The Legend of Total Drama Island

A TDI reimagining from the author of Legacy. Rated PG-13 for mature subject matter, adult situations, suggestive dialogue and mild profanity.

Announcements
Due to the amount of work I still have to do on this story, I have (somewhat) broken with my policy of not posting chapters until the story is finished. Interested readers can find more details on the launch announcement blog post.

I previewed scenes on my blog page every couple of months whilst the story was in development. For a complete listing of these previews, see the talk page. As previously noted, any details in the preview scenes are subject to change until the scene appears in a finished chapter.

The Fifth Night chapter is scheduled for posting on Saturday, 28 April.

Previous updates:


 * 3 September 2011: Official launch. First Night posted.
 * 4 September: Set up the Guessing Games on the talk page
 * 11 September: added picture & footnote for Cody's self-image
 * 29 October: Second Night posted
 * 20 December: added theme song videos (Appendix B) for Courtney, Ezekiel and Owen
 * 30 December: Third Night posted
 * 2 January 2012: added theme song videos for Harold and Katie/Sadie
 * 26 February: Fourth Night posted
 * 25 March: Won five Wiki Awards, including Best Reimagining, out of eight nominated categories
 * 31 March: Added theme song videos for Bridgette and Geoff

.

Dramatis Personae
Characters will be added to this section as they appear.

Staff

In order of appearance


 * Chris McLean: the host
 * Chef Hatchet: Chris' aide
 * Alejandro: an intern

Contestants

Alphabetically by team


 * The Screaming Eagles


 * Cody: the science geek
 * Gwen: the Goth
 * Heather: the queen bee. Also called "the dragon girl", and additional terms in later chapters
 * Justin: The Embodiment of Manly Beauty. Also called "The Incredible Hunk"
 * Katie: the strong BFF. Also called "the Thin Twin"
 * LeShawna: the homegirl. Also called "the dusky daughter" in reference to her skin tone
 * Lindsay: the brainless blonde beauty. Also called "the uberbimbo"
 * Noah: the bookworm
 * Owen: the huge fat guy. Also called "the man-mountain", "the gregarious gargantua", etc.
 * Sadie: the smart BFF. Also called "the butterball" (originally on the Muskies, switched during the first challenge)
 * 2012 Wiki Award winner for Best Competition Story Portrayal of a Canon Character


 * Trent: the guitar player. Also called "the axboy"


 * The Killer Muskies


 * Beth: the nerdy farm girl (originally on the Eagles, switched during the first challenge)
 * Bridgette: the surfer girl
 * Courtney: the Type A Renaissance girl (essentially a Mary Sue without the perfection)
 * D.J.: the kind-hearted brickhouse. Also called "the gentle giant"
 * Duncan: the juvenile delinquent. Also called "the Juvenile Hall alumnus"
 * Eva: the sullen she-hulk. Also called "the musclegirl"
 * Ezekiel: the home schooled boy. Also called "the farm boy" or "the prairie boy"
 * Geoff: the party king. Also called "the urban cowboy"
 * Harold: the walking encyclopedia. Also called "the beanpole"
 * Izzy: the fireball. Also called "the manic redhead", and additional terms in later chapters
 * Tyler: the unskilled jock. Also called "Red Jock"

Other

In order of appearance


 * Brett: a future camper, selected to compete in the first season of Total Drama Island: the Next Generation. He is near his 16th birthday when the story begins.
 * The Storyteller: Brett's mother, 33 years old, a former camper, competed in the first season of Total Drama Island
 * Sunshine: Izzy's (presumably) imaginary friend

.

Prologue
Brett was playing a video game when his mother came home from work. Normally, they would have greeted each other simply; but today, Brett had news

“Guess what, mom?” he began excitedly. “I got accepted to that reality TV show I auditioned for!”

“Good for you!” his mother replied as cheerfully as she might. In truth, she had some reservations about what her son might be getting himself into, but she didn’t want to seem a wet blanket. After all, she had once been young.

“So,” she prompted, “Have they told you anything more about the show?” When Brett had made his audition tape, three months before, the producers had revealed only that the show would be some type of elimination game, it would be produced the following summer, and only high school sophomores were eligible to apply. The producers hadn’t even revealed what the show would be called.

“Not much,” Brett admitted. “The acceptance letter did say that the show will be called ‘Total Drama Island: the Next Generation’—”

His mother cocked her head at that name, but Brett did not notice.

“—and that the host will be some chick named Christin McLean,” Brett added.

“Christin McLean,” his mother repeated with a thoughtful look. “I wonder if she’s any relation to Chris McLean.”

“The letter mentioned that Chris McLean is Christin McLean’s uncle, and that he was the original host. I guess that’s where the ‘Next Generation’ part comes from.”

Brett’s mother nodded absently. She had heard that Total Drama Island was being revived after a seven-year run and a ten-year hiatus, but there were so many elimination game shows out there that she hadn’t made the connection to Brett’s audition.

“Lord, deliver us from the Chris McLeans of the world,” she intoned in mock prayer. Noticing her son’s quizzical expression, she explained, “He was so sadistic, you have no idea. It did boost ratings, though, I’ll give him that.”

“You watched the original?” Brett asked, noticing his mother’s apparent familiarity with the show.

“I didn’t just watch it,” she corrected, “I was there. In the very first season, when no one knew what to expect.”

“Coolio,” Brett exclaimed slowly. Recovering from his surprise, he asked, “Did you win?”

“No,” she admitted. “I did pretty well, but I didn’t win.”

“What was it like?” Brett asked. He was more than normally curious, for he saw that he now had an unlooked-for chance to gain an advantage on his future rivals. He doubted that any of the other contestants would have personal access to someone with first-hand knowledge of what they were likely to encounter.

“It’s a long story,” his mother warned. “A lot longer than I can tell you in one night.”

“Tell me,” Brett pleaded. “Tell me everything!”

Brett hadn’t been this excited to hear his mother tell stories since he was a toddler. It wasn’t just that he stood to gain a competitive advantage on the show, either. The other—the greater—reason was that, although mother and son had always been close, this was an aspect of her past that she had never told him about, nor even mentioned in his presence. Brett was not going to let her wriggle out of this.

As it turned out, his mother had no intention of wriggling out of it. True, she had never told her son about her experience at Camp Wawanakwa, but now the time seemed right.

“Go do your homework,” she told him, “and I’ll start after dinner.”

After they had dined and Brett had finished his homework, he reminded his mother of her promise. Brett sat in his favorite chair, and his mother sat on the sofa. She took a few moments to collect her thoughts, and then she began to speak.

.

First Night

 * It is my desire, it is my wish
 * To set out to sing, to begin to recite,
 * To let a song of our clan glide on, to sing a family lay.
 * The words are melting in my mouth, utterances dropping out,
 * Coming to my tongue, being scattered about on my teeth.
 * Beloved friend, my boon companion, my fair boyhood comrade,
 * Start now to sing with me, begin to recite together
 * Now that we have come together, have come from two directions.
 * Seldom do we come together, meet one another
 * On these wretched marches, these poor northern parts.
 * Let us clasp hand in hand, fingers in fingers,
 * So that we may sing fine things, give voice to the best things
 * For those dear ones to hear, for those desiring to know them
 * Among the rising younger generation, among the people which is growing up,
 * Those songs got about, those lays inspired by
 * Old Chris McLean’s false tongue, the depths of Eva’s fury,
 * The point of the knife of Chef Hatchet, a man with a far-roving mind, the range of Duncan’s bow,
 * The remote corners of Wawanakwa’s fields, the heaths of the Muskoka District.
 * These my father formerly sang while carving an ax handle,
 * These my mother taught me while turning her spindle,
 * Me a child rolling on the floor in front of her knee,
 * Miserable milkbeard, little clabbermouth.
 * There was no lack of songs in the Dock of Shame, nor did Heather lack magic charms.
 * In the songs the bonfire grew old, in the charms Lindsay disappeared,
 * In the lays Cody died, Bridgette in her frolics.
 * There are still other songs, magic words learned of,
 * Plucked from the wayside, broken off from the heather,
 * Torn from thickets, dragged from saplings,
 * Rubbed off the top of hay, ripped from lanes
 * When I was going about as a herdsman, as a child in cow pastures,
 * On honeyed hillocks, on lovely knolls,
 * Following dusky Blackie, going along with spotted Frisky.
 * The cold recited me a lay, the rain kept bringing me songs.
 * The winds brought another song, the waves of the sea drove some to me.
 * The birds added songs, the treetops magic sayings.
 * These I wound up in a ball, arranged in a clew.
 * I thrust the ball into my sled, the clew into my sleigh;
 * I pulled it home on my sled, on my sleigh to the threshing barn,
 * Put it up in the storehouse loft in a round copper box.
 * For a long time my lays have been in the cold, housed in darkness.
 * Shall I pull the lays out of the cold, draw the songs out of the frost,
 * Bring my box into the house to the end of the long bench
 * Under the fine ridgepole, under the lovely roof?
 * Shall I open my chest of words, unlock my song box,
 * Clip the end off the ball, undo the knot in the clew?
 * Thus I will sing a really fine lay, intone a beautiful one
 * Out of rye bread, barley beer.
 * If no one happens to bring any beer, serves no table beer,
 * I will sing from a leaner mouth, intone on water
 * To gladden this evening of ours, to honor this memorable day
 * Or to delight the morrow, to begin a new morn.
 * I will sing from a leaner mouth, intone on water
 * To gladden this evening of ours, to honor this memorable day
 * Or to delight the morrow, to begin a new morn.

The Tale of the Gathering
Original tltle: The Not So Great Outdoors (or Not So Happy Campers), Part I

In the Muskoka district of northern Ontario, about a three-hour drive and a twenty-minute boat ride from Toronto, there is a summer camp called Camp Wawanakwa. This camp served the youth of Ontario for a generation, but eventually fell into disuse as population patterns shifted and better-equipped and better-located competitors emerged.

In The Year of Our Lord Two Thousand Six, a television studio scouting locations for a new reality show rediscovered the camp. Its location, on an island in a large lake, was of particular interest to the show’s producers, who wanted to limit the cast’s contact with the outside world. So it was that Camp Wawanakwa echoed with the sounds of human activity for the first time in 14 years, as a team of laborers cleared away undergrowth and refurbished the derelict camp to make it at least marginally fit for human habitation.

The next year, on a warm day in late spring, a camera crew and its subject stood on the camp’s decaying dock. The crew was focused on a dark-haired man of thirty-odd years. His longish hair had a windswept look, his face sported perpetual three-day stubble, and he was dressed in a grunge style. This was Chris McLean, an actor who was then at the height of his fame and who is still well known today.

Speaking to the camera, McLean addressed his future audience directly, speaking grandly about “the hottest new reality show” and identifying himself as the host. He briefly described the nature and structure of the show (an elimination game, although he never explicitly said so) and revealed that the winner would receive, in his words, “a small fortune which, let’s face it, they’ll probably blow in a week.” That was certainly a good bet, for the game’s grand prize was $100,000—a nice chunk of change, but not enough to change a person’s lifestyle, especially after taxes. Indeed, a dollar isn’t what it used to be; and even then, even a million pretax dollars, which was the grand prize in later seasons, wouldn’t have supported more than a lower-middle class lifestyle if you wanted the money to last a lifetime. No, most of the contestants weren’t in it for the money. They were in it because they wanted to be famous. Indeed, the show’s theme song was a vocal titled, “I Want To Be Famous”.

A well-appointed yacht approached the dock as the host completed his introduction with the confession that the contestants were about to discover that they had been deceived. These 22 teenagers, fresh out of their sophomore year of high school, had been led to believe that they were the finalists in a talent competition to be held at a five-star resort. They were not expecting to be living in a dilapidated summer camp for the next 11 weeks, nor did they have any inkling that the competition itself would actually be an elimination game. “So if some of them seem a little pissed off,” McLean confided to the camera, “that’s probably why.”

The boat docked, and the first contestant answered the muster call. This was Beth, a short, pear-shaped girl with a strange fashion sense. She wore her shoulder-length, light brown hair in a high ponytail—more like a pony leg, really, for it jutted from the side of her head instead of from the back. She wore an oversized, green and gold shirt festooned with a variety of pin-on buttons, and pale pink slacks.

From head to toe, Beth’s appearance signaled “nerdette” —mousy and plain, but not truly ugly. Emphasizing Beth’s nerdiness were her Coke-bottle glasses and railroad-track braces, her family apparently being unable to afford modern orthodontia. Beth would later reveal that she grew up on a farm, which explained her family’s limited means.

Beth’s manner was as awkward as her body. When McLean welcomed her to the island, the first words out of her mouth were, “Wow, you’re much shorter in real life.” Beth’s observation was true enough, but it demonstrated that she had much to learn about tact.

In conjunction with Beth, the next arrival served to illustrate the physical extremes of humanity. Whereas Beth was short, fair and dumpy, Devon (or “D.J.”, as he preferred to be called) was tall, dark and muscular, with a close-cropped beard of a thickness unusual in a boy so young. Muscular, in his case, did not mean muscle-bound, for he moved with the grace of a cat. D.J.’s size and ripped physique gave him an intimidating appearance glaringly at odds with his shy smile, soft voice and gentle manner. He wore a white skullcap over hair that was as short as his beard, but was otherwise dressed simply and unremarkably.

“Chris Mclean! It’s an honor to meet you,” the starstruck brickhouse said when he reached the host’s position.

“D.J.!” Chris replied as he fist bumped the huge lad. “Welcome to the show.”

Noticing the ramshackle buildings beyond the dock, D.J. asked uncertainly, “This is it?”

“You got it,” Chris replied.

“It sure looked a lot different in the recruiting brochures,” D.J. said, fishing for an explanation.

“Yes, it did,” the host replied unhelpfully.

“Whatever,” the gentle giant replied said, shrugging his shoulders as he continued down the dock. He was tempted to complain, but his momma had taught him not to talk back to his elders.

The next girl off the boat was a softcore Goth. Her short hair was dyed pitch-black and highlighted in teal, although her highlights tended to look green on camera. Her dark, cool-colors outfit consisted of a sleeved corset top that arranged her modest chest to its best advantage; a short skirt with a patchwork look; forest-green hose; and black, knee-high platform boots. Her pasty complexion was not the artificial, chalky white of a hardcore Goth, but the natural pallor of fair skin that rarely feels the sun.

Unlike Beth and D.J., Gwen carried no luggage. The contestants had been given that option, for some had brought more than they could carry in a single trip, and anything they didn’t bring off the boat in their disembarking shots would be offloaded later. The decision of which luggage, if any, the teens carried off the boat themselves would therefore depend on how they wanted to look to the viewing audience.

“Our Goth girl, Gwen!” Chris cheerily announced to the camera.

Gwen, surveying the ramshackle structures beyond the dock, could not believe her eyes. This place did not even faintly resemble the resort where she was expecting the contest to be held. “We’re going to be living in a summer camp?” she asked incredulously.

“No, you’re going to be living in a summer camp, McLean corrected. “I’ll be living in that tricked-out trailer over there,” he added, casually motioning to the accommodations in question.

Gwen did not have a sunny disposition under the best conditions, and this unpleasant surprise did not improve her mood. She knew how to be tactful, but was not now inclined to make use of that knowledge, so she came right to the point.

“I did not sign up for this,” she declared.

“Actually, you did,” Chris corrected again, as some intern of little note nor long remembered handed him what was presumably the standard contestant’s contract. Thanks to the magic of postproduction editing, the finished episode would make it look like the host had casually pulled the document out of his back pocket.

McLean opened the contract at a bookmark. Clearly, he had been expecting someone to react as Gwen had.

“Here it is,” the host pronounced rhetorically. Turning the page to Gwen, he asked theatrically, “Would you be good enough to read this bit for the camera?”

With the air of one calling a bluff, Gwen read aloud the clause Chris had indicated. The Goth smugly read the name of the resort where she had expected the competition to be held, but her heart skipped a beat when she came to the damning caveat:

“…or such alternate venue as the Producer may designate.”

Gwen’s first impulse was to flip to the back page, to see if it had been signed in blood. Her second impulse was to tear up the contract before Chris’ eyes. That would be futile, she knew, since this cruel document was surely just a copy. Still, the host seemed to be enjoying Gwen’s discomfiture far too much, so she decided to get what enjoyment she could, as well. She snatched the contract from Chris’ hands and tore it up. It wasn’t easy, given that the contract was a substantial stack of paper, but Gwen managed it by imagining that she was actually rending McLean’s head from his body. She gave the host an evil smile as she did this, hoping to give him a hint of what she was actually visualizing.

Chris was not impressed. Receiving another copy of the contract from the same nameless intern (McLean having apparently expected someone to commit contractricide) the host flourished the undead document again.

“I am not staying here,” Gwen declared, turning back to the boat. The boat, however, had already left the dock, and was even now receding in the distance.

“Fine,” replied the unperturbed host. “But assuming you can swim all the way back, you do realize that there are some pretty heavy financial penalties if you back out now. Do you think your single mother can afford a long and costly legal battle which we will win?”

That hurt. Gwen’s mother was, indeed, raising two children alone. She was able to make ends meet, but little more; and part of Gwen’s motivation for this competition was to ease her mother’s burdens, most notably by being able to pay for her own college education. For anything Gwen knew to the contrary, the threatened litigation could have them all living under a bridge.

Defeated, the Goth trudged sullenly down the dock to where the other contestants stood. “Steaming little pile of crap,” she muttered.

Beth cocked her head. “Did you just say the camp was a ‘steaming little pile of crap’?” the farm girl asked innocently.

“No,” Gwen replied acidly, “the camp is a big steaming pile of crap.”

The boat came about and returned to the dock. The finished episode would suggest that the boat was shuttling between the mainland and the island, fetching the contestants one by one, but that would have been grossly inefficient. The truth was that, when the boat docked for the first time, all 22 contestants were on board, under virtual lockdown so they wouldn’t even see each other or the camp before disembarking. The boat would dock, deposit a contestant, steam away from the island for a few hundred meters, come about, head back to the island, and repeat the process. The only reason the boat left the dock at all after discharging its first passenger was so the finished episode could include a few shots of one contestant or another standing on the prow as the boat approached. The contestants chosen for this role were those who, based on their personality profiles, seemed the least likely to react negatively to the revelation that they would be staying at a dilapidated summer camp rather than a fancy resort.

The fourth contestant to arrive was a faux cowboy type who had probably never spent a day in the presence of livestock in his life. He wore sandals, jeans, a pink silk button-down shirt, and a ten-gallon hat. His shirt was completely unbuttoned, the better to show off his washboard abs. He would later reveal that he played football at his school, which explained his ripped physique, as weight training is par for the course in most football programs.

“And here’s our party king, Geoff!” Chris pronounced as the “cowboy” reached him.

“It’s great to be here, man!” Geoff exclaimed in turn.

“It’s great to have you here, man!”

“I’m totally psyched for this contest, man!”

Chris and Geoff continued in this manner for far too long, ending every single sentence with the word, “man”. They eventually tired of trying to out-“man” each other, and Geoff ambled down the dock to where the other contestants stood.

The boat docked again and a tall, model-thin, drop-dead gorgeous girl stepped ashore with regal bearing. Her straight, waist-length hair was unbound, and as black and glossy as jet. She wore a stylish maroon top that was little more than a sports bra, barely legal shorts, and open-toed, spike heel shoes. This was clearly a girl who could turn heads and enjoyed doing so.

Dramatically removing her sunglasses, the new arrival took in her surroundings. She appeared to be of mixed blood, with Asian features but pale skin, the vast majority of which was on display.

This “dragon lady” made no attempt to hide her displeasure. She stormed up to the host; and when she spoke, it was clear that she was used to getting her way, and that she was used to having others do her bidding.

“Welcome to the island, Heather,” McLean said with the bland smile that the contestants would get thoroughly sick of over the next 11 weeks.

“You cannot make me stay here,” Heather snapped as she stalked past. “I’m calling my parents.”

“Calling them with what?” the host asked with false pleasantness. “Have you forgotten that you will have no contact with the outside world?”

Heather did not turn back to face McLean, but she stiffened for a moment before her shoulders slumped in defeat. The host was right. Even if she still had the cell phone and other modern communications gadgets that she had been forced to surrender before boarding the boat, and even if the camp’s location didn’t turn out to be too remote for said devices to work, Heather wouldn’t have put it past the apparently unscrupulous producers to have a jammer or an “evil twin” going.

At least we’ll still be on camera, Heather told herself, noting the camera crews scattered about the dock area. That meant that the opportunity to become a celebrity—the main reason why she and most of the others had signed up for the show—was still intact. Somewhat mollified, the teen queen resumed her haughty bearing and glided along the dock to where the other contestants stood.

The boat next deposited a punk type with a wiry build. He wore a black T-shirt, emblazoned with a large skull design, over a long sleeved yellow undershirt. (Those long sleeves were there for a very good reason, which would be revealed soon enough.) His dark hair was styled in a green fauxhawk, and his face was heavily pierced. His skin was not pale, and this detail revealed him as a punk, as opposed to another Goth.

Duncan, for that was the boy’s name, was even more abrupt than Heather had been. “I don’t like surprises,” he told Chris, ominously pounding his fist into his open palm.

Chris’s smile lost none of its wattage. “Yeah, your parole officer told me that,” he acknowledged amiably. “And if you go around beating people up, or even threatening to, that’s a parole violation, right? And with your every move being recorded on camera, it’s not like there would be a lack of evidence, would there?” The host’s smile hadn’t changed one iota.

Duncan had been in enough fights to know when he was overmatched. Mustering a wry smile, he replied, “Okay, then.”

Duncan sauntered down the dock to where the other contestants stood, and sidled up to Heather. “Meet you by the campfire, gorgeous?” he suggested with a leer.

“You’re kidding, right?” Heather sniffed. “Try Weird Goth Girl, ‘cause you’re not getting any from me. Got it, Ugly Thugling?”

With a smirk and a voice dripping sarcasm, Duncan replied, “Wow, what a winning personality! Has anyone ever told you that you’re as beautiful on the inside as on the outside?”

“Get bent,” Heather snapped.

“I think that’s your role. We don’t have the right, er, ‘equipment’ to do it the other way around,” Duncan suggested, with another leer that left little doubt as to what he proposed to do if Heather were indeed to “get bent”. Duncan wasn’t normally quite so crude toward girls, but he had decided that he didn’t really like Heather, her hotness notwithstanding, and he wasn’t willing to let her have the last word in any case.

“Can you possibly get any more vile?” Heather sneered.

“Hey, toots, if that’s what turns you on, I can get as vile as you want.”

Heather did not deign to reply, turning back to face the arrival point and studiously ignoring the juvenile delinquent. Her wordplay on “ugly duckling”, though, had been more apt than she knew; for the day would come when Duncan would show himself to be more than just piercings and attitude, but that is another story for another time.

The boat approached the dock again, and the girl who now stood at the prow was obviously a surfing enthusiast. Tall and willowy, she was pretty in a “girl next door” sort of way. She wore her long, naturally blonde hair in a low ponytail that was more functional than fashionable; and she wore no makeup, for she held the view that all beauty is best the way Nature made it. She was dressed simply, with a sky-blue hoodie, jorts and sandals, and she carried a red and gold surfboard.

“Glad you could make it, Bridgette,” Chris said when the new arrival reached him.

“Great to be here,” Bridgette replied with a friendly smile. That smile faded, though, as she glanced around. “I thought we were going to be on a beach,” she said uncertainly.

“You are,” Chris pointed out, for the island did indeed have a beach of sorts—two or three meters of sand between lake and greensward. The beach was littered with detritus, some natural, some not.

“I mean a surfing beach,” Bridgette explained.

“Sorry, can’t help you there,” Chris replied, his bland smile suggesting that his inability to help didn’t really bother him. “I don’t recall the brochure ever mentioning surfing”.

“Oh, well,” the surfer girl said, sighing at this disappointment, “If I can’t surf, I guess I’ll just swim.”

“That’s the spirit,” Chris said.

As Bridgette hoisted her surfboard over her shoulder, the end of the board brushed against the side of Chris’ head, and he reacted as if he’d received an electric shock.

“Gaah!” he cried, flinching in fear, his hand at his temple. “Watch the hair, dudette!”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Bridgette cried, as she reached out to smooth the tiny perturbation in Chris’ otherwise perfectly groomed hair. As she did so, she unwittingly swung her surfboard round and smacked the host painfully on the elbow.

“Darn it, that hurt!” Chris complained, sounding more like a seven-year-old than a grown man. Shooing Bridgette down the dock with hand gestures, he added petulantly, “Just go stand with the others and look pretty. And try not to hurt anyone else.”

As the chastened surfer girl moved to join the other contestants, Chris rubbed his injured elbow and grumbled, “I don’t get why they call it a ‘funny bone’. That was not funny.”

The boat docked yet again, and a beanpole who probably didn’t weight 50 kilos stepped forth. He, like D.J. before him, was dressed simply and unremarkably; and like Beth before him, he wore eyeglasses with thick lenses. Below his lip were a few wisps of hair that were presumably meant to be a soul patch; and upon his head, that great storehouse of useless trivia, was a crop of brick-red hair, for such records as are known hold that his line originated in the Orkney Islands, off the coast of Scotland.

This was Harold, son of Alan, who had taught his son well in wilderness lore, son of Gavin, son of Douglas, who was the first of his line to make his home in the New World, son of Lindsay, who found his fate on the banks of the Marne in the early days of the Great War, son of Bruce, son of Stuart, speaker of laws, son of Neil, son of Donald, who fought under Lord Nelson at Trafalgar, son of Kenneth, son of Malcolm, son of Scott, skilled in the ways of the sea, son of Wallace, son of Colin, who was well-versed in ancient lore.

“I thought this was supposed to be a talent contest,” Harold said uncertainly, with an asthmatic wheeze.

“I’m sure you did,” Chris agreed.

“So why are we at a crummy old summer camp?”

“Because you’re actually going to be doing summer camp-y stuff.”

“Excellent!” Harold cried, pumping his fist. “Prepare to gape in awe at my mad wilderness skills!”

“Whatever, Harold,” Chris said as Harold the Skinny sauntered down the dock.

The next contestant was, to make no bones about it, gigantic. He dwarfed all who had come before, except for D.J., and that dusky brickhouse was comparable only in height. Not only was this boy two meters tall if he was a centimeter, but he was also grossly fat, tipping the scales at a good 180 kilos. He was dressed simply, in shorts, sneakers, and what looked like a faux team shirt of some kind. He had a scraggly little mop of unkempt blond hair.

