Chapter Text
The screen might as well have flickered to life.
A sweep of the trees, dark green and overgrown. A glint of lake water—murky, still, and questionably safe. A rickety dock jutting out like it regretted every life choice that brought it here. Birds squawked. Something splashed. Something else growled.
Then—perfectly on cue—Chris McLean stepped into frame with a grin that was already too big to trust.
“Yo! We’re coming at you live from Camp Wawanakwa, somewhere out here in beautiful—”
He gestured broadly at the wilderness, which did not look thrilled to be implicated.
“—Muskoka, Ontario!”
He spread his arms like he expected applause. The lake burped instead.
“I’m your host, Chris McLean,” he continued, voice dripping with game-show enthusiasm and just enough menace to be concerning, “and this… is Total. Drama. Island!”
He let the title hang for a beat, milking the moment.
“Twenty-two campers,” he announced, pacing the dock like he was presenting luxury condos instead of a biohazard. “All signing up for the ultimate summer experience: eight weeks of grueling challenges, questionable food, and living conditions so rough they violate at least three sections of the Geneva Convention.
He winked.
“But hey! Every three days, we’ll throw a brand-new challenge at our campers. The team that wins gets a fabulous reward—maybe food! Maybe comfort! Maybe basic human rights!”
A pause.
“Probably not that last one.”
He flipped a page on his clipboard with theatrical flair.
“The losing team? They hit the Campfire Ceremony, where they get to vote off one of their own. Anyone who’s safe receives a marshmallow.”
He held up an imaginary marshmallow like it was a priceless jewel.
“Why marshmallows? Because they’re delicious. And because I said so.”
He leaned toward the camera with a conspiratorial grin.
“The camper who doesn’t get one will walk the Dock of Shame, hop onto the Boat of Losers, and sail away from this island… forever.”
He lowered his voice dramatically.
“Or until the producers need more drama. Whichever.”
Chris straightened, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt.
“One by one, our campers will get voted off until only one remains—winning a small fortune of one hundred thousand dollars!”
He tapped his chin.
“Which, honestly, they’re totally gonna blow in a week. Maybe two, if they’re boring.”
He gestured upward, as if cameras were perched in every tree.
“Every meltdown, every argument, every betrayal—caught on tape. This island is wired with more cameras than a supermarket, baby!”
His grin sharpened.
“And did our lovely contestants sign up for this intense, no-holds-barred, wilderness survival reality show?”
He clapped his hands together once.
“Nope!”
He beamed, proud of himself.
“We told them they’d be staying at a five-star resort.”
A beat.
“They are… so gonna freak out.”
Somewhere behind him, the telltale putter of an approaching motorboat drifted across the lake.
Chris turned, grin never faltering.
“And speaking of campers—looks like the first victim—uh, camper—is arriving now!”
He stepped aside, camera perfectly angled as the small boat nosed toward the dock, carrying one eager, bright-eyed girl ready to greet the day.
“Let’s give a warm welcome to Beth!”
The motorboat puttered away from the dock, leaving Chris alone and smiling like a man who absolutely thrived on other people’s suffering. He straightened his shirt, held his clipboard just so, and turned toward the sound of another engine approaching.
The first arrival of the day.
Beth hopped off the boat before it even fully stopped, her suitcase bouncing behind her. She practically sprinted across the dock.
“CHRIS!!” she squealed.
Before he could sidestep, she wrapped him in a full-force hug.
Chris’s smile tightened at the edges. “Wow. Okay. Personal space is—optional now, I guess.”
Beth pulled back, beaming. Then she looked him up and down, head tilted.
“Wow! You’re… uh… shorter than you look on TV!”
Chris blinked. “Camera adds ten pounds. Not inches.”
Beth didn’t seem to notice his irritation; she was too busy marveling at the camp like it was a rustic paradise instead of a health hazard.
The next boat drifted in, carrying a mountain of a teenager who looked like he should be gentle enough to apologize to flowers.
DJ stepped off, shoulders hunched like he wasn’t sure he belonged anywhere near the water. “Yo, Chris… this is the place, right?”
“Yo, dawg, this is it,” Chris said, arms wide. “Camp Wawanakwa!”
DJ looked around at the sagging buildings, the bug-infested trees, the dock that groaned with every shift of weight.
“…Where’s the hot tub?”
Chris barked a laugh. “Yeah, no. What you see is what you get.”
DJ frowned. “But the brochure had a picture of a pool. And a spa. And a game room—”
“Artist’s interpretation,” Chris cut in, already bored.
DJ sighed and dragged his bags to the side, muttering something about false advertising.
Another boat approached, slower, like it too dreaded the island.
Gwen stepped off, eyes already narrowed. The more she took in—the peeling paint, the questionable water quality, the faint smell of mildew—the deeper her scowl grew.
“Nope,” she announced flatly. “I did not sign up for this.”
Chris grinned like Christmas came early. “Actually—” He snapped a thick packet of paper from his clipboard. “You did.”
Gwen snatched the contract from his hands and tore it clean down the middle.
Beth gasped. DJ winced. Chris just smiled wider.
“Good thing I brought… extras.”
He pulled out another copy. And another.
And another.
Gwen stared at the growing stack, teeth grinding. “I’m not staying here.”
Chris shrugged. “Cool. Swim home.”
Gwen turned. The boat that brought her was already a distant speck on the lake.
She turned back, glaring daggers. “You’re a jerk.”
“Aww, thanks,” Chris said brightly. “We’re just getting started.”
The dock creaked beneath their feet, as if reacting in agreement.
The low hum of another motorboat drifted across the lake. Chris straightened, his grin sharpening as the vessel drew closer.
When it bumped against the dock, Geoff practically launched himself onto the planks, wobbling for a split second before regaining balance with a loud, enthusiastic laugh.
“CHRIS! My man!” he shouted, throwing a sloppy salute. “Dude, this place is unreal, man! Totally epic, man!”
He spun in a full circle, taking everything in—the crooked cabins, the overgrown treeline, the questionable water quality—and somehow found it all amazing.
DJ gave him a polite nod. Beth waved excitedly.
Gwen stared at him like each “man” physically damaged her brain cells.
Geoff didn’t notice. He was too busy pointing at the lake.
“Man, I swear I’ve surfed places just like this, dude! Well, nicer. But, like, same vibe, man!”
Chris chuckled under his breath. Even he looked a little overwhelmed.
The next boat arrived much slower, gliding in like it was escorting royalty. Lindsay stepped off with a bright smile, her hair bouncing as if it had its own personal breeze.
Her suitcase was glossy, pink, and definitely not rated for wilderness.
She looked around for a moment—at the dock, at the campers, at Chris—and her expression shifted into mild, pleasant confusion.
