Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

You look over the available seats one more time before your attention settles on Heather. The place beside her is still empty. Whether she deliberately left it that way or everyone else simply decided sitting next to Heather wasn't worth the effort, you can't tell. She is picking through her food with the edge of her fork, separating anything vaguely edible from the rest with almost the same precision she'd used while organising her suitcase.

You walk over, and Heather notices before you reach the table. Her eyes lift from her tray, flick toward you, then briefly toward the other available seats nearby. By the time you pull the chair out, she's already wearing the suspicious expression of somebody who has decided there must be a reason for this. “You again.”

“Hey.”

Heather watches you sit, her eyes sharp. “There are other seats.”

“Yep.”

“And yet you’re here.”

You set your tray down. “Yes.”

Her gaze lingers on you for another second before dropping toward your food. She doesn't immediately return to eating. “What do you want?”

“My lunch.”

Heather closes her eyes for just long enough to make her irritation obvious before looking back at you. “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing.”

That earns you an incredulous look. You pick up your fork while Heather studies you, absently straightening the edge of the paper napkin beneath her tray. “You carried my suitcase, helped me unpack, and now you've deliberately chosen to sit here. Forgive me for assuming there's a point.”

“There was an empty seat here.”

“There are six empty seats. You passed two on the way here.”

You glance around without turning your head. She's right, of course.

“I already know you.”

The movement of her fingers against the napkin stops. Heather looks at you properly this time, and for a moment the suspicion gives way to something harder to place. She smooths the napkin flat again before you can decide what it was.

“Fine,” she says. “That's marginally less stupid.”

You nod, your attention turning back to your food. Her mouth tightens, but she lets the subject drop and the two of you begin eating.

Around you, the cafeteria remains loud enough to make silence impossible even when neither of you is speaking. Owen's voice occasionally rises above everyone else's from farther down the table, Lindsay appears to be telling a story with enough hand movements to endanger anyone sitting beside her, and somewhere behind you a tray hits the floor with a metallic crash. Half the room turns.

Heather doesn't. Neither do you. She instead cuts into something on her plate and stares at the inside with barely-hidden disgust. “Do you think this is meat?”

You lean slightly closer, peering into the food without batting an eye. “Probably.”

Heather looks at you from the corner of her vision. “That's not reassuring at all.”

“It looks cooked. So, it should be edible.”

“That wasn't the part I was worried about.”

You take another bite with a shrug. She watches you chew for a moment, her expression edging toward disbelief. “How are you eating that with a straight face?”

You swallow before answering, “Normally.”

Heather's fork stops halfway to her mouth. She looks at you, you look back, and a laugh nearly escapes her before she catches it with a sharp breath through her nose and shakes her head instead. “You're incredibly irritating.”

“I wasn't trying to be.”

“I know.” For some reason, that seems to make it worse. She takes another bite and leaves the matter there.

The silence afterward feels different from the one inside the cabin. Less tentative. Heather doesn't seem compelled to keep talking simply because you're beside her, and you don't mind that. Noah's silences usually feel empty in a comfortable way. Heather doesn't. She is always doing something with them—watching, sorting, deciding.

Eventually, her eyes drift past you toward the rest of the cafeteria. Someone’s energetic voice is already talking loudly about how easy the first challenge will be despite nobody actually knowing what the first challenge is.

Heather's expression flattens. “That's exactly how people get eliminated.”

You follow her gaze subtly, finding Tyler’s confident face as he tries to flirt with Lindsay, who seems more like she’s listening to Leshawna. The dark-skinned girl is grinning as she recounts a story to the blonde. You don don’t hear the words as you turn back to Heather.

“They haven't done anything yet.”

“Exactly.” She leans back slightly, one arm resting across the back of her chair as she surveys the room. It isn't casual. Her eyes pause on people for just long enough to register something before moving on. “Everyone's desperate to establish themselves.”

“As what?”

Heather gestures faintly with her fork. “Something. Owen seemingly wants everyone to know he should be a fan-favorite. Cody wants every girl here to know he exists. Justin doesn't need to try because apparently having sculpted cheekbones counts as a personality.”

You glance toward Justin, giving his appearance a short, appraising look. “He hasn't said much.”

“He doesn't have to.” Her attention shifts again, this time toward Lindsay, who is laughing at something Beth said now. Heather's mouth twists slightly. “And some people are going to make this ridiculously easy.”

You look back at her. “Lindsay?”

Heather turns to you, quietly defensive. “I didn't say Lindsay.”

“You looked at her.”

“I looked in that direction.”

You wait, your eyebrow rising slightly. Heather clearly knows, from that look alone, that you don't believe her.

“She seems nice,” you eventually say, settling your face back to normal.

Heather's eyes narrow. “Nice isn't useful in a show like this.”

You glance toward Lindsay again, and it seems she’s finally acknowledged that Tyler exists. “Sometimes, it can be.”

She looks at you, another assessing look entering her eyes. You return your attention to your food. Heather's fork taps once against the side of her tray before she adds, more clipped now, “She trusts too easily and thinks everyone else is as naturally good as she is. That's different.”

You don't answer. A few seconds pass, and unlike before, Heather doesn't immediately soften. Her shoulders stay slightly rigid as she cuts another piece of food with more force than necessary.

“You don't have to agree with everything I say.”

“I know that.”

“That wasn't permission to make that face.”

You blink. “What face?”

