Page 53 of Wild About You

The dark clouds gathering over our campsite tonight are a little too on the nose, if you ask me.

I wouldn’t ask me much right now, though, as I can feel myself being an absolute witch to everyone who tries to engage in conversation. Especially Finn.

“Want seconds of anything?” he asks as he stands from his camp chair beside mine, on the outskirts of the group gathered around the fire. “I’m going back for more mac and cheese.”

I have half a mind to ask him to bring the whole pan of it over here, but I know that’s just the side of me that likes to eat my feelings, so I shake my head no. He gives me that lost puppy look he’s perfected lately, but heads off toward the food table without another word.

He’s been so extra nice to me ever since we almost lost the challenge today, offering to carry my pack, doing all the tent setup himself, helping bandage my gross, bloody hands and knee, now trying to shove food at me in penance. But what he hasn’t done is apologize for anything he said. So I’ve given him nothing in return.

Though I do have this thought, like an itch at the back of my brain I can’t scratch, that he wasn’t really in the wrong to get a little impatient. I would be, if I had to deal with me as a partner. Someone who is her own biggest obstacle, getting in her own way time and time again. Have I been kidding myself, thinking I was ever a good teammate? Was today just the culmination of weeks of Finn wanting to tell me to get my ass in gear, try harder, do better? Can I blame him so much if it was?

Everyone must realize that I was not made for a show like Wild Adventures. I am as indoorsy as they come. Shit, I’d have been better off going on Good Chef/Bad Chef or something, and I scarcely know how to boil a pot of water. There have been moments when I believed I was getting the hang of things, or that my random knowledge based on romance novels and horse farm life have come in handy. But did I actually think I had a chance of winning the whole thing, back when I signed up for all this? Was I thinking at all?

These are the questions that consume me on a loop, as everyone else goes on eating, talking, and laughing together. Others include “How much money could I be making if I’d kept my job at Body Wonderland, stayed in Boston, and went up to full-time hours for the summer?” and “How much will I be able to make if I go back there and start working, say, next week?” and even “Which benevolent talk show host should I write a letter to, asking if they want to sponsor my college career?”

This brainstorming feels a little more productive than the complete self-loathing I want to sink into like a too-hot bath that’ll turn my skin all red. But it also feels as pointless as the rest of this, as paralyzed by my own incompetence and hopelessness as I’m feeling right now.

“How we feeling tonight, everybody?” booms a voice I didn’t expect to hear again today. We all turn to see Burke Forrester approaching, backlit by the setting sun, a camera close at his side. What the…?

There are confused murmurs of “Good,” “Great,” “How are you?” in return, and Burke gives a small, fake chuckle. “Glad to hear it! But I bet you’re all wondering why I’m here.”

More murmurs of agreement with that.

“I’ve come with a surprise for you all—a little something to help the morale around here as our competition heats up and you’re all feeling the pressure. Any guesses what it is?”

A dozen ridiculous guesses float through my mind. Look under your camp chairs! You get a tent-sized memory-foam mattress! You get a new car that you can drive to our next checkpoint! Meena and Cammie won lifetime entrance passes to the national parks system as their challenge prize today, plus a camping hammock from some luxury outdoors brand that advertises with Wild Adventures. More merch from them, maybe?

Instead, Burke pulls from his backpack a single, large tablet. What, are we all supposed to share it?

“Everybody come closer,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. We do as we’re told, some pulling chairs around him in a semicircle while others stand behind us. Finn stands directly behind my chair, brushing my shoulder with his hand, only for a second but it still makes me shiver.

I’m not really staying mad at him, am I?

Satisfied with the setup, Burke turns the tablet toward himself, tapping around a few times. When he turns it back to face us, a middle-aged white woman fills the screen. A couple seats away from me, Enemi gasps, a hand flying to her mouth and her eyes instantly shining.

“Hi, Alli girl,” the woman says with a smile like her daughter’s, if the latter had more soul behind it. “It’s Mom!”

Even through tears, Enemi manages to sound like textbook Bitchy Teenager when she says, “God, Mom, obviously I know it’s you. What are you—how is this—what’s going on?”

Her mom has an infectious laugh that even makes me smile. “I just wanted to give you a little pep talk, let you know that you’ve got this! I’m sure you’re doing amazing, sweetie, and I can’t wait to watch you shine.”

More sniffles from the blond bully’s corner. If we keep this up for very long, it’s going to make my grudge harder to hold. “Thanks, Mommy,” she manages.

“You make me so proud every day, so keep going out there and kicking butt, okay? I’ll see you when you get home, but don’t hurry back. Love you, sugar monkey!”

Sugar monkey? I think I tamp down my incredulous expression before I look over at Enemi again. She doesn’t seem embarrassed in the least as she and her mom exchange goodbyes and tears pour down her cheeks. Who knew she could produce such a human substance? I have to look away, lest my icy heart thaw.

Burke taps around to pull up another video call, this one featuring an older Black man who we soon learn is Cammie’s grandpa. It goes on, each call from home somehow sweeter and more moving than the last. Maybe it’s partly the period hormones, but I’m having a hell of a time keeping my eyes dry.

Then a pretty white woman with long, gray-streaked brown hair appears on screen. I wouldn’t recognize her off the bat, but the girl next to her is a dead ringer for a younger Finn, if Finn had a pixie cut and his deep brown eyes were naturally smilier. My heart gives a squeeze, and almost without my willing it, my hand reaches up over my shoulder and clasps his. He holds on so tight, it hurts my rope burn, so I shift my grip to be more comfortable. I can feel him shaking, and know if I was to look his way, I’d lose it before his family members said a word. So I keep my eyes on them.

“Hey there, Finny! How is our favorite guy?” his mom says, already swiping a tear away.

“Hi, Mom,” he says, not trying to hide the emotion in his voice. “Hey, Frannie. I’m good, how are you guys?”

“We miss you!” Frannie chirps.

“We do, but we’re so happy for you, bud,” his mom interjects. “We just hope you’re having the best time on this—well, for lack of a better word, adventure. We are prouder than you know, sweetheart, and I know without a doubt that your dad would be, too.”

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