Owen, as this giant’s parents had christened him, had an uninhibited personality, to put it mildly. Picking Chris up like a rag doll, Owen cradled the host to his bosom and loudly proclaimed, “This is great”, “I’m so psyched to be here!” and many other exclamations of like kind. When it became apparent that Owen was likely to exult in this vein indefinitely, Chris pointedly asked the gregarious goliath to take his place with the others so that the contestant introductions could continue.

Attack of the Clones
The boat docked again and decanted, not the expected contestant, but two contestants. One was as skinny as a rail, with black hair and bronze skin, although whether her skin tone came from ancestry or lifestyle was not immediately clear. The other new arrival was shorter, very fat (albeit not as fat as Owen) and very fair. Her hair was dyed black and styled in the same high pigtails as her companion, for companions they clearly were.

These Bobbsey Twins wore matching outfits, with pink shorts almost as skimpy as Heather’s and black and white “prison striped” shirts. Even their luggage matched.

It is said that, “Growing old is mandatory, but growing up is optional,” and Kathleen and Sarah (or “Katie” and “Sadie”, as they preferred to be called), had not grown up. They saw the world with the innocent wonder of small children, and their personalities were even bubblier than Owen’s, if that was humanly possible. They were inclined to squeal in delight at one thing or another—a trait everyone else found grating until they learned to tune it out—and it took little to delight them.

After disembarking, Katie and Sadie paused a moment to take in their surroundings, and then began to chatter. When either spoke, the other tended to echo the thoughts of the first. Unquestionably, they had grown up together and had been inseparably close for a very long time.

“Oh, my gosh,” Katie gasped, unabashed joy writ large on her face. “Sadie, look! It’s a summer camp!”

Sadie’s face lit up like the sun. “Oh, my gosh, how awesome is that? I’ve always wanted to go to summer camp!”

“Oh, so have I! Don’t you love that about us?”

“Oh, I totally love, love, love it! I mean, it’s like we—“

“—like the same things, and we—“

“—each know what the other is thinking, and we—‘’


 * ”—can tell each other all—“

“—our secrets, and we—“

“—can totally be ourselves—“

“—with each other, and—“

“—now we get—“

“—to be at—“

“—summer camp—“

“—together—“

“All summer long!” they finally exclaimed in unison.

This remarkable display concluded, the “twins” dropped their luggage and hugged each other, squealing in delight for the first time of many. Retrieving their luggage, they finally, mercifully, pranced down the dock to join the other contestants.

It’s official, Gwen thought morosely. I’m in Hell.

As Katie and Sadie passed Chris, he looked toward the camera and genially admitted, “Well, I was going to introduce Katie and Sadie, but there really isn’t a lot left to say.” In a lower voice and a less congenial tone, he muttered, “Way to steal my thunder, girls. Sheesh.”

On the boat’s next stop, a short, somewhat skinny boy strutted off the gangplank like he owned the world. This legend in his own mind had short brown hair with long bangs nearly obscuring his green eyes. His most notable physical feature, though, was the All-Pro spitting gap in his teeth.

This was Cody, the troupe’s science geek. He projected an aura of coolness, or at least of what he perceived coolness to be, but it didn’t quite go with his outfit: a short-sleeved sweater, with a couple of stripes across the chest, over an off-white button-down shirt, the tails of which hung out over his cargo pants.

“The Codester! The Codemeister!” Chris declaimed as Cody approached and they flashed trendy hand gestures at each other, for Cody thought that he needed a “cool” nickname, and he was hoping that one of his suggestions would catch on by virtue of Chris using it for his introduction.

“Great to be here, Chris!” Cody replied.

As the cool geek, if there is such a thing, strutted down the dock toward the other contestants, he was mainly checking out the girls. There was a pretty, athletic looking blonde carrying a surfboard, for what reason Cody couldn’t guess; a dumpy, mousy, nerdy-looking girl who nevertheless was not without her charms; an identically dressed pair, one thin and one fat…threesome material, Cody thought, for he was nothing if not confident in himself; a hot Asian chick with a “master of all she surveys” air; and…well, Cody stopped there. He did not notice Gwen, who was standing at the back of the crowd. If he had seen her now, instead of later, events might have played out differently.

“I see the ladies have already arrived,” Cody said in what he imagined to be a suave tone. Assuming that he would have the pick of the crop—for who else here would be able to match his manly charms?—he strutted up to Heather.

“Out of your league, alpha geek,” Heather sniffed before Cody got too close, for she had guessed that he intended to chat her up.

Having struck out with the dragon girl, Cody decided to try his luck with Bridgette. She responded to his chat up lines politely and amicably, but nevertheless made it clear that she was currently more interested in meeting the remaining contestants.

Next off the boat was the obligatory blonde bombshell. This superabundantly endowed sun goddess, even prettier than Heather, sported a warm-colors ensemble consisting of stylized cowboy boots, a short skirt, and a halter top that seemed ready to fail at any moment beneath its titanic burden. Her only cool-color garment was the baby blue bandana that would serve her so well not two weeks hence, but that is another story for another time. Her long, straightened hair shone like sunbeams given form. Her skin was fair and flawless, and her face was made up subtly and skillfully.

As Her Cytherean Hotness approached Chris, she flashed a dazzling smile for the first time of many, for hers was a sunny disposition not unlike Katie and Sadie’s, although her tastes were more sophisticated. She walked with grace, despite her top-heavy build.

It is said that the Creator suffers no mortal to be perfect. When Lindsay spoke, her voice was as pleasant as wind chimes, but her words suggested that her many gifts had included precious little in the way of brainpower.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Lindsay!” Chris announced to the camera.

Lindsay’s high-wattage smile gave way to an uncertain expression and a furrowed brow—even that looked pretty on her—as if she was trying to remember something.

“Okay,” this ethereal vision said to Chris, a famous actor whose face was probably more widely recognized than the Prime Minister’s, “You look familiar.”

Dear God, Chris thought, although he said only, “I’m Chris McLean.”

Lindsay did not react.

“The Host?” Chris prompted helpfully.

Still nothing.

“Of the TV show you’re on?” the now-exasperated host added.

“No,” Lindsay answered slowly, “That’s not it.”

Finally, something flickered to life behind Lindsay’s pale blue eyes. “I know,” she beamed in satisfaction, “You were the funny guy in that tennis movie! You were a lot taller then.” The haze of confusion passed over Lindsay’s face once more. “Are you the host or something?” she asked.

Chris was losing patience. “That tennis movie” (actually a movie about badminton) had been Chris’ big break, and his role therein was decidedly not comedic.

“Look, bra,” he began.

Lindsay looked down and inspected her straining halter top. For the first and last time in the 11 weeks the show would take to shoot, the other contestants were sympathizing with Chris, who looked ready to scream. After a seemingly eternal moment, the microcephalic goddess looked back up at Chris, satisfied that her clothing was in order, and smiled contentedly.

Chris chose his words with more care this time, avoiding anything that could be misinterpreted as an instruction. “Linds, you’re here because you’re pretty and sweet,” he told her. “Just try not to get yourself kicked off too early, OK?”

“OK,” Lindsay agreed, with an endearing smile. And with that, Princess Lindsay her Hotness, heir to the throne of Bimbonia, took her place with the other contestants.

The next boy to arrive had a rustic, unsophisticated air about him. His unstylish but practical outfit consisted of work boots, jeans, a heavy greenish hoodie variant, and a toque. He wore his hair in a mullet, and had a downy proto-beard on his chin. Lindsay and Sadie cringed at the sight of the newcomer, although the other teens either didn’t notice this or didn’t know what to make of it.

“Our home schooled country boy, Ezekiel,” Chris announced to the camera. Turning back to the new arrival, McLean said, “What’s up, Zeke?”

“I am, Mr. McLean,” Ezekiel replied. “I’m so up for this contest, I can’t even describe it, eh?”

“Hmph,” Chris grunted in surprise, “I didn’t think you’d know what that meant. I mean, home schooled your whole life, raised by freaky prairie people…to be honest, I figured you’d be our one-and-done guy.”

Ezekiel lifted his eyes to the heavens in mock supplication. “Just because I’m home schooled doesn’t mean I live in a cave, eh?” he replied in the exasperated tone of one who has gotten sick of explaining the same thing over and over. “We have Internet. It’s just dialup, but still… I understand trendy expressions, even if I don’t use them. And I don’t plan to be your sacrificial lamb, eh?”

“O…kay,” the nonplussed host said, buying himself a moment to recover from his surprise. “And you can call me ‘Chris’. Everyone else will.”

As Ezekiel continued down the dock to join the other contestants, Chris turned back toward the camera. “Well, well,” the host said with that bland smile of his, “It seems our lamb may actually be a lion. That’d be cool.”

Ezekiel’s handling of his introduction impressed at least one of the other contestants, for Duncan smirked and stepped up to meet the new arrival. “Dude, way to tell off the Man!” the delinquent exclaimed, offering a high-five that Ezekiel hesitantly met.

The boat departed, but failed to turn around at the usual point and continued on its way until it was nearly out of sight. This break from the routine left the teens who had already arrived some 20 minutes to chat and get to know each other a little better.

When the boat finally returned, it was moving at its top speed—much faster that it had on the previous trips. The reason became apparent when the sharp-eyed Geoff spotted a speck in the sky. As the boat approached, the urban cowboy was also the first to identify the growing speck as a hang glider, connected to the boat by a towline.

The boat was now as close to the dock as it could safely get at its current speed, so its pilot throttled back and turned aside. Whoever was on the glider dropped the towline and began to descend in wide, lazy circles.

The glider was now close enough for the people on the dock to make out a few details. Most notably, at this point, was that the glider pilot seemed to be clad almost entirely in red. A couple of minutes later, the spectators could see that the pilot was a brown-haired boy wearing a red tracksuit, white sneakers, and a headband.

“Our jock of all trades, Tyler!” Chris announced dramatically.

Tyler was now low enough to hear McLean’s announcement, and to make himself heard as well. “Great to be here, dude!” He called down, waving for the cameras. “Clear the runway!”

Chris retreated to join the contestants at the base of the dock. After a couple more circles, Tyler was low enough to make his landing approach. Waving once more for the cameras, he brought his legs down and forward in a landing posture.

And slammed squarely into the end of the dock, folding over it like a jackknife.

“Guh-dunge,” Ezekiel said, wincing in vicarious pain.

“That’s going to leave a mark,” Duncan smirked.

“Wicked crash, dude!” Chris called from the base of the dock.

Tyler could not speak, for he’d had the wind knocked out of him, but he gave a “thumbs up” to let everyone know that he was not seriously hurt.

Next to arrive was a short, stocky, buxom girl clad in a blue leotard and matching gym shorts, with white sneakers. Her arms were noticeably muscled, even at rest, and she wore her black hair in a short, midlevel ponytail. Her expression was sullen.

Eva, as this tough-looking lass was called, could have been a pretty girl. She had a classic hourglass figure, with legs that were reasonably shapely despite being as hard as iron, and she even had a beauty mark on her lip, but she didn’t seem especially interested in her appearance. She was content to keep the unibrow that Nature had given her, although even normal eyebrows might have looked like a unibrow with her perpetual scowl; the severe ponytail she wore probably wasn’t the most flattering look for her; and she wore no makeup beyond lipstick that matched her hazel eyes.

Eva acknowledged Chris’ greeting with naught but a grunt, her sullen expression as unchanging as McLean’s smile, and trudged down the dock. When she came to Cody and Harold, she thought that a good place to await the arrival of the remaining contestants. As she turned to face the end of the dock, she dropped her bag, which fell to the dock with a heavy clunk.

“What’s in there?” Cody asked, trying to make conversation. “Dumbbells?”

“Yes,” Eva replied, in a tone that was equal parts, “What else would it be?” and “Go away and leave me alone.”

“Cool,” Cody said in an aside to Harold, as Eva turned her baleful gaze back to the arrival point. “A Klingon chick.”

Eva overheard the science geek’s comment, and smiled a bit—a rare occurrence, as her new colleagues would learn in due course. The musclegirl knew little about the Star Trek franchise, but she had heard enough about it to know that the Klingons were postulated as a warrior race. Since that fit reasonably well with her self-image, Eva regarded Cody’s assessment as an honest compliment. He would never hear that from her, though, because it wouldn’t do for this pipsqueak to get the idea that she might be into him.

The boat steamed in once more, with a slim girl standing at the prow and waving excitedly. Her long, somewhat curly hair was a fiery Scotch orange-red, and her eyes were green. This is a very rare combination, but that was only fitting, for this girl was a nonesuch.

She wore a green halter top with a collar and a cleavage window. She was the only girl with a long skirt, reaching almost to her knees, but the skirt was of a curious design—covering most of her thighs on the outside but “barely legal” on the inside, it was knotted on one side and hung low on her hips, only partially covering her green, bikini-like panties. All in all, it looked like Izzy, as the new arrival was called, had simply wrapped a yellow-green towel around her hips.

When the boat came to a stop, Izzy rushed to the gangplank, but stubbed her toe and took a header off the boat. Recovering quickly, she executed a flip and landed catlike on her feet, just about as close to the end of the dock as she could have done without falling into the water. She straightened up from the deep crouch she had landed in, with an “of course, I planned that” look on her face, and then dashed up to Chris, for she was a bundle of energy.

“Izzy, glad you could—“

“Oh, it’s so great to be here, Chris!” Izzy interrupted, with a delivery slightly slower than an American-style auctioneer’s. “This isn’t really what I expected, but that doesn’t matter. I’ll knock ‘em dead no matter what, or I should actually say, no matter where. Is this a summer camp? I thought you were taller. Are these the other contestants? They look nice, well, most of them, anyway, but I’ll overcome them all. When do we eat? Oh, wow, did you see that mosquito? It was the size of a pterodactyl! Don’t you go biting me, Skeeterzilla, ‘cause I bite back! Grahr!”

Izzy bounded down the dock, leaving Chris to grumble about contestants who wouldn’t let him do his job. When the manic redhead reached her new colleagues, D.J. said, “That was a sweet flip you did when you came of the boat.”

“Oh, I can do back flips, too,” Izzy replied, demonstrating with a flawless back flip. “See?”

“Cool,” Tyler said. “I can do those, too.” The jock demonstrated, as Izzy had; but unlike Izzy, who had executed a flawless full rotation, Tyler executed a flawless rotation and a quarter, and so landed flat on his back.

“Oh, are you all right?” Bridgette cried as she rushed to Tyler’s aid, for hers was a heart of gold. Unfortunately, as she went to help Red Jock, she accidentally bumped Duncan. The delinquent flailed his arms desperately for a moment or two before toppling into the lake.

As Tyler clambered to his feet, seemingly none the worse for his second unfortunate encounter with the dock, Duncan began to muscle his way back onto the dock. The delinquent looked more bemused than angry, for he understood that Bridgette had meant no harm, and it wasn’t like he was going to melt.

“That’s what I get for standing so close to the edge,” Duncan said rhetorically.

As Izzy watched Duncan haul himself out of the water, his arm and shoulder muscles rippling beneath the soaked shirt that now clung to his wiry frame, the redhead suddenly looked to her side and said, “Sunshine, put your tongue back in your mouth. What will the viewers think?”

“Who’s Sunshine?” Bridgette asked.

“She’s me bud,” Izzy informed her.

Bridgette was confused for a moment, for there was no one in the direction that Izzy had been looking when the redhead had addressed “Sunshine”. Then, understanding dawned.

“Oh, I get it,” Bridgette said. “An imaginary friend.”

“She gets that a lot,” Izzy replied enigmatically.

Half the Goddesses of Olympus
On its next stop, the boat disgorged a boy who looked every centimeter a brain. A brain with no fashion sense. He had longish, dark brown hair in no identifiable style (for it is a common quirk amongst intellectuals to have little interest in personal grooming) and a generically brown skin tone suggesting native or Hispanic extraction. He wore high top sneakers that didn’t quite reach his high-water cargo pants. His layered top (a combination he probably hadn’t changed much since his mother was dressing him) consisted of a white, long-sleeved undershirt; a short-sleeved, misbuttoned blue button-down shirt, and a red, lightweight sweater vest.

As the boy approached, Chris declared, “Our bookworm, Noah!”

Noah gave no greeting, but came right to the point. “Did you get the memo about my life-threatening allergies?” he asked. This was no small thing to Noah, for some of his allergies—most notably to formic acid, the active ingredient in certain insect stings—were indeed life-threatening, as the other teens would learn before the contest was done, but that is another story for another time.

“I’m sure somebody did,” Chris replied unhelpfully.

Noah quickly scanned the decrepit buildings beyond the dock. “This doesn’t resemble the pictures in the recruiting brochures,” he pronounced.

“No, it doesn’t,” Chris replied, as if they were discussing the weather.

“So, then, we’re here because…?” Noah prompted.

“Because this is where the contest is being held,” Chris replied matter-of-factly.

Noah decided that he would get nowhere with this line of conversation. Having established that Chris had no shame, Noah decided to see if he might score points with some of his competitors.

“I see that’s not the only thing you’ve deceived us about,” Noah began enigmatically.

“What do you mean?” the host asked, his curiosity aroused.

“There was a pretty strong suggestion that only mortals would be competing,” Noah explained, as he moved to join the other contestants. “You’ve got half the goddesses of Olympus here. This, for example,” he continued, indicating Eva, “Is surely none other than Pallas Athena, goddess of war; and this,” he added, motioning to Gwen, “can only be Hecate, goddess of the night and patroness of sorcerers.” Coming to Heather, he turned and asked, “And who is this, if not Queen Hera?” Looking to Bridgette, who was once more holding her surfboard, Noah added, “I seem to have missed Aphrodite rising from the sea. I hope the finished episode shows that bit.”

“Silver-tongued devil,” the visibly blushing Bridgette said to no one in particular.

Nerdling knows how to spin a compliment, Heather thought. The finished episode would have her and others saying as much in confessional spots. The girls thus flattered savored the moment, and it was well that they did; for this was the last time that most of them would hear anything complimentary from Noah’s lips.

Noah came to Lindsay and declaimed, “Was this the face that launched a thousand ships and burnt the topless towers of Ilium? Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss.”

“My name’s Lindsay, silly,” the uberbimbo deadpanned.

“Oh, me, me!” Izzy interjected, waving her arms to attract Noah’s attention. “If you want topless towers burned, I’m your gal!” With her characteristic rapid-fire chatter, the motormouthed redhead added, “Actually, they don’t really need to be topless. They don’t even need to be towers, come to think of it. Really, if you want to burn pretty much anything, I’m the chick you want to talk to.”

“Dude,” Geoff said to Noah, “You picked the wrong chick to butter up with fancy talk.” The urban cowboy didn’t know Noah’s reference to Helen of Troy (said to have been the most beautiful woman in the world) but he correctly surmised that it was a reference to something that was supposed to be flattering.

“If you’d been here when Lindsay arrived, you’d understand,” Geoff explained.

Noticing the murmured chorus of agreement, Noah concluded that Lindsay’s arrival must have been something “special”. As the contestants waited for the boat to return, Geoff drew closer to Noah and told the bookworm about the uberbimbo’s entrance, but nothing would be gained by repeating it here.

The boat returned and decanted a sturdy-looking girl of African descent. She was dressed simply, in jeans and a T-shirt that might have come from a mall kiosk. She was one of the stouter girls in the troupe, but not truly fat. She wore her shoulder-length hair in a fine weave, with the strands pulled back in a ponytail.

“Our homegirl, LeShawna!” Chris announced to the camera.

Turning to said homegirl, the host greeted her in schoolboy French, for LeShawna was the show’s token francophone. Born and raised in Montreal, she was fully bilingual, but French was her first language, and she would occasionally lapse into it when she was angry or afraid. On more than one instance during the course of the competition, she would find it necessary to ask other contestants to “pardon her French”, literally as well as figuratively.

As this minority “double play” strutted down the dock toward the other contestants, she called out, in a booming voice and a jive turkey manner, “What’s up, y’all? LeShawna’s in the house! Feel free to quit now and make it easy on yo’selves, ‘cause I came to win!”

“And the rest of us didn’t?” Noah smirked to Heather, who happened to be the one he was standing closest to.

“Lame,” Heather pronounced, as the homegirl reached the leading edge of the crowd.

Cocky though she was, it quickly became clear that LeShawna was also friendly, with an eye for the boys. “Yo, baby, how’s it shakin’?” she asked with a wink as she passed Geoff. Not waiting for an answer, she came to D.J. and offered a high five, saying, “Give me some sugar, my brother.”

“How’s it hangin’ Red Dude?” LeShawna asked Tyler, with a hand sign and a wink suggesting that she might be open to the possibility of getting to know the jock better. Coming to Cody and Harold, the jovial homegirl demonstrated her ability to walk and chew gum at the same time by fist bumping Cody with one hand and pinching Harold’s butt with the other.

“Where did you learn English?” Noah asked in a tone that suggested he wasn’t really interested in the answer. “From 1970s ‘blaxploitation’ movies?”

“Excuse me?” LeShawna demanded in a tone that implied, “You really do not want to go there.”

Undeterred, the bookworm snarked, “The producers will probably manipulate the editing to turn us all into stereotypes, but you seem intent on saving them the trouble.”

“What did you just say to me?” the homegirl asked, rolling up her sleeves to reveal biceps that were probably bigger around than Noah’s thighs. “Oh, no you didn’t! I’ll show you stereotypes, sucka!” she added as she advanced on the bookworm, with the apparent intention of beating him to steaming pulp. It was all that Bridgette and Eva could do to restrain her.

“Easy, girlfriend,” the straining Eva hissed through gritted teeth. “Flying off the handle is my shtick.”

“Okay people, settle down,” Chris called down the dock, having noticed the altercation but not the words that led to it. “There’ll be plenty of time for infighting later.”

“Fine,” LeShawna said to no one in particular. She stopped trying to approach Noah, which was Bridgette and Eva’s cue to release her, although they kept covert eyes on her until they were satisfied that the incident had truly blown over.

LeShawna, for her part, cast a sidelong glance at Noah and saw that the bookworm had turned his attention back to the end of the dock, awaiting the next contestant. Having apparently made his point, he now seemed content to ignore LeShawna, so the homegirl decided to let the matter drop.

The next boy off the boat was clearly an ax man—a guitar player. He was dressed casually, his most remarkable garment being a semi-camo shirt featuring short, camo-pattern sleeves but a solid, light greenish torso. Emblazoned on his chest was a black handprint, the significance of which he never bothered to explain. He wore a large backpack in lieu of luggage, and carried what could only be the case for an acoustic guitar.

His manner was laid-back and unaffected. His black hair, longer in the bangs than elsewhere (the better to cover his high forehead), went oddly with his green eyes, which is not to say that the effect was in any way unpleasant. Like Geoff, he sported a cleft chin.

“Our ‘wandering minstrel’, Trent!” Chris announced to the camera. Turning back to the “minstrel”, Chris said, “Glad you could make it!”

“Great to meet you in person, Chris!” Trent replied. “I’m a big fan of your work. Not to be a suck-up or anything, but I still think you got robbed when you didn’t win Best Supporting Actor for Badminton: The Movie.”

“Ah, a connoisseur of great cinema,” Chris declaimed, offering a fist bump which Trent happily accepted. “I can see that we’re going to get along great.”

Trent finally looked past Chris, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

“This is it?” the musico asked incredulously.

“You got it,” Chris replied affably.

“But there isn’t even a stage,” the perplexed axboy pointed out.

“Actually there is,” the host corrected, “but that’s not where most of the competition is going to be.”

Seeing that Trent was about to say something else, Chris cut him off. “Long story, but we’re on a schedule. I’ll fill you all in after everyone get here, so how about you go to the end of the dock and wait with the others?”

“Okay, then,” Trent said uncertainly.

Walking down the dock toward the other contestants, Trent quickly scanned the crowd. There would be plenty of time to get to know everyone, he thought, so he was mainly sizing up the girls, to see if any appealed to him enough that he should try to stake an early claim.

He found one.

Stopping beside Gwen, Trent smiled at her. “Dark as night and pale as moonlight,” he said, with frank admiration in his voice. “It works for you.”

Gwen quickly looked away. In truth, she found the sincere admiration in Trent’s voice—so very different from Noah’s faintly theatrical tone when the bookworm had compared her to a Greek goddess—deeply flattering, but it was too soon. Being something of a loner, she’d never had anything resembling a boyfriend before, and precious few admirers, so she was unsure of how to proceed, and it wouldn’t do for anyone to think she was easy. The safest thing to do, therefore, if not the most satisfying, was to retreat into her shell.

Whoa, Cody thought as he looked toward this pair, for he had overheard Trent’s remark. I can’t believe I didn’t notice that Goth chick before.

The boat approached yet again, with the 11th and final girl standing at the prow and waving politely.

“Our Ms. Do-it-all, Courtney!” Chris announced.

Chris offered Courtney his hand as she stepped off the gangplank, for her profile suggested that she would be appreciative of such a gesture without merely accepting it as her due or interpreting it as condescension. Sure enough, Courtney politely thanked the host for his gratuitously chivalrous gesture, although she seemed to have little to say to him otherwise.

Courtney was not the spectacular beauty that some of the earlier arrivals were, but nevertheless managed to turn her share of heads. She spent a good deal of time outdoors, judging by her well-tanned skin and the touch of sunbleaching in her shoulder-length, chestnut-brown hair, which she wore loosely.

Courtney did not appear to be especially fashionable. She wore a short, lightweight grey sweater over a more expansive off-white blouse, the combination bearing an unfortunate resemblance to a chambermaid’s uniform. At least her calf-length, olive green pants didn’t reinforce that image.

Courtney also wore high-heeled sandals, but even with this enhancement was one of the shortest contestants in the troupe. That meant little, though, as the others would learn quickly enough. Napoleon was short, too.

Courtney joined the other contestants and engaged in polite introductions with a number of them. The girl knew how to work a room. When she revealed later in the competition that she planned to run for public office one day, that revelation would come as a surprise to no one.

Courtney’s gladhanding and amiable chitchatting ceased abruptly, as did all other conversation, when the last contestant arrived.

The 11th and final boy was, for want of a better description, a god among men. He had a ripped physique—not the exaggerated muscle definitions of a bodybuilder, but perfectly toned and proportioned manliness—that rippled under his tight T-shirt. (He also wore old, nondescript blue jeans and sneakers, but none of the girls noticed those until later.) His shortish hair was straight, glossy and raven-black. His skin was a flawless bronze, his teeth a flawless white, and his eyes—oh, those eyes—beckoning sapphire wells that a girl could drown in if she wasn’t careful, and maybe even if she was. In short, every girl present desired him on sight.

The boys’ reactions to the new arrival were mixed. Some were disdainful of the “pretty boy”; some admired his ripped physique, knowing that a guy didn’t get that way without a lot of work, whatever his natural gifts; and some saw a dangerous rival who might damage their own chances of hooking up with someone. Nobody was concerned that the newcomer might easily recruit girls into alliances, but that was only because everyone still thought that the coming competition would be a talent contest, rather than an elimination game.