“That one.” You have no idea what she means, and apparently your confusion is visible because Heather stares at you for a second before looking away with an irritated shake of her head. “Forget it.”

You do, and for nearly a minute, neither of you speaks. Heather remains noticeably cooler than before, and you decide there probably isn't much reason to interfere with that. Eventually, her attention wanders back toward the room. This time, when she speaks, her voice is quieter. “People show you what they're going to be like if you actually bother watching them.”

You glance at her. “You've been doing that.”

“So have you.”

You don't deny it, and Heather's annoyance eases by a fraction.

“It was… impressive.” The word seems reluctant to leave her mouth.

“Are you talking about the dock?”

“Yes, the dock.” She reaches up and smooths a loose strand of hair behind her ear before continuing. “You knew something was wrong before we all gathered for that photo, didn’t you?”

“I thought something was wrong,” you correct.

“And you moved before it collapsed.”

“I wasn't sure, but yes, I did.”

Heather gives you a pointed look, as if her point was proven. “That's why it was smart.”

You aren't sure you agree, and she notices almost immediately. Her posture shifts slightly toward you. “You didn't warn anyone. You didn't try to make everyone listen to you. You saw something, waited, and acted when you had enough information.”

“Everyone else still fell.”

“That isn't the point.” She tries to argue, a hint of irritation entering her tone.

You look at her, giving nothing away. “What is the point then?”

“That you weren't trying to be impressive. And that you observe before acting.”

You pause. That isn't the answer you expected.

Heather seems to realise how it sounded almost immediately. Her fingers move to the edge of her tray, adjusting it until it sits perfectly parallel with the table. “Most people here are performing. You aren't.”

“I don't know what I'd perform.”

“Exactly my point.”

You think about that, but Heather continues before you can respond. “Keep it that way.” You look at her, understanding dawning upon you.

“That sounded like an order,” you reply, but nothing in your tone gives away that you’re particularly annoyed about that.

She sees this, and something like satisfaction flickers in her eyes. “It was advice. Trust me, it’ll be better if you take it.”

You go back to eating, your expression still blank, but there is a thoughtfulness to it as well. Heather watches you for a moment, then apparently decides she can't leave it there.

“When Chris tells everyone to do something completely idiotic later, maybe don't immediately follow them off a cliff or whatever he comes up with.”

You glance at her. “Depends.”

Her eyes narrow slightly. “On what?”

You shrug. “If it makes sense.”

Heather lets out a short, humourless laugh. “You're seriously going to argue semantics with me?”

“Nope.”

“You just did.”

“I answered your question.”

“That isn't any better.”

You shrug, and Heather's jaw shifts. This time, she stays annoyed. She looks away from you entirely, focusing on her food while the conversation dies between you. You don't attempt to restart it. A minute passes, then another. Eventually, you notice Heather has stopped eating and is watching the Bass across the room instead. Mavis is talking with her hands, almost her entire table listening to her with rapt attention.

Heather notices you watching her observe them, and her gaze narrows. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say calmly, turning back to your food.

She turns back to her tray as well. You take another bite, and after a moment she speaks again. “You really don't care, do you?”

You look at her, eyebrow raising minutely. “About what?”

“People watching you.”

You think about it for a moment, your gaze drifting back to Mavis, who is now the one listening with rapt attention to what seems to be the beginning of an argument between Courtney and Duncan.

“I do. A little.” Your eyes stay locked on the scene across the cafeteria.

Heather's brows lift, apparently expecting a different answer. “But?”

“But, I don't like doing things because someone's watching.” You turn your eyes back to her, and the way you said it seems to have stopped her short, since she says nothing in response. “If I want to do something,” you continue after a second, “I'll do it. If I don't, then having people staring at me doesn't really change much.”

She turns her head as her fingers stop against the handle of her fork. For a few seconds, Heather doesn't look at you.

“That sounds nice.”

The words are quiet enough that you're not entirely certain she meant to say them aloud. You tilt your head, surprised that she didn’t really react to how much you talked to her.

Heather reaches for her drink suddenly, taking a sip before setting it back down. “Anyway, not caring at all would be stupid.” You wait. She glances toward you, almost daring you to comment, but you don't. Something in her shoulders relaxes. “People decide what you are whether you like it or not,” she continues. “Sometimes it's useful to let them be wrong.”

You consider that for a moment. “That makes sense.”

Heather's expression shifts into something faintly satisfied. “Good.”

The word comes out like she's been waiting for you to finally catch up. You take another bite, and without you realising, you have completely emptied your plate. You move it a few inches forward, officially done. You sweep your gaze across the cafeteria again, and through a sightline into the kitchen, you see the interns. They’re sitting down and eating in what seems to be comfortable silence. A few seconds later, Heather nudges an especially suspicious piece of food to the edge of her tray.

“You know,” she says, not looking at you, “if you're going to keep sitting near me, you could at least try not to be impossible to read.”

You glance at her, breaking your observation. “I don't know how.”

“I know,” she says with immediate irritation, but there's less bite behind it now. You return your attention to the room, and Heather does the same. A few seconds later, she shifts her tray slightly farther from the edge and adds, almost as an afterthought, “And don't assume this means I'm saving you a seat next time.”

You look at the empty space around her.

“You didn't save this one.”

Heather's eyes snap toward you. You stare right back, and for several seconds she looks as though she's deciding whether correcting you is worth starting another argument. Eventually, she gives up, turning back toward her tray with a quiet mutter that gets swallowed by the noise of the lodge. You don't bother asking her to repeat it.

