Page 19 of Alice Chen's Reality Check

Selena and Chase high-five, and I can see one of the cameras pointed at them, capturing this moment in real time.

Daniel raises his hand up for me to do the same, but I stare it down. Daniel lifts an eyebrow, and I raise an eyebrow back. Obliviously, Chase slaps Daniel’s hand for me.

“Never leave a bro hanging!” Chase says, and I try to calm the rising panic I feel at being in a “secret alliance” with my nemesis. I still can’t believe he’s here.

The voice of one of the producers cuts through the gentle roar of the surf and gets everyone’s attention.

“Everyone, Dawn Taylor’s on her way. Get your mic packs checked, and we’ll be filming the first scene to kick off the competition in ten minutes.”

Several more producers have arrived off the yacht and are now ushering us to the couches in the sand and taking drink orders. Chase and I sink into a plush loveseat while techs and makeup artists surround us to get the scene camera-ready.

A few minutes later, the production assistant comes around with a tray full of colorful, tropical drinks, offering them to each of the contestants. When she reaches us, Chase grabs his trademark whiskey sour. I scan the tray for the water I requested.

“This is for you,” the PA prompts me, pointing to a hurricane glass with a pineapple wedge in it.

I shake my head. “I asked for water.”

“Sorry about that,” she says, frowning. “They must’ve missed your order. Do you mind just taking this one?”

She’s already pushing the drink into my hand. I really don’t want to cause trouble, but I have to say it. “I wasn’t really planning on drinking alcohol. Is there somewhere I can go to just grab a water bottle? You don’t have to get it for me.” I incline my head toward the row of off-white canvas tents that have been set up down the beach. Surely one contains water.

“No, the cast can’t leave their marks right now. Filming’s about to start. But don’t worry. I’ll tell someone to come around with water bottles,” the PA promises. She practically dumps the glass into my hand and moves on to the next couple.

Chase takes a sip of my drink and grins. “Try it, babe, it’s like a little tropical party in a glass.”

I sigh and look at the drink in my hands. The glass is cool against my fingers, and I’m so far beyond dehydrated, it’s not even funny.

But there are three very good reasons why I shouldn’t drink it.

One: Anytime I drink more than a half glass of wine, I flush bright red. Not the best camera look.

Two: I’m a complete lightweight. Chase could easily drink two or three of these and still be perfectly normal. One drink and I’m tipsy. Two, and I’m practically falling over.

Three: I talk. More than I should. More than I usually do. All of the thoughts that normally crash around in my head are suddenly allowed to escape. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that people usually prefer that I keep these thoughts bottled up.

But it’ssohot, and surely one sip won’t hurt.

I take that sip, and oh, wow. It’s delicious, fruity and light with hints of guava and pomegranate, and it’s the perfect relief as we all bake under the sweltering heat of the tropical sun. I take another sip, a bigger one. It can’t betooalcoholic if it tastes like this, right? It must be mostly fruit juice.

“Here we go,” Chase says, clinking his glass against mine and gesturing to Peter Dixon, who is striding to the center of the group.

“Now that we’re all refreshed and the drinks are flowing, it’s time we met our amazing, talented host, Dawn Taylor. And when she comes out here, I’m going to need all of you to scream like it’s 2023 and you just got tickets to the Eras tour. Ready? Three…two…one…Here she is, ladies and gentlemen, Dawn Taylor!”

Everyone goes wild as Dawn Taylor emerges from one of the production tents and joins Peter Dixon.

Everything about her defies reality—blond hair styled in an artfully loose braid, every strand perfectly in place despite the heat and the humidity, a shimmery white pencil skirt and hot-pink blazer without a single wrinkle, and not a single bead of sweat marring her perfect smoky-eye makeup.

I can’t even imagine how hard her hair and makeup team must be working to keep her in such pristine condition.

“Aw, you guuuuuys. You’re making me blush.” Dawn Taylor flips her braid and winks. “Now you all know who I am, and if you don’t, then you’d better get off my island!” She laughs, and we all laugh with her. “Babes, I’m Dawn Taylor, and I’m here to put you through hell.”

She’s talking straight at the cameras now, but everything about her posture, the way she moves, and the tone of her voice feels like she’s talking to a girlfriend at brunch.

“What’s at stake? One. Million. Dollars. If you lovebirds survive the flames of my inferno and stay together, you’ll win a cash prize, an all-expenses-paid vacation to the Bahamas, and a sponsorship by Mega Glam Cosmetics. If you flame out or break up, you’ll be sent into exile in the wastelands. And babes, there’s no catering there. Are you all ready to play?”

On cue, we all cheer and clap. Chase lets out a whoop.

“You’ve already passed the first test: your leap of faith into the ocean!” Dawn Taylor pivots to face another camera. “But before we can truly begin our descent into hell, our daring couples must escape Limbo. And to do that, they’ll need tolimbo!” Dawn Taylor does a shimmy. “And they won’t just have to limbo. They’ll have to limbo while tied together in a three-legged race. It’s the ultimate test of teamwork, communication, andflexibility.”

---