Chris introduced Justin, for that was the name of this unearthly vision, and conversed briefly with him, but none of the girls noticed anything more than his name. Justin’s voice was unremarkable, for the Creator does not suffer true perfection in mortals.

As Justin concluded his business with the host and moved to join the other contestants, it quickly became clear that he was aware (for how could he not be?) of the effect he had on others. Indeed, the way he walked seemed to be not so much “walking” as the continuous, flowing striking of a series of poses. As he passed the girls, Sadie fainted dead away, and more than one other looked ready to follow suit. When the Incredible Hunk reached Lindsay, his “runway walk” came to an abrupt end.

Oh, wow, Lindsay thought, suddenly feeling weak in the knees yet unable to tear her gaze from that sapphire abyss that was Justin’s eyes, ''a guy as hot as me. Never thought I’d see the day. Could he be The One?''

Oh, wow, Justin thought, suddenly feeling weak in the knees yet unable to tear his gaze from that cerulean abyss that was Lindsay’s eyes, ''a girl as gorgeous as me. Never thought I’d see the day. Could she be The One?''

Chris whistled sharply to get everyone’s attention. “All right, dudes and dudettes,” the host announced, “now that we’ve introduced everyone, we need a cast photo for Marketing. I want you all to come out onto the dock, right about to where I’m standing now, and arrange yourselves however you like. Just make sure we can see everyone.”

As a cameraman traded his video camera for a still camera and began to set up on the prow of the yacht, Chris directed traffic on the dock to ensure that the 22 teenagers were packed closely enough for the camera’s field of view to cover everyone. The shorter contestants (mostly girls, naturally) sat in the front row, in a variety of poses. Most of the others knelt or stood, with some leaning in toward the center of the camera’s field of view. Owen and D.J. stood in the back because they towered over everyone else.

With everyone packed in together, the decrepit old dock was sagging alarmingly, especially around the titans in the back. As Chris took up a position in the foreground, intending that the cast shot should include a headshot of him, the contestants were listening nervously to the noises issuing from beneath them. In their minds’ eyes, they had vivid images of the decaying dock collapsing and dumping them all into the lake.

The cameraman took his sweet time preparing. When he was finally ready, he called to everyone to smile. Most of the teens managed smiles, despite their misgivings.

The cameraman called for a second picture, then a third. By this time, most of the contestants were convinced that the dock would fail at any moment, but the ancient timbers were apparently stronger than they looked. Or felt. Or sounded. When the cameraman was finally finished, the teens gratefully and hurriedly quit the dock for the safety of solid ground.

As the yacht left the dock for the last time, Chris led the contestants through a short stretch of woodland to a clearing dominated by a large campfire pit. There were 11 tree-stump seats to one side of the fire pit, and the host invited his charges to take seats if they wished.

“Some of you,” the host said, “have asked why we’re at this crummy old summer camp instead of the five-star resort that you were expecting. The short answer is that your ability to adapt to unexpected twists is one of the things you’re being tested on.”

“But what does that have to do with a talent contest?” Trent asked. More warily, he added, “This is a talent contest, isn’t it?”

“Actually, no,” Chris replied. “Despite what you were told, this competition is actually an elimination game.”

It was all Heather could do to stop herself grinning from ear to ear. While she was confident that she would have done well in the talent contest that everyone had been expecting, she was even more confident now, for she was an aficionado of elimination game shows. They might as well write me the check now, she thought with elation. Living in this lame summer camp is going to be worth it.

After pausing briefly to let his revelation sink in, Chris continued. “In a few moments, you will be divided into two teams. Every three days, those teams will compete against each other in various types of challenges. The winning team will get a reward, and the losing team will have to decide which of its members to send home. That decision will be made by plurality vote. In the event of a tie vote, I will decide how to handle it. There is no set tie-breaking procedure.

“Any questions?”

Katie raised her hand and asked, “What’s a plurality?”

“Do you know what a majority is?” Cody asked the “thin twin” in turn, before Chris could respond.

“Sure. It means more than half.”

“Well, a plurality is similar, except that you don’t need more than half. You just need more than anyone else has.”

“Okay,” Katie said, with a nod of her head.

“Somewhere around the midpoint,” Chris continued, “or when one of the teams gets too small, the teams will be merged, at which point it will be every camper for themselves.”

“Camper?” Lindsay asked.

“You’re living at a summer camp, so you are now officially campers,” Chris explained. “At the end, the last camper standing will win the grand prize of one hundred thousand dollars.

“As a general rule, we’ll be running on a three-day cycle. The first day will usually be downtime, where you can just be yourselves for the cameras. Today is an exception, because you have to get oriented and settled in. The challenge will be on the second day, with the voting and elimination ceremony on the third day. There will be a few cases where the elimination is on the same day as the challenge, but we’ve tried to give you the extra day whenever possible so you’ll have time to consider your decisions, because you don’t get mulligans here.”

“What’s a mulligan?” Lindsay asked.

“It’s a golf term,” Harold explained. “Basically, it means a do-over. Its origin is unknown, but the story I’ve heard is that a foursome compensated their carpool driver—named Mulligan—by giving him two shots off the first tee.”

“Fascinating, Harold,” Chris said in a tone suggesting that he wasn’t the least bit fascinated. “Now, when I call your name, I want you to stand over here,” the host continued, indicating a space to his right. “Beth…Cody…Gwen…”

The dumpy farm girl, the science geek and the Goth did as they had been instructed.

“Heather…Justin…Katie…”

The dragon girl, the Incredible Hunk, and the skinny girl-child likewise took up positions at Chris’ right hand.

“LeShawna…Lindsay…Noah…”

The ample homegirl, the brainless blonde beauty, and the bookworm took their places with their new teammates.

“Owen…and last but not least, Trent.”

As the man-mountain and the axboy joined their new teammates, Sadie’s eyes widened in horror.

“There must be some mistake,” Sadie cried desperately. “Katie and I have to be on the same team! One on one is one thing, but we’re never on opposite teams. We can’t do it!”

“It’s true,” Katie added, her own eyes wide now that the awful truth had sunk in. “There’s no way we can play tough against each other! It’s like having to play with one hand tied behind our backs. How can we help our teams like that?”

“Not my problem,” Chris replied unsympathetically.

“It’s so unfair,” Sadie complained, tears welling in her eyes. “You’re just setting us up to get kicked off first!”

A sudden thought seemed to strike the butterball, and she regarded the host with narrowed eyes. “It’s because I’m fat, isn’t it?”

Chris’s seemingly permanent bland smile vanished. He had shown irritation a few times before; but now, for the first time, he looked genuinely angry.

“If you play the ‘oppressed minority’ card on me again,” he warned darkly, “you’ll be out of here so fast it’ll make your head spin. Capisce?”

Realizing that Sadie had provoked the host to the point that he might do something rash, the clones said no more, but looked sadly at each other, resigned for the nonce to one or both of them being early outs.

“Don’t sweat it, hon,” LeShawna said as she gave Katie’s shoulder a light, reassuring squeeze. “It’ll be all right. When this game is over, you’ll still be tight, right? Besides, you can be tough without being mean.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Katie sighed, accepting LeShawna’s reassurance but not really convinced.

Chris turned to the newly constituted team. “As I was about to say, before I was so rudely interrupted,” he said, with a quick warning glare at Sadie, “you are now the Screaming Eagles!”

An intern planted a battle standard in front of the Eagles: a red banner with a silhouette of an eagle, wings back and talons outstretched as if to grab some terminally unlucky gopher.

“Eagles,” Noah observed disinterestedly. “A popular, traditional mascot.”

Chris turned back to face the remaining 11 teenagers, some of whom had now claimed seats recently vacated by members of the Eagles.

“Now, when I call your name, I want you to come up and stand over here,” the host said, indicating a space to his left.

“Bridgette…Courtney…D.J….”

The surfer girl, the diminutive dynamo, and the dusky brickhouse took their places at the host’s left hand.

“Duncan…Eva…Ezekiel…”

The fauxhawk-crested delinquent, the dour musclegirl, and the home-schooled farmboy did as they had seen their new teammates do.

“Geoff…Harold…Izzy…”

The urban cowboy, the beanpole, and the manic redhead likewise did as they had been bidden.

“Sadie…and, last but not least, Tyler.”

The butterball and the jock of all trades joined their new teammates, Sadie with a dejected look across the way to Katie.

“You,” Chris said to the second team, “are now the Killer Muskies!”

The intern now planted the Muskies’ battle standard, a green banner sporting the Muskies’ logo: a slim, torpedo-like fish, wheeling about and with its jaws agape, its mouth filled with large, needle-like teeth.

“What’s a muskie?” Sadie asked.

“It’s short for ‘muskellunge’,” Harold began.

“Do you know what a pike is? The fish, not the weapon?” Izzy asked before Harold could continue. Not waiting for a response from Sadie, Izzy explained, “Well, a muskie is the biggest, baddest type of pike. They can get as big as a man, sometimes. They’re ambush hunters that skulk around and when they see a tasty little fishie, they dart out and it’s down the ol’ muskie hatch. Bye, little fishie!” The motormouthed redhead said all this in slightly more time than it had taken Harold to say, “It’s short for ‘muskellunge’.”

The teams assigned, Chris led the campers to the camp proper. As they walked, Duncan sidled over to Courtney.

“Hey, Princess.”

“My name’s Courtney. I would prefer that you call me that…Duncan, is it?”

“Yeah. Anyway, teamie, we have to keep Malibu Barbie and Iron Klutz apart at all costs.”

“Okay, I assume that by ‘Malibu Barbie’ you mean Bridgette, but who’s ‘Iron Klutz’?”

“Tyler,” replied the Juvenile Hall alumnus. “The guy in the red track suit.”

“Why would having them together be a problem?” asked the puzzled princess. “They both seem nice.”

“Nice isn’t the problem,” Duncan explained. “The problem is that they’re both majorly clumsy. Put them together, and they’ll be a disaster waiting to happen. If you hadn’t been one of the last people off the boat, you’d understand. I don’t know what McLean was thinking, putting them on the same team.”

“Thanks,” Courtney replied uncertainly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Reaching the camp, Chris motioned to two large structures with the campers’ luggage piled in front and said, “These are your cabins. Boys have the one on the left, and girls have the one on the right. Now, some elimination games keep the teams separated between challenges, but we don’t have that kind of budget, so you’ll be able to mingle with your rivals if you’re into that sort of thing.

Katie and Sadie’s spirits rose noticeably at that. They might be stuck on opposite teams, with the likelihood of being early outs, but at least they could still do what BFFs do between challenges.

As Heather and Lindsay headed into the girls’ cabin to stake early claims to the best beds—ideally something with a view of the lake, if such was available—Geoff cast what he thought was an unnoticed eye toward Bridgette and called, “Yo, Chrismeister! Will there be a chaperone in this facility?”

Chris replied, “You’re all 16 years old, the same age as—“

“I’m only 15,” Sadie corrected, raising her hand to be sure the host noticed her.

“That’s true,” Katie confirmed. “Her birthday’s not ‘til almost Midsummer.”

Chris did not acknowledge the Bobbsey Twins directly. “As I was saying,” he began testily, with a glare at the clones who were getting on his last nerve by this point, “you’re all 16 years old or will be turning 16 during the course of this competition, which is the same age as a Counselor In Training at a regular summer camp; so, apart from me and my aide, whom you’ll meet later, you’ll be unsupervised.

“You’ve got one hour to get settl—“

A tremendous scream suddenly erupted from the girls’ cabin. This was no mere, “Eek! A mouse!” scream, but the scream of a girl in mortal peril, and with an ungodly set of lungs into the bargain.

For a moment, the campers were stunned into inaction. Recovering their wits, the teens ran for the cabin. Chris shrugged his shoulders and headed for the main lodge.

The hour was growing late, so Brett’s mother left off her tale, and suggested that he prepare for bed.

.

Second Night
In the morning, after they had breakfasted, Brett went to school whilst his mother, who had neither spouse nor partner, went to earn their daily bread. That evening, after they had dined and Brett had attended to his homework (for that was the price his mother had set for continuing her tale), Brett asked his mother to tell him more about her experience on Total Drama Island. Brett sat in his favorite chair, and his mother sat on the sofa. She took a few moments to collect her thoughts, and then she began to speak.

The rescue force arrived at the threshold, as ready as they would ever be to face whatever awaited them.

Heather had taken refuge on an upper bunk. At the far end of the cabin, Lindsay stood cowering on a chair, and her manner suggested that it was she who had uttered that terrible scream. Standing in front of the chair was an enormous black…something, rearing menacingly and displaying its gigantic mandibles. It was a large male stag beetle—harmless, but looking like something straight out of Hell. It was probably more afraid of Lindsay as she was of it, if such a thing was even possible.

“What is it? Kill it! Kill it!” Lindsay cried desperately.

D.J. was one of the first on the scene. Taking one look at the beetle, he turned to flee. Finding the door blocked by people who had arrived after him, the apparently fainthearted brickhouse wedged himself into a corner and tried to appear as inconspicuous as possible.

Most of the would-be rescuers seemed unsure of what to do. The beetle looked too large to easily crush underfoot, especially with so many of the teens wearing only sandals or other light footwear. Besides, most of the campers didn’t know what those evil-looking mandibles might be capable of, and weren’t keen to find out. Ezekiel’s heavy boots would have filled the bill nicely, and Eva wouldn’t have hesitated to pound it flat with one of her dumbbells, but those two were stuck at the back of the crowd that had gathered around the doorway.

Duncan presently broke the glass on a box containing a fire axe. Apparently, he proposed to cleave the insect with it.

He never got the chance. As Duncan moved to fetch the axe, Harold reached into his pocket and pulled out a soft pleather case. Opening it, he withdrew a shuriken. As the beetle spread it wings to take flight and Duncan began to approach with his axe, Harold nonchalantly flicked his wrist and sent his spiked messenger on its errand.

It is not clear whether Harold’s shuriken would have pierced the beetle’s tough outer shell; but with its wings spread, the insect was vulnerable. The shuriken skipped off the floor several centimeters behind its target, caught the beetle on the upswing, and transfixed it to the chair leg. The beetle struggled briefly, and then was still.

I’m going to have to watch this dork, Duncan thought, as he would later reveal in the confessional. There may be more to him than meets the eye.

Lindsay was suitably impressed. Hopping down from her chair, she embraced her knight in shining T-shirt. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said, before planting a lipstick imprint on Harold’s flushed cheek.

“Any time,” Harold replied, somehow managing to sound at once smug and humble. He meant it, too. For “rewards” like Lindsay had just given him, he would have moved mountains for her.

Releasing her rescuer, Lindsay turned, crouched down—not bending over, for her skirt was very short—and curiously inspected the late beetle. “What is that thing, anyway?”

“A stag beetle”, Harold informed her didactically, “so named because the male’s mandibles resemble a stag’s antlers. The name actually refers to any of a number of species of the genus…”

As Harold discoursed in a professorial tone, Lindsay’s interest quickly faded and her eyes began to glaze over. Her face took on the look of childlike confusion that the other teens would come to know so well.

Seeing what was happening, the late-arriving Geoff interrupted Harold, who was continuing his lecture seemingly unaware of Lindsay’s reaction.

“Dude, I think you’ve lost her,” the party king told The Answer Man.

Harold looked at Lindsay, possibly for the first time since he began answering her question, and seemed to deflate. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he sighed.

“Cheer up, dude,” Geoff said, giving Harold a fraternal swat between the shoulders as he led the beanpole away. “She’s on the other team, so it probably wouldn’t have worked out anyway.” When they were out of the cabin, Geoff added, “And there’s no way she’s making it to the merge. She’s crazy hot—”

“Tell me about it,” Harold interrupted, remembering Lindsay’s show of gratitude. Her embrace and kiss had been clearly platonic, expressing gratitude rather than affection; but it had been an embrace and a kiss, nonetheless.

“—But she’s so dumb,” Geoff continued, “I’m surprised she doesn’t forget how to breathe. She’d be great for a fling. For a steady girlfriend, not so much.

“Now, Bridgette, she seems like the real deal. Courtney, too.” Geoff seemed to be struck with a sudden thought. “In fact…Harold, is it?”

“Yeah.”

“Mind if I call you ‘Harry’?”

“To be honest, I prefer ‘Harold’.”

“Fair enough.” Geoff’s brow furrowed. “Now, where were we?”

“I think you were about to say something about Bridgette and/or Courtney,” Harold informed the urban cowboy.

“Oh, yeah.” Geoff rummaged through his memory for a few moments and retrieved the interrupted thought. “Anywho, I think Courtney might be more your speed. She seems like the kind of chick who might appreciate a dude with a lot upstairs.”

This seemed to Harold a most fruitful line of discussion. Although he loved to play the professor, he could also be an attentive student. Geoff seemed like he would be popular with the ladies, so Harold thought he might learn a thing or two on that topic by picking the party boy’s brain.

“Speaking of the distaff side of our team,” Harold prompted, as he and Geoff headed back to their cabin, “What do you think of Izzy?”

“I don’t really have a read on her, yet,” Geoff admitted. “She seems nice, but something seems a little off. I’m not sure what. Whatever, she’s obviously a real fireball. I doubt you’d be able to keep up with her. I’m not even sure I could. She is hot, though.”

“Eva?”

“Eva’s good. Not the prettiest face on the block, but she’s got great curves. But the first time you got her mad, she’d snap you like a twig. Leave her to dudes who can take some punishment.” “And, for the sake of completeness, how about Sadie?” “Seems like a sweet little butterball, but I have a feeling there might be more to her than meets the eye. You saw how she tried to guilt the Chrismeister into giving her what she wanted. Accusing him of having it in for her because she’s fat…that’s hardball. She is fatter than hell, but she’s pretty enough if you don’t mind that. Kind of an ‘anti-Eva’, if you know what I mean. And she is on the rebound, sort of. If you see something you like in her, I’d say, ‘Go for it.’ The worst she can do is say, ‘no’. Not like Eva. She could do a lot of things worse than say, ‘no’.” Geoff and Harold reached the boys’ cabin and found the settling-in process in full swing. Most of the boys had claimed their beds and were unpacking, making small talk as they made themselves at home. The cabin had 12 bunk beds, so questions regarding the berthing arrangements had focused mainly on who would have upper bunks and who would have lower. The boys quickly decided that Owen should have the 11th and 12th beds to himself because Owen was huge, the beds didn’t look especially sturdy, and nobody wanted an upper bunk that might collapse beneath them at any time.

Presently, Owen and Tyler heard the call of nature and went looking for a restroom, for the cabin had no toilets. Cody, meanwhile, returned to the girls’ cabin to see if he might rectify an earlier oversight and chat up that cute little Goth.

In the girls’ cabin, meanwhile, Heather and Lindsay’s plans to grab the best beds had come to naught. Even without the Beetle Incident cutting short their scouting time, one bed was much like the next and none had a view that was in any way remarkable, so there was little to choose. As a result, the main berthing question was who should bunk with whom.

When the question of what to do with the 12th bed arose, Izzy immediately said that the answer was obvious because there were, in fact, 12 girls.

“Who’s the 12th?” Bridgette asked, although she suspected that she knew the answer.

“Sunshine, of course,” Izzy replied. “You met her. Don’t you remember?”

Anticipating the other girls’ questions, Bridgette explained, “Izzy has an imaginary friend named Sunshine. Apparently, ‘Sunshine’ is hot for Duncan.”

“Whatever,” LeShawna said as she tried and failed to picture Izzy making out with Duncan, for the homegirl assumed that “Sunshine’s” attitudes were merely a proxy for Izzy’s.

“Since when do imaginary friends need real beds?” Heather asked, rolling her eyes.

Izzy shook her head sadly and said, “People are so intolerant.”

“Be fair, girl,” LeShawna admonished. “This ‘Sunshine’ isn’t even a contestant, so by rights, she shouldn’t be here at all.”

“Sorry, Sunshine, I tried,” Izzy said to the air. “Yes, the boys probably do have an extra bunk. No, you can’t sleep there. Trust me, you don’t want that kind of reputation. Yes, I know you’re into Duncan, but you have to be realistic. You just met the guy.”

“I know, guys,” Courtney said, “We could use the 12th bed as a luggage rack. With all due respect to ‘Sunshine’, an imaginary girl should be just fine with an imaginary bed.”

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Izzy pouted. She said no more, for she could see that this was a fight she couldn’t win.

“It’ll be okay,” Courtney reassured the grumpy redhead. “Nothing against Sunshine, but LeShawna’s right. She’s not a contestant. In any case, I’m sure the luggage won’t bother her, and I don’t imagine she weighs much, so the bed should be able to take it. But don’t take my word for it. Why don’t you ask Sunshine?”

Looking skeptical, Izzy said, “What do you think, Sunshine?” There was a moment’s pause.

“Well, I still don’t like it, but Sunshine says it’s okay,” Izzy said, with the air of one making a major concession.

As it turned out, Heather and Lindsay wound up monopolizing the spare bed’s storage capacity because, as the camp’s fashionisti, they had brought far more luggage than the other girls. They would get few chances to show off their mammoth wardrobes, though, because the producers’ need to be able to splice stock footage into the episodes as filler, not to mention their plans to manipulate the editing to tell whatever story might strike their fancy, meant that the campers would be required to wear the same outfits most of the time.

After the girls had finished unpacking, most left the cabin. Some went looking for anything resembling a washroom, for purposes ranging from makeup touchups to answering nature’s call. Others went looking for Chris, to see what might be next on the agenda.

Gwen was one of those who had remained in the cabin. She had one of the lower bunks, and now sat on the edge of her bed, brooding. Although meeting that guitar player had been nice, the day had thus far been mostly a string of disappointments. Perhaps the worst of these was finding herself in an elimination game. Although Gwen wasn’t especially knowledgeable of the genre, she did know that such shows tended to stress social interaction, and that loners usually fared poorly.

Gwen sighed. Chris probably thought that she had “early out” written all over her. So much for becoming famous, she thought bitterly.

“Hi, Gwen.”

Gwen gasped and all but leapt to her feet at the unexpected sound of a male voice in the girls’ sanctum.

Recovering her wits, and embarrassed at her reaction, the Goth glared at the skinny little geek who had startled her. Noah? No, not Noah, he had bronze skin. Cody, that was it.

“Shouldn’t you be in the boys’ cabin?” Gwen asked caustically, her hands on her hips and ice in her voice.

“I never really got a chance to meet you earlier,” Cody admitted, with his goofy gap-toothed grin. “That was a terrible oversight on my part, and I wanted to fix it.”

Cody’s eyes widened as he suddenly felt an iron grip on his neck, and he whimpered a little as his feet lost contact with the ground.

“Boys allowed by invitation only,” Eva pronounced, her voice betraying only the slightest strain at the effort of hoisting the science geek aloft. Turning her gaze to Gwen, who was looking a little nervous at Eva’s display of power, the musclegirl asked mildly, “Is this guy bothering you? Because if he is, I’ll be happy to show him the door.”

“And if I’m not bothering her?” Cody asked hopefully, with a nervous chuckle.

“Then I’ll open the door first.”

“Uh, that’ll do,” Gwen told the self-appointed palace guard, her expression uncertain. “I don’t think we need to hurt him. Thanks, Eva.”

“Any time,” Eva replied. Despite her suggestion that she was inclined to throw Cody bodily out of the cabin, she lowered him to the ground and allowed him to leave under his own slightly unsteady power. The camp was equipped with a public address system and, when the settling-in period had expired, Chris turned it on, making sure there was plenty of feedback squeal to get everyone’s attention.

“Okay, campers,” he announced over the loudspeakers, “Meet me in front of your cabins, and we’ll continue the orientation with everyone who’s still alive after that little emergency in the girls’ cabin.”

About ten minutes later, Chris brought his young charges to the washroom.

“Some of you have already discovered the communal washroom,” the host began. “It has a few Bronze Age flush toilets, sinks and no-frills shower stalls. It does have hot water, sort of, but I pity any of you who happens to be taking a shower when someone turns on a faucet.”

Lindsay raised her hand and Chris, anticipating the brainless beauty’s question, said, “The ‘communal’ part means that you’ll all be using the same facilities, so anyone who has a problem with that will just have to deal with it. Likewise, you’ll have to work out the scheduling, if any, for yourselves. If that happens to involve some over the top drama, then so much the better.

“You may have also discovered that the cabins don’t have electrical outlets. The washroom does, for those of you who use powered beauty aids. Likewise, if any of you have basic MP3 players or other types of noncommunication gadgets that the producers didn’t see fit to confiscate, you can charge them here.

“Speaking of confiscating gadgets, if any of you managed to get anything past ‘customs’ that you’re not allowed to have here, this is your last chance to surrender it. If you try to keep any contraband and we find out later—and with cameras recording your every move, we will find out—that will mean instant elimination, forfeiture of any prize money you may have earned, and a lawsuit. If you come clean now, though, the only penalty is to be embarrassed on national TV, and you’re going to have plenty of that this summer, anyway.

“As you know, you’re not allowed to have anything with any capacity for communicating with the outside world, whether it be a smartphone or a semaphore flag. So, does anyone want to take advantage of this amnesty offer?

“Anyone like, for instance…Courtney?”

Courtney jumped as if she’d been jabbed with a cattle prod. “Me?” she asked incredulously. “I wouldn’t try to…”

The Type A half-pint’s eyes widened in horror as realization dawned. “Oh, gosh, my PDA! I forgot all about it! You have to believe me, I’d never try to cheat like that!”

“Sure, you wouldn’t,” Duncan retorted with a knowing smirk. “I know your type. You’re not the first goody-goody girl with a wanton wench on the inside screaming to get out.”

“That’s okay, Courtney, I believe you,” Chris assured her. “The producers deliberately let a few contraband items slip by so I would get to call people out. You should have seen the look on your face. It was priceless.”

Ignoring Courtney’s death glare, Chris asked, “anyone else?”

“That presumably explains why I still have my cell phone,” Noah suggested with a bored look, refusing to be embarrassed.

“Anyone else?” the host prompted again.

There was a pause, and then Katie hesitantly raised her hand. “Uh, Chris? Sadie and I still have our iPods,” she said, with all the contrition of a girl about to face the Last Judgment.

“Girls, girls, girls,” Chris clucked, shaking his head in feigned disappointment. “What am I going to do with you two? You’re running out of wrong feet to get off on.”

Even without this reminder, the clones knew that they were on thin ice with the host, so they said nothing and just stood there, looking apologetic.

Turning his attention back to the campers as a whole, Chris said, “Okay, that should be everything that the producers missed on purpose. If anyone else has any ‘forbidden fruits’, now’s the time to come clean.

“Yes, Lindsay?”