Before either of you can settle completely back into the silence, several conversations die immediately as Chris strides inside through the open doorway. He somehow manages to look completely refreshed despite having spent the last hour watching everyone suffer through Chef's interpretation of lunch. A megaphone hangs loosely from one hand, and his eyes briefly travel toward the kitchen, where the evidence of the earlier near-cleaver incident is still considerably more visible than anyone would probably like.

Chris pauses as he seems to debate using the megaphone indoors before shrugging and leaving it at his side. He sweeps his gaze across all of the campers, then toward the kitchen, then back again.

“Awesome. Nobody died.”

Chef's voice comes from somewhere behind the serving counter. “Yet.” A few campers shift uncomfortably at that.

Chris grins smugly. “See? You’re already settled in!”

Heather rolls her eyes beside you while you push your empty tray slightly farther away. Chris walks toward the middle of the lodge, hopping onto the end of one of the benches so that everyone can see him without much effort.

“Hope you all enjoyed your first gourmet Camp Wawanakwa meal!” he announces. Several expressions around the room make it obvious that enjoyed is a strong word. “Because now that you're fed and rested, it's finally time for what you actually came here for.”

Owen perks up immediately. “Dessert?”

“No.”

His shoulders slump as Chris lifts the megaphone, though he doesn't bother switching it on yet. “Your first challenge begins in exactly one hour. Meet me at the cliff in your swimsuits.”

A few campers exchange uncertain looks.

There is a brief pause before Sadie leans closer toward DJ. “What do you think they're gonna make us do?” she asks, her voice small enough that it probably wasn't meant to carry very far.

DJ gives her what is clearly intended to be a reassuring smile. “Don't worry. It's our first challenge. How hard can it be?”

Almost every head nearby turns toward him. DJ's smile slowly disappears. He clearly doesn’t know what he just did.

“What?”

Noah opens his mouth, but someone else beats him to it. Courtney, still sitting stiffly at the Bass table, raises one finger as though she's answering a question in class. “That is commonly referred to as—”

“—tempting fate.” The rest of Courtney's sentence follows you onto the cliff an hour later. For a moment, the abrupt change in scenery makes the deadpan finish considerably funnier than it otherwise would have been. But nobody laughs for long.

The walk from camp had already been enough to make most of the group suspicious. Chris had led everyone up an increasingly steep trail through the trees, refusing to explain anything beyond repeatedly assuring you that the view would be “worth it.” After changing into swimsuits, leaving most of your things behind at the cabins and spending a good portion of the climb listening to Owen speculate about waterslides, you had eventually emerged from the tree line onto an enormous rocky overlook.

Now, every camper is standing at the highest point of the cliff, everyone wearing their swimwear. You, in particular, are wearing a tight, grey one-piece suit. It hugs your petite frame snugly as you stand near the back of the group, your bored expression framed by your half-up bun.

DJ takes one look over the edge at the front of the group and promptly swears. “Oh. Shit.” His earlier reassurance seems to vanish completely. You can't really blame him.

The lake stretches far beneath you, distant enough that the people stationed on the boats below look uncomfortably small. More importantly, there isn't just one jumping platform. There are three.

The first sits much farther down the cliff, barely threatening compared to everything above it. A second platform projects from the rock roughly midway between the water and where you're currently standing. The third—the one you're standing nearest—is built directly into the highest point of the cliff. You stare over the edge.

Of course.

Chris steps out in front of everyone with his arms spread wide, clearly enjoying the collection of nervous expressions aimed at him. “Okay, campers! Welcome to your first official challenge. Today's challenge is threefold, but before we get into the fun stuff later, we've got to find out how willing you are to risk serious bodily harm for points.”

Courtney immediately folds her arms. “You cannot describe it like that and expect us to participate.”

“I can! It's in your contracts.”

He says it smugly, and the expression he wears makes you wish you could sic some animals on him.

Courtney's expression changes, as does everyone else's. Chris continues looking smug while you get the feeling that he has been waiting all day to use that answer.

He walks toward the edge and gestures downward. “Now, unfortunately, we can’t actually force you all to jump from the very top. Legal said so.” He looks genuinely disappointed saying that. “So, contrary to my wishes, you actually get a choice. Three heights, three risks, three different point values.”

That catches Heather's attention immediately. You notice her stop studying the drop and start listening much more carefully.

Chris taps the wood beneath his foot. “Since we're already here, we'll start with the big one. Welcome to the Apex Ledge.”

He leans closer toward one of the cameras positioned beside him and lowers his voice theatrically. “Creative name, right?”

Noah's voice drifts from behind you. “Groundbreaking.”

Chris straightens as though he didn't hear him. “The Apex sits one thousand feet above the lake and gives you the biggest possible payout: five points for your team if you make the jump and land inside the target.”

He points toward the water below, and from this height, the painted scoring circle looks deceptively small despite being considerably larger than the other targets. You step close enough to see it properly without putting your toes over the edge.

Bridgette looks down beside you, squinting toward the water. “The target's pretty wide.”

“Exactly!” Chris says, his expression carefree. “See? Piece of cake.”

Bridgette gives the distance another look. “I wouldn't go that far.”

“Details.”

Then something dark cuts across the surface inside the circle. You notice it immediately. You also notice when a second shape follows. Chris's grin widens as other people begin noticing too. “Of course, because five points would be pretty boring if the landing zone was completely safe, the Apex target happens to contain several hungry bull sharks.”