“You look soooo familiar,” she said, leaning a little closer to Chris as if inspecting his face for clues. “Have we met somewhere? Like… in a magazine?”
Chris gave her a tight, polite nod. “I’m Chris. The host of the show.”
Lindsay blinked once. Then twice.
“Oh! That’s awesome!”
A beat passed.
Then she frowned.
“…What show?”
Chris stared at her like he was waiting for the punchline.
“This show,” he said slowly, enunciating each word as if that would help.
“Ohhh.” Lindsay nodded, satisfied with… something. “Okay, cool!”
She waved at the others with cheerful enthusiasm, seemingly forgetting the entire conversation the moment she saw a seagull take off nearby.
Geoff watched her go with an impressed whistle.
Gwen just sighed and muttered, “Fantastic.”
The dock continued to creak under the weight of new arrivals—and the chaos that followed them.
Another boat eased up to the dock, and Heather stepped off like she expected a red carpet and got a moldy welcome mat instead. She took one sweeping look at the crooked cabins, the warped dock, and the dirt paths that probably violated several health codes.
Her nose wrinkled.
Beth, ever enthusiastic, beamed and waved. “Hi! I’m Beth, it’s so great to meet—”
Heather didn’t even look at her. She lifted one perfectly manicured hand between them. “Don’t.”
Beth froze mid-wave, wilting a little.
Heather carried on, heels clicking sharply against the wood as she examined the camp with growing disgust. “Wow,” she said flatly. “This place is… tragic.”
Gwen gave her a sideways glare. DJ shifted awkwardly. Geoff let out a low whistle, impressed but wary.
Heather didn’t care. She had already dismissed all of them, the island, and the entire concept of “summer camp” in under ten seconds.
And she hadn’t even unpacked yet.
The next boat didn’t glide in—it snarled up to the dock, engine coughing like it was allergic to whoever it was transporting. The second it bumped the planks, Duncan stepped off with all the subtlety of a thrown brick.
He didn’t look around.
He assessed.
Dark green mohawk, metal glinting from nearly every part of his face, boots dragging across the dock like he was daring the boards to snap under him. His expression hovered somewhere between bored, irritated, and ready to start a fight for entertainment.
He took one look at the camp and let out a low, bitter laugh.
“Nice dump,” he said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Real five-star toilet you guys got here.”
Gwen narrowed her eyes. Geoff tried an awkward “yo, dude.” Beth shrank back, instinctively clutching her suitcase. Lindsay just smiled absentmindedly.
Duncan’s gaze dragged across her for half a second.
Then he scoffed.
“Too blonde,” he muttered. “I prefer brunettes.”
Lindsay blinked like she heard a compliment and smiled wider. Gwen made a noise of disgust.
Heather crossed her arms, unimpressed and very intentionally ignoring him.
That made Duncan grin.
He sauntered past her, close enough that she felt his breath when he leaned in and murmured, “See you by the campfire, gorgeous.”
Heather recoiled, glaring daggers as Duncan walked away like he owned the entire island.
Chris finally stepped forward, plastering on his host-smile with thin patience.
“Duncan! Great to see you again. Just a reminder”—he dangled his clipboard meaningfully—“I’ve got your parole officer on speed dial. One wrong move and you’re back in juvie so fast you’ll leave a cartoon dust cloud.”
Duncan turned to him slowly, expression flat and dead-eyed.
“So call him,” he said. “Save us both some time.”
Chris blinked. Only briefly. But it was enough to show even he hadn’t expected the direct challenge.
Duncan just brushed past him with a shoulder-check that nearly knocked Chris into the lake.
“Relax,” Duncan said over his shoulder. “I’ll behave. For now.”
DJ swallowed hard. Geoff muttered “duuude.” Gwen rolled her eyes but moved a little farther away.
Everything about Duncan felt like a threat.
And he looked thrilled by it.
Another deafening roar came from the lake, and Tyler burst into view—clutching water skis, wobbling wildly, and screaming something that sounded brave if you didn’t listen too closely.
“I GOT THIIIIIS!”
He absolutely did not.
The boat towing him made a sharp, irresponsible turn. Tyler went straight.
Very straight.
Very fast.
“Uh-oh,” DJ breathed.
Tyler barreled toward the dock like a human missile. His skis slammed into the edge, launching him forward. He careened into one of Heather’s meticulously stacked suitcases, sending it flying off the dock and into the lake with a dramatic splash.
Heather gasped just as the wave of water drenched her from the knees down.
“My SHOES!” she shrieked, staring in horror at the expensive, now-soggy heels dripping lake slime. “These are RUINED!”
Tyler groaned from where he lay sprawled across the planks.
“I totally… meant to do that.”
Heather looked ready to commit actual violence.
Duncan doubled over laughing. Geoff whistled. Gwen muttered “serves her right” under her breath.
Chris clapped once. “Fantastic entrance!”
And the camp descended one notch further into glorious chaos.
The next boat drifted in with far less enthusiasm than its passenger. Harold stepped off carefully, balancing a full computer keyboard under one arm like it was a priceless artifact.
He adjusted his glasses, pushed his wispy hair out of his face, and took in the camp with a look of dramatic disappointment.
“Whoa,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “This is… way beneath my expected living standards.”
Gwen rolled her eyes. Beth blinked politely. Heather was still too consumed by her ruined shoes to care.
Harold continued, already talking over everyone.
“I mean, I guess it’ll do. Primitive environments tend to sharpen a warrior’s instincts. Which is cool for a guy with my skillset.”
Chris blinked. “Skillset?”
Harold puffed up proudly. “Yeah. Mad skills.”
He tapped his keyboard for emphasis, as if demonstrating lethal weaponry.
“Karate, coding, stealth, strategy… you name it, I’ve mastered it. This kind of place is perfect for optimizing my survival parameters.”
Chris physically cringed.
Duncan, who had been leaning against a post like he was waiting for someone to annoy him, slowly lifted his head. His eyes narrowed with laser-focused disdain.
“…Who the hell are you supposed to be?” he asked, tone flat, annoyed, and already done with Harold’s existence.
Harold smiled smugly. “Harold. But online I go by a variety of aliases—"
“Yeah, I don’t care,” Duncan cut in. “Keep talkin’ like that and someone’s gonna shove that keyboard somewhere it doesn’t plug in.”
Harold looked offended. “Uh, rude.”
Duncan’s smirk was sharper than his piercings. “Buddy, you haven’t even seen rude yet.”
DJ took a step back. Geoff muttered “duuude” under his breath. Lindsay blinked between them like she was watching a soap opera but didn’t know who the villain was (hint: it was Duncan, and he was delighted).