“I brought a pomegranate off the boat. Does that count?”

As Chris brought his hand to his forehead, Gwen sniped, “Wow, a four-syllable word. I’m impressed.”

“Thanks, Glenda,” Lindsay said, hearing but not understanding.

Chris’ shoulders were heaving slightly, and he was making little whimpering noises. It looked and sounded like he might be sobbing, but in truth he was trying to stifle laughter.

Before Chris could finish his facepalm and answer the brainless blonde bombshell’s question, Noah asked, “Did you eat any of it?”

“Part of it,” Lindsay told him obliviously. “I was saving the rest for later.”

“Well, then, you’re in luck,” Noah assured her. “That means you won’t have to stay in the underworld year round.”

“Is that a hotel or something?”

As Noah mimicked Chris’ facepalm, Harold sidled over to Geoff and said, “I see what you meant.”

Bridgette, not hearing Harold’s comment or not knowing what to make of it, said, “What Noah meant, Lindsay, is that you don’t have to give Chris your pomegranate.”

“Cool,” Lindsay replied with an endearing smile.

As soon as Chris trusted himself to speak normally, he instructed Courtney, Noah and the Bobbsey Twins to fetch their forbidden electronics. After they had done so and surrendered these items to an intern, Chris led the campers to an outhouse that had a general appearance of advanced decay.

“This outhouse is very important,” the host said, “and not just because it’s an auxiliary toilet for when you get the runs and can’t get into the washroom.”

LeShawna opened the outhouse door in the wistful hope that the interior would look more inviting than the exterior. Seeing something that she was certain didn’t belong there, she turned to the host in shock.

“There’s a camera in the potty?? What kind of perverts are you people?”

“As I was about to say,” Chris told the campers, expecting LeShawna’s reaction but not caring, “the real importance of this outhouse is that this is where you will record your confessionals, which no elimination game would be complete without. You can go in there to record your innermost thoughts, or just to get something off your chest. Confessionals are a great way to get screen time, so don’t be shy.

“Press that red button to remotely turn the camera on, and again to turn it off. That’s the only control you can access, because the camera’s settings have been pre-optimized, and we don’t want you fiddling with them.”

The next stop was a large tent that housed two cots and a variety of medical supplies and equipment.

“This,” Chris said, “is the infirmary. This is where you can come to get fixed up if one of the daily hazards of camp life gets the better of you. In addition to treating things like burns, sprains and dislocations, which more than one of you will probably have before the game is over, we can remove porcupine quills, lance boils, set broken bones and resuscitate drowning victims; and we can also treat life-threatening allergic reactions, food poisoning, arrow wounds, bear maulings, recreational pummeling by the local Sasquatch (whom we like to call “Sasquatchanakwa”), snakebite from the deadly Eastern Diamondbacks that frequent these parts, accidental impalement (assuming you’re not killed outright and all your internal organs are intact), bubonic plague from flea bites, West Nile from mosquito bites, Lyme Disease from tick bites, Flesh Eating Disease from horsefly bites (and if you thought that mosquito was big, Izzy, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet), Muskoka Meningitis from leech bites (and the lake surrounding this island is called Leech Lake for a reason)…all the everyday hazards of camp life. Totally routine stuff, really. It’s so commonsensical it hardly seems worth mentioning, but Legal said we had to tell you.

“The infirmary’s not set up for major surgery, though, and we’ve got a couple of half-liters of blood on hand, but not enough to give anyone a transfusion; so if a bear slices your arm off, or if a pack of wolves pulls out your intestines and plays tug-of-war with them, or if you’re making out in the woods and a chainsaw-wielding psycho slashes you, or if one of the giant man-eating Leech Lake lampreys gets hold of you and sucks you dry, we probably won’t be able to help you.”

As Chris recited the litany of mishaps that were beyond the infirmary’s capacity to set right, his usual bland smile gave way to a dazzling full smile of the sort that television news anchors use for major disaster coverage.

“What’s a lamprey?” Justin asked Owen, who happened to be standing next to him.

“They’re like leeches on steroids, except that leeches are worms or something, and lampreys are a type of fish,” Owen explained, for he was a hunting and fishing enthusiast. Moreover, the blond behemoth was very knowledgeable of animals that are good to eat, which it so happens that lampreys are. “They look kind of like eels, but. They don’t even have jaws.”

With a shrug, Owen added, “I didn’t think they attacked people, though. Maybe the ones they have here are different.”

Chris then led the campers to a nondescript building that was larger than the washroom but smaller than the cabins.

“This,” he informed them, “is the Tuck Shoppe. Basically, it’s an on-site convenience store. You can get all sorts of stuff here to make your lives a little easier. You’ll pay captive audience prices, but this isn’t a perfect world.”

Chris led the campers away from the campsite proper, a little ways up the shore to a small building with a secondary dock.

“This,” he said, “is the boathouse. This is where we store canoes, life jackets and suchlike when they’re not in use, and it also serves as a general maintenance shed. You probably won’t be spending a lot of time here, but a couple of challenges might bring you here.”

Gwen opened the door to see what sort of gear the boathouse held, and recoiled. The place looked like a medieval torture chamber, with chains, huge hooks, harpoons, claws and teeth and other body parts from various dangerous animals that were probably trophies, things that were probably bottom fishing pots but which bore a disturbing resemblance to iron maidens, worms that were probably meant for live bait but didn’t really look like familiar earthworms…and the unmistakable stench of blood, from Gwen could only guess what.

“What’s wrong, Gwen?” Trent asked solicitously.

Fighting to control her gorge, Gwen replied weakly, “It’s a little more ‘Gothic horror’ than I was expecting.”

“No offense, but I thought Goths were into that sort of thing.”

“Not like this. Well, the hardcore Goths, maybe,” she assured him, finally starting to regain what little color she normally had.

Chris noticed this byplay and found it good. “Gwen’s reaction,” he told the campers, most of whom were looking on with varying degrees of curiosity and concern, “illustrates why we will also be using the boathouse as a detention facility if any of you step too far out of line. Sadie, for example,” the host added, remembering their altercation at the bonfire site.

“That explains the harpoons,” Duncan quipped.

“And you think putting your teammates down will help us win…how, exactly?” Courtney asked Duncan with a glare, but the delinquent pretended not to hear.

Finally, Chris led his young celebrities-in-the-making to what proved to be their final stop. The largest building on the campsite, this could only be the main lodge. This was the most inviting-looking building the campers had seen since arriving on the island, and it appeared to be better maintained than the camp’s other structures. It didn’t hurt the campers’ first impression that the sun was low in the sky, so the teens believed that Chris had brought them here for dinner—their first meal as reality show stars.

Chris led the troupe into the lodge and, when everyone was inside, called out, “Yo, Chef, come out and meet our vic…er, contestants!” Noticing that many of the campers were now eying him warily, Chris looked up at the rafters and whistled innocently.

Inside the lodge were two long tables with bench seating. At one end was a large, rough-hewn stone fireplace with an enormous set of moose antlers displayed above. The wall opposite the entrance was largely cut away, although this opening was currently shuttered so the campers couldn’t see the kitchen that presumably lay beyond. A long counter was affixed to the far wall, just below the cutout area. There was a double door to the kitchen, a swinging door for when the kitchen was in use and a lockable door for when it was not. The cutout shutters slid aside, and several pairs of eyes widened at the sight of the camp chef. He was a tall, hulking, black (“I’m Canadian, so don’t call me African-anything,” he would later say) mesomorph, even more muscular than D.J. He appeared to have a shaved head, although his traditional chef’s hat made it difficult to be certain. He also sported a deeply cleft chin and an all-Pro spitting gap in his teeth. He looked over the campers with a scowl, for his was a sour disposition not unlike Eva’s.

Although many of the campers were taken aback at the chef’s appearance, those who had been to summer camp before reacted with more aplomb, for they had known what to expect.

“Why do summer camp chefs always look like escaped serial killers?” Courtney asked rhetorically—and softly, lest the chef hear her and slip “a little something extra” into her tea.

“I don’t know, why?” Lindsay replied innocently, for she was standing close enough to hear Courtney’s remark.

“I was speaking rhetorically,” Courtney informed the uberbimbo.

“What does ‘rhetorically’ mean?” Lindsay asked, struggling with the pronunciation.

“It means I wasn’t expecting an answer.”

Lindsay looked confused. “So why did you ask, then?”

Although Courtney was well bred and polite, she did have a bit of a temper. She was also very bright, and highly intelligent people tend to regard sarcasm as a virtual birthright, so her first instinct was to respond caustically. As she opened her mouth to fling a barb, though, she caught herself. If Lindsay was truly as stupid as she sounded, the poor girl couldn’t help that, and in any case probably wouldn’t recognize sarcasm when she heard it. Courtney therefore bit her tongue and said only, “I was just thinking aloud.”

“Oh. Sorry, Connie.”

“It’s Courtney.”

“That’s what I said, wasn’t it?” Lindsay replied, looking confused.

Courtney resolved to avoid conversing with Lindsay whenever she could do so without giving offense. The uberbimbo would probably be gone soon enough, and wasn’t worth the aggravation in the meantime.

“Ahem,” Chris cleared his throat theatrically, with a glance at Courtney and Lindsay. “If you gossip girls are finished…”

Chastened, the girls gave the host their attention.

Now addressing the entire troupe, Chris said, “This is Chef Hatchet, so called because…well, I don’t want to spoil the surprise. In addition to preparing your meals, he is also my aide, so you’ll see him doing support work at most of the challenges. He’s perfect for this show because he’s a real ‘jack of all trades’. That means he can do the work of 20 people, but we only have to pay him one salary. That’s how a low-budget show like Total Drama Island was able afford a host as illustrious and expensive as me.”

“Here’s how it works,” Hatchet said gruffly and loudly. “I make it three times a day, and you’ll eat it three times a day. And I don’t want to hear about ‘special dietary needs’. This ain’t no five star restaurant, so you eat what I give you, or you don’t eat.”

Bridgette raised her hand and said, “Does that mean I’ll have to eat meat? I’m a vegetarian.”

“Girl, did you hear a word I just said?" Hatchet thundered. “’Cause I don’t recall saying that I wanted to hear about special dietary needs, and that goes double for preferences! It won’t kill you to stuff down a few animal byproducts!”

Hatchet’s expression then softened, and his glare gave way to an unpleasantly expectant smirk. In a normal tone, he said, “Trust me, the carnivores won’t have it any easier than you.”

After giving the campers a moment to make of that statement what they would, the hulking chef said in a drill sergeant style, “Tonight’s main course is sloppy Joes. So grab a tray, get your grub, sit your butts down, and don’t give me no lip! Y’hear?”

“The teams will sit together at meals,” Chris added. “Eagles at the table nearest the door, and Muskies at the table nearest the kitchen.”

The campers dutifully queued up, grabbed their own buns and other peripherals, and filed passed Hatchet as he doled out the sloppy Joe filling and the sides, olive drab beans and something that probably used to be potato salad.

As Noah received his portion and turned away to find a seat, Chef said, “Not so fast, Scrawny. Give me your plate.” Noah did as he was bidden, and Chef gave him a second scoop of filling. Hatchet apparently intended that the skinny campers should bulk up, for he also gave extra portions to Cody and Harold in due course. Nor was this treatment limited to boys, for Hatchet likewise gave larger portions to Heather and Katie, probably because he suspected them of being anorexic.

As the queue moved along, several of the campers got the feeling that something was not quite right with the filling. Proper sloppy Joe filling consists of ground beef in enough sauce to give it a “slushy” texture. Chef’s filling, though, had more of a semisolid texture, solid enough to require a scoop instead of a ladle, and solid enough to somewhat retain its shape on the bun. Likewise, the sauce didn’t seem to be impregnated evenly throughout. All in all, it looked like Chef had used “mystery meat” instead of ground beef. Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite mysterious enough.

“Is this dog food?” Tyler asked with a grimace as he and Harold took their seats, safely out of earshot from Hatchet. “Because it sure looks like it.”

“It might be,” the beanpole replied, warily eyeing his own his sandwich. “But if it is, it could be worse, I guess.”

“Worse?” Tyler repeated incredulously. “Dude, we might be eating dog food. How could it be worse?”

“Years ago,” Harold explained, “the government heard that a lot of poverty-stricken old folks were having to eat dog food because they couldn’t afford anything better, so Parliament passed a law saying that dog food has to be fit for human consumption.”

“So you’re saying it’s okay to eat this slop?” Red Jock asked dubiously.

“Yeah, I guess so. It’s gross, but it won’t actually hurt us.”

As Hatchet plopped a scoop full of “sloppy Joe innards” onto Gwen’s bun, the Goth did a double take. It was surely nothing more than a trick of the light, but…

“I hate to be predictable and complain on the first day,” she said, warily eyeing her tray, “but I think mine just moved.”

“You have a fork. Work it out,” Hatchet replied gruffly, as he plopped a measure of goop onto Izzy’s bun.

“Cool! Mine just moved, too!” the redhead cried. Spreading her right hand under the tray to free her left, she snatched up her fork, held it poised high over her head in an exaggerated combat readiness pose, and exclaimed, “En garde, Sir Joseph of Sloppia!” With that, Izzy plunged her fork into the mass, which convulsed once and was still.

Izzy quickly licked the end of her finger and made a “chalk one up for me” gesture, then turned to face Gwen, who was looking more than a little disturbed at this tableau.

“Camp food’s not so bad,” Izzy informed the Goth with a reassuring smile. “You just have to show it who’s boss.” The possibly unstable redhead then strode to her seat, humming the triumphal march from the end of the original Star Wars movie. thumb|250px|right|Triumphal march (Throne Room scene) from Star Wars episode IV

As the campers sat, warily regarded their dinners, Geoff elected to tempt the gods. Turning toward Chris, who had returned to the lodge after a brief departure, the urban cowboy called, “Yo, my man! Can we order some pizza?”

Hatchet gave no sign that he had overheard Geoff; but as he turned away from the common area, the hulking chef abruptly swept his arm in the campers’ general direction. There was a metallic glint in the air, and Geoff suddenly felt a breeze where he was not used to feeling one.

The campers, looking disconcerted, looked toward the doorway. Next to the door, a butcher knife yet quivered slightly, its point embedded in the wall. Impaled upon that knife was Geoff’s hat. Only now did Hatchet look in Geoff’s direction, fixing the urban cowboy with a “don’t mess with me” glare.

Hatchet had extensively practiced that backhand, no-look knife throw, for he was a summer camp veteran and well knew how to impress the younger generation. Nor had it truly been a “blind” throw, for Hatchet had a wider field of peripheral vision than most people, and so could fix his eye on a target without appearing to do so. The campers, though, would learn none of this until much later. In the meantime, Hatchet’s demonstration had the effect he desired, and it would be some time before any of the teens dared to cross him again.

The campers ate without further incident, the legendary teenager’s appetite eventually overcoming any concerns about the food’s uncertain origins. Conversation flowed freely as the campers got to know their teammates better and speculated on what lay ahead.

“What do you think they’ll make us do tomorrow?” Bridgette asked Geoff, who was sitting catty-wampus to her.

“I dunno,” the urban cowboy replied easily. “But it’s the first challenge. How hard can it be?”

“You’re tempting fate,” warned Courtney, who was sitting next to the surfer girl, two seats down from Geoff.

Even as those Muskies spoke, a similar tableau played out at the Eagles’ table, with the genre-savvy Heather warning Katie and Trent against assuming too much.

Courtney and Heather’s dismal warnings, though, went largely unheeded. The consensus was that the campers would probably be eased into the game, since none of them had really wanted or expected to be in an elimination game in the first place.

By the time the teens began to return to their cabins, night had fallen. As LeShawna reached the door, she turned back to look once more at the lodge’s common area. As she did so, she noticed Eva approaching, looking sullen as usual.

“Hey, what’s up, girl?” LeShawna asked pleasantly.

Eva passed by without acknowledging the homegirl’s salutation in any way, her perma-scowl as unchanging as a mask.

“Oh, it’s going to be that way, is it?” LeShawna huffed indignantly.

That was all that the finished episode showed. The producers thought the game would seem more dramatic if it looked like the campers—especially the opposing teams—were at each other’s throats most of the time, and they pegged the largely unsocial Eva as a natural to wear one of the black hats. In truth, though, this is what happened next:

“Wha—?” Eva said, as if coming out of a fog. Realizing that she had just snubbed someone terribly, she turned back to LeShawna and said, “Oh, sorry. I was lost in thought.”

“A penny for them.”

“Probably the same sort of thing as everyone else is thinking, wondering how we got stuck in a lame summer camp playing a lame elimination game, when we were supposed to be trying to become rock stars or whatever.” With a small, sardonic smile, the musclegirl added, “I’ll bet I could do a guitar smash for the ages.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me a bit,” LeShawna said with a grin. “Just don’t tell that to Trent.

“Anyway,” the homegirl added as she and Eva headed out the door, “If you don’t mind my saying so, you looked like you could use a friend, even if we are on opposite teams.”

“I don’t think it would work out,” Eva replied simply.

“Why not?”

Eva sighed. “I’ve seen your temper. Mine’s even worse—a lot worse. At least you had a decent reason for going after Noah on the dock. I’ll do that for much less. I’m a little surprised that I’ve never put anyone in the hospital.”

“’Roid Rage?” LeShawna asked uncertainly. “I’ve heard of it.”

“I get that a lot,” the musclegirl confessed, “but no, I don’t take steroids. It would be a convenient excuse, but I had anger management problems before I was working out. Fact is, I started working out because I was hoping to channel that anger into something more productive. It didn’t really help, but I keep working out because it turned out that I enjoy it.

“As for the steroids, just because I want to out-pump guys doesn’t mean I want to become one.” In a rare moment of whimsy, Eva struck a preening pose and added, “It wouldn’t be good for my girlish figure.”

“I hear you. If I had goods like yours, I’d want to keep them, too.” Striking the same pose Eva had struck moments before, LeShawna clarified, “Not that there’s anything wrong with what I do have.”

Eva didn’t actually share that opinion, but managed to bite her tongue before she could say so. LeShawna had offered her friendship; and even though Eva wasn’t inclined to accept that offer, there was no reason to throw it back in the homegirl’s face.

“You know,” Eva said, when she had thought of something diplomatic to say, “You could be a bodybuilding champion if you set your mind to it. You’ve got the frame for it.”

“Yeah, but I don’t like to sweat. Well, not from that, anyhow,” the homegirl added with a wink.

“Yeah, I saw how you were working the guys when you got here.”

“You should try it sometime. You might like it.”

“Sometime,” Eva agreed, “but not here. It would just be a distraction. Just because this game isn’t what we were expecting doesn’t mean I’m not in it to win it.”

“So, you’re going to stick to your own team?”

“I think that’s for the best. If we both make it to the merge…we’ll see.”

“Have it your way,” LeShawna said, with a little shake of her head and a note of disappointment in her voice. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

“Yes, I do. You’re kind of hard to miss.”

“That’s me, all right. Big, loud and proud,” LeShawna proclaimed with a grin as they entered the girls’ cabin.

“To each, their own,” Eva replied.

A few hours later, the boys were in their cabin, changing into their sleepwear after an evening bull session. As Duncan removed his shirt, D.J. noticed that the delinquent’s arms were covered with long, thin, straight scars, mostly on the outsides.

“Hey, bro,” the brickhouse inquired curiously, “Where’d you get all those scars?”

“Knife fighting,” Duncan answered matter-of-factly.

With D.J. looking like he was about to faint, Noah snarked, “Looks like you could use more practice.”

“That’s a great idea,” Duncan agreed with a wolfish grin. “Thanks for volunteering to be my practice partner.”

“No, thanks, I’m good,” Noah replied as nonchalantly as he might. In truth, the bookworm was sore afraid, for he sensed that Duncan’s threat was not idle.

“So, you really are as smart as you look,” the delinquent said with a more genial smile, suggesting that Noah had been wrong and the threat had, indeed, been idle. In a conversational tone, Duncan confided, “Let me tell you something. If you’re in a knife fight, and you get out of it without getting cut, that doesn’t mean you’re good. It means you’re lucky.”

“That one’s not from a knife, eh?” Ezekiel noted, pointing to a thicker, irregular keloid below Duncan’s left shoulder. “How did you get that?”

“That one’s from a broken bottle.”

Unsure of whether he really wanted to know the answer, Trent asked, “Have you…have you ever killed anyone?”

“Nah,” the Juvenile Hall alumnus assured him. “Don’t get me wrong, I could if I had to, and knife fights always have that potential, but it usually doesn’t come to that. Usually one fighter gets cut a few times, can see that the other guy’s better than he is, and either gives up or runs away.”

“Do you ever give up or run away?” Noah asked, feeling brave again.

“I might not be around today if I didn’t. It’s like poker—you’ve got to know when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em. Let’s just say that I win more than my share.”

Brett was confused. “Mom?”

“Yes, dear?”

“You said you were on the show, but you haven’t mentioned yourself.”

“Actually, I have. In those days, I was still using my first name. I started going by my middle name when I entered college, and that was before you were old enough to have permanent memories.”

Although Brett knew his mother’s first name, he almost never heard or saw it, so it hadn’t come to mind unbidden. Thinking about it, Brett now recalled that this long-unused name did, indeed, match one of the contestants.

“So, why were you talking about yourself in the third person?” he asked uncertainly. “You don’t usually do that.”

“I was a different person then,” his mother explained. “You made me grow up before my time. That’s partly why I started going by my middle name.

“Besides, I think it makes a better story this way. Just humor me, okay?”

“Sure. Whatever,” Brett conceded. It was no skin off his nose, and in any case he didn’t want to discourage his mother from telling him the rest of her tale.



The Tale of the First Challenge
Original title: The Not So Great Outdoors (a.k.a. Not So Happy Campers), Part II

The next morning, their first at Camp Wawanakwa, the campers awoke to the end of the world.

Reality show producers don’t like their contestants to be well rested, because sleep-deprived people have less emotional control. Likewise, a harsh wakeup call makes people feel less rested, other things being equal. And so, at the crack of dawn, Chris played the “Dies Irae” (“Judgment Day”) section of Guiseppe Verdi’s Requiem over the P.A. system, at cabin-shaking volume. thumb|300px|right|First wakeup call
 * Dies Irae, Dies illa
 * Solvet saeclum in favilla:
 * Teste David cum Sybilla.
 * Quantus tremor est futurus,
 * Quando judex est venturus
 * Cuncta stricte discussurus.
 * (This day, this day of wrath
 * will consume the world in ashes
 * as foretold by David and the Sybil.)
 * (What trembling there shall be
 * when the judge shall come
 * to weigh everything strictly.)
 * (What trembling there shall be
 * when the judge shall come
 * to weigh everything strictly.)
 * to weigh everything strictly.)

Not long after, the campers, some still wide-eyed and twitchy from their apocalyptic wakeup call, filed into the lodge for breakfast. Chris was at the door to greet his young charges, his carefully practiced bland smile concealing his glee as he looked on his handiwork and saw that it was good.

Breakfast consisted of eggs runnyside up, with delicately carbonized bacon and a heavy bread toasted golden-black. The beverage options were lake water that still tasted of the disinfecting chemicals, horrifically bitter grapefruit juice (the news of “Ruby Red” grapefruits having apparently never come to this corner of Muskoka) and milk that was noticeably over the hill. As the teens ate, Chris called for attention, and announced that they were to assemble in front of the lodge in one hour, to begin the first challenge.

“Some of you,” the host noted, “have suggested that the first challenge won’t be anything too hard. And you’re right, it’s not all that hard, if by “hard” you mean physically strenuous or tough to figure out.

“The problem with easy challenges, though, is that they’re not good for ratings; and since Total Drama Island is a new show, we need to do something to grab the audience’s attention. One way to do that is by showing a lot of female skin and feminine curves, so you’ll need your swimwear. As for the other way we’re going to goose ratings…”

Chris paused a few moments for dramatic effect, and then dropped the other shoe. “You are about to find out why you had to sign all those waivers to be on the show. Your first challenge will be one of the most dangerous of all.”

At the appointed time, the swimsuit-clad campers assembled in front of the main lodge. Most of the girls wore bikinis, some more revealing than others. LeShawna, Beth, and Eva, though, wore one-piece swimsuits, and Bridgette sported a shortsleeved wetsuit designed for cold-water surfing. LeShawna’s swimsuit, monogrammed with an “L” above her bosom, nicely flattered her ample yet feminine frame; Eva’s swimsuit might as well have been her leotard; and Beth sported a ruffled, all-covering bathing suit that would have been at home in her great-grandmother’s closet.

The boys all wore standard, discreet swim trunks in various color schemes. Justin had originally appeared in a barely-there male bikini; but the sight of The Incredible Hunk wearing nothing but bikini briefs had left the distaff side of the camera crews and the intern corps (not to mention the female campers) unable to function, so Chris ordered Justin to change into something less revealing. One of the interns, a strapping Latino lad named Alejandro, happened to wear the same size of trunks as Justin, and had a pair on hand, so Justin borrowed that.

For the same reasons that the campers would be required to wear the same outfits most of the time, the producers didn’t want anyone tanning over the course of the game, so a platoon of interns now slathered the fair-skinned campers with enough sunblock to shield a nuclear reactor.

Another intern, recognizable as such by the bright red pullover shirt that all interns wore, presently appeared driving a two-seat ATV. Before settling into the empty seat, Chris said to the assembled campers, “The challenge venue is about four clicks up the trail. Alejandro and company will show you the way. And don’t feed the bears.” Chris and his chauffeur then headed up the trail in their ATV, leaving the campers and their intern escort to walk.

Not quite an hour later, the campers and the surviving interns escorting them arrived at the place where their host awaited them. Most of the campers were out of breath, for they had been running for their lives over the last 300 meters or so after one of the interns became bear bait. Only Tyler and Eva seemed none the worse for their terrifying sprint, for the former was a star sprinter at his school and the latter had the constitution of Wolverine. On the other extreme was Owen, who, being badly out of shape, had been severely overtaxed to the point that he dropped to all fours and yielded up his breakfast.

“Okay, everyone,” Chris began when most of the campers were again breathing normally, “here’s how your first challenge is going to work. You’re going to dive off this cliff into the lake. Simple, right?”

The campers nodded or murmured in agreement. While diving from the cliff might be scary, depending on how high the cliff turned out to be, it seemed very simple and straightforward.

“Good,” Chris continued. “To make this more interesting for the viewing audience, we’ve stocked the lake with psychotic, man-eating sharks—“

“Sharks are neither psychotic nor sane,” Harold broke in didactically. “They don’t have that kind of brainpower.”

“Don’t interrupt me again, Harold. Now, as I was saying—“

“I was only trying to help,” Harold complained petulantly, “and it’s just as easy to get these things right. Gosh!”