Leshawna turns toward him. “Several hungry what now?”

“Bull sharks.”

Beth pales, but Chris doesn’t pause as he gestures casually toward the fins below. “Very territorial, extremely aggressive, and apparently perfect for reality television.”

Your attention remains on the water, where the sharks continue circling. You find yourself wondering whether they're actually hungry or whether Chris has simply been throwing food into the target all morning to keep them there. Both possibilities seem very plausible.

DJ backs farther from the edge. “Okay. Yeah. No. There's gotta be another option.”

Chris points at him. “Fantastic timing, dude.” He turns and gestures down the cliff toward the second platform. “For anyone who's interested in surviving with slightly less emotional damage, we'got the Mid Ledge. Two hundred feet up, worth three points.”

From where you're standing, the Mid landing area is easier to make out. Its target is narrower than the Apex circle, and several enormous inflatable objects move continuously across it. A brightly coloured ball slides from one side to the other while a rotating inflatable cylinder follows behind it, both attached to cables disappearing somewhere along the shore.

Tyler leans forward. “Are those moving?”

“Yep.”

A giant inflatable hammer sweeps across the target.

Noah watches it pass. “You weaponised pool toys.”

Chris looks genuinely pleased. “Thank you.”

“That wasn't a compliment.”

“I accepted it as one.”

Bridgette studies the moving obstacles for a few moments. “So if somebody picks Mid, they have to time the jump?”

“Exact-u-mundo! Three points if you land inside the target. Miss the circle or get bounced outside it, you get nothing.”

Izzy's eyes brighten. “What if I bounce off the hammer and land in the circle?”

Chris pauses, genuinely looking thoughtful. “That would absolutely count.”

Izzy grins back in response. “What if I bounce off two?”

“Bonus style points.”

“Do style points affect the score?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

The disappointment lasts approximately half a second before Chris gestures farther down the cliff. “And finally, for campers whose survival instincts haven't been completely destroyed by the possibility of prize money, we have the Low Ledge.”

Everyone leans slightly to look, and the lowest platform sits only fifty feet above the lake. Compared to the Mid and Apex, it almost looks reasonable. There are no sharks beneath it and no moving obstacles, only calm water and a smaller scoring circle floating near the base of the cliff.

DJ visibly relaxes. “Okay. That one I can do.”

“Probably,” Chris says.

DJ's relief disappears again. “Probably?”

“The water is safe. The target is just smaller.” Chris points toward it. “Hit the circle and your team gets one point. Miss it, and all you get is wet.”

Heather's eyebrows rise. “Only one point?”

“Safe choices don't make good television.”

Gwen folds her arms. “I'm pretty sure that's the opposite of how safety is supposed to work.”

Chris ignores her as he raises three fingers and begins listing the rest of the rules. “One camper, one jump. Once you choose a platform and climb onto it, you're committed. No changing your mind because the other team suddenly starts scoring higher than you.”

Heather's expression becomes more focused. “So the teams have to decide how much risk they're willing to take.”

Chris points at her. “Exactly.”

She looks toward the rest of the Gophers. You can almost see the calculations beginning to brew within her. Despite that, Chris continues, pacing slowly in front of everyone. “You could put everybody on the Low Ledge and collect a nice little pile of safe points. But if the other team sends even a few people up to Apex, you're gonna need a lot of one-point jumps to catch up.”

Courtney immediately looks toward the Bass. “Then everyone capable of doing Apex should take Apex.”

DJ looks at her, his arms crossed. “You first.”

Courtney pauses.

Duncan smirks immediately, not planning on letting go of the chance to make fun of her. “Good plan.”

She glares at him, and Chris speaks before another argument can start. “The team with the most points wins this part of the challenge!”

Noah raises his eyebrows. “Very inspiring.”

“I try.”

He says it, yet you aren’t inclined to believe him.

You look between the three ledges again. The scoring changes the challenge considerably. One successful Apex jump is worth five Low jumps. A team could afford several cautious choices if enough people were willing to gamble on the higher platforms, but pressuring the wrong person into taking a harder jump could just as easily turn three or five potential points into nothing.

It isn't just a courage test anymore. Chris has somehow turned falling off a cliff into resource management.

Heather seems to reach about the same conclusion. Her eyes move across the Gophers, lingering on Owen, Trent and Justin before briefly moving toward the less athletic members of the team. She isn't even looking at the cliff anymore.

Leshawna notices. “So basically,” she says, one hand settling against her hip, “you made a challenge where we're supposed to argue about who's gotta risk getting eaten.”

Chris's grin returns, smug as always. “I prefer team-building exercise.”

“You would.” She sneers and whips her head to the side.

Mavis raises one hand from among the Killer Bass. Her smile is pleasant, though her eyes briefly move toward the Apex landing zone before returning to Chris. “Chris, has this challenge actually been tested?”

The question creates a tense, short silence. You look toward Chris. For once, his answer isn't immediate. After a couple more moments, his smile widens.

“Great question.”

Well, if that isn't reassuring…

Mavis seems to realise the same thing. Chris turns toward the side of the cliff and shouts into the megaphone. “OHHH, JACKSOOOON! EQUIPMENT CHEEEECKKK!!”

The volume makes several campers cover their ears, you included.

For several minutes, nothing happens, causing a few people to grow impatient. Chris waits with the smug smirk still on his face. Then, a moment later, footsteps crunch against the path behind you.