Harold, missing every social cue possible, simply adjusted his posture and added, “Well, I still think I’ll thrive in this environment. It’s perfect for an elite strategist.”
Duncan barked a short, humorless laugh.
“This is gonna be fun.”
Harold smiled proudly, believing it was a compliment.
It wasn’t.
Another boat hummed toward the dock, and Trent stepped off with an easy stride, guitar case slung over one shoulder. He gave the camp a once-over and let out a low whistle.
“Man… this place is a lot rougher than the brochure,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
Chris shrugged like that was the point.
Trent brightened. “Hey, didn’t I see you on that figure skating competition on TV once?”
Beth perked immediately. “Oh! I watched that! The guy who dropped his partner right on his head won immunity for it!”
Harold snorted. “Lucky. I hope I get immunity that way.”
Lindsay nodded earnestly. “Me too! But, like… without the dropping-someone part.”
Chris stared at them in mild disbelief.
Trent chuckled, shaking his head—then caught sight of Gwen.
He gave her a small wave.
Gwen blinked, surprised, and the faintest flush touched her cheeks before she glanced away like it hadn’t happened.
Duncan noticed and rolled his eyes.
Before anyone could comment, another boat raced in much too close to the dock. Bridgette hopped off with a surfboard in her arms, nearly decapitating at least three people as she swung it around to steady herself.
“Sorry! Sorry—oh my gosh, sorry!” She finally got the board under control, cheeks flushed. “Man, I was hoping there’d be actual waves here.”
Chris gave a sympathetic shrug. “Lake. Not ocean.”
“Awww, seriously?” Bridgette sighed, disappointment clear—but it only lasted a second before she flashed a relaxed smile and introduced herself to the group.
The boys responded instantly.
Geoff, especially, looked like he’d just been spiritually awakened.
Bridgette laughed as Geoff stumbled over his words trying to say hello, and the two fell into easy conversation while the others shuffled to make room.
Even Duncan gave her a once-over and nodded in mild approval before going back to glaring at Harold.
Another boat glided in, this one carrying a boy who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. Noah stepped onto the dock with a flat, unimpressed stare, clutching a folded sheet of paper.
He didn’t even greet anyone.
He just held out the paper toward Chris.
“Did you get the memo I sent?” Noah asked, tone dry as sand. “The one detailing all my life-threatening allergies? All twelve of them?”
Chris blinked, smile faltering. “Uh… I’m sure someone did.”
“So that’s a no,” Noah concluded, folding the paper back into his pocket. “Cool. Guess I’ll die dramatically on camera. Good for ratings.”
Heather snorted. Gwen smirked. Beth looked horrified.
Noah glanced over the group, unimpressed—until his gaze landed on Duncan.
He stared at Duncan’s piercings for one beat too long.
“Nice metalwork,” Noah said. “I didn’t realize the arts-and-crafts table was open already.”
The dock went quiet.
Duncan’s head turned slowly, expression shifting from bored to dangerous. He pushed off the post he was leaning on and stalked toward Noah with the deliberate steps of someone who enjoyed watching people flinch.
Noah didn’t.
Duncan stopped right in front of him, close enough that Noah had to tilt his chin up to maintain eye contact.
“You wanna say that again?” Duncan asked, voice low, edged, and absolutely unamused.
Noah raised an eyebrow. “Not really.”
Duncan grabbed Noah’s lower lip between his thumb and forefinger, pinching hard enough to make several people gasp.
“How ‘bout I give you one?” Duncan muttered, tugging downward as if lining up where a new piercing should go.
Noah’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second—then he forced out, through the pinch, “Pass.”
Duncan held the grip one second longer than necessary—just to assert a point—before releasing Noah with a flick.
Noah rubbed his lip, muttering, “Yeah. Totally hygienic. Love that for me.”
Duncan smirked. “Welcome to camp, nerd.”
Chris clapped his hands lightly, trying—and failing—to dispel the tension. “Alright! Let’s keep things friendly, guys!”
Gwen rolled her eyes. Heather looked entertained. DJ seemed like he wanted to melt into the lake.
Duncan walked away, still smirking.
Noah glared after him…but took a full step back.
The next boat hadn’t even fully touched the dock when the energy around the group shifted. Leshawna stepped off with the confidence of someone who knew exactly who she was—and liked that person a whole lot.
“Alright now!” she boomed, hands on her hips, sunglasses on, attitude flawless. “Who’s ready for some real competition up in here?”
Geoff let out a low, impressed “whoa.”
DJ smiled wide.
Beth clapped excitedly.
Gwen looked genuinely relieved to finally see someone normal.
Then Harold—still wiping dust off his keyboard—opened his mouth.
“Wow,” he said, nodding at her with his signature oblivious pride. “You’re, uh… big. And loud.”
The dock froze.
Every head turned toward Harold with the slow horror of people witnessing a car crash in real time.
Leshawna’s eyes narrowed into slits.
“I’m sorry,” she said dangerously, taking one step toward him. “Come again?”
Harold gulped, already backpedaling. “N-no, I meant—your presence! You know, like… big presence—”
“Uh-huh.” Leshawna folded her arms. “You’re real lucky I don’t throw you into this lake.”
Duncan cackled from the sidelines. “Do it. For science.”
Chris jumped in fast, clapping loudly. “Let’s keep the violence hypothetical for now!”
Leshawna gave Harold one last death glare before moving on, making a mental note to sit far away from him.
Harold visibly shrank.
Before the tension could thicken any further, the next boat zipped toward the dock carrying two girls who were already screaming at each other in excitement long before landing.
Katie and Sadie—matching outfits, matching smiles, matching chaos—practically tumbled onto the dock hand-in-hand.
“KATIE!!”
“SADIE!!”
“I can’t believe we’re really here!!”
“At a REAL summer camp!!”
“Best summer EVER!!”
They hugged. They spun. They screamed in perfect unison.
Heather winced like their voices pierced her soul.
Lindsay looked confused which one was which.
DJ rubbed his ear.
Gwen muttered, “Oh. God.”
Katie and Sadie finally broke their loop of shrieking and looked around at the group with huge, sparkling eyes.
“Hi everyone!!” Katie beamed.
“We’re SO excited!!” Sadie added.
Duncan muttered under his breath, “If one of them starts singing, I’m jumping in the lake.”
They did not hear him.
They were too busy squealing over the cabins, the trees, the lake water—everything.
And just like that, the dock got a whole lot louder again.
Another small motorboat puttered toward the dock like it was struggling to stay afloat.
Ezekiel stepped off wearing a camo jacket two sizes too big and clutching a backpack that looked older than he was.
Chris forced a host-smile. “What’s up, Ezekiel?”