The host’s seemingly perpetual smile gave way to a scowl. “Harold, do you want to be thrown off the cliff instead of jumping? The interns haven’t had a lot of practice, and I can’t guarantee their aim.”

“Fine, have it your way. Gosh!” the walking encyclopedia exclaimed again, throwing his hands in the air.

“Maybe Harold just wanted to see what it took to get that pasted-on smile off your face,” Gwen suggested.

“But why bother stocking the lake with sharks?” asked Noah, who wasn’t the type to respect effort when a reasonably similar result could be had with less work. “Wouldn’t it have been a lot less labor to just let a luckless leaper live with the likelihood of leaving the land of the living as a light lunch for those allegedly legendarily large Leech Lake lampreys? Oh, silly me, it’s not like they’re actually real, LOL.”

“Now look, you lame little loser,” Izzy replied without missing a beat, with a smile and a wink to inform Noah that she was playing along and not insulting him, “I’ll allow that I like to let loose a long alliterative line as well as anyone, but just because this is supposed to be a kid’s show doesn’t mean we need to turn it into a Dr. Seuss routine. But if Lady Luck likes you, and live through the ‘life in the balance’ leap and Leech Lake’s legendary lampreys don’t lunch all your scarlet life liquid and lap up the last of your lymph, you’ll laugh last, ‘cause I’ll let you alliterate as long as you like.”

Chris, forgetting that he had been about to chastise Harold for interrupting him and Gwen for snarking at him, said, “Okay, bro and bra, it’s not like I wouldn’t love to listen to your little alliter-off, but we’re on a schedule.

“As for the lampreys, they’re definitely real, but all they do is suck out all your bodily fluids. That’ll kill you, of course, but it’ll leave your corpse pretty much intact, and that’s not photogenic enough for reality TV. If anybody does meet their maker here, the viewing audience will expect a spectacle—blood in the water, floating body parts, blood-curdling screams, desperate hopeless flailing, slo-mo instant replay, the works.

“Now, as I was about to say before we got off track, if you don’t want to become shark chow, you’ll need to dive into the safe zone that we’ve cordoned off. It’s called a ‘safe zone’ because we’re reasonably sure that the sharks haven’t figured out how to get into it. If they have, well, then I guess I told you a story.” “Excuse me?” LeShawna challenged. The host’s “assurances” had contained far too many qualifiers and caveats for her peace of mind.

Chris ignored the homegirl and continued. “For each one of you who jumps and actually survives, your team will receive one crate of supplies for the second part of the challenge: building a hot tub. One crate per diver means that, if too many of you chicken out or get eaten, your team runs the risk of not having enough supplies to complete the challenge.

“As a bonus, the team with the most dives into the safe zone will get carts to haul their crates back to camp for the building phase. The losing team will have to haul their crates to camp using nothing but good, old-fashioned muscle power. That’ll be a lot slower, and you won’t have unlimited time to build your hot tubs, so you want those carts.

“Tonight, the team with the best hot tub will get a wicked hot tub party. Tomorrow night, the team with the suckiest hot tub will be sending someone home.” All was silent for a moment, save for the host’s evil stage laughter.

The campers peered over the cliff to see what they were up against, and were taken aback when they saw that the diving cliff was a good 300 meters high. To make matters worse, with the midmorning sun slanting into deep water, the campers could see that Chris hadn’t been joking about the sharks. The waters outside the safe zone seemed thick with them, ranging from nasty-looking little buggers no bigger than a man to leviathans that looked like they could down a fully loaded canoe at a gulp.

“Killer Muskies,” Chris announced, “Since Owen’s not finished puking his guts out—“

“I’m right here!” the overexerted Owen gasped between dry heaves.

“—You’re up first,” Chris finished, without acknowledging Owen’s protest.

Not surprisingly, none of the Muskies seemed particularly eager to take the lead. Finally, Eva volunteered Bridgette.

“I think Surfer Girl should go first,” Eva suggested. “She’s the one who knows water sports.”

Bridgette accepted Eva’s charge without protest. “Fine. It’s no biggie,” the surfer girl said, projecting confidence that she did not feel as she peered over the cliff to gauge the distance. “It’s just…an insane cliff dive…into…shark-infested waters.”

Bridgette backed up a few steps, held her arms out, took a deep breath, and stood still for a moment to mentally prepare herself.

“Show us how it’s done, girlfriend!” Eva called in encouragement.

Dropping her arms, Bridgette ran forward and launched herself off the cliff in good form, splashing down gracefully in the middle of the safe zone.

“Bull’s-eye! Nice work, Bridgette!” Chris announced over his bullhorn, mainly for the benefit of those campers who weren’t able to get close enough to the edge to see the dive. With Bridgette in the water to provide scale, the campers noted with relief that the safe zone, which looked so tiny from atop the cliff, was actually large enough that it probably wouldn’t be especially hard to hit.

After Geoff and Eva made their dives without incident, Izzy took the plunge, and became the first to miss the safe zone. When she splashed down, the sharks swarmed through the area. Izzy did not resurface.

“Come on, Izzy,” Bridgette urged, her voice scarcely above a whisper.

Almost a minute had passed. There was still no sign of Izzy.

With the three Muskies on the boat fearing the worst, a shark breached the surface, leaping like a salmon, with Izzy astride its back like a daughter of Poseidon. Izzy and her reluctant steed splashed down and disappeared, only to breach again moments later, then disappeared and breached yet again.

“Yee-ha! Ride ‘em, cowgirl!” Geoff shouted in encouragement, as the Muskie and the shark continued their duel.

After a good two minutes of this aquatic rodeo, the shark finally breached close enough to the boat for Izzy to vault safely aboard. She “stuck the landing” as gymnasts say, turned to the camera, and curtsied.

Chris next summoned Ezekiel. The homeschooled boy peered over the cliff, backed up a few steps, took a deep breath, and quietly recited a Biblical passage that he later identified as Psalms 23:4:

''“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.”'' Ezekiel took another deep breath, ran to the edge of the cliff, and completed his dive without incident.

Next up was Duncan. With a shrug of his shoulders, the delinquent jogged to the cliff edge without protest and launched himself as casually as he might. Truth be told, the only reason he didn’t simply step off the cliff was because the safe zone—indeed, safe water depth—was too far away for that, and suicide wasn’t really conducive to looking cool. Once airborne, though, Duncan did his best to maintain a blasé attitude, keeping his arms at his sides and maintaining a “standing” posture as best he might. (This is actually the safest way to dive from a great height, but Duncan didn’t know that.) He splashed down feet first in the safe zone—a little too close to the near edge for comfort, but in the safe zone nonetheless.

When Duncan was safely on the boat, Chris announced, “D.J. You’re next, big guy.” The brickhouse dropped to his hands and knees, peered over the edge of the cliff, and shuddered. “I can’t do it,” he said, hanging his head as he regained his feet.

“Afraid of heights?” the host speculated.

“Yeah, but that’s not the real problem,” D.J. confessed. “ I’m afraid of the water. Have been since I was a little kid. Besides, if I jumped and missed the safe zone, I might have to defend myself against the sharks. I might even have to…” Tears began to well in his eyes.

“I might even have to hurt them,” the gentle giant finally managed to gasp out. “I couldn’t bear that!”

“Fine. Here’s your chicken hat,” Chris replied unsympathetically, placing said hat on D.J.’s head. “The Chicken Walk is thataway,” the host added, motioning to the trail they had taken earlier that morning to get to the cliff top. Alejandro waited patiently at the trailhead, for Chris had stationed him there on the assumption that at least one camper would refuse to dive. The campers did not know the way to the bottom of the cliff, so any “chickens” would need an escort. Later in the season, when the campers better knew the lay of the land, Chris became more inclined to leave them to their own devices in such situations.

As D.J. began his “chicken walk”, Chris said, “Courtney, you’re up.”

Courtney took a deep breath, ran a few steps, and arced gracefully off the cliff. Her form proved to be better than her eye, though, and she missed the safe zone, splashing down to the right and a little short.

Strangely, the sharks seemed to take no notice, even though one happened to be fairly close. They continued to ignore Courtney as she swam placidly to the boat. As Courtney’s teammates pulled her onto the boat, Bridgette asked, “Not that I’m complaining, but what’s with those sharks?”

“Professional courtesy,” Courtney explained smugly. “I’m going to be a lawyer someday.”

Chef Hatchet, piloting the boat, overheard this exchange and informed Chris by radio.

“Note to self,” grumbled the irritated host, “Next time, use crocodiles.”

Returning to the business at hand, Chris called on Tyler to jump. With an enthusiastic shout, Tyler took a long running start and launched himself into the air.

Tyler had very strong legs, more enthusiasm than skill, and had made little effort to learn from those who had gone before. As a result, he badly overshot the safe zone. As he entered the second stage of his descent, he could see just how badly he had misjudged the distance; for below him lay, not the safe zone, but the boat, its deck crowded with terrified Muskies.

“Incoming!” cried Duncan. He and his teammates would have taken cover, but there was nowhere for them to go. Courtney abandoned ship, but she was the only one who could do so safely. Izzy considered following Courtney’s lead, but then thought better of it. The other Muskies could do nothing but await destiny.

Hatchet, piloting the boat, could not see above him, so he had only the teens’ reactions to tell him what was wrong. He gunned the engines, but the overloaded boat responded sluggishly. Depending on where Tyler landed, there was a real possibility that he might have an unfortunate encounter with the propellers, but that was a chance Hatchet would simply have to take.

Tyler splashed down in the boat’s wake, barely three meters astern. Hatchet hastily cut the engines back, and began to bring the boat about. The boat was close enough that, with Courtney pushing and others pulling, the Muskies were able to get Tyler aboard almost before the sharks realized what had happened.

Safely aboard, the “human cannonball” found himself confronted with a sea of angry glares. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, he thought, and decided that his best course of action was to play dumb. Tyler looked at his teammates and, as innocently as he might, asked, “What?”

“Dude, what were you thinking?” Duncan asked. “If you’d hit this decrepit little tub, you’d have gone through it like tissue paper.”

“Dumping the rest of us back into the water with the sharks,” Eva added.

“They’re right,” said Bridgette. “This boat isn’t very big, and it’s just made of wood. If you’d hit it, you’d have probably sunk it.”

“Not to mention getting yourself killed—literally—in the process,” observed Courtney, who was now back on board. “Broken neck, fractured skull, take your pick.”

Suitably chastened, Tyler hung his head. “I guess I should have paid more attention to you guys’ dives,” he offered limply.

“Gee, ya think?” Izzy asked with a sniff.

Geoff, who didn’t like to see people picked on, rose to Tyler’s defense. “OK, guys,” he said, “I think that’s enough piling on. Yeah, he could have gotten us all killed, but the point is, he didn’t.” The other Muskies, having made their points, let the matter drop.

At the top of the cliff, Chris had seen the spectacle and found it good. Turning to the camera, he declared, “That is awesome television!” before turning the face the Eagles and the remaining Muskies.

“OK, guys,” he said, “Learn from Tyler’s mistake. We can’t afford another boat.”

Chris’ failure to mention the contestants that Tyler’s blunder had put at risk did not escape the teens. “Your concern is touching,” Noah sneered.

“Oh, yes,” Gwen sneered, as caustically as Noah had. “It’s not like human life is worth anything, but we can’t have anything happen to the boat.”

“I’m glad you understand, Gwen,” Chris responded cheerily.

“You don’t care about us at all, do you?” Heather demanded.

“Do you really want me to answer that?” Chris asked with a smile, clearly enjoying the repartee.

Nobody rose to the bait, but the campers on the cliff now respected Chris less than before.

“Ah, well,” the host finally said, deducing that the teens weren’t going to say anything else camera-worthy. “Back to business. Harold, you’re next.”

Harold misjudged his dive and missed the safe zone by a fair margin. The sharks swarmed, and then all was still. There was no sign of blood or struggle, but neither was there any sign of Harold.

The hour was growing late, so Brett’s mother left off her tale, and suggested that he prepare for bed.

.

Third Night
The next morning, after they had breakfasted, Brett went to school whilst his mother went to earn their daily bread. That evening, after they had dined and Brett had attended to his homework, Brett asked his mother to tell him more about her experience on Total Drama Island. Brett sat in his favorite chair, and his mother sat on the sofa. She took a few moments to collect her thoughts, and then she began to speak.

When Mr. Beanpole did not resurface after what seemed a reasonable amount of time, Courtney announced, “I’m going in,” and dived in to search for him. No one tried to stop her, for they had seen that the sharks would not harm her. The water was clear, so visibility was good.

After a small eternity, Courtney resurfaced a little way off, took a few deep breaths, and sounded. She repeated this cycle several times, hopscotching about the area.

Finally, Courtney surfaced next to the boat. She said nothing, but slowly shook her head. Her expression was bleak.

Eva looked like she was going to be ill. Bridgette, who had seen this sort of thing before, closed her eyes for a moment, lowering her head slightly in silent tribute. Duncan grinned wolfishly, thinking, Let’s see Mr. Ninja get out of this! Tyler seemed to be at a loss for how to react. Izzy actually looked bored, as if she saw people eaten by sharks six nights a week and twice on Sundays. Ezekiel closed his eyes and crossed himself, muttering a brief prayer.

Only Geoff spoke distinctly enough for the microphones to pick up. The party king was not known for eloquence, but at this moment his simple pronouncement somehow said it all:

“Aw, man! You need a new word for how much that sucks!”

From his vantage point high above, Chris clearly saw what had befallen Harold. “Ooh, hate to see that happen,” the host said, as if he was reading a weather report. When Courtney began her search, Chris, seeming pleased, ordered a camera crew to get into position near the boat to record the Muskies’ reactions when her search proved futile.

None of the teens on the cliff spoke, sensing that it would do no good. Whether Chris was truly that uncaring, or was baiting them again, seemed beside the point.

When Courtney finally returned to the boat, Chris turned toward Sadie. “You’re up, Sadie,” he said, as if nothing had happened.

The butterball peered over the cliff to gauge the distance. She had a little diving experience, so she was fairly confident that she could hit the safe zone; but if she didn’t…

Sadie’s heart suddenly filled with a steely resolve that was most unusual for her. If she was going to die here, by Jiminy, she wasn’t going to die alone.

Sadie turned away from the precipice and walked up to Chris. “Chickening out, are we?” the host needled.

“I have to be on the same team as Katie,” Sadie declared in a tone that brooked no argument.

“No can do,” Chris replied with that ubiquitous bland smile. “The teams were scientifically selected according to your skill sets and personality types. You and Katie won’t generate enough drama if you’re on the same team.”

Sadie exploded. “You want drama? I’ll give you drama!” she cried as she locked eyes with the host, her fists balled at her sides. As one of those fists opened into a hand signal that Chris didn’t see and wouldn’t have known how to interpret, the butterball added, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

In response to Sadie’s signal, Katie sprang from the cluster of Eagles and barreled into Chris from behind, even as Sadie stepped out of the line of fire, leaving a conveniently placed foot for Chris to trip over.

Chris McLean was an athletic man and would normally have had little trouble repulsing Katie’s charge, but the hive mind had achieved complete surprise. Nothing in the girls’ profiles had given any sign that they would respond with physical aggression to anything. When people believe they have nothing to lose, though, they become capable of any outrage because the connection between cause and effect is lost.

In a flash, Sadie was sitting on Chris’ shoulders, as he lay prone on the ground. Katie, meanwhile, straddled his hips. Unable to get any leverage to buck the girls off, and with his arms pinned at his sides, the host was helpless.

Cold terror gripped Chris as he felt Sadie’s first touch on his scalp. Fearing the worst, he pleaded, “No! Not my hair! Dudettes, please!”

As Katie began tickling Chris on his ribs to stop him trying to mount a defense, Sadie began running her fingers through his hair. Chris McLean made liberal use of gel in styling his hair, which made his “windswept” look relatively easy to maintain; but Sadie now revealed the other edge of that sword, as her against-the-grain finger combing transformed Chris’ perfectly groomed coiffeur into an irregular, spiky mane, the likes of which is rarely seen outside of anime.

“Oh, yeah!” Justin cheered, pumping his fist. “Hit him where it hurts!”

“Mr. Hot Stuff ain’t so hot now, is he?” Heather jeered.

“Can we be on the same team?” Katie and Sadie asked their hostage in unison.

“If you don’t…let…me go,” Chris gasped through Katie’s skillful tickle torture, “you won’t…have…a team…at all…I’ll…kick…you both…off…the show!”

“And throw away all this perfectly good drama?” Sadie retorted derisively. “I don’t think so.”

“Besides,” Katie added, as Chris continued to writhe beneath her, “if we can’t be on the same team, we’d rather not be on your show anyway.”

“You go, girls!” LeShawna cried. “Show him who’s boss!”

“Yeah, it serves Chip right for being so mean,” Lindsay sniffed.

“I know, right?” Beth seconded.

“Resistance is futile,” Cody intoned solemnly. “You will be assimilated.”

Katie, seeing no sign that Chris might be about to relent, leaned forward and quickly slipped her arms under his belly. She pinned the host’s arms to his sides below the elbows to supplement Sadie’s pin near the shoulders, and cried, “Double team!”

In an amazingly nimble move for such a heavy girl, Sadie pushed off on Chris’ shoulders and launched herself a little way into the air, wrenching her body violently about.

Katie was stronger than she looked, but she was no match for Chris. Without Sadie’s substantial bulk pinning him down, Chris needed only a few seconds to break Katie’s grip. His problem was that he didn’t have a few seconds. Scarcely had he sensed his chance when Sadie came heavily down upon him once more. Now, however, she was facing Katie, giving both girls unfettered access to those unprotected ribs, and Sadie soon demonstrated that her tickle torturing was no less adept than Katie’s.

As the Eagles watched these BFFs demonstrate the gentle art of persuasion, Owen began to chant, “Katie…Sadie…Katie…Sadie…” The rest of the Peanut Gallery quickly took up the chant.

Chris knew then that he dared not make good on his threat to throw the clones out of the game, lest the other campers on the cliff back them up; for although Katie and Sadie were expendable, a “sympathy strike” could kill the fledgling show—and if that happened, Chris would have to get a real job.

“Dudettes…please….No more!” the helpless host gasped desperately.

“Can we be on the same team?”

“The teams…are set…There’s nothing…I…can do!” the host pleaded, as he writhed helplessly and tears of agony began to trickle down his face.

“I don’t believe you for a minute,” Katie retorted, as she continued to tickle.

“It’s so not nice to tell people stories like that,” Sadie added, likewise giving Chris no respite.

“We can keep this up all day, you know” Katie said, her threat all the more chilling for its matter-of-fact tone. “It takes a long time for our fingers to get tired.”

“We used to have tickling duels all the time when we were little,” Sadie explained, “and we’ve tickled people into submission before.”

Finally, inevitably, Chris yielded.

“Okay, okay…you win…You can both…be…on the same…team!”

Katie and Sadie stopped their tickle torture, but kept him pinned for the nonce. “Promise?” the clones challenged in unison.

“I promise!” Chris cried, his tone a naked plea.

“That’s all we wanted,” Sadie said, as she and Katie released their prisoner and rose to their feet. The girls then hugged and squealed in delight.

“Wow,” Trent exclaimed softly, still scarcely able to believe what he had seen, “They look so sweet and innocent.”

“Well, now we know better,” Gwen observed with a smirk. With an effort, she had managed to suppress laughter, but her eyes were dancing.

“Hell hath no fury like BFFs scorned,” Noah said, his eyes still wide and his face a bit flushed.

There was a delay of a few minutes whilst Chris regained his composure after the attack of the clones and a valet team restyled his hair. The finished episode spliced in a confessional spot at this point.

“Okay, the profilers were seriously asleep at the switch,” Chris pouted in the confessional. “First Ezekiel, now Katie and Sadie, all the early-out cannon fodder is turning out way different from what I expected. What’s next? Gwen masterminding a grand alliance? Lindsay unleashing a third brain cell? Oh, well, all the more drama!”

On the diving cliff, Chris was once more camera-ready. “Katie, Sadie,” he said, “You’re both on the Eagles. Beth, since you’re the most similar to Sadie, you’re on the Muskies. Which means, Beth, it’s your turn to dive. You’re the last Muskie.”

“Goodbye, Beth,” Justin said, fixing the farm girl with his hypnotic gaze. “I wish I’d been able to get to know you better.”

Katie and Sadie started to protest, but Justin silenced them with a wink. The Bobbsey Twins nodded slowly, their mouths forming an “O” of understanding.

Heather also understood what Justin was up to. “I’ll miss you, Beth,” the dragon girl said with an apologetic look on her face. “You’re okay, for a nerd.”

As Beth’s resolve began to waver, some of the other Eagles joined in this mind game, crowding around Beth to say goodbye. It was a terribly callous way to treat Harold’s memory, and most of the Eagles would be mortified later, when they realized what they had done; but for now, they had a challenge to win, and all methods were fair. Besides, although they all knew what had happened to Harold, they hadn’t seen it close by, so it hadn’t really sunk in yet.

“Goodbye, Beth,” Trent said with a wistful smile. “I’ll write a song about you. I promise.”

“Maybe you and Harold can hook up on the other side,” Noah suggested. “You seem like his type.”

“Oh, that would be so sweet,” Lindsay cooed. Unlike the others, Lindsay was completely sincere, for she liked Beth and hadn’t the wit to understand mind games, much less play them.

“Aww, that would be totally sweet,” Katie and Sadie cooed in unison.


 * Go ye heroes, go to glory,
 * Though ye die in combat gory,
 * Ye shall live in song and story.
 * Go to immortality!
 * Go to death, and go to slaughter;
 * Die, and every Cornish daughter
 * With her tears, your graves shall water.
 * Go ye heroes, go and die!

Had any other Muskies still been on the cliff, they might have been able to counter the Eagles’ tactic. As it was, though, Beth had to face the onslaught alone. The farm girl wasn’t particularly courageous or self-confident under the best conditions, so the outcome was never in serious doubt.

“I can’t jump,” Beth admitted to Chris. “I’m too scared.”

Chris placed a chicken hat on Beth’s head and directed her to the trailhead, where Alejandro waited to escort her to the base of the cliff; for the delays caused by Courtney’s search and Katie and Sadie’s persuasiveness had given the big intern time to return to the summit after escorting D.J. to the lakeshore.

“Cheer up, senorita,” Alejandro said as they hiked down to the base, “I’m sure you’ll get a chance to redeem yourself. But if you don’t mind my asking, what was with everyone saying goodbye like that? It sounded like they weren’t expecting to ever see you again.”

“Don’t you know?” Beth asked incredulously, but then realized that he probably didn’t. “Oh, yeah, you hadn’t gotten back from taking D.J. to the bottom.

“Anyway, Harold never came up from his dive.” Beth’s voice was quavering. The only reason she wasn’t in tears was because she still couldn’t quite believe what had happened.

“I see,” was the only response Alejandro could think of.

“And then, after Chris switched me and Sadie so she could be on the same team with Katie—”

Beth’s dolor fled for a moment as she remembered how the clones had convinced Chris to allow the switch. “You should have seen them own Chris. It was awesome!”

“I wish I could have,” Alejandro admitted with feeling. “McLean doesn’t treat the interns very well. He treats us like supplies instead of people.”

“Well, now we know that it’s not just the interns. He actually seemed happy when Harold…when Harold…” Beth left the thought unfinished, unable to say it.

“It was pretty much the same way when we were setting up the challenge,” Alejandro confided. “McLean had a bunch of us test the dive, but the safe zone was originally a lot bigger than it wound up being. There also weren’t as many sharks at first. The first few times we dived, we all hit the safe zone, or came down close enough that we could get into it or to the boat before the sharks got us. McLean kept making the safe zone smaller and smaller, a little bit at a time, and a couple of times he added more sharks. He said he was looking for ‘that little something extra’ that would goose the show’s ratings.

“As it turned out, that ‘little something extra’ was apparently blood. Finally, one guy dived and missed by wide enough a margin that he didn’t make it. All McLean said was that the challenge was good to go. So believe me, I know exactly how you feel.”

They walked in silence for a time, until Beth’s interrupted train of thought returned to the station.

“Anyway,” she said, “when I suddenly got put on the Muskies, I was the last one. I guess that’s where you came in. It was like everyone was expecting me to get eaten. I get that they were probably just messing with me so they could win the challenge, but how could they be that callous?”

“Like it or not,” the strapping intern counseled, “That’s the way these elimination games are played. If you’re serious about winning, you have to be ruthless. Alliances are fluid, and you can’t trust anyone for very long. On the other hand, you can’t win as a ‘lone wolf’, either, so you have to trust someone. The immunity you get for winning a challenge helps, but nobody’s going to win every challenge; and from what I’ve heard, you’re not going to be able to ‘bank’ immunities for when you need them.”

“Wow, you sure know a lot about these things,” Beth said admiringly. She wasn’t just admiring her escort’s genre knowledge, either, for Alejandro was ruggedly handsome and well-mannered.

“I should. I was on one of these shows a few years ago, and I also like to watch them.”

“Did you win?”

“Actually, we didn’t have a winner,” Alejandro confessed. “The ratings were bad, so the network pulled the plug on us just a couple of episodes after the teams merged. My show was a lot like this one, but the challenges weren’t as extreme. We also had to dive into shark-infested waters, but the sharks were really just for show. Our cliff was only about 20 meters high—I think the one here is something like 300—so the safe zone was easy to hit.

“Part of the ratings problem might have been that our show had a bland name. This show is called Total Drama Island. The show I was on was called Camp TV. Which one would you rather watch?”

“Yeah, I see your point,” Beth agreed.

“We had the same producers this show does, so they obviously think they’ve learned their lesson. Unfortunately for you guys, it looks like they may have learned the wrong lesson,” Alejandro added with a shake of his head.

“So anyway, you said that we have to be ruthless to win this type of game,” Beth reminded her escort. “Were you ruthless on your show, or was that something you figured out later?”

Alejandro grinned broadly and chuckled at the memory. “Oh, you need a new word for how ruthless I was, but there’s more to it than that. The trick is to not look like you’re enjoying it too much, or you’ll lose the respect of the jury—and if that happens, then you’re basically playing for second place. Of course, you might get lucky and end up in the finals against someone who’s even more despised, but you can’t count on that.” thumb|300px|right|Alejandro counsels Beth

“I didn’t know we were going to have a jury,” the nerd girl admitted. “Chris didn’t say anything about that in the orientation.”

“Hmm. Well if he didn’t say anything about it, then I probably shouldn’t either, but I’ve heard that you will indeed have a jury vote. From what I’ve heard, though, the jurors won’t be just the contestants who get to a certain point. Apparently, all of the losing contestants will vote, so it’s even more important to not burn bridges when you find it necessary to backstab someone. And I do mean when, not if. The time will come.