You recognise the person who emerges almost immediately. Jackson, one of the production interns from the cafeteria, sprints into view wearing blue swimming shorts instead of his earlier uniform. Without his square glasses, his face looks slightly different, though the exhausted expression is enhanced by his serious panting and shortness of breath.

He comes to a dead stop when he sees the contestants, his breathing beginning to even out. Then he seems to realise just how high the cliff is and just how far he had run. He turns to Chris, his eyes filled with irritation, and his expression instantly becomes considerably less enthusiastic than the way he arrived.

“Why did you call me up here?”

Chris gestures toward the Apex with both hands. “Good news! You're helping us demonstrate the challenge.”

Jackson looks over at the platform. Then at Chris. Then down at the lake. “You said this was an equipment check.”

“It is.” The smirk on Chris's face somehow widens.

“How am I equipment exactly?” Jackson asks, the irritation bubbling up visibly.

Chris pats him on the shoulder. “You work for production.”

That is apparently all Jackson needs to hear, because the irritation in his expression instantly melts as he stares at the hand. “Does this come with a raise?”

Chris considers the question with exaggerated seriousness. “Maybe.” Jackson waits, his face hopeful. “Maybe not.” The silence lasts several seconds. “Wouldn’t bet on it.” Jackson looks toward the cameras. You can practically see him evaluating every employment decision that led to this point.

“Okay,” he says finally. “Which one?”

Chris points upward despite the fact that they're already standing at the highest platform. “The Apex.”

Jackson slowly turns toward the edge, and his shoulders sag. “Of course it is.” Several campers laugh nervously, though most of their attention remains fixed on the drop. Jackson walks toward the platform and peers over, gripping the railing harder the longer he looks.

“I'm pretty sure this would kill a normal person.”

Chris steps behind him. “Don't worry. We've got rescue boats.”

“That doesn't answer what I said.”

“I mean, dude, if you don't wanna do it...” Chris pauses before tucking his elbows against his ribs and flapping his arms. “Bawk, bawk, bawk.” Jackson turns his head, looking at him like he is a child, but Chris continues. “Bawk-bawk-bawwwk.”

Noah watches him. “That is a terrible chicken impression.”

Chris stops and turns to him with a twitching eyelid. “I'd like to see you do better.”

“I wouldn't dare.” He fires back with a cocky smirk, his hands up in surrender.

Jackson closes his eyes for a moment, and you instantly recognise the expression. It looks very similar to somebody accepting that fighting back will only make their shift longer. He exhales and walks farther onto the platform. “I'm not a chicken.”

Chris grins. “Never said you were.”

“You literally just—!”

“Whenever you're ready!”

Jackson looks down once more. From somewhere below, a boat horn sounds. He leans slightly over the railing, notices the sharks, and immediately pulls back. “You know what? If I don't make it, somebody tell my mum I love her!” he yells to the open air, his voice shaky.

Chris raises the megaphone. “SHE’LL SEE THE EPISODE!”

“That is not the same thing and you know it!”

Before Chris can even respond, Jackson backs up several steps. Then he runs. The moment his feet leave the platform, whatever professionalism he'd been maintaining disappears completely, because his scream follows him all the way down.

Nearly everyone rushes toward the edge to watch, and you move closer with them, keeping enough distance that nobody can accidentally shove you over. Jackson plummets toward the lake, arms initially spread before he pulls them close to his body. The target rapidly grows larger beneath him. For a few seconds, it looks as though he's drifting too far left.

Then he twists his body just enough to correct his trajectory. He hits the centre of the Apex circle with a violent splash. Several campers cheer.

Owen throws both fists into the air. “HE DID IT!”

You watch the water. Jackson resurfaces a few seconds later, coughing and pushing wet hair away from his face. “I DID IT!”

Chris lifts the megaphone. “GOOD JOB, BUDDY!”

Jackson raises one fist toward the cliff with a toothy grin. Then Chris adds, “NOW GET OUT BEFORE YOU BECOME SHARK LUNCH!”

Jackson freezes instantly. Even from this height, you can see the moment his expression changes, and you can see the three fins rise behind him.

“Oh, come on!”

The nearest shark turns in his direction. Jackson doesn't wait to see whether it's actually interested in him or not. He begins swimming toward the retrieval boat with a speed that you wouldn't have expected from someone who spent lunch carrying trays around the kitchen. His arms cut through the water wildly while the sharks continue circling behind him.

You watch one of them. Its movements don't look particularly aggressive. Mostly curious.

Still, you decide not to mention that.

That’s information you can keep to yourself.

Jackson reaches the side of the boat and practically launches himself over the edge with help from the person waiting aboard. Once he's safely inside, you recognise Shihoa sitting near the motor in a dark swimsuit with one headphone still hanging around her neck.

She hands him a towel without much ceremony. Jackson immediately wraps it around his shoulders, breathing heavily while she offers him a bottle of water next. He takes it and promptly drinks half of it in one go, then points upward toward Chris.

You can't hear what he says from this distance, but judging by the hand gesture, it probably isn't polite. Chris lowers the megaphone, looking completely satisfied. “There you go! Professionally tested.”

[ CONFESSIONAL: JACKSON ]

(Jackson sits on the toilet seat, soaking wet, wrapped tightly in two towels. He glares directly into the camera lens with bloodshot eyes.)

"I get paid minimum wage. Minimum. Wage. And I almost became a shark's afternoon snack because Chris wanted to make bad chicken sounds at me!"