Ezekiel squinted at the sky, then pointed.
“…Uh… I think I see a bird?”
Dead silence.
Katie and Sadie blinked.
Lindsay tilted her head.
Noah snorted, “Wow.”
Duncan muttered, “Holy crap, he’s literal.”
Chris cleared his throat. “Yeah, okay. Anyway—welcome to camp.”
Ezekiel adjusted his hat like he was about to give a TED Talk.
“Thanks, eh. My dad said this’d be real good for me. Y’know, gettin’ outta the house an’ seein’ how girls from the big city ain’t really—”
Leshawna’s head snapped around so fast her earrings nearly flew off.
Heather’s eyes widened in delighted horror.
Gwen’s mouth fell open.
Ezekiel kept talking.
“—really cut out for the hard stuff, eh? Like my dad says, girls just ain’t built the same, y’know? Their brains an’ all—”
“OH my god,” Gwen whispered.
Katie and Sadie gasped so loudly birds took off from the trees.
Harold ducked behind DJ like he didn’t want to be seen in the blast radius.
Even Duncan — Duncan, who had bullied three people already today — physically winced, eyebrows scrunching.
“Bro,” Duncan said under his breath, “shut up. Like now.”
But Ezekiel didn’t.
He pointed at Gwen and Leshawna like he was citing evidence.
“Back home, the girls always messed things up in shop class. An’ my dad says that’s ’cause they ain’t really meant for—”
“BOY,” Leshawna barked, stepping forward like a storm cloud with legs, “if you finish that sentence I’m gonna drop you in the lake.”
Ezekiel blinked, confused. “But I’m just sayin’—”
“NO,” half the dock yelled at once.
Chris threw himself between them with the reflexes of a man used to preventing lawsuits.
“Okay! Okay! Ezekiel, buddy, maybe keep the… opinions to yourself.”
Ezekiel frowned, genuinely baffled.
“Oh. Uh… okay. I just figured everyone already knew, eh?”
Lindsay silently mouthed no in utter disbelief.
Chris clapped a hand on Ezekiel’s shoulder, guiding him away before Leshawna could launch him like a javelin.
“Here’s some free advice,” Chris muttered tightly. “Stay quiet.
Do not talk about girls.
At all.
Ever.”
Ezekiel nodded, still not understanding. “Sure thing, eh. But like—why—”
“MOVE,” Chris barked, shoving him into place with the others.
Duncan watched him stumble, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Dude’s gonna get voted out before we even unpack,” he said.
No one disagreed.
Ezekiel just smiled like he’d made a great first impression.
He had not.
Another boat buzzed toward the dock, this one piloted by a camper practically vibrating with excitement. Cody hopped off before it fully stopped, stumbled, recovered, and threw both arms up like he nailed a stunt.
“Heeey, ladies!” he called out, voice cracking with enthusiasm. “Looks like the Codemeister has arrived!”
The girls blinked at him.
Beth smiled politely.
Leshawna raised an eyebrow.
Katie and Sadie whispered “aww.”
Even Heather didn’t bother to look offended — she looked mildly amused.
Because it was obvious:
Cody wasn’t actually flirting.
He just looked like a kid attempting a line he found in a movie, hoping it sounded cool.
He gave an exaggerated wink that didn’t land at all.
“Uh-huh,” Leshawna said, stepping forward and flicking him right on the forehead. “Boy, hush. You ain’t old enough to be flirtin’ with grown women.”
Cody immediately shrank back, cheeks flushing. “Right! Sorry! Totally—uh—my bad.”
He rubbed his forehead with a sheepish grin.
The group collectively relaxed.
Gwen even smirked.
Lindsay whispered, “He’s kinda cute,” to Sadie, who nodded vigorously.
Cody wandered closer to the others, still bouncing on his toes, still buzzing with excitement, and still clearly trying to figure out how to look cool.
That was when he drifted a little too close to Duncan.
Duncan had been leaning against a dock post, picking at a thumbnail like he was counting the seconds until someone annoyed him enough to commit a felony. When Cody stepped into his peripheral vision, Duncan’s eyes flicked up—slow, sharp, predatory.
“What are you lookin’ at, dweeb?” Duncan snapped, voice flat and irritated.
Cody froze.
Not like Harold — not loudly, not dramatically.
Just a tiny hitch. Shoulders lifting. Grip tightening on his backpack strap.
“Oh—uh—nothing!” Cody said quickly. “Sorry.”
It wasn’t defensive.
It wasn’t sarcastic.
It was… apologetic. Earnest. A little startled.
Duncan paused.
That wasn’t the reaction he expected.
He looked Cody over — quick, assessing — then huffed and stepped in just close enough to ruffle Cody’s hair with one rough swipe.
“Relax,” Duncan muttered. “You’ll live.”
Cody stared at him, wide-eyed.
“…Okay,” he squeaked.
Trent let out an amused snort.
Heather looked surprised Duncan hadn’t shoved Cody off the dock.
Gwen raised an eyebrow — interesting.
Even Leshawna paused mid-sip of water.
Because Duncan was a jerk to everyone.
But Cody?
He didn’t get the full treatment.
Duncan stepped back, arms folded, expression settling into his usual scowl — but his posture wasn’t hostile. Not like it was with Harold. Or Noah. Or Ezekiel.
Just… neutral. Watchful.
Maybe even slightly entertained.
Cody smoothed his hair back down, still pink-cheeked but smiling again.
“Uh—cool. So… where do we stand?” he asked the group awkwardly.
Duncan snorted. “Not near me.”
But there wasn’t any real bite in it.
And somehow, Cody knew it.
The next motorboat sliced across the water like it had someplace better to be. Eva stepped off with her duffel bag slung over one shoulder, muscles tense, scowl fixed. She looked at the camp like she could smell weakness.
No one tried to greet her.
“Yup,” Duncan muttered, elbowing DJ. “She’s all yours, big guy.”
DJ blanched. Eva cracked her knuckles loudly enough that the dock seemed to flinch.
While everyone silently prayed Eva wouldn’t snap someone in half on sight, Cody knelt by his backpack, fishing through the front pocket. A small multi-colored click pen stuck out — bright blue, green, red, yellow. The kind of thing a teacher would hand out in elementary school.
Duncan spotted it instantly.
Without warning, he reached down and plucked it from Cody’s bag.
Cody froze, spine stiffening like a startled cat.
“Um—hey,” Cody said, voice small but polite. “Could I… have that back? Please?”
Duncan’s smirk sharpened.
He held the pen high above his head, stretching his arm until Cody had to crane his neck just to look at it.
“If you want it,” Duncan drawled, “come get it.”