“You might have an advantage, though. I heard that none of you were expecting to be in an elimination game in the first place.”

“Well, I sure wasn’t,” Beth admitted.

“So, there might not be a lot of people strategizing, at least in the early stages,” Alejandro continued, “which means that if you can, you might have a leg up. Watch that Heather chick, though. She’s got ‘conniver’ written all over her. On the other hand, you can’t necessarily trust the ones who look innocent, either. They really have the potential to blindside people, not to mention that they can get deep into the game just by flying under the radar.”

Beth shook her head as if to clear it. She was reasonably intelligent, but not remarkably so, and her escort’s info dump was a lot for her to digest.

“Wow, that sounds like a heck of a balancing act. How did you manage? Or did you?”

“I can guess what you’re probably thinking: ‘sadder but wiser’. But, no, I had it down to a science. You see, my father’s a diplomat, and he’s taught me a thing or two about how to manipulate people. Do you know the difference between being witty and being charming?”

“I don’t think so,” Beth admitted. “What?”

“A witty man can make you think that he’s the smartest person in the world,” Beth’s hunky escort-cum-tutor explained, “but a charming man can make you think that you’re the smartest person in the world.

“As for the balancing act, my competitors never knew what hit them. It didn’t hurt that I was also strong and athletic and able to charm the…

Alejandro stopped short for a moment, a strange look on his face. Then burst into laughter.

“What’s so funny? Beth asked.

When Alejandro had composed himself well enough to answer, he explained, “I was about to say, ‘I was able to charm the pants off the ladies’, but that would have been the mother of all epic fails.”

Beth’s eyes widened for a moment, then she likewise cracked up at the absurdity of someone who supposedly understood diplomacy making such a ridiculous blunder.

“You can say that again!” she gasped between guffaws.

When the farmer’s daughter had somewhat composed herself, Alejandro’s demeanor turned serious and he said, “I assure you, that’s not what I was after—then or now!”

Beth was still grinning like an idiot. “Well, I’m not that kind of girl, anyway, so…

“…So let’s not and say we did,” she suggested impishly.

“Works for me, amiga” Alejandro replied, giving Beth’s shoulder a quick, playful squeeze.

“Now, where were we?” the Latino lad asked rhetorically. “Ah, yes, owning my Camp TV rivals. In addition to being the most socially adept player, I was also very strong in the challenges. All things considered, I was so dominant that, if Camp TV had been a fictional narrative instead of a reality show, people would have called me an unrealistic Gary Stu. Well, probably a Villain Stu. A shame that so few people saw it.”

A painful thought suddenly seemed to strike Alejandro, and he sighed. “I’ve just forced myself into a confession,” he added wistfully. “That same dominance that I was so proud of might have been part of the reason why the show’s ratings were so poor. People don’t like to watch one guy win at everything. It gets boring pretty quickly.”

The camper and the intern walked in silence for a time, with Alejandro now looking as dejected as Beth had been mere minutes before. The hunky intern finally broke the silence.

“Now I’m the one who needs cheering up,” he admitted. “So tell me, how did Katie and Sadie convince McLean to let them be on the same team? From what you said before, it sounds like my summer is diminished for not having seen it.”

Beth then told her escort about how the clones had bent Chris to their will, but nothing would be gained by repeating it here.

Soon after, these newly minted friends reached the lakeshore. Seeing the other Muskies assembled nearby, Beth went to join them, and to explain how she’d come to be their new teammate. At about the same time, Alejandro received a call from a fellow intern, relaying Chris’ instructions to remain at the lakeshore until the diving phase of the challenge was finished. With nothing better to do for the nonce, the former reality show star sat down on a fallen tree to watch the remaining Eagles dive.

The finished episode showed nothing of Beth and Alejandro’s conversation, because the interns and the contestants weren’t supposed to socialize with each other. When the interns appeared on camera at all, they were expected to be little more than living furniture, and weren’t supposed to speak on camera except in emergencies.

Where Eagles Dare
As Beth and Alejandro began their hike to the lakeshore, Chris totted up the numbers on his clipboard. “Okay,” he announced, “Final totals for the Killer Muskies: eight successful dives, one failed dive and two chickens, with five divers hitting the safe zone.

“Eagles, let’s see if you can beat that. Heather, you’re up first.”

“No way,” Heather declared. “I’ll get my hair wet.”

“Excuse me?” LeShawna asked incredulously. “You can’t be serious!”

“Hello, Homie,” Heather retorted, “We’re on National TV. I have to look my best.” With a sniff, the dragon girl added, “It’s a hotness thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Ooh, them’s fightin’ words,” Justin pronounced with an expectant smirk, for he sensed an imminent catfight. No one heard or answered, though, for everyone’s attention was on Heather and LeShawna.

“Can you get any more full of yourself?” LeShawna challenged. “If you were afraid to jump, that would be one thing, but we’re not losing this challenge just ‘cause you had your hair did!”

“If she’s not jumping, then I’m not jumping,” Lindsay announced, and favored Heather with a glance and a curt nod that silently added, so there!

With a smirk, the dragon girl returned Lindsay’s glance and nod in kind, seeing that the blonde bombshell well understood this “hotness thing”.

“Oh, she’s jumping, all right,” LeShawna declared, addressing Lindsay but glaring at Heather.

“Back off, Ghetto Glam rap star wannabe!” the dragon girl demanded.

“Your mouth is writing checks your body can’t cash, call girl in training with shorts the size of an eye patch!” the homegirl retorted.

“You’re a great one to talk, you morbidly obese cow who can’t keep her paws off any guy with a pulse! Not that they’d want you.”

“Eating disorder poster child with collarbones that can cut glass and ribs that stick out farther than your boobs!”

“And me without my popcorn,” Noah quipped to Gwen, as the homegirl and the dragon girl continued to trade insults concerning each other’s tastes, attractiveness, sexual proclivities, intelligence, ancestry, social standing and probable place of residence in the afterlife.

“The popcorn isn’t the half of it. We should be selling tickets,” replied Lady Snark to Lord Snipe. “If push comes to shove, though, my money’s on LeShawna.”

“I doubt you’d find many takers,” Noah opined. “That’s a sucker bet if I ever saw one.”

“Well, at least I’m popular,” Heather declared in a tone implying that she expected this revelation to be the unchallengeable last word.

“You probably are, with people who don’t actually know you,” LeShawna shot back, “but I don’t care how many toothpick lovers want the only thing you’re probably good for, you’re jumping!”

Heather then spoke the Famous Last Words, “Make me.”

LeShawna said no more, but advanced on the dragon girl with grim determination. Heather instinctively gave ground, realizing that she was physically no match for LeShawna and fearing that the powerful-looking homegirl might throw her bodily off the cliff.

Step by step, LeShawna advanced and Heather retreated. So concerned were these adversaries with each other, that they lost track of their position.

“Uh, guys?” Sadie began uncertainly.

“Guys?” Katie repeated, with more urgency, a few seconds later.

Heather and LeShawna did not hear their teammates, so intent were they on each other. Moments later, Heather stepped back onto…nothing. She had reached the edge of the cliff.

Thrown off balance, with only her toes on solid ground, the dragon girl fell over backwards and plummeted, screaming, to the lake far below.

“Heather!” LeShawna cried helplessly, instinctively extending her hand although Heather could not possibly have reached it.

Those toes on the cliff, while not enough to support her, may have saved Heather’s life, for they stopped her falling straight down and possibly hitting the beach. Instead, her trajectory carried her slightly away from the cliff face. She still landed well short of the safe zone, in dangerously shallow water, but she was unhurt. Cursing under her breath, Heather scrambled ashore before the sharks could close.

Atop the cliff, the mortified LeShawna breathed an immense sigh of relief, for she understood only too well how close she had come to exacting a terribly disproportionate price for Heather’s vanity.

Heather had not technically been forced to dive, and that was apparently good enough for Lindsay. After taking a few moments to steel herself, the blonde bombshell dove gracefully from the cliff.

Gracefully at first, that is. When she saw that she was over-rotating, Lindsay’s composure deserted her. Abandoning her diving posture, she began frantically flailing her limbs in a desperate and not particularly effective attempt to control her orientation. Screaming the while, she completed her descent, ending with an utterly graceless splashdown. Chris wasn’t awarding style points, though. Lindsay was unhurt and in the safe zone, and that was what mattered.

LeShawna followed. After a short running start, she hurtled off the cliff and assumed a cannonball position.

Although not obese, LeShawna was not a slim girl, and the others would learn in due course that her weight was sometimes a sensitive issue with her. This was not one of those times, though, for she had thought of a way to put her bulk to good use. From this height, and with the cannonball posture, the homegirl looked to make a truly mighty splash. That way, if she happened to miss the safe zone and land near a shark (as long as it wasn’t one of the really huge ones) it might be scared off. This precaution proved useful, but not for the reason LeShawna had anticipated. The dusky daughter hit one of the floats marking the far edge of the safe zone, but her protected position made the impact a good deal less painful that it might otherwise have been.

Trent, Gwen and Cody followed. Trent made his dive without incident, but Gwen and Cody both missed the safe zone. Gwen, seeing that she was much closer to the safe zone than to the boat, quickly scrambled over the boundary. Cody was not so lucky, and nearly lost a couple of toes as his teammates hauled him onto the boat, snatching him from the jaws of the piscine predators.

Katie and Sadie were next to get the call. Having won the concession of competing on the same team, they actually made their dives together. The others thought this strange, but only because they didn’t yet know these two well. Although Katie and Sadie had their physical differences, psychologically they were virtually the same person—a fact that would become painfully obvious in due course.

The clones splashed down, seemingly without incident, into the safe zone. After a few moments, though, the water around the safe zone suddenly began to boil with activity. The sharks seemed to be in frenzy, enough so to complicate retrieval of the divers.

“What’s with those sharks?” Katie asked when she and her BFF were safely aboard the boat.

“I don’t know, but they seriously need to chill,” Sadie declared with a sniff.

“I know, right? They’re like totally having a cow,” Katie replied with a sniff of her own.

“Oh, totally,” Sadie confirmed.

“Uh, ladies?” Cody asked, interrupting the clones’ chatter. “If it’s not too personal, are either of you in…er, you know…your time of month?”

“If it’s not too personal?” Sadie repeated in disbelief. “How much more personal can you get? But anyway, I am…if you must know.”

“Oh, I totally am, too,” Katie squealed to her BFF. Turning to the science geek, she looked down her nose at him and said archly, “So now you know. Are you happy now?”

“Sorry to probe,” Cody offered contritely, for he couldn’t bear to have a girl mad at him. “The reason I asked is because I thought it might explain why the sharks got so worked up. They probably smelled traces of your, er…’periodness’?”

Katie and Sadie blanched and their eyes widened in horror as the implications of Cody’s conjecture sank in. The clones realized with a qualm that, had they missed the safe zone, they would surely have met the same fate as Harold, and far more messily into the bargain.

Atop the diving cliff, Justin now answered the call with a beautiful swan dive that had everyone oohing and ahhing. Unfortunately, he, like Courtney before him, had better form than aim. The Incredible Hunk looked irritated with himself for missing the safe zone and thereby failing to score a point toward the winning team’s reward, but he didn’t seem concerned about the sharks as he swam calmly toward the boat.

The sharks swarmed around Justin, but instead of attacking, they playfully butted him and gamboled about him, as dolphins might. Indeed, these bloodthirsty creatures actually seemed smitten with Justin’s preternatural beauty. Justin smiled knowingly, as if he had been expecting this reaction, as he continued his leisurely swim to the boat.

His attitude changed abruptly, however, when a shark brushed affectionately against him, as an attention-seeking cat might. A shark’s scales are hard enough and sharp enough that sharkskin makes decent sandpaper; so even though the sharks still seemed to mean him no harm, Justin suddenly feared for his perfect, perfect skin. No longer calm, The Embodiment of Manly Beauty swam to the boat as if the devil himself were at his heels.

Only Noah and Owen now remained for the Eagles. Chris called Noah for the next dive.

“What’s the point?” the calculating bookworm asked. “We’ve already beaten them.”

“You can chicken out if you want,” Chris acknowledged, “But remember, each successful diver gets a crate of supplies for the hot tub. If you deprive your team of the 11th crate, and that crate contains something important, it could cost your team the challenge. And then they’ll hate you. Besides, if you want the carts for your crates, you’re still tied for that.”

“It’s a calculated risk,” Noah replied. “I’m not in the mood to get et today. Besides, my teammates wouldn’t vote me off. I’m the only one with any brains.”

“Are you sure about that?” Chris needled. “Cody seems pretty smart, and he took the plunge.”

“Exactly,” the bookworm parried. “He dived, even after he saw what happened to Harold. How smart can he be? Besides, there has to be some redundancy in the supplies. Otherwise, you’d run the risk of neither team being able to complete the challenge.”

Chris, with one eye on the production schedule, decided that he’d had enough of this debate. “Fine,” he said, placing a chicken hat on Noah’s large (in more ways than one) head. “Your funeral.”

Noah, on the other hand wasn’t done yet, and seemed intent on having the last word. “No, it won’t be my funeral,” he sneered. “That’s the whole point of my not diving.”

“Whatever,” Chris replied, effectively ending the discussion. In the finished episode, a spliced-in confessional spot would reveal that the host had decided at this moment to make an example of Noah. Chris didn’t like being talked back to, and he had resolved to make sure that the Eagles’ 11th crate included a critical and unduplicated part. Then, after the Eagles’ hot tub failed, but before they cast their elimination votes, he would show the Eagles the footage of his clifftop discussion with the pretentious bookworm.

“Okay, Owen,” Chris said to the Jolly White Giant, “you’re the last one.”

Owen, like Noah, might have chickened out with 10 crates in hand. With Noah having already balked, though, Owen decided that leaving two crates on the table would be leaving too much to chance. He would have to take one for the team.

Steeling himself, Owen ran to the edge of the cliff and launched himself. He had seen LeShawna’s dive, and thought her “shark repellant” tactic a good one, so he decided that he would also make the biggest splash he could. Being bigger and fatter than the homegirl, though, Owen decided that he could do better than a cannonball. As he plummeted, and realized that he was probably going to miss the safe zone, Owen spread himself out and prepared for a belly flop. It would be painful, he knew, but he thought it was for the best.

Owen missed the safe zone by perhaps five meters, but he hit the water with the force of an exploding depth charge. His splash was not especially large—certainly not the skyscraping plume that everyone was expecting—but the water around him went white. Most of the sharks fled in terror, but those closest to the man-mountain did not, because they could not. Stunned, they drifted insensible into the depths.

Noah, still on the cliff top, saw his chance. “Chris,” he offered, “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll dive after all, if I can still get credit for it.”

“So, you’ve grown a pair now that the sharks aren’t a threat?” the host needled.

“The odds have changed, that’s all,” Noah parried.

Chris considered for a moment, and passed judgment. “Well, I really shouldn’t allow it, but I’m too nice for my own good. Since you want special rules, though, I’m going to give you one. After all, there still has to be some risk.”

Noah eyed Chris warily, waiting for the host to drop the other shoe, and Chris did not disappoint. “You have to hit the safe zone to get credit for diving at all,” the host pronounced.

“Fine,” Noah agreed. The bookworm thought that he had gotten the better end of the deal, and was willing to admit that Chris had a point.

Chris removed Noah’s chicken hat. The bookworm turned toward the cliff’s edge, steeled himself, ran a few steps to the edge, and jumped. Chris looked disappointed when Noah splashed down in the safe zone to give the Eagles a perfect record of successful dives and a 6-5 win for dives into the safe zone.

After Noah had swum to shore, for Hatchet was under orders not to pick him up, the campers cooled their heels for a few minutes until Chris and his chauffeur arrived.

Chris led the campers a short way along the lakeshore, until they came to two piles of wooden crates. Each pile had eleven crates, all of the same size. Alejandro and a team of his fellow interns now wheeled some carts to one pile, and removed three crates (apparently chosen at random) from the other.

Chris told the campers, “Everyone on the Eagles dived, although some did need more ‘encouragement’ than others, and they also had more dives in the safe zone, so they get the big pile and the carts. The Muskies had three people who either didn’t dive or didn’t survive, so they get the smaller pile.

“Take these crates back to camp. You’ll get additional instructions there. Don’t even think about trying to open any of your crates until you’re in camp, unless you want to be disqualified.

“You have until sundown to build your hot tubs, so don’t dawdle. And Killer Muskies, good luck. You’re going to need it.”

After Chris had departed, the teams began to inspect the crates and found that most of them weren’t very heavy, despite being large and unwieldy. They were bulky enough, though, that only Owen and D.J. could lift one without assistance. Most of the other boys, and a few of the girls, had the strength but not the “wingspan”.

“We need a team leader,” Courtney declared to her fellow Muskies. “Since we’re living in a summer camp and I used to be a CIT, I think I’m the most qualified. Any objections?” She was met with a collective shrug.

The teams set to work. As Duncan and Ezekiel pulled a crate off the pile, the farm boy said, “I don’t get why we lost the first part. They’re the ones with six girls.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Bridgette challenged, for she and Eva had also been pulling a crate from the pile, and so had overheard.

“Yeah, enlighten us, Homeschool,” Eva added as the girls set down their crate.

As it turned out, these three had spoken loudly enough to get most of the campers’ attention; and for the moment, the challenge was forgotten.

“Well, boys are much stronger and better at sports than girls,” Ezekiel explained innocently.

“Gee, I wonder who’s going home after we win the challenge,” Heather asked rhetorically.

“I don’t know. Who do you think?” Lindsay replied innocently. Heather rolled her eyes and bit her tongue.

Courtney stepped in to try to defuse the situation before it got out of control. “Even if that were true, which I’m NOT conceding, cliff diving doesn’t really play to those strengths,” she observed.

“Sure, it does,” Ezekiel replied. “Outdoorsy, action-y stuff is guy stuff. Boys have better eyes for distance, because back in the days of hunter-gatherer societies the men were the hunters and the women were the gatherers. We still are, really. And I can see girls chickening out of that dive, because it was scary and girls aren’t as brave as boys in most things, but…” The farm boy left the thought unfinished, for he had finally noticed Bridgette’s death glare but was unsure of what had brought it on. “What?” he said obliviously.

“I am going to make you eat…every…word,” the surfer girl vowed.

Several campers were backing away nervously, looking for all the world like they expected the two Muskies to call for dueling pistols.

“Would you like a glove to slap him with?” Gwen quipped.

Before Bridgette could respond, Eva stepped in. The musclegirl was in position to grab Ezekiel’s neck from behind, as she had with Cody the day before, but she wanted Sexist Warthog Boy to see her coming; so she interposed herself between Bridgette and Ezekiel, fastened both hands on the farm boy’s chauvinistic throat, and hoisted him aloft.

“I find this lack of faith disturbing,” Eva said. Her tone was mild and even, but her face was beet-red and her teeth were gritted—not from the strain of lifting Ezekiel, but from murderous fury only barely controlled.

“Still think we’re weak and cowardly?” Eva taunted after a few moments, in the same deceptively mild tone.

Ezekiel’s only response was some gurgling noises and increasingly frantic struggles to break Eva’s adamantine grip. Despite her rage, the steel maiden had enough presence of mind to relax her grip to the point where her prey could at least breathe, but she still denied him the grace of feeling solid ground beneath his feet.


 * When the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,
 * He shouts to scare the monster who will often turn aside.
 * But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail,
 * For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
 * When Nag, the wayside cobra, hears the careless foot of man,
 * He will sometimes wriggle sideways and avoid it if he can,
 * But his mate makes no such motion where she camps beside the trail—
 * For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
 * When the early Jesuit fathers preached to Hurons and Choctaws,
 * They prayed to be delivered from the vengeance of the squaws—
 * ‘Twas the women, not the warriors, turned those stark enthusiasts pale—
 * For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
 * ‘Twas the women, not the warriors, turned those stark enthusiasts pale—
 * For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

“Okay, you little trilobite,” Eva demanded, dropping her mild tone in favor of one that better reflected how she truly felt, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t dropkick you to the sharks!”

“Hasn’t there been enough blood today??”

All the campers (except for Ezekiel, of course) silently turned to Beth, for everyone had been taken aback at the intensity of the unassuming nerdette’s outburst. Although Beth looked more distraught than angry, her face was as red as Eva’s, and the tears that would not come during her conversation with Alejandro had finally begun to flow.

“Sorry,” Eva said, as she flung Ezekiel to the ground and her face began to return to its normal color. “Poor choice of words.”

“I know, right?” Bridgette said quietly, her own anger likewise blunted at the reminder of what bear and shark had wrought that day.

Eva turned back to Ezekiel. “This isn’t over, Homeschool,” the musclegirl warned darkly, before returning her attention to the crate pile. Bridgette flashed Ezekiel an “I’m watching you” sign, followed by Courtney and some of the Eagles girls.

Courtney then went to the farm girl and asked, “You okay, Beth?”

“Do I look okay?” Beth asked in turn, for she looked and sounded perfectly miserable.

“I understand,” Courtney replied wistfully, “but we need everyone’s head in the game. We’ll have time to mourn later, but right now, we’ve still got a job to do.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Beth conceded, as her tears began to abate.

Seeing that the Muskies were getting back to business, albeit with a more melancholy air than before, Heather called on the Eagles to do the same. “Okay, everyone, let’s get moving. Ownage over, nothing to see here.”

As the other campers turned their attention back to the challenge, Duncan pulled Ezekiel aside. “Dude, you’ve got a lot to learn about the real world,” the delinquent said with a shake of his head.

“I don’t get it,” Ezekiel admitted. “All I did was call ‘em as I see ‘em. Back home, people appreciate that, eh?”

“You’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto,” Duncan replied. Looking quickly around to make sure that no one would overhear, he lowered his voice and added, “To be honest, I don’t necessarily think you’re wrong, but you won’t catch me saying that in front of the chicks.”

“Why not? Sure, that Eva’s a brute—she reminds me of Fat Broad in the B.C. comic strip—but I’ll bet you could take her if she wanted a fight, eh? Not that I actually think boys should go around beating up girls or anything.”

“That’s not the point,” the delinquent explained. “The point is that the chicks get to vote, too, and our chances of winning this challenge don’t look too hot right now. You’ve got a cool dude inside you screaming to get out, but you have to let this go. Otherwise, you might be setting yourself up to be the first one kicked off. We don’t outnumber the chicks anymore, and even if we did, it would only take one guy brownnosing for dates to give them the majority.”

“Gee, you’re right. I hadn’t thought of that, eh?”

No, of course you hadn’t, Duncan thought; but what he actually said was, “It would be a good idea for you to lay low for a while. Let Miss Goody Twoshoes be the team leader, since she’s the only one who seems to want to, do your part in the hot tub building, and maybe this will blow over.”

“Thanks, Duncan. Don’t get me wrong, but you’re not what I expected from a street tough. You’re actually kind of nice.”

Duncan’s comradely air vanished. “Let’s get one thing straight,” he said, glowering at Ezekiel, “Do NOT go around calling me ‘nice’. It’s bad for my street cred. Besides, just because I don’t respect law and order doesn’t mean that I don’t understand teamwork. I’m just a little more selective about who I call a teamie…teamie.”

Meanwhile, the Eagles were loading their crates onto the carts. Heather took it upon herself to direct traffic, for she was a “queen bee” at her school and so was used to wielding social authority. Most of the Eagles were as indifferent to Heather’s power grab as the Muskies had been to Courtney’s, but Heather’s presumption did not sit well with Gwen.

“Who died and made you the Grand Pooh-bah?” Gwen challenged.

“Shut it, Weird Goth Girl,” Heather snapped. “I don’t see anyone else stepping up.”

“That’s not the point. The point is that you can’t just declare yourself Queen of Hearts and boss us around.”

“We need a leader, so you would you suggest?” Heather asked with a faint but noticeable sneer. “You? That’d be a laugh.”

“Heather’s popular. What more do you want?” Lindsay added. Having recognized a fellow fashionista, Lindsay was sticking close to the dragon girl, as she had during most of their brief time on the island.

“Being popular doesn’t mean—“ Gwen began.

“So, do you want to be the leader?” Heather interrupted. “No? Then what’s your damage?”

Before Gwen could answer, Heather raised her voice to address the Eagles as a whole. “Everyone’s okay with me being the leader, right? Right.” Turning back to Gwen, the dragon girl tossed her head and declared, “Sorry, Gothie, but the people have spoken. Silence equals assent. So go with the flow like a good little gutterpunk, and maybe you won’t get voted off the first time we lose a challenge.”

As the Eagles turned their attention back to the task at hand, Heather said to Lindsay, “We’ll have to keep an eye on her. Ugly clothes and ugly hair mean an ugly mind.”

“I know, right?” Lindsay replied. Being a gentle and goodhearted person, Lindsay didn’t actually dislike Gwen, but was in full agreement with Heather on the value of fashion sense as a predictor of character.

Heather returned to overseeing the cart loading operation, her leadership now unchallenged.

“Uh, Heather?” came a voice that was all too familiar, yet oddly subdued, as the Eagles loaded the last crate.

“What do you want, Ghetto Girl?” Heather snapped as she turned toward the voice. The queen bee’s resentment softened a bit when she saw the hangdog look on her adversary’s face.

“Look, I’m real sorry about what happened on the cliff,” LeShawna offered contritely. “All that stuff we said…none of that was anything a girl deserves to die for. I just lost track of how close we were to the edge.”

Heather answered, “Well, no harm, no foul, I guess. Apology accepted.

“Besides, it turned out for the best. I don’t know what I was thinking, being more worried about getting my hair mussed than about getting eaten by sharks, especially after we’d seen that it could happen. I just needed some, ah, ‘encouragement’. Your methods may have been a little unorthodox, but you can’t argue with success.”

“Truce, then?” LeShawna asked.

“Sure, truce. Just tell me one thing, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Would you really have picked me up and thrown me off the cliff? You looked like you were ready to.”

With a booming belly laugh, the homegirl admitted, “I just might have. But that’s all in the past. If you can forgive and forget, then so can I.”

“Deal,” Heather pronounced. “Now, we’d better get to hauling these crates back to camp. Let’s put that muscle of yours to better use than chick chucking.”

After LeShawna had left them, Lindsay asked, “Did you really mean that? That you’re going to be friends with Madonna?”

“LeShawna,” Heather corrected. “And no way. She’s going down. I’m not about to forget that she almost got me killed—literally.”

“Then why were you being all nice to her?”

“Have you ever seen one of these shows?” the dragon girl asked her microcephalic companion. When Lindsay confessed that she had not, Heather explained, “There’s an old saying: ‘Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.’ Besides, Homie did apologize like she meant it, so that gave me a good cover to make nice…for now.”