He takes a deep breath, pressing a cold water bottle against his forehead.

"If I survive this summer without getting eaten or blown up, I'm going straight to the intern union. Assuming one exists."

Mavis stares at him. “That was seriously your test? He could’ve died!”

“He made it and he survived. What more proof do you need, people?!”

Courtney throws both hands outward. “That doesn't prove that it's safe!”

Chris turns toward her. “It proves it's survivable.”

“That is not the same thing!”

“Close enough for television.”

[ CONFESSIONAL: COURTNEY ]

(Courtney sits perfectly upright, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, looking intensely scandalized.)

" 'Survivable' is NOT a legally binding safety standard! I will be writing a five-page formal complaint to the network board tonight. If my legal council were here, this entire production would be shut down before dinner!"

You look back toward the boat below. Jackson is still hunched over trying to recover while Shihoa pats him once on the shoulder with all the emotional enthusiasm of someone checking whether an appliance still works.

At least he's alive.

Chris claps his hands loudly, pulling everyone's attention away from the water. “Alright! Now that our extremely willing volunteer has demonstrated the five-point option, it's time for the real thing.”

Jackson's distant voice carries faintly from below, “I WAS NOT WILLING!”

Chris ignores him. He looks between the two teams, clearly savouring the moment before pointing toward one side. “Killer Bass, you're up first.”

The Bass react immediately, some looking toward the platforms while others begin turning toward one another. Around you, the Gophers do the same. Heather straightens beside the group, and you notice the shift in her expression almost immediately.

She's already planning.

A mixture of reactions comes from the opposing team. Geoff pumps a fist like Chris has just announced a beach party, Courtney immediately straightens and begins looking between her teammates as though she expects somebody to hand her a clipboard, and DJ's expression suggests that going second would have been perfectly acceptable. Sadie instinctively looks across toward Katie, while Duncan simply shoves his hands into his pockets and appears more entertained by everyone else's nerves than concerned about his own jump.

Courtney raises a hand before Chris can move on. “Shouldn't both teams choose their platforms before either team starts? The Gophers are going to know exactly how many points they need if they get to watch us first.”

Chris points toward her approvingly. “Correct! They absolutely will.”

Courtney's eyebrows knit together. “Then why are we going first?”

“Because I picked you.”

“That isn't fair.”

Chris gives her a bright smile. “You're learning.”

A snort comes from Duncan's direction, and Courtney immediately whips her head toward him. “You think that's funny?”

“Maybe,” he says with a chuckle, his tone flirtatious.

Her glare sharpens, but before she can turn the challenge briefing into an entirely separate argument, Chris steps between the teams and raises his voice. “Bass, you've got two minutes to work out who's taking which platform. Gophers, congratulations! You get front-row seats to their strategy. Use the time wisely, because the second they're finished, you're up.”

That is apparently all Heather needs to hear because she pivots toward the rest of your team before Chris has even finished speaking, planting one hand against her hip while the other gestures toward the three platforms. “Okay, this isn't complicated. The Low Ledge is a waste unless somebody absolutely refuses to go higher. Anyone athletic or comfortable with heights should take the Apex. Everyone else should take the Mid.”

Several heads turn toward her. Lindsay blinks first, looking between Heather and the cliff. “Wait, are you deciding for everybody?”

Heather barely hesitates. “Someone has to.”

Owen's hand shoots into the air with considerably more enthusiasm than the situation deserves. “I can do the big one!”

“Good. Owen takes Apex.” Heather points at him immediately, as if mentally checking his name off a list.

Owen follows her finger toward the highest platform. His grin falters by a small but noticeable amount. “Wow. Okay. That sounded easier before someone officially assigned it to me.”

Noah looks between him and Heather. “Excellent start. We're thirty seconds into the strategy meeting and already volunteering people for shark duty.”

Heather ignores him. Her attention has already moved on. “Trent can probably handle Apex. Justin too. Gwen should be fine on Mid. Cody can—”

“Hold up.” Leshawna doesn't shout yet, but the firmness in her voice is enough to cut Heather off cleanly. Heather stops and very slowly, she turns toward her.

Leshawna has shifted away from the loose semicircle the team had formed, her arms folding tightly across her chest. Her chin lifts slightly as she looks Heather up and down. “Who exactly put you in charge?”

Heather's expression changes at once. It isn't dramatic, but you can see the irritation settle into the set of her jaw. “Nobody needs to put me in charge. I'm trying to stop us from throwing away points.”

“No, you're standing there deciding who's jumping from what cliff like everybody here works for you.”

“If you have a better plan, you're welcome to actually say it instead of interrupting me.”

Leshawna's eyebrows rise. “Oh, I've got one. How about we don't start our first challenge by ordering people to throw themselves a thousand feet into shark water because you decided they're athletic enough?”

Heather lets out a short, disbelieving laugh and plants both hands on her hips. “It's five points. That's the entire point of the challenge. If everybody chooses whatever makes them feel safest, half this team is going to take the Low Ledge and we'll lose before we even start.”

Beth glances toward the fifty-foot platform. “I mean... one point is still a point.”

Heather's eyes snap toward her, her tone sharp. “And five points is five points, Beth.”

Beth's shoulders draw inward.

Leshawna catches all of it, and her folded arms drop almost immediately. “See, that's exactly what I'm talking about.”

Heather turns back toward her. “What?”