Cody’s eyes widened in panic. “I—I mean—okay, but—could you maybe—um—just—”
Duncan clicked the pen.
Blue. Click. Red. Click. Green. Click. Yellow.
Click-click-click-click — fast enough to be annoying on purpose.
Then he raised it even higher.
Cody made a tiny, helpless noise, stepped forward, and did a small hop, reaching for it with both hands.
Duncan leaned back, laughing under his breath. “Dude… god, you’re short.”
Cody’s face flushed pink.
He tried again — another small jump — barely brushing Duncan’s wrist.
“Almost,” Duncan teased, eyes bright with amused cruelty.
Cody gave one more attempt, arms flailing upward—
—and Duncan casually tossed the pen right back into Cody’s open backpack.
Cody blinked, confused. “…Oh. Uh—thanks?”
“Don’t lose your toys,” Duncan snorted.
Before anyone could comment, a thunderous whoop echoed across the water.
Owen’s boat rocketed toward them, and he jumped off the second it touched the dock, landing with enough force to make several seagulls evacuate the area.
“HEYYYY EVERYBODY!!!” Owen bellowed. “I’M PSYCHED TO BE HERE!!”
He swept Chris straight into a bone-crushing bear hug. Chris’s eyes bugged as he attempted to breathe.
After releasing him, Owen spun toward the group, beaming. “Guys, this is AWESOME! Like—like—it’s—uh—”
“Awesome?” Gwen suggested flatly.
“Yes!!” Owen shouted, as if Gwen just invented the word.
He bounded over to her with puppy-like enthusiasm. “You think we’ll be on the same team?!”
“I sure hope so,” Gwen deadpanned.
Owen cheered like she’d said yes to a marriage proposal.
Meanwhile, Cody quietly zipped his backpack, glancing up at Duncan out of the corner of his eye — unsure if they’d just interacted or if he had just survived something.
Duncan didn’t look back.
But he smirked to himself.
Just a little.
The next boat approached with perfect steadiness, as if it refused to be part of the chaos that had unfolded so far.
Courtney stepped off with pristine posture, crisp clothes, and a clipboard clutched in both hands like it was an extension of her soul.
She took a breath — a composed, practiced inhale — and then smiled brightly at the group.
“Hi, everyone!” she said, voice warm and perfectly pitched. “I’m Courtney. C.I.T.”
The greeting landed like a polished brochure.
Friendly. Polite. Confident.
Rehearsed.
The girls blinked, taking her in.
The guys perked up a little — Geoff almost dropped his hat.
Even Heather gave a tiny, begrudging nod of approval.
Courtney continued smiling, but something in her eyes flicked over the camp — analyzing, evaluating, judging. She covered the reaction in less than a second, returning to her picture-perfect expression.
The contrast was immediate from the last arrival.
Cody’s greeting had been messy — awkward, off-balance, a line he clearly didn’t know how to use. But the sincerity had shown through the cracks.
Courtney’s?
There were no cracks.
Every inch of her hello had been sanded smooth.
If Cody was the boy next door…
Courtney was the idea of the girl next door.
Owen waved at her enthusiastically. “HI COURTNEY!!”
She smiled at him like she was already in charge of his behavior chart. “Hi! It’s really nice to meet all of you.”
Cody, standing off to the side, watched her with wide eyes — not in awe, but in recognition.
She was everything he’d tried to imitate: confident, cool, naturally impressive.
Except it wasn’t natural at all.
He shrank a little, adjusting his backpack straps.
Duncan’s reaction was… interesting.
He looked Courtney up and down — slow, calculating — the same way he had looked Cody over on instinct. But the energy wasn’t the same. It wasn’t annoyed, or dismissive, or even amused.
He just… noticed her.
His eyebrow lifted a millimeter.
Then he leaned toward Geoff with a muttered, “Of course she’s one of those perfect types.”
Geoff snorted. “Dude, she’s smokin'—”
“Don’t care,” Duncan grumbled, but his eyes lingered for a beat anyway.
Courtney stepped fully onto the dock, giving the entire group a bright, leadership-ready smile.
“It’s really great to be here,” she said warmly. “I’m looking forward to working with all of you!”
Her tone was polished sugar.
Her stance was impeccable.
Her presence screamed honor roll. PTA president someday. Camp counselor by choice.
And somewhere behind her, Cody clicked his multi-color pen nervously — blue, red, green — each click soft, unconscious.
Two wholesome smiles.
Two friendly greetings.
One genuine.
One perfected.
Anyone paying attention could feel the difference.
Even if no one named it out loud.
The next boat glided up to the dock like it was auditioning for a commercial.
Then Justin stepped off, and the world seemed to pause.
His hair moved like it had a contract with the wind.
His smile gleamed.
His posture was effortless.
Katie clutched Sadie.
Sadie squealed.
Lindsay fanned herself with both hands.
Heather froze for half a second before pretending she hadn’t.
Justin offered a calm, flawless wave.
“Hey.”
It sent half the girls into a mild meltdown.
Cody, however, simply lifted a hand and waved back with a small, friendly grin — nothing forced, nothing flashy.
Justin nodded back politely.
Duncan saw the exchange and raised a brow.
Not annoyed.
Just watching.
Before anyone could fully process Justin’s supernatural beauty, an earsplitting whoop echoed across the lake.
Izzy was incoming.
Her boat zigzagged violently, swerving like it was possessed. Before it even fully touched the dock, Izzy launched herself into the air with a wild scream—
“WHOOOOOO—!!”
And instantly face-planted.
Her chin smacked the wooden planks with a sickening thwack, and she slid straight into the lake with a splash.
The entire group winced in unison.
“Yikes,” Gwen muttered.
“Oh jeez,” DJ whispered.
Even Duncan’s eyebrows shot upward. “Damn.”
Courtney sprinted forward, dropping to her knees at the dock’s edge.
“Guys! She could be seriously hurt!”
She reached down and helped haul Izzy back onto the dock.
Izzy popped up dripping wet, wobbling on her feet like a cartoon character whose soul hadn’t fully returned yet.
“I’M FINE!” she declared, voice wobbly. “I meant to do that! Totally intentional!”
Courtney steadied her by the arm. “You need to be more careful. That could’ve been dangerous.”
Izzy nodded rapidly, still dazed. “Cool! Thanks, teacher-lady!”
Courtney blinked. “…It’s C.I.T.”
Izzy wobbled back toward the group, hair dripping, eyes unfocused.
Cody stepped forward quietly, reaching into the front pocket of his backpack.
He pulled out a tiny, colorful first-aid kit — complete with cartoon stickers — and offered her a bandaid shaped like a little frog.
“Here,” he said softly. “For your chin. It might sting.”