“Oh, I see,” Lindsay said. “I think. But, I’m your friend, right?”

“Of course,” Heather assured the uberbimbo. “As long as I don’t have a reason for you not to be.”

Build It, And They Will Come
Aided by their wheels, that most storied of the Five Simple Machines, it wasn’t overlong before the Eagles arrived at the camp and began unloading their carts. Their host and overlord was there to meet them.

“You’ve made good time, dudes,” Chris noted approvingly. “Before you get started, though, there’s something you should know.”

“And what’s that?” Heather asked, unsure of whether she really wanted to know.

“You can’t use your hands to open the crates,” Chris replied.

“So what are we supposed to do?” LeShawna challenged, “Tear them open with our teeth?”

“That’s one possibility,” the host replied unhelpfully.

“You’re frontin’ me,” the homegirl shot back. “What do you think we are, termites?”

Chris did not deign to reply.

This conundrum had the Eagles stumped for a time, until inspiration came to Cody. The Science Guy told Owen about his idea, for the man-mountain was vital to the plan. It was possible that Owen could be in for some pain, and Cody didn’t want to run the risk of embarrassing him in front of everyone by announcing his plan without getting the larger boy’s buy-in. Diplomacy aside, Owen was immensely strong despite his poor physical condition, and he could probably have put Cody in the hospital without breaking a sweat, were he so inclined.

Owen thought Cody’s idea a good one, but also recognized the potential for serious pain if things didn’t go according to plan. The whale and the shrimp talked for a few minutes, fine-tuning the plan. At last, Owen agreed to try it. The two boys then approached Heather, who likewise thought the plan a good one.

“Okay, guys, here’s the plan,” Heather suddenly announced to the Eagles. “We’ll use Owen’s fatness.”

“Er, it was actually Cody’s idea,” Owen replied hesitantly.

“I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise,” Heather assured him. The truth was that she had intended to take the credit for herself if she could, but her wording was ambiguous enough to give her a face-saving out if she was called on it.

Heather gestured toward a large boulder protruding from the side of a small hill. This immense rock was perhaps three meters high, but easily scaleable from the buried side.

“See that boulder over there?” she asked. Not waiting for a response, because the great stone was hard to miss, Heather explained, “Owen will climb on top of it. We’ll put a crate in front, and set it on its side. Then Owen will jump on it, and the lid should pop right off.”

After the other Eagles had expressed varying degrees of optimism about this scheme, Heather added, “Now, we’ll need a mattress to put on the crate, because otherwise Owen might go right through the side and kill himself. More importantly, he might damage the contents. According to our science geek, the positioning is a little tricky.

“Trent, Justin, you’re with me. Everyone else, get one of the crates into position.”

As the other Eagles moved the first crate over to the boulder, Heather led the two boys into the girls’ cabin, and pointed to one of the lower bunks. Gwen’s bunk.

“That one,” she said.

“Why that one, especially?” Trent asked. “Why not one of the beds closest to the door?”

“Because those belong to our teammates. This one doesn’t,” Heather lied.

Trent and Justin were satisfied with this explanation, having no reason to doubt it, and hauled Gwen’s mattress out without further protest. Indeed, the reason why Heather had chosen boys for this task was because the boys did not know which girl had which bed.

By the time Heather and her porters returned to the crate-opening site, both Owen and the first crate were in position. Trent and Justin laid the mattress atop the crate and retired to a safe distance.

“Remember,” Cody said to Owen, “You want to land as close as you can to the top edge of the crate. If you land too close to the center, you’ll just stave in the side. Could be messy.”

“Right,” Owen acknowledged. With a cry of “Geronimo!” the Human Wrecking Ball jumped into the air, assumed a cannonball posture, and came down like the proverbial ton of bricks on the crate. He landed just where he wanted to, and the crate lid popped off like a champagne cork, breaking in two against a nearby tree trunk. Fortunately, no one had been in the line of fire.

“Awesome, dude!” Trent exclaimed, a sentiment echoed by several of his teammates.

“Clever,” Chris said, sounding pleased.

“All right,” Heather said. “Boys, get the next crate into position. Girls, we’ll go over the inventory.”

A few of the crates required a second or even third pounding before they opened, but the operation otherwise went off without a hitch. When the last crate had been opened, Owen excused himself, waddled painfully to the boys’ cabin, and took to his bed; for even with the mattress cushioning his falls, the man-mountain’s derriere was now sore from the constant pounding, and he was still feeling the effects of his cliff dive, as well. None of the Eagles begrudged Owen his early departure from the challenge, for they weren’t going to need everyone to build the hot tub, and Owen had done his part.

Heather, meanwhile, went back to the girls’ cabin with Trent and Justin and replaced Gwen’s badly battered mattress, which was now very lumpy and had a couple of springs exposed. As the boys left the cabin to rejoin their teammates, Heather stayed behind to make up Gwen’s bed to more or less match its previous state, which Heather had been careful to note.

Construction of the Eagles’ hot tub was well underway when the Muskies arrived, hot and tired from carrying and pushing their crates all the way from the diving cliff without the benefit of carts.

With tongue in cheek, Chris chastised the Muskies for their slowness and gleefully pointed out that the Eagles were far ahead of them. The host also informed the Fatal Fishies that they would have to open the crates without using their hands, assuring them that the Eagles had faced and overcome the same restriction. Of course, Chris did not tell the Muskies how their rivals had done this.

The Muskies pondered the question of how to open the crates, but did not have to ponder long before inspiration came to Courtney. Getting her teammates’ attention, she explained her plan, a plan that relied on the strength of D.J. and Eva.

“Think you can do it?” Courtney asked.

“No sweat,” Eva assured her.

“What she said,” D.J. seconded.

The Muskies set a crate on its side, and D.J. and Eva took up positions on either side, near the lid. On Courtney’s signal, both delivered powerful roundhouse kicks to the crate sides, just below the lid. Courtney’s plan was similar in principle to Cody’s, and the results were just as satisfactory, if less spectacular. With the crate squeezed between the opposing kicks, the lid popped neatly off and fell to the ground.

“Just like popping a pimple, eh?” Ezekiel observed.

“I know, right?” Beth replied.

“Well done, Muskies,” Chris said. “For what it’s worth, you came up with a plan faster than the Eagles did, so you’ve made up a little time.”

Like Heather before her, Courtney set the boys to moving the remaining crates into position and the girls to taking inventory of the opened crates. The crate kickers would do nothing else during this phase, because Courtney wanted them to save their strength; for although they had dealt with the first crate easily enough, it might be a different story by the time they got to the eighth.

After D.J. and Eva had opened the last crate, the Muskie girls finished checking their inventory against the parts list in the manual that they had found in one of the crates. Uncertainly, they checked the list a second time, and then frantically checked it yet again. The boys, who had taken a breather after finishing with the crate hauling, had rejoined their teammates and were wondering why the girls looked so uptight.

“We have a problem,” Courtney informed them. “We don’t have all the parts.”

“Can’t we work around it?” Geoff asked.

“I don’t think so,” Bridgette replied. “It’s a critical part.”

“Think outside the box,” Duncan counseled. He added softly, against any possibility that the Eagles might overhear, “Maybe we can swipe our missing part from the Birdies.”

“Absolutely not,” declared the scandalized Courtney. “I’m not a thief.”

“Well, I am, so you’re in luck,” Duncan countered. “This is no time to stand on principle, Princess. Do you want to win this or not?”

“Not at that price,” Courtney sniffed. “In any case, they got all their crates. Don’t you think it would be just a wee bit suspicious if they wound up missing something important?”

“What makes you think McLean is going to care?” Duncan countered. “His opinion is the only one that would really matter.”

“You do have a point,” Courtney admitted, “but it’s beside the point. Besides, even if it weren’t wrong in and of itself, I’m going to be running for office someday, and nobody’s going to dig up a video of me condoning theft.”

“If it turns out that they have an extra, would it be okay then?” Tyler asked. “They wouldn’t miss a spare, but they wouldn’t have any reason to hand it over willingly.”

“Besides,” Duncan pressed, seeing signs that Courtney was beginning to waver, “If you’re going to go into politics, you’re not going to get very far if you’re not willing to get your hands dirty. We don’t have all day. Once they install it, it’ll be too late. I won’t be able to lift it without being noticed.”

“I hate to side with the walking rap sheet,” Bridgette broke in, “but he’s right. They say the first rule of politics is that if you have to choose between what’s right and what’s expedient, you do what’s expedient.

“Which is NOT to say that I approve of his plan,” the surfer girl added with a glare at Duncan, who seemed about to say something. “We made our bed, and we have no one but ourselves to blame if it’s hard to lie in.”

Courtney’s seeming indecision passed. “No,” she said with fresh resolve. “Bridgette’s right. We’ll work with what we’ve got, and let the chips fall where they will.”

“We won’t have a chance,” Duncan warned, “so why bother? We can just take it easy. Get a shower, take a nap, raid the kitchen and see if Hatchet keeps any actual food around…”

“Sounds good to me,” Geoff seconded. “It’s a nice day, and this is a beauteous island if you don’t count the camp. Maybe we could get to know each other a little better,” the party king suggested with an admiring glance toward Bridgette, who reacted shyly.

Eva countered, “You’re assuming the Eagles will do a good job with their hot tub. Maybe they will, maybe they won’t. It ain’t over ‘til it’s over.”

“Eva’s right,” Izzy chattered. “We’ve got nothing to lose by trying, and we don’t know that Chris won’t make allowances for the fact that we don’t have all the parts, so let’s do this. All this talk is getting kind of boring.”

With that, the Muskies set to work, knowing that the odds were against them but determined to do their best. Izzy and Ezekiel would be primarily responsible for the grunt work of building the tub body—Ezekiel because farm life had given him plenty of experience with simple construction projects, and Izzy because Courtney was hoping to burn off a little of the redhead’s manic energy. Courtney also assigned Tyler to help with the tub body, but after several accidents with the hammer, Courtney thought better of it and “demoted” Tyler to ferrying parts and tools as needed.

The Muskies, like the Eagles, didn’t need everyone, so Courtney asked the crate kickers whether they wanted to knock off early, for she didn’t know how much all that hard kicking might have taken out of them. Neither D.J. nor Eva were willing to “slack off”, as Eva put it, so Courtney assigned them to carry parts or work on the tub body at their discretion.

Courtney initially assigned Duncan and Geoff to work on the tub’s systems. This proved to be a mistake; for although Geoff meant well, he was very distractible, spending more time rambling about trivialities and admiring girls (especially Bridgette) than working. Finally, Courtney replaced Geoff with Bridgette on the systems detail and sternly told the party king to stay out of everyone’s way.

“Harsh-ness,” Geoff complained, but he did as the tiny tyrant commanded.

At the crack of dusk, everyone jumped as Chris blew an air horn amplified by a bullhorn. The campers would learn all too quickly that this was their host’s preferred method of getting everyone’s attention, especially as a wakeup call.

“Okay, time’s up,” the host said. “Eagles, fetch Owen and we’ll see what you’ve got.”

No one spoke as Chris inspected the Eagles’ hot tub, which now had steam rising from it. Everything appeared to be in order, and the craftsmanship looked good.

“This,” the host pronounced at last, “is an awesome hot tub!”

The Eagles cheered, and several exchanged high fives. With characteristic exuberance, Owen picked up the rail-thin Katie and the model-thin Heather like rag dolls; and after initial protests, they now perched contentedly on his meter-wide shoulders.

“Okay, Muskies,” Chris challenged, “let’s see if you can top this.”

As the Killer Muskies stood nervously by, waiting for the axe to fall, the host inspected their tub. It, too, appeared to have been assembled competently, but Chris had noticed something. He tested the water and rendered his judgment.

“The water’s cold. You were supposed to build a hot tub, not an aboveground pool.”

The Muskies’ incomplete supplies had not included a heating element.

The Eagles let out a collective sigh, only now realizing that they had been holding their breath during much of the inspection.

“The winners are…the Screaming Eagles!” Chris declaimed.

“Killer Muskies, what can I say?” the host asked rhetorically. “It sucks to be you, but we all knew this could happen when you left three crates of supplies on the table. I was kind of hoping that you’d try to steal the Eagles’ heating element like Duncan wanted to. That might have made for some good drama, especially if you’d gotten caught.

“But, what’s done—or not—is done. At tomorrow night’s elimination ceremony, one of you will become this game’s most pathetic loser of all.”

At dinner, Harold’s fate dominated conversation. A single question, with variations, was on everyone’s minds and lips:

“What have we gotten ourselves into?”

After dinner—a vile excuse for Salisbury steak with slimy gravy and greasy, gristly meat—the Eagles departed for their hot tub party, whereas the Muskies remained in the lodge and began to discuss the next night’s elimination.

“Do we even know that we’ll have to do this?” Bridgette asked. “We’ve already lost Harold, may he rest in peace. Isn’t that enough?”

“I asked Chris, and he just said, ‘The show must go on’,” Courtney replied, rolling her eyes.

“Great. We’re going to be down two players right off the bat,” Bridgette said, shaking her head.

“But that’ll leave the producers with an empty episode slot, won’t it?” Geoff asked.

“Maybe they’ll do a return at some point, or an extra reward challenge,” D.J. speculated.

“Maybe,” Courtney conceded. “But none of that’s relevant right now. We need to decide who to vote off.”

“Homeschool, obviously,” Eva suggested.

“Why ‘obviously’?” Duncan asked before Ezekiel could rise to his own defense. “He did everything we asked of him in the challenge. What more do you want? It wasn’t his fault that we didn’t have all the parts.”

“What we want is for him to treat us with respect,” Bridgette shot back before Eva could.

“How can he treat you with respect if he isn’t even here?”

“You know what I think?” Eva snapped. “I think the reason you’re defending him is because you’re as bad as he is. I heard about how you propositioned Heather when we first got here. If it had been me, the crawdads would be picking your bones clean as we speak.”

“You got it backwards,” Duncan replied with a smirk. “I didn’t proposition Heather, she propositioned me. Her ideas were too kinky, though, so I turned her down. And why would I ever want a Neanderthal Woman like you? At least Heather’s hot.”

In a trice, Eva was on her feet, as were Bridgette and Izzy a moment later. As the surfer and the redhead struggled to restrain Eva, the musclegirl shouted at Duncan, “Let’s see if you have a little more respect for girls after you’ve become one!”

Courtney stepped in and asserted her authority. “Guys, this isn’t getting us anywhere! Eva, you’ve got to try to control your temper!” Duncan, quit baiting her, or next time we might not try to stop her!”

“That’d be worse for her than for me,” the delinquent smirked. “If she wants to bring it, let her.”

“Enough!” yelled Courtney. “Unless you want to be voted off! Everyone can see that you’re just making trouble!”

“Fine,” Duncan grumbled, for he sensed that Courtney’s threat was not idle. “Sorry, Eva. Truce?”

Sensing that she was perhaps not entirely blameless in this matter, Eva nodded curtly but made no other reply. Bridgette and Izzy released her, but continued to keep a wary eye on her.

With cooler heads having prevailed for the nonce, the Muskies returned to the question of whom to vote off. Several names were suggested, and the discussion grew heated at times. In the end, though, the Muskies failed to reach a consensus and decided to sleep on it.

The next evening, as the last vestiges of twilight faded on the western horizon, the Killer Muskies gathered at the bonfire pit for the elimination ceremony. When they were settled in before the blazing fire, Chris appeared before them, holding a tray of marshmallows. He spoke solemnly:

“Marshmallows are a summer camp staple, toasted over the fire for a tasty, gooey treat. At this summer camp, however, the humble marshmallow is something far greater, for it represents life.

“Figuratively speaking, you are all on the point of death at this very moment, and only these marshmallows can save you. On this tray are nine tasty tokens of life, but there are ten of you, which means that someone will be left without. That person has, for the purposes of this contest, been ‘condemned to die’. He or she must walk the Dock of Shame, board the Boat of Losers, and depart this Isle of Tears—forever.

“When I call your name, come up and claim you marshmallow, and rejoice that you have lived to fight another day. I will first call, in no particular order, the names of those campers who had no votes against them.

“The very first marshmallow ever awarded on Total Drama Island goes to…”

Chris paused for dramatic effect. He had already said that the order wasn’t significant for the first group, and it was pretty clear who was probably safe and who was at risk, so it wasn’t clear why he thought there was much dramatic tension to milk at this point. Most likely, he just wanted more screen time for himself, although the campers didn’t yet know that he was a dyed-in-the-wool narcissist.

“Eva. Come and get your marshmallow.”

The steel maiden rose and strode to Chris, then stopped to await further instructions, for she didn’t know whether the host had any ceremonial flourishes planned. As it turned out, he did. Motioning to Eva to present her toasting stick, Chris impaled a marshmallow upon it and told her to stand behind him.

The camera-mugging host took his sweet time calling forth the next survivor.

“Geoff.”

The urban cowboy did as he had seen Eva do.

“Duncan.”

The street tough followed his teammates’ examples, meeting Eva’s glare with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Courtney.”

The Muskies’ nominal leader received a well-wishing gesture from Izzy as she rose, then walked over and collected her “life is sweet” token.

“Bridgette.”

Bridgette rose, and stumbled slightly as she began the short walk to Chris’ position. Although no one could have known, this was a portent of things to come, but that is another story for another time.

“Izzy.”

The manic redhead all but vaulted up to Chris.

Chris surveyed the remaining campers for a moment, and then intoned, “Only three marshmallows remain. Each of you four had votes against you. Beth, D.J., your refusal to dive contributed to the parts shortage that wound up costing your team the challenge. Ezekiel, you did your part in the challenge, but your sexist remarks pissed a lot of people off. You may have made some enemies. Tyler, you also did your part in the diving phase, but you nearly got most of your teammates killed in the process, and you were pretty useless in the hot tub building.

“I will call the remaining survivors in order of increasing vote totals. With one vote against, the seventh marshmallow goes to…”

Chris paused again to build tension. Although some of these pauses would be shortened or omitted in the finished episodes, he couldn’t know in advance where this would be done, so he usually erred on the side of more screen time for himself. Finally…

“D.J.”

The gentle giant collected his prize and joined his fellows.

“With two votes against, the eighth marshmallow goes to…Ezekiel.”

Bridgette and Eva glared at the prairie boy as he joined the ranks of the blessed, although Eva had not actually voted against him.

The finished episode had a spliced-in confessional spot at this point. “I’ve had problems with my temper for as long as I can remember,” Eva admitted in the confessional. “When Homeschool made those chauvinistic remarks about boys being better at sports and all, I was ready to personally throw him to the sharks. I know that sounds harsh after what happened to Harold, but that’s how I felt. But he did do his part in the challenge, like Duncan said, and I’ve had time to cool down. Plus, Courtney was telling us that most sexism and racism and all those other ‘-isms’ come from ignorance, not malice, so I guess he deserves another chance.

“But if he keeps it up,” Eva added, now affecting a bad imitation of a Southern U.S. accent, “ah do declare that ah will most surely beat his little country bumpkin face in.” Eva’s attempt to imitate a demure, antebellum Southern belle was unconvincing, to say the least, and the effect was rather grotesque.

At the bonfire, Chris looked sternly at Beth and Tyler, both of whom were looking suitably nervous. “One of you,” the host intoned solemnly, “is about to become that most pathetic of God’s creatures: the very first to be eliminated from an elimination game show. The other will survive to ponder what might have been.

“With three votes against, the final marshmallow goes to…”

The hour was growing late, so Brett’s mother left off her tale, and suggested that he prepare for bed.

.

Fourth Night
The next day was not a school day, so Brett and his mother spent the day engaged in their own affairs. That night, after they had dined and Brett had finished what homework he had for the weekend, he approached his mother and asked to hear more about her experience on Total Drama Island. Brett sat in his favorite chair, and his mother sat on the sofa. She took a few moments to collect her thoughts, and then she began to speak.

Now, there was real tension for Chris to milk, and he certainly wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. He took a deep, theatrical breath, and slowly lifted his free arm. In the finished episode, dramatic music began at this point.

Ten seconds had passed since the host had last spoken. With his arm now extended, Chris’s forearm continued its upward journey.

Twenty seconds. Chris’ forearm was now vertical. The music swelled.

Thirty seconds. Chris extended his arm again and pointed at Beth for a moment, before pointing at Tyler, and back at Beth, and back at Tyler. In the postproduction soundtrack, the dramatic music segued to ominous choral chanting.

Forty seconds. Tyler looked ready to scream, and Beth looked ready to faint.


 * ''Worthless are my prayers and sighing,
 * ''Yet, good Lord, in grace complying,
 * ''Rescue me from fires undying!
 * ''With thy favored sheep O place me;
 * ''Nor among the goats abase me;
 * ''But to thy right hand upraise me.
 * ''While the wicked are confounded,
 * ''Doomed to flames of woe unbounded,
 * ''Call me with thy saints surrounded.
 * ''Low I kneel, with heart submission,
 * ''See, like ashes, my contrition;
 * Help me in my last condition.
 * ''Low I kneel, with heart submission,
 * ''See, like ashes, my contrition;
 * Help me in my last condition.

Finally, Chris handed down the verdict.

“Tyler,” quoth the host.

As the jock breathed an enormous sigh of relief and collected his treasure—never before had a simple marshmallow tasted so sweet to him as it would this night—Chris turned once more to Beth.

“Beth, you have been voted off, so—“

“But the team’s already a player down,” Beth pleaded desperately. “Shouldn’t I be kept on, since Harold didn’t survive the challenge?”

“IF I MAY CONTINUE?” Chris thundered testily, “Assuming you’re quite finished stealing my scene?” The chastened nerd girl fell silent, hanging her head.

“As I was saying,” the host explained, his voice now at normal volume but still carrying a testy tone, “you have been voted off, so you would normally be out of the game at this point. However, comma, the Muskies are already a player down because Harold was a ‘casualty of war’.

“Now, Beth, I should let the vote stand because you stole my line,” Chris said sternly. “But because I’m such a nice guy,” he added (a claim that would have drawn open laughter by the end of the competition), “I will overlook your egregious breach of reality show etiquette. This time.”

Chris reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew what appeared to be a wad of paper towel. Slowly, theatrically, he opened this wad to reveal the tenth marshmallow.

“Beth, come and get your marshmallow,” Chris commanded. Grateful beyond words, the nerd girl did as she was bidden.

As Chris impaled the “bonus” marshmallow on Beth’s toasting stick, he smiled slightly and told her, in a tone that almost sounded as though there could be real humanity behind it, “You have your reprieve, Beth. Make the most of it.”

His brow furrowed in puzzlement, Brett asked, “But if Beth knew what happened to Harold—I assume he got eaten, although I don’t recall that you ever actually said so—then why would she be so desperate to stay on the island? It seems to me that she would have jumped at the chance to escape.”

“Remember,” his mother replied, “Chris told us that most of the later challenges wouldn’t be as dangerous as that one. He’s not the most honest guy you’ll ever meet, but we didn’t know that at the time. Besides, after seeing where his priorities lay, I think we were afraid of what he might have done to anyone he thought was trying to get voted off.

“And, we were still desperate to be famous. Beth, probably more than most.”

The night was still young, so Brett’s mother paused a few moments to collect her thoughts, and then resumed her tale.

Episode #3: The Tale of Campers vs. Somnus
(Original title: The Big Sleep)

The day following the elimination was an off day. The campers were invited to partake in various aspects of summer camp life—swimming, arts and crafts, exploring the woods around the camp, and so on—but there was nothing on the agenda related to the competition. When someone asked Chris whether he was going to do anything to memorialize Harold, the host replied, “He paid his money and he tooks his chances. Besides, he got what he wanted, even if it was posthumous. The episode got great ratings, so he’s famous now.”

That response didn’t sit well with the campers. True, they had barely known Harold, but they didn’t like the idea of him being treated with no more respect than a paper towel that has served its purpose. Was this how they could expect to be treated if they should meet with an accident on the show? Where was the fame in that? Only Duncan and Izzy didn’t seem to have a problem with it. Duncan didn’t mind because he cared little about ceremony. “Death is a reality of life,” was all he said. Izzy had no objection because…well, nobody really knew what that one was thinking. Weird Red did seem to be of two minds about it, though, and argued the point at some length with “Sunshine”, during which she appeared to change her opinion several times.

Failing to get a satisfactory response from Chris, the campers approached Chef Hatchet, for they had learned that he was a Special Ops veteran and were hoping to appeal to the “leave no man behind” mindset. Chris’ hulking aide wasn’t sure he could do the task justice, since he hadn’t known Harold any better than the campers had, but he agreed to conduct a memorial service that afternoon. He also suggested that the campers make a memorial marker of some kind in the meantime, and they thought that idea a good one.

So it was that the campers spent the rest of the morning making the marker. Ezekiel made a sturdy wooden cross, using parts from the Muskies’ failed hot tub. Noah suggested an inscription and Izzy burned the words into the wood, using a large magnifying glass that she had brought to the island with her. (“You never know when you might want to burn stuff,” she said.) Everyone marveled at how nimbly and effortlessly the redhead wielded that beam of burning light as she seared in the inscription, not in simple block letters, but in florid Edwardian script.

Whilst all this was going on, Cody remembered something that Eva had mentioned during their first day on the island, and that gave him an idea. The science geek offered his brainchild to Eva for her inspection, and the musclegirl granted her services for it. Cody then told everyone else what he had in mind, and his proposal met with general approval. Ezekiel set to work altering the cross to fit the new plan, shortening and reinforcing the crosspiece and adding another section to the bottom.

Cody’s proposal required a length of heavy chain, or something comparable, so Courtney—selected for the task because her polite yet assertive demeanor seemed the likeliest to get a favorable response—told Hatchet of the plan and asked if a suitable chain was available on the island. Hatchet directed her to the boathouse, giving her a hacksaw and permission to cut to length any suitable chain that she might find there.

After Courtney had rejoined her fellows, Chris, who had by now got wind of the planned service, gently chided his aide. “You’re going soft, Chef,” he needled.

“Chris,” Hatchet replied equably, “Let me put this in terms you can understand. Those kids aren’t robots. If they’re preoccupied with what happened to Harold, they might just go through the motions for the next few challenges. That probably wouldn’t be good for ratings, am I right?”

Chris’ reaction plainly showed that this unpleasant possibility had never occurred to him.

Seeing that he had flummoxed his boss, Hatchet smiled ever so slightly as he finished his point. “On the other hand, they barely knew the guy, so it’s not like they’re going to wear sackcloth and chant laments all summer. If we give them their memorial service, that’ll help them to move on and get their heads back in the game.”

“I see what you mean,” was the only response Chris could muster. Not long after, Izzy finished the inscription, which read:

HAROLD

McGRADY V

1991 - 2007

Met with the first day, taken from us the next

And below that was the famous Lord Byron quotation,

God grants his favorites early death

this being the line frequently misquoted as, “Only the good die young,” which doesn’t really mean the same thing.