“That.” Leshawna gestures sharply toward Beth before pointing back at Heather. “Talking down to everybody because they don't immediately agree wit’ you!”

“I wasn't talking down to her.”

“You sure sounded like it.”

Heather takes a small step forward. “I stated a fact.”

“And I stated one too.” Leshawna takes a step forward as well, her repeating tone mocking.

The volume between them has risen enough that the nearby conversations begin thinning out. Trent glances toward Gwen. Cody stops whatever he had been about to say to Justin. Even Lindsay's attention shifts fully toward the confrontation.

[ CONFESSIONAL: HEATHER ]

(Heather crosses her arms tightly, fuming as she addresses the camera.)

"I am trying to win a million dollars, and I am surrounded by toddlers! We have two minutes to organize a winning strategy, and Leshawna wants to host a group therapy session about everyone's feelings!"

(She rolls her eyes dramatically.)

"If we lose this challenge, it is one hundred percent on her."

But you?

You let your eyes move briefly toward the Killer Bass instead.

Their strategy appears considerably less organised, with several conversations happening at once, but people are beginning to peel away from the group and make their decisions anyway. Three signs have been planted near the paths leading toward each platform, and Tyler is the first to commit. He jogs toward the Apex marker almost immediately, throwing both arms up when Geoff cheers him on. Duncan follows with considerably less ceremony, strolling over with his hands still in his pockets as if selecting the thousand-foot shark jump is simply the obvious choice. Geoff joins them a moment later.

Behind you, Heather's voice gets louder. “I am trying to win!”

You glance back to find that Heather and Leshawna have moved closer together without either one seeming to realise it. Heather's hands are still planted firmly against her hips, shoulders squared and chin raised, while Leshawna stands with one foot slightly forward and both hands moving every time she speaks.

“And so am I!” Leshawna shoots back. “But there's a difference between having a strategy and bossing everybody around!”

Heather's eyes flash. “Somebody has to make decisions!”

“No, somebody has to get everybody talking. That ain't the same thing.”

“Oh, please.” Heather rolls her eyes so hard the gesture looks almost deliberate. “We have two minutes. We don't have time to stand around sharing our feelings about cliffs.”

Leshawna takes another step toward her. “Nobody said anything about feelings.”

“You're literally complaining because I hurt Beth's.”

Beth raises one hand uncertainly from behind them. “I'm actually okay—”

Neither of them notices, the girl's soft voice no match for these two giant personalities.

Leshawna's face hardens. “Girl, don't start putting words in my mouth.”

“Then stop acting like I'm personally dragging people up there.”

“You were halfway through assigning everybody before anybody even got a say!”

“Because nobody else was doing anything!”

“You didn't give us a chance!”

Heather throws one hand toward the Bass. “And while we're wasting time arguing about whether everyone feels included, they're already choosing!”

That finally gets Leshawna to glance toward the opposing team, though only for a second. You also follow Heather's gesture.

Bridgette has settled beneath the Mid marker after studying the moving obstacles for several moments. Harold joins her soon afterward, staring toward the contraptions below with the concentrated expression of someone already trying to calculate their timing. Ezekiel hesitates between Low and Mid, scratching the back of his neck as he watches another inflatable sweep across the landing area, before eventually stepping toward Mid as well.

Heather looks back at Leshawna with open vindication. “See?”

Leshawna's eyes narrow. “Don't you ‘see’ me.”

“I didn't say anything wrong.”

“Your face did!”

Heather gives her an incredulous stare. “Seriously?”

“You've been making that smug little face since this whole thing started.”

“What smug face?”

“That one right there!”

Heather actually points toward herself, feigning confusion. “This is just my face.”

Noah, standing a few feet away, murmurs, “I feel like we've established faces are a dangerous topic today.” You glance at him, and he notices. “Long story.”

Heather either doesn't hear him or chooses not to. Her attention remains fixed completely on Leshawna now. “You know what? Fine. Since you're apparently the expert, what's your brilliant strategy?”

Leshawna's mouth opens slightly in disbelief before her expression hardens again. “For starters, stop acting like everyone who doesn't wanna jump off the top is useless.”

“I never said useless.”

“You called the Low Ledge a waste!”

“Because strategically, it is!”

“It's there for a reason!”

“Yes, for people who can't handle the other two!”

The sentence leaves Heather a little sharper than the ones before it.

Several people visibly react. Gwen's eyebrows rise. Trent grimaces. Beth looks toward the ground again.

Leshawna's entire posture changes. Her shoulders square. The hand that had been gesturing loosely drops to her side, and when she speaks again, her voice is quieter for exactly one sentence.

“Say that again.”

Heather doesn't back down. If anything, the challenge in Leshawna's tone makes her straighten further. “I said the Low Ledge is for people who can't handle the other two.”

“Oh, no. I heard you.”

“Then why did you ask?”

Leshawna's voice rises sharply. “Because I wanted to give you a chance to hear how damn condescending you sound!”

Heather's cheeks flush faintly, more from anger than embarrassment. “And I wanted to give this team a chance to actually win before you turned a basic strategy discussion into some ridiculous moral issue!”

“Moral issue?” Leshawna throws both hands outward. “I'm telling you not to push people around!”

“And I'm telling you we're in a competition!”

“We're also on a team!”

“Those aren't mutually exclusive!”

“Then start acting like it!”

For the first time, Heather raises her voice enough to match Leshawna's completely. “I am!” The sudden shout silences several nearby conversations. For half a second, neither girl says anything.