Izzy gasped with pure delight. “A FROG BOO-BOO PATCH?! THANK YOU, STRANGE LITTLE ANGEL!”
Cody blushed and laughed awkwardly. “I’m just Cody.”
Duncan watched all of it.
He smirked.
Of course Cody had a mini medical kit. Of course he did.
“Nerd pouch strikes again,” Duncan muttered.
But he didn’t say it with venom.
More like… begrudging amusement.
Because Courtney had rushed to help Izzy first — loudly, responsibly, publicly.
But Cody?
He was the one who actually helped her afterward.
Quietly. Without asking for attention. Without anyone telling him to.
Duncan didn’t dwell on it.
He just shoved his hands into his pockets and looked away.
But he noticed.
He always noticed things he didn’t talk about.
Chris gathered everyone at the end of the dock, grinning like a man with a lawsuit already drafted. The campers shuffled into a messy cluster — Duncan near the back, Cody squeezed somewhere in the middle, nowhere near him.
The wood beneath them groaned ominously.
Chris lifted his camera.
Stalled.
Adjusted the strap.
Tapped it with fake confusion.
The dock groaned louder.
“Uh, Chris—” Gwen started.
“Smile!” Chris interrupted, raising the camera.
No flash.
He lowered it again. “Hang on, gotta fix the—”
CRAAAACK.
The entire front half of the dock snapped like a breadstick.
The campers dropped into the lake in a roaring splash.
SPLOOOOSH—!!
Duncan surfaced with a snarl, shoving wet hair out of his face. “I swear to—”
Chris snapped the picture mid-chaos, cackling. “Beautiful! Very candid!”
The campers swam, flailed, or dragged themselves back toward shore. Cody popped up near Beth and DJ and immediately went into helper mode.
“Here — take my hand— careful— okay, you’re good—”
“Need help? I got you—”
He moved from person to person without hesitation, pushing soaking hair out of his eyes, offering steady hands to anyone struggling with the slippery rocks.
Duncan slogged out of the water on his own, muttering curses under his breath. He was almost to dry ground when he realized Cody was approaching him, dripping and smiling nervously.
“Hey,” Cody said softly. “You, uh… need a hand?”
Duncan opened his mouth to reject it automatically—
Then he saw it.
A raw scrape along Cody’s elbow — bright, scraped pink from hitting the dock as it broke, small splinters still lodged in the skin. Cody probably hadn’t even noticed yet, too busy helping everyone else.
Duncan’s expression shifted.
Barely.
Just a flicker.
But it was enough.
“Don’t need your help,” he snapped, tone sharp and defensive.
Cody pulled his hand back, startled. “Oh—okay, sorry—”
Before Cody could retreat, Duncan reached out and grabbed his other, uninjured arm — the grip firm but not painful.
“Clean that up,” Duncan muttered, nodding toward the scraped elbow.
Cody blinked, surprised. “What? Oh—um—yeah, it’s nothing, I didn’t even—”
“Didn’t ask for a monologue,” Duncan cut in. “Just… clean it.”
His tone was gruff, irritated — but not at Cody.
Cody swallowed, nodding. “Right. Yeah. I will.”
Duncan released his arm and looked away quickly, like the moment hadn’t happened.
“Good,” he muttered.
Cody held the scraped elbow closer, suddenly aware of the sting. But he smiled — small, shy, touched — before jogging toward his backpack on the shore to dig out his little first-aid kit.
Duncan watched him for exactly one second.
Then turned away.
Chris strolled back toward the group like he hadn’t just orchestrated a mass drowning. He clapped his hands together, cheerful as ever.
“Alright, campers! Great hustle out there,” he called, stepping around puddles like they offended him. “I’m loving the energy, I’m loving the teamwork—really great stuff.”
Heather glared death.
Gwen muttered something unprintable.
Owen sneezed lake water.
Chris continued brightly, unfazed.
“Now! Dry off as best you can and meet me at the campfire pit in ten minutes. We’ve got cabins to assign, rules to break, and a whole bunch of legal disclaimers I’m totally going to ignore.”
A chorus of complaints rose around him.
“Ten minutes?!”
“We’re soaked!”
“My shoes are disgusting!”
“I think I swallowed a fish!”
Chris waved them off like gnats.
“Yup! Ten minutes! Don’t be late!”
He winked, clicked his camera once more for dramatic effect, and walked off toward the camp like he had someplace comfortable to be.
The campers dragged themselves to the firepit, soaked from the dock disaster and still wringing out their clothes. They settled onto the uneven circle of stumps, forming a damp, miserable semicircle facing the podium Chris had proudly dragged out like it was a stage at a festival.
Chris slapped his note cards against the wood and spread his arms wide.
“Campers! Welcome to Total! Drama! Island!”
The only response was the crackling of the fire and the sound of someone dripping lake water onto the dirt.
Cody sat on the edge of his stump, poking absently at the frog bandaid on his elbow.
Harold sat next to him, hunched over his keyboard like it was a shield.
Duncan leaned forward on his stump, elbows on his knees, glaring down the row so aggressively Harold flinched every time their eyes met.
Chris cleared his throat, continuing with theatrical enthusiasm.
“For the next eight weeks, this charming, rustic, budget-friendly slice of wilderness paradise will be your home! The people around you will be your cabin mates, your competitors, and maybe even your friends—”
Harold tried a hopeful smile toward Duncan.
Duncan didn’t smile back.
He just cracked his knuckles.
Harold faced forward instantly.
Chris plowed on.
“You’ll face brutal challenges, terrifying eliminations, and nonstop drama, all for a chance to win—”
“One hundred thousand dollars,” Duncan finished in a bored drawl. “Yeah, yeah. Sleeping arrangements first, dude. I’m not spending eight weeks stuck in some dump with a bunch of snorers if I don’t have to.”
Chris blinked. “Right. Okay, well—separate cabins. Each team gets one. Girls on one side, guys on the other.”
Duncan sat back, unimpressed, arms folding across his chest. “Good. I’ll sleep anywhere. As long as nobody touches my stuff.”
As Chris continued talking, Cody tugged at his bandaid again—more out of nervous habit than pain.
Duncan’s gaze snapped sideways.
“Quit that,” he muttered sharply.
Before Cody could pretend he hadn’t heard, Duncan reached over and bapped the back of Cody’s hand—not rough, not soft, just a quick knock to stop him.
Cody froze, startled. “S—sorry.”
“Don’t mess with it,” Duncan grumbled, eyes back on Chris. “You’ll make it worse.”
It wasn’t kind.
It wasn’t gentle.
But it wasn’t cruel, either.
Cody didn’t try touching the bandaid again.
Chris shuffled his note cards with a flourish. “Alright! Let’s get to the good stuff. Team assignments!”
