shuffled onto a ship with the rest of the contestants. No such luck. I was just grateful I hadn’t worn high heels or something dressier in an attempt to look pretty for the other contestants. That was one bonus of being a returning contestant with zero romance on your mind, I supposed. You just didn’t give a shit what you looked like.

Even though I knew I should be studying the other contestants to size them up, I couldn’t help but sneak a peek at the island in the distance. The closest one was dotted with green trees, the sandy beach encircling the shore, and I could hear waves gently lapping. It looked like paradise. The sight of it bolstered me. I’d been having second thoughts about signing on for the game ever since I’d flown out here, but seeing that beach made me think things wouldn’t be so bad. If I got voted out first, I’d have a two-month island vacation, right? There were worse things than that.