[ CONFESSIONAL: LESHAWNA ]

(Leshawna leans forward, pointing a single finger directly into the camera lens with authority.)

"Heather thinks because she's got a pretty face and a loud mouth she can just push everybody around. Oh hell no. Not on my watch! We are a team, not her personal fan club, and I am NOT letting her bully Beth or anyone else!"

Heather's chest rises with a sharper breath than before. Leshawna's lips press into a hard line. They're standing close enough now that the argument no longer looks like a disagreement over strategy and more like two people who are rapidly becoming irritated by the simple fact that the other refuses to yield.

Neither looks remotely willing to step back first. But you decide to look away again.

The Bass continue making progress while your team accomplishes almost nothing. DJ eventually heads toward the Low Ledge, visibly relieved once the decision is made. Sadie joins him soon after, though she keeps glancing across toward Katie as if fifty feet has suddenly become much higher without her. Courtney spends nearly the entire discussion alternating between the Mid and Apex groups, visibly calculating something, before finally walking toward Mid with the stiff posture of someone who intends to make it clear that three points is still a respectable contribution.

Izzy remains the only obvious undecided camper you can see, wandering between the signs with an amount of enthusiasm entirely inappropriate for the circumstances. She studies the Apex, moves toward Mid, changes direction halfway there, and returns to staring upward.

Chris checks his watch. “Ten seconds, Bass!”

Izzy looks at the Apex. Then Mid. Then Apex again. Her grin widens one last time before, “Apex!” She takes off, sprinting towards Tyler, Duncan and Geoff just as Chris raises one arm dramatically. “And that's time! Get moving, Bass!”

The first group begins heading toward the paths that climb to their respective platforms. From what you've seen, the Bass aren't playing particularly safe. Several people have committed to the five-point jump, a sizable group has chosen the Mid, and only a small number seem willing to settle for the single point.

Heather notices the same thing. She turns back toward the Gophers, and the expression on her face says everything before she even opens her mouth.

Leshawna catches it instantly. “Don't.”

Heather's brows lift. “Don't what?”

“Don't make that face.”

“I am literally standing here.”

“With that smug-ass look like you just proved something.”

Heather's arms fold across her chest. “They put multiple people on Apex. So yes, actually, I did prove something.”

Leshawna lets out a loud, humourless laugh. “Oh, here we go.”

“They're taking the challenge seriously!”

“So are we!”

“We haven't chosen anything!”

“Because you spent half our time trying to order everybody around!”

“And you spent the other half yelling at me!”

“You started yelling!”

“You interrupted me!”

“Because somebody had to!”

The argument immediately erupts again.

You exhale slowly through your nose and glance toward the other Gophers. Trent looks like he is debating whether intervening would calm things down or simply provide both girls with a third target. Gwen's arms are folded as she watches with an expression caught somewhere between irritation and grim amusement. Justin remains almost impressively composed, while Noah isn't even pretending not to be entertained anymore. Lindsay looks increasingly uncomfortable, Beth is trying very hard not to attract Heather's attention, and Owen keeps looking between the fight and the Apex as though unsure which one poses the greater physical danger.

[ CONFESSIONAL: JAYME ]

(You sit quietly on the toilet seat, your hands resting neatly on your knees. Your expression remains completely unreadable.)

"Heather and Leshawna have been arguing for three minutes straight."

(You pause, looking slightly off-camera toward the lake.)

"The Killer Bass are already climbing up to jump. We haven't even picked who goes where. At this rate, strategy isn't going to matter because we'll run out of time."

Chris, meanwhile, is already leading the first Bass jumpers toward the cliff paths. The Gophers are supposed to be using this time to watch the opposing team's performance and finalise their own strategy. Instead, Heather and Leshawna seem increasingly determined to establish which one of them gets to dictate how that strategy works.

You could step in. Neither of them seems likely to stop voluntarily, and if this keeps going, the Bass might finish half their jumps before your team even agrees on what the argument is about anymore.

On the other hand, you don't necessarily have to involve yourself. The rest of the Gophers are standing around while the two loudest personalities on the team occupy everyone's attention, which gives you an opportunity to speak with someone else without much interference. You still barely know most of them, and finding out what they're thinking about the challenge might be more useful than trying to referee Heather and Leshawna.

Then again, there is an even simpler option.

You know the rules. You know the risks. Whatever Heather, Leshawna or anyone else decides, the only platform you can ultimately choose for certain is your own.

The Bass are beginning their first jumps.

You should probably decide what you're doing before your team wastes the rest of its time.

📝 AUTHOR'S NOTE (A/N)

By choosing to sit next to Heather during lunch, Jayme deepened his pragmatic rapport with her while getting a better gauge of how she views the rest of the competition!

💡 Energy Point Log:

• Starting Energy: 9 / 10
• Sitting next to Heather at lunch: -1 EP
• Animal Summon Clause: 2 / 2 Charges remaining
• Current Energy: 8 / 10

Now, while the Killer Bass begin their jumps and the Gophers remain gridlocked in Heather and Leshawna's argument, what is Jayme's next move?

⚡ DECISION: COPING WITH TEAM CHAOS

(Choose Jayme's action while the Killer Bass take their turns.)

• A.) Stop Heather and Leshawna's fight — (1 Energy Point)
  
  
• B.) Interact with the other campers — (1 Energy Point)
  
  
• C.) Ignore everyone else and decide which platform you're jumping from — (0 Energy Points)