The group straightened, some leaning in, others tensing.
Chris read from the first list.
“For the Screaming Gophers:Gwen, Trent, Heather, Lindsay, Beth, Katie, Owen, Leshawna, Justin, and Noah!”
Cody blinked and sat up straighter, smiling faintly. That was the team he expected — the one his contract said he’d be on.
But Chris paused, tapped the card, and grinned like a man who lived for chaos.
“—and Cody.”
Cody perked up fully.
Chris flipped the card dramatically.
“Actually… no.”
Cody froze. “Huh?”
Chris beamed.
“For drama. And ratings. We’re moving you.”
Duncan’s head turned slowly.
“To the Killer Bass!”
The campers murmured.
Cody’s heart sank.
He glanced nervously toward Duncan—who was watching him now, posture relaxed but eyes sharp.
Chris continued.
“And for the Killer Bass: Ezekiel, Eva, Tyler, Izzy, Sadie, Courtney, Harold, Bridgette, DJ, Geoff, Duncan…and Cody.”
Cody swallowed.
Hard.
He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or terrified.
Duncan leaned back on the stump, arms crossed, smirking in a way that looked both dangerous and weirdly satisfied.
“Guess you’re stuck with us, Codemeister,” he said under his breath.
Cody managed a tiny nod.
Chris slapped the podium. “Grab your gear, campers! Cabins await!”
And the groups began to break apart, moving toward their new temporary homes, the fire crackling behind them.
The Killer Bass cabin smelled like old wood, damp socks, and something that definitely died once. The moment they stepped inside, Harold made a beeline for the bottom bunk in the far corner.
“Ah, yes,” he declared, dropping his keyboard bag dramatically onto the mattress. “Optimal positioning. Back wall defense, solid airflow, strategic vantage point—”
Cody stepped in next, taking in the room.
Harold’s bag on the bottom bunk.
The empty top bunk above it.
Perfect.
He smiled, started climbing the ladder, and tossed his bag up onto the top mattress.
That’s when the temperature in the room changed.
Duncan stepped through the doorway.
He didn’t say anything at first.
Just stood there.
Looking at the bunk Harold chose.
Then at Harold.
Then at Cody’s stuff above it.
Slowly, with a kind of controlled, dangerous calm, Duncan crossed the cabin.
“Uh—Duncan?” Harold said, voice pitching up nervously as he moved his keyboard bag. “If you require my help selecting a bunk, I can assure you that based on airflow—“
Duncan grabbed Harold’s bag.
Lifted it.
And chucked it right into the middle of the cabin.
Harold sputtered. “HEY! That contains sensitive equipment—!”
Duncan’s fist connected with Harold’s chest in a short, sharp punch — not enough to knock him out, but definitely enough to shut him up.
Harold crumpled backward onto the floor, wheezing.
“Didn’t ask,” Duncan muttered.
Cody froze halfway up the ladder, eyes wide.
Then Duncan reached up, plucked Cody’s backpack from the top bunk, and dropped it onto the bottom mattress — the one Harold had tried to claim.
Cody blinked. “Wait—why—?”
Duncan stared at him for a long, heavy second.
Not angry.
Not mocking.
Just… assessing.
Finally, he spoke — voice low, unpolished, blunt.
“If you ever find yourself in a place like juvie,” he said, “never sleep near the door.”
Cody swallowed.
“…Oh.”
Duncan nodded toward the back corner.
“I always take the bunk in the back. Wall behind you. Fewer angles to watch.”
He jerked his chin at the bottom bunk again.
“Sleep there. It’s better.”
Cody didn’t argue.
He didn’t even try.
He just nodded, small and unsure.
“…Okay.”
Harold groaned on the floor. “Dude… that was uncalled for…”
Duncan didn’t look at him.
He just turned, shoved his own bag onto the top bunk, hopped up with practiced ease, and stretched out like a king claiming land.
Right before dropping back against the pillow, he added:
“And sleep with one eye open.”
Then he shut one eye.
And kept the other on the room.
A high-pitched scream tore across the clearing like an alarm.
“BUG! BUG! HUGE BUG!”
The Killer Bass immediately turned toward the source — the Gophers’ girls’ cabin. Lindsay stood on a chair inside, shaking so hard the entire furniture piece wobbled.
“Somebody DO something!” she shrieked, pointing at the floor.
A giant cockroach — shiny, clicking, and unbothered — crawled casually across the wood boards like it owned the place.
DJ took one look at it and screamed louder than Lindsay.
He leapt onto the nearest bunk bed — the top bunk — and landed with such force that the entire thing collapsed in a spectacular wooden crunch.
Gwen stared at the wreck. “That was my bed.”
Chaos erupted.
Katie and Sadie shrieked in harmony.
Trent tried corralling them.
Bridgette attempted a sweep attack with her surfboard.
Harold karate-chopped the air uselessly.
Tyler dodged around pretending he was in an action movie but did nothing meaningful.
And through all of it, the roach just kept crawling.
Duncan pushed forward with a long, dramatic sigh.
“Move.”
He grabbed the axe propped near the doorway, lifted it once —
and brought it down cleanly.
CRUNCH.
The roach split in half. Silence fell.
Duncan wiped the blade on his pants like he did this every Tuesday.
Tyler immediately puffed his chest out.
“Oh yeah, no big deal, I could’ve done that too. Y’know. If I wanted.”
Lindsay, starry-eyed, sighed dramatically at Tyler. “You’re soooo brave.”
Duncan watched the exchange, rolled his eyes, and muttered,
“Figures. Blondes always go for the jocks.”
Cody, who had drifted closer during the chaos, glanced between Tyler, Lindsay, and the remains of the roach.
He blinked once.
Then tilted his head.
“Okay but… does she always go for the jocks,” he asked lightly, “or do the jocks always go for her?”
Duncan turned slowly toward him.
Cody blinked again. “Just curious.”
Duncan’s eyebrows twitched.
His mouth quirked.
Just a flicker — but definitely a smirk.
“I didn’t ask you, dweeb.”
With one rough, practiced motion, he reached out and shoved/rustled the top of Cody’s head — messing up his hair and knocking his balance just enough to make Cody flail a little.
Cody huffed and tried to fix his bangs.
“…Okay. Fair.”
Duncan smirked harder.
Then he rested the axe on his shoulder and walked off like the world’s most unimpressed exterminator.
The mess hall looked like a cafeteria built in a rush and abandoned immediately after.
High rafters, flickering lights, long wooden tables that wobbled if you breathed too close to them — and the unmistakable smell of wet mop mixed with canned beans.
The campers filed in cautiously.
Then Chef appeared.
Six-foot-something, shoulders like a tank, apron stained with substances that might have been food or crimes. He slammed a metal pot on the counter so hard the tables rattled.
“LISTEN UP!” he barked.
Every camper jumped.
Even Eva straightened.
“I’m Chef Hatchet,” he growled, pacing behind the counter like a drill sergeant preparing for war. “I cook three meals a day. You eat what I give you. You complain? You STARVE.”
Harold raised a shaky hand. “Um—what about sugar? I get hypoglycemic if—”
Chef’s head snapped toward him so fast Harold yelped.
“SIT. DOWN.”
Harold sat like someone hit a switch.
Beth raised her hand nervously. “W-Will we get all the major food groups—”
Chef slapped a ladle onto a plate. The slop it contained quivered like it wanted to escape.
“Here’s your major food groups: Take. It.”
He reached the front of the line and pointed at Cody with two fingers.
“You. Scrawny kid. Plate.”
Cody stepped forward, cheeks pink, holding out his tray. Chef dumped a spoonful of gray-green mush onto it. The mush immediately slid off, back onto Chef’s ladle.
Chef stared at it.
Then at Cody.
Then back at the mush.
“…Get outta my line,” he muttered.
Meanwhile, Lindsay examined her bowl with a pinched expression.
“My nutritionist said no dairy, no sugar, and no white flour—”
Chef slapped a fly dead with his bare hand.
Didn’t even blink.
Gwen, looking nauseated, muttered, “I think mine just moved…”
Chef raised his meat tenderizer and brought it down on her plate with a violent THUD.
Gwen quietly walked away.
The Killer Bass filled one of the long picnic-style tables, trays sliding across the worn wooden surface as everyone tried to settle into place. Duncan claimed the very end of the bench — back to the wall, eyes on the room, the only spot where he could see everyone coming.
Ezekiel dropped onto the bench directly across from him, slop already dripping off his spoon.
Cody sat two spots down on Ezekiel’s right, shoulders slightly hunched as he poked halfheartedly at his food.
The table’s chatter blended into messy background noise until Ezekiel leaned forward and spoke far too loud for the confined space.
“So, Duncan,” he began, pointing at him with a piece of mystery meat. “Back home, my dad always said guys who don’t care if they bunk next to girls or other guys are usually—”
Noah, across from the Gophers’ table, visibly froze mid-chew.
Bridgette slowly lowered her spoon.
Katie slapped Sadie’s arm in horror.
Ezekiel kept going, oblivious.
“—like, ya know… the kinda boys who ain’t right. Missing somethin’ upstairs. ’Cause a real man knows who he’s supposed to be with, ya know? Like, why wouldn’t you be weirded out by—”
Cody finally looked up.
His fork stilled.
His shoulders rose ever so slightly — tightening, bracing — like he could feel every word landing.
Then—
CRACK.
Duncan’s spoon hit the table so violently it echoed across the mess hall.
Ezekiel jolted.
Cody flinched.
Three campers instinctively ducked.
Duncan leaned forward, voice razor-thin.
“You wanna know if I’d bang a guy?”
Silence radiated outward like a blast wave.
Geoff mouthed no way.
Sadie gasped loud enough for Katie to echo her.
Gwen blinked once, slow.
Ezekiel stared. “W-What?”
“If he’s hot,” Duncan said, smirking like a wolf baring teeth,
“I’d bend him over in a heartbeat.”
Cody’s breath caught — the tiniest, startled inhale — and his face warmed as he stared down at his tray.
Not embarrassed for Duncan.
Not disgusted.
Just… shaken.
Uncertain.
And listening very, very hard.
Ezekiel sputtered, “But my dad said—”
Duncan pointed his spoon at him like a blade.
“You talk about who I look at, touch, or screw ever again,” he growled,
“and you better expect pain. The kind you don’t walk off. The kind you feel every time you breathe.”
Ezekiel’s mouth snapped shut so fast it clicked.
Stillness fell over that corner of the table.
Bridgette swallowed and whispered, “Holy crap…”
Tyler stared like he’d just witnessed a crime.
Noah muttered, “Well, damn.”
But Cody…
Cody exhaled.
Quiet.
Relieved.
Like he hadn’t realized how tense he’d been until that moment.
He glanced toward Duncan — hesitant, cautious — and Duncan met his eyes.
Just for a beat.
Long enough for Cody’s shoulders to settle.
Long enough for the tension to drain from his fingers.
Duncan scoffed, rolled his eyes hard, and muttered,
“Stupid prairie kid…”
But he didn’t look away from Cody until that relief was fully there.
Just long enough for Cody’s shoulders to settle…
and for Duncan to pretend that wasn’t why he did it.
The door to the main lodge slammed open with theatrical force.
Chris strolled in like he hadn’t nearly drowned them earlier.
“Campers!” he called out brightly, arms thrown wide. “Hope everyone’s enjoying their first delicious, homemade, nutritionally-questionable meal!”
Groans rippled through the room.
Geoff raised his hand. “Yo, man, any chance we could, like… order a pizza?”
Chef froze behind the counter.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
He reached out… grabbed a cleaver… and hurled it across the room.
THUNK.
It buried itself in the wall three inches from Geoff’s head.
The whole lodge went silent.
Geoff swallowed. “Okay. Never mind.”
Chris clapped once. “Great! Love the enthusiasm. Now listen up — your first challenge starts in one hour!”
A wave of chatter broke out across the tables.
Katie clasped her hands together, eyes huge. “Oh no, what if they make us do something scary? Or gross? Or like… something with bugs? Or like… big bugs?”
DJ tried to smile reassuringly — blindingly optimistic for someone who had crushed a bunk bed minutes earlier.
“Nah, Katie, c’mon. It’s the first one. They’re not gonna throw anything too hard at us right away. It’ll be something easy. Chill.”
Cut to:
The cliff.
The camera (and the campers) tilted upward.
And upward.
And upward.
A towering rock formation loomed above the lake, jagged and wind-blown, easily twelve stories high at least. The water below was dark and deep, waves slapping ominously against the rocks like they were hungry.
The campers lined up along the edge, staring down as the wind blasted their hair back.
DJ’s face drained of all color.
“Oh—OH, no,” he gasped, backing away from the edge. “Nope. No. No way. That ain’t safe. That ain’t normal. People don’t jump off of—THAT.”
Katie whimpered.
Sadie clung to her arm.
Bridgette whispered, “Dude… this is insane…”
Chris appeared behind them with his megawatt, lawsuit-inviting smile.
“Welcome,” he announced, “to your very first challenge: The Cliff Jump! It’s only partially fatal!”
DJ made a sound that could only be described as a dying goose.
The challenge had begun.