Courtney organized a detail for the short jaunt to the boathouse. Cody and Eva would both go, because they knew best what was needed. They would need the cross, which wasn’t all that heavy but was fairly bulky, so D.J. volunteered to carry it. A few others would carry various tools and fasteners from the hot tub challenge, on the chance that they might prove useful.

Cody, noticing that Gwen was not assigned to the boathouse detail, asked her to join them; for he, like Trent, was smitten and was hoping to get to know the Goth better. Gwen agreed, having no reason to refuse; and at that, Trent quickly offered to join the detail as well.

As the detail walked to the boathouse, both Cody and Trent tried to chat Gwen up. The Goth responded civilly but coolly to Cody, showing a clear preference for Trent’s company. Her reaction to Trent was warm but shy, for she had little experience with admirers and was certainly not used to being the apex of a triangle.

As luck would have it, the boathouse inventory included a long chain that seemed heavy enough for Cody’s plan, but not too heavy to handle. D.J. cut off three meters of this chain, and Ezekiel fastened it at its center to the bottom of the cross using a long, heavy bolt the campers found in the boathouse. Another such bolt connected the ends of the chain, providing a handle that was easy to grasp tightly.

When the campers tested the assembly, the chain turned out to be too heavy, so D.J. cut off some links from each end and they repeated the testing process. On the third try, the test results were satisfactory, and the marker was ready.

Whilst Cody and Eva supervised this work, Trent continued to chat up Gwen, since their assistance wasn’t currently needed. They talked mostly about their hometowns and their schools, for Trent could see Gwen wasn’t very outgoing and didn’t want to drive her back into her shell by getting too personal too quickly.

When the boathouse detail returned to camp with the finished marker, the campers ate a pasty gruel that passed for lunch, and then pursued their own interests for a time whilst Hatchet made simple boxed dinners for everyone.

In the midafternoon, Hatchet called the campers to assembly and the group hiked to the diving cliff, arriving to find that the interns had set up a lectern and folding chairs for the service. The lectern was equipped with a wireless microphone and small loudspeakers. Hatchet bade the campers take seats, propped the marker against the lectern, and began the service with little preamble.

The scripted part of the service was somewhat generic because nobody, least of all Chef Hatchet, had known Harold well enough to personalize it properly. In any case, the campers were mourning Harold not so much because he had been Harold as because he had been one of their own.

When Hatchet finished, he offered the microphone to anyone else who wished to speak. Most of the campers had little to say, although several felt the need to say something.

Only Courtney and Lindsay spoke at length. Courtney, that aspiring politician, gave a long-winded speech full of generalities and platitudes that she thought would fit the occasion, because she, like everyone else, hadn’t know Harold well enough to get any more specific. Lindsay, looking fetch in a modest black bikini (for she had come to the island armed with bikinis for every conceivable occasion), spoke glowingly about how “Gerald” had rescued her from the stag beetle on the first day at camp. Recalling the incident as best she could through the filter of her terror that day, the uberbimbo’s account of Harold dispatching the insect made it sound more like a pitched battle against a thousand-kilo, armor-plated killing machine.

When there was nothing more to say, Hatchet took the marker and, after laying it on the ground near the edge of the cliff, returned to the lectern and bade everyone stand. Eva then stepped forward and strode to the marker.

Like Tyler, Eva was a track and field star at her school; but whereas Tyler was a sprinter, Eva competed mainly in the “field” side of the sport, with the hammer throw being her best event. It was that revelation that had given Cody his idea for placing Harold’s memorial marker. Dropping it from the boat would have been simpler and more precise, but the boat wasn’t big enough to accommodate everyone.

Grasping the marker assembly by the makeshift handle that linked the two ends of the chain, Eva twirled it around a few times to build enough momentum so the crosspiece wouldn’t scrape the ground. Then, after the elaborate windup characteristic of competitive hammer throwing, she cast the marker out over the lake, toward the descending sun whose afternoon gold was now showing the first touches of sunset orange.

The marker hit the water somewhat farther out than the spot where Harold had been last seen, but reasonably close. Within a few moments, the weight of the chain pulled the bottom of the cross down, and the cross now bobbed upright on the water. Satisfied with her handiwork, Eva rejoined the others.

Some interns handed out the boxed dinners, and the campers ate their simple meals as they watched the sun set, chatting or contemplating according to their mood. When the color had faded from the sky and the light began to fail, the interns fired up some lanterns and escorted everyone back to the camp.

Due to time constraints, the finished episode reduced the day’s activities to a montage, set to an abridged version of “Siegfried’s Funeral Music”. Over the next few weeks, Harold’s memorial marker slowly drifted until it contacted the edge of the safe zone, where it remained.

thumb|300px|right|Siegfried's Funeral Music (Warning: visual includes artistic nudes)

The next morning, Bridgette awoke before dawn. The sky was getting just light enough to see inside the cabin, so sunrise couldn’t be too far off, but neither was it imminent.

Bridgette briefly considered her options, then swung out of bed and dropped to the floor as quietly as she might so as to not disturb Beth, who had the bunk below hers. Although sunrise was still almost half an hour away, the surfer girl had decided against trying to fall back asleep because, courtesy of Chris, she had experienced a variety of harsh wakeup calls since coming to the island. Better to start the day on her own terms, she thought, even if that meant losing a few extra minutes of sleep. In any case, she felt rested enough, despite tossing and turning all night.

Bridgette quickly dressed and tiptoed toward the cabin door. About halfway to her destination, she stubbed her toe, stumbled and nearly fell.

Somehow, she managed to not cry out that this unpleasant surprise, but couldn’t stop a whispered oath escaping between her gritted teeth. Worse, in the course of catching herself, her other foot had come down heavily onto the uncarpeted wooden floor, and that graceless footfall echoed like thunder, or so it seemed to her.

She froze for a few moments, listening. When none of the other girls showed any reaction, the surfer girl resumed her sneak to the door, hopeful once more that she might exit the cabin without awakening anyone.

“Brynhild?” queried a familiar sweet voice.

Too late.

“Shh. Keep it down, Lindsay,” Bridgette whispered urgently. “We don’t want to wake up anyone else.”

“Oh, right,” Lindsay whispered back. “What are you doing up?”

Bridgette skulked closer to Lindsay’s bunk, which was just below Heather’s, so she could whisper more quietly and still make herself heard. “I just happened to wake up early, that’s all,” the surfer said. “Chris is probably going to wake us up soon, anyway, so I thought I might as well go out and watch the sun rise, or something.”

“Cool,” the uberbimbo replied. Then her face lit up like the coming sun, and she added, “Ooh, I just thought of something. As long as I’m up, I can get a shower with all the hot water I want!”

“Go for it,” Bridgette encouraged, then crept out of the cabin without further incident.

Safely out of the cabin, Bridgette began to stroll around the camp, wondering where the best vantage point would be for sunrise viewing. Just as she decided that the dock would do as well as anywhere, she spotted Ezekiel emerging from the washroom. Well, Bridgette thought, the home-schooled boy did live on a farm, so he was probably used to getting up early. Lindsay was going to be disappointed, though, if he had used up all the hot water.

Bridgette began to walk briskly toward the Arts & Crafts tent, hoping to hide behind it until Ezekiel went elsewhere, for she had no desire to socialize with him but neither did she want to be rude about it. She had almost reached the tent when she heard him trotting toward her in those heavy boots of his.

Bridgette sighed. This was apparently not going to be her day to do anything unnoticed.

“Morning, Bridgette,” Ezekiel called softly. “You a morning person, too?”

“Not especially,” she admitted, trying to think of a polite way to get rid of her unwanted attendant. “I just happened to wake up early this morning, that’s all. Of course, Chris seems intent on turning us all into morning people.”

“Early to bed and early to rise,” Ezekiel recited, “makes a man healthy and wealthy and wise.”

“That sounds like a line from something.” Bridgette prompted.

“Ben Franklin. Poor Richard’s Almanac.”

“I should have known,” the surfer girl admitted, for in truth that collection of simple sayings did seem like something a farm boy might be familiar with.

“So,” Ezekiel asked, “are you out and about for a reason?

“No, not really,” Bridgette answered simply. She didn’t want to tell him her purpose, such as it was, lest he ask to join her.

“Me neither,” the farm boy admitted. “I’m used to being up before the sun, but since this isn’t our farm, there really ain’t nothin’ for me to do ‘til everyone else gets up, eh?”

“No, not—would you look at that!” Bridgette exclaimed softly, eyes wide with wonder.

Ezekiel turned to follow the surfer’s gaze just in time to see an adventurous lynx duck back into the forest from which it had briefly emerged. “That’s one big pussycat, eh?” he said.

“Now that was worth getting up early for,” Bridgette pronounced. She had never seen a lynx in the wild and had never expected to, for she had heard that they were very shy.

“What was worth getting up early for?” Geoff asked as he approached. He had just emerged from the boys’ cabin and had spotted his teammates. Having sharp hearing, he had been able to make out part of their conversation. “What’s this about a big cat?”

“A lynx, I think,” Bridgette explained, motioning to where the beast had been. “Right over there at the edge of the woods, just for a few seconds.”

“Coolio,” the urban cowboy said. “Wish I could have seen it. So, guys, what else is up?”

Bridgette much preferred Geoff’s company to Ezekiel’s, and the urban cowboy’s arrival had given her a reasonably polite way to ditch the prairie boy. Besides, three was a crowd.

“Hey, Geoff, do you like to run?” she asked.

“Depends on who I’m running with,” he replied, cocking his ten-gallon hat at what would have been a rakish angle with smaller headgear, but which wound up looking comical. “So, that’s a ‘yes’, bra,” he added over Bridgette’s poorly suppressed giggle.

“I can run pretty well, too,” Ezekiel volunteered.

Bridgette hadn’t expected Ezekiel’s remark, but it wasn’t likely to derail her plan, so she said, “I was thinking that we could take a run along the lakeshore. If we push ourselves, I think we can get to the diving cliff and back without missing whatever slop Chef is going to call ‘breakfast’ this morning.”

“So, basically a race,” Geoff surmised, with an appreciative glance at the surfer girl. “I’m cool with that.”

“I was hoping you’d be,” Bridgette replied with a smile that could have meant any number of things.

“Mind if I join you?” Ezekiel asked, sensing that he was about to get left out.

“Dude,” Geoff replied, “I hate to be cruel, but three’s a crowd.”

“Now, Geoff,” Bridgette admonished with a wink, “If he thinks he can keep up, we shouldn’t freeze him out. After all, he is on our team.”

Turning to Ezekiel, Bridgette added, “You can race with us on one condition. If I win, we don’t hear any more about how boys are supposedly better at sports than girls. Deal?”

“Sure.”

“Then let’s get started.”

Despite his assurance that he could run well, Ezekiel quickly fell behind. He was physically fit, but that’s not the same thing as being athletic, and his five-kilo work boots weren’t designed for running. Geoff and Bridgette, by contrast, were both highly athletic, and were wearing sneakers. Furthermore, Bridgette had set an aggressive starting pace precisely so that she and Geoff could be more or less alone. Geoff might have been able to go even faster, but he seemed content to pace Bridgette, for she had dropped enough hints that he could guess her true intentions. And so, when the surfer girl glanced back to see that Ezekiel was a good hundred meters behind, she and Geoff slowed their pace enough to allow something resembling normal conversation. As a result of this, Ezekiel fell no farther behind, but neither was he able to close the gap without the risk of burning himself out.

Most of the island was bathed in the orange-yellow light of early morn, but the three Muskies remained in shadow as they approached the base of the diving cliff. They had felt the sun for a time, for the camp was on the southern shore; but the island was laid out like a tilted board, with lowlands in the east and highlands in the west. It would be late morning before the sun was high enough to illuminate the entire western shore.

Chris had exploited this unusual topography for the cliff diving challenge. He had set the campers on a long, circuitous trail that masked how much elevation they were gaining, the better to shock them when they reached the top and saw how high the cliff really was. That was in the past, though. In the present, the island’s sundial-like profile kept the western shore in predawn chill, although the runners’ brisk pace stopped them feeling any discomfort.

“Geoff, hold on,” Bridgette said as she suddenly pulled up.

“What’s wrong?” the urban cowboy asked as he came to a stop and saw the uncertain look on his companion’s face.

“I smell smoke.”

Geoff experimentally sniffed the air. “I think you’re right. Something’s burning.”

As Geoff and Bridgette began to scan their surroundings for signs of fire, Ezekiel arrived and asked, “Is something wrong?”

“We smelled smoke,” Geoff informed him. “If there’s a fire around here, the Chrismeister probably needs to know.”

There was a light breeze, so the three moved cautiously upwind, toward the diving cliff. Thanks to said breeze, they could be fairly certain that they were approaching the fire source, but they still couldn’t see any sign of it. Finally, Ezekiel spotted something.

“There,” he said excitedly, pointing to a cleft in the cliff base. “I think that’s it. Looks like a campfire or something, eh?”

“I don’t see anything,” Bridgette confessed.

“It’s hard to see. The smoke’s about the same color as the cliff, but it’s right over there.”

Bridgette and Geoff stood behind the farm boy and sighted along his extended arm. Sure enough, they could now make out a thin, wispy plume of smoke rising from the bottom of the cliff. What might be generating that plume, though, was not visible from their current position.

The campers approached at a jog and scrambled over a large, flat boulder that was high enough to conceal a nook in the cliff face, as well as to provide a measure of protection from the elements. In the center of this space was a small, banked, driftwood-fueled campfire. Curled close by the fire, presumably for warmth, was—

“Harold?” Bridgette gasped. “It can’t be!”

“Lord, have mercy,” Ezekiel echoed.

Bridgette, Geoff and Ezekiel dashed up to their teammate and gently prodded him awake.

“Dude! We thought you were a goner,” Geoff admitted.

Harold, who was by nature a light sleeper, had begun to awaken even as his teammates arrived, and was already reasonably lucid. “And why would you think that?” he asked sourly. Not waiting for an answer, he added. “I told you that I have mad skills. I told you that I know how to take care of myself. But did anyone listen? Did anyone even consider the possibility that I might be able to handle sharks? No, you just left me for dead in the middle of the lake. Gosh!”

“But Courtney looked for you, and she couldn’t find you,” Bridgette protested. “And everyone who was still on the cliff saw you get eaten. We had no hope!”

The morning air still had a bit of a chill and Harold began to shiver a bit, for he was dressed only in his swimming trunks. Seeing his teammate’s distress, Ezekiel removed his hoodie and offered it to Harold, who accepted it with thanks. Ezekiel had dressed in layers, so he would be warm enough without it.

“Maybe that’s what they thought they saw,” Harold speculated, “but I can do a wicked remora impression.”

“Whatever, dude,” Geoff replied, although he was as curious as the others. “We’ve got to get you back to camp. A lot of people are going to be stoked to see you.”

As the reunited teammates began the hike back to camp, for Harold’s bare feet were not equipped for running in the current terrain, Bridgette said to Harold, “Okay, so you were holding onto the shark like a good little remora, but Courtney was searching for a long time. How did you manage for so long without being able to come up for air?”

“It’s really very simple,” Harold explained. “You see, all I had to do was—”

Bridgette banged her head painfully against the low cabin ceiling as an amplified air horn blast jolted her and the other campers awake.

“Rise and shine, everyone!” Chris called with disgusting cheerfulness. “Challenge today! Anyone who’s not out here in ten minutes will be disqualified!”

When the campers, most of them still drowsy, had assembled in front of the cabins, Owen asked, “So, what’s for breakfast?”

“You’ll find out,” Chris assured him, “after you complete a 20-kilometer footrace around the island perimeter!”

Even as several campers drew breath to protest, the host added, “Time’s a-wastin’! The sooner you finish, the sooner you’ll eat. Not to mention that team glory is at stake. Go to the dock, turn right, and just follow the shoreline. The dock is also the finish line. Come to the main lodge when you’re done.”

“Wha—what, you mean we don’t get breakfast first?” asked the appalled Owen.

“Ask one of your teammates who actually listened,” Chris replied with a condescending air. “I don’t like to repeat myself.”

Seeing that all the campers were still standing where they were, Chris testily motioned toward the dock and said, “Like, now, dudes.”

“Can’t we at least change into proper running shoes?” Heather asked.

Chris said only, “You were supposed to be prepared. If you’re not, that’s your problem, not mine.”

Resigned to their fate, the campers jogged to the dock to begin the race. Heather noticed that Justin and Lindsay had found each other, and gave every sign that they might stay together over the entire course. That wouldn’t do, the dragon girl thought, so she joined them after a brief sprint.

“Hey, Hunkstin, you’re not going to stay with Lindsay the whole way, are you?” Heather asked in a tone of veiled disapproval.

“What’s your damage if I do?” The Incredible Hunk replied, for in truth that was more or less his intent.

“This is a race, remember? And you look like our best chance to win. If you let Lindsay slow you down, that would be bad for our team and probably bad for you.”

“I see your point,” Justin confessed. “See you at the finish, Linds?”

“Oh totally!” Lindsay assured him. “See you later, alligator!”

“In a while, crocodile!” Justin called back as he left her and Heather.

“I don’t get it,” Lindsay confessed to the dragon girl.

“Never mind. It’s not important,” Heather replied, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

Trent and Cody had quickly located Gwen, and the three of them ran as a group for a time, with both boys trying to chat up the Goth. After a while, these three passed Tyler, who had slowed to a walk whilst he tried to catch his second wind; for the overenthusiastic sprinter had sprinted (naturally) to a big early lead, only to burn himself out in short order.

Red Jock’s distress gave Gwen an idea. She saw that Cody was having more trouble than Trent in keeping their current pace, so she began to pull ahead of her suitors. Gwen had excellent endurance but was no athlete, so there was some risk that she might burn herself out as Tyler had, but the Goth saw an opportunity to politely ditch Cody in favor of her preferred companion, Trent (much as Bridgette had done, or rather had dreamed of doing, with Ezekiel and Geoff) without looking too eager to the axboy.

The plan worked like a charm. Both boys matched Gwen’s new pace, but Cody proved unable to maintain conversation at that pace; so as the three passed Courtney, he slowed his pace to match the onetime CIT and began to chat her up. The tiny Muskie made a nice consolation prize, Cody thought, and he saw nothing wrong with an idle “sleeping with the enemy” fantasy. Granted, there would be no sleeping and Courtney wasn’t really an enemy, but that’s the way it is with figures of speech.

Cody’s Plan B, though, went no better than his Plan A. When Courtney realized that she could converse with Cody at their current pace, she quickly concluded that it meant she wasn’t pushing herself hard enough, so she too left Cody in her dust.

Shot down a second time, Cody slowed to a walk. He saw no realistic chance of winning the race, but neither was he in any real danger of finishing last and thereby becoming an elimination target. Nor did he see any appealing girls in the vicinity. Cody did a quick mental calculation and realized that he could simply walk the rest of the way and finish the course in time for lunch, so that is what he decided he would do. Unless, of course, another winsome girl—LeShawna, perhaps—happened to catch him from behind.

Déjà Vu
Bridgette, Geoff and Ezekiel had run together for a time, with Geoff taking the opportunity to chat Bridgette up. Ezekiel, on the other hand, remained silent, apparently content simply to tag along. The home-schooled lad wasn’t a particularly strong runner, though, and had gradually fallen behind.

Once, twice, now thrice Geoff had detoured to inspect natural features that he found particularly fascinating. The first time, Bridgette humored him and made the brief detour with him. The second time, she reminded him that they were in the middle of a challenge, but again made the detour with him because she had a reason beyond the obvious for wanting to keep the urban cowboy with her. When Geoff began a third detour, though, Bridgette’s patience was at its limit.

“Geoff,” she admonished as they began to veer from the shoreline, “We’re in the middle of a challenge. I don’t mean to harsh your mellow, but if you want to run with me you’re going to have to keep your head in the game.”

“It won’t take a minute,” the party king protested.

“A minute could make a difference,” the surfer retorted, “and this isn’t the first time. All those minutes could be adding up.”

“Come on, Bridge, don’t be so serious.”

“Oh, all right,” Bridgette answered with a sigh. “But this is the last time.”

Almost since the race began, Bridgette had felt an uncanny sense of déjà vu. The morning run toward the diving cliff, Geoff and Ezekiel running with her, Ezekiel being unable to keep up…except for Geoff’s distractibility, everything was very much the same as she had seen in her dream. Bridgette believed in certain paranormal phenomena, and she was hoping against hope that if she could hew as closely as possible to the events of her dream, then she might get the same payoff.

So it was that, as they approached a certain place at the base of the diving cliff, the surfer girl asked Geoff to make a small detour with her.

“Now who’s not keeping her head in the game?” the party king needled.

“Touché,’ Bridgette replied. “But this is important to me. I really think we need to check it out. Both of us.”

His curiosity aroused, Geoff assured his running partner, “I’m cool with that.”

The two Muskies approached at a jog and scrambled over a large, flat boulder that was high enough to conceal a nook in the cliff face, as well as to provide a measure of protection from the elements. Although Bridgette was quite certain she had never been to this spot, everything looked exactly as she has seen it in her dream.

With one exception: there was no sign that any human had ever been there.

Bridgette lowered her head and closed her eyes for a moment. As she dropped a tear or two, she whispered, too softly for Geoff to hear, “I tried, Harold. Rest in peace.”

As Bridgette wiped away her tears and she and Geoff returned to the racecourse, the urban cowboy said, “You looked disappointed. What were you expecting to find?”

Bridgette then told Geoff about her dream, but nothing would be gained by repeating it here.

“Aw, that’s a bummer,” Geoff said, trying to console her. “Well, you tried. I’m sure Harold appreciates it, wherever he is.”

Four hours after the race began, most of the campers had completed the course and were now killing time in the main lodge, where Chris had told them to wait until everyone finished. Izzy had finished first, nipping Justin at the proverbial tape after tailing the Embodiment of Manly Beauty for most of the course so she could watch the undulations of his manly can for an hour and a half. Chris did not declare a winner at that time, though, meaning that victory would apparently go to the first team to have all its members finish. By this measure, the Muskies still appeared to have the advantage, as long as the chubby Beth could outrun either Sadie or Owen, but it was by no means a certainty.

Courtney was pacing in the space between the benches, impatiently waiting for her team’s stragglers and mentally preparing a suitable tongue-lashing for when they finally did arrive. The fact that there had been no breakfast waiting for the campers when they finished their appetite-building run only added to her irritation. Apparently, nobody would get to eat until everyone had finished.

Geoff was chatting up Bridgette and Izzy, although the redhead appeared distracted. Perhaps she was trying to listen to her imaginary friend as well as to her teammates, or perhaps she was trying to listen in on Trent telling Gwen about the song he’d written the day before.

Duncan, D.J. and Ezekiel were sitting together, with the delinquent teaching his teammates how to play five-finger fillet. Despite his timid manner, D.J. had excellent hand-eye coordination and, being a football player, was accustomed to dealing with minor injuries, so he proved to be a formidable opponent in Duncan’s knife game. Ezekiel had less natural talent than the gentle giant, but farm life had given him tough hands and he was willing to face the prospect of a few superficial wounds for the sake of fitting in.

Katie had rested for a few minutes and then, after getting assurances from Chris that she wouldn’t lose credit for her seventh-place finish, had returned to the course to encourage Sadie.

Over the next hour or so, the stragglers came in. Tyler, after recovering from his early burnout, had eventually settled on an interval sprint technique, sprinting for a couple hundred meters and then walking until he felt ready for his next sprint. By somewhat curbing his enthusiasm, he had made decent time over the latter two-thirds of the course.

Next in was Sadie. With Katie at her side to set a pace that would require the butterball to push herself, Sadie was able to not only complete the course, but to do so in a time that wasn’t completely disgraceful. More importantly, she came in several minutes ahead of Beth, who was the last of the Muskies. Upon reaching the finish, Sadie dropped to the ground for a bout of dry heaves, but after that she was proud of herself for accomplishing a feat that she would never have thought herself capable of.

Some 15 minutes after Beth finished, Noah sauntered in. The bookworm was not the sort to physically exert himself a whit more than any situation required, and he, like Cody, had realized that he could safely walk most of the course. After Noah came the last two walkers, Heather and Lindsay. These two had run for a time, but between their running-unfriendly shoes and the fact that they were poor runners in any case, they had eventually decided that they had little to lose by just walking the rest of the way.

Owen failed to finish. The man-mountain had collapsed some five clicks from the finish, complaining of shortness of breath, nausea and numbness in his arm. A corps of interns then bore him on a stretcher to the infirmary tent. There, Chef Hatchet, who was apparently a man of diverse talents, examined him and determined that Owen was not, in fact, having a heart attack despite showing most of the symptoms. Owen was discharged from the infirmary and came to the lodge at about the same time that Noah arrived, seemingly none the worse for his ordeal.

All in all, the 20-kilometer race was a decisive victory for the Killer Muskies.

Noticing that Chris hadn’t said a word since the last campers finally arrived, Courtney prompted, “Well, are you going to announce the challenge winner?”

“I don’t recall ever saying that was the challenge,” Chris pointed out.

“Excuse me?” LeShawna replied in a dangerous tone, with a glare suggesting that Chris shouldn’t get too comfortable with his face the way it was.

“Maybe it should have been, seeing as some of you weren’t trying very hard,” the host admitted, “but the truth is, I was just messing with you.”

“Oh, so you’re funny now,” Eva snarled. “Well, Katie and Sadie showed us how to deal with you, but tickling’s obviously too good for you. Maybe you’ll learn some manners if LeShawna and I pound you into the dirt!”

Eva then glanced at LeShawna, who responded with a look that said, Count me in.

“If you try that,” Chris warned, “then you won’t get your share of this!” He gestured to the serving counter, where a couple of interns pulled back the shutters to reveal a glorious turkey buffet, with all the trimmings. It would have been mouth-watering in almost any setting; but in this excuse for a summer camp, after four days of the slop that Chef Hatchet called “food”, it seemed like the ambrosia of the gods.

Chris’ prank forgotten, the campers fell upon this bounty like a pack of wolves.

Almost 90 minutes later, even the legendary teenager appetite could take no more. As the campers lounged in the lodge, with several groaning at the realization that they had overdone it, Chris appeared before them.

“Now that you’ve had breakfast, lunch and dinner all at once,” the host announced, “it’s time for the physically demanding challenge!”

“Must…control…Fist of Death!” LeShawna groaned. The implied threat was an empty one, for at the moment the homegirl could barely stand.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” Heather complained. “We’ll be puking left and right!”

“You say that like you’re not used to it,” Gwen sniped.

“Shut it, Weird Goth Hag!”

“Settle down, campers,” Chris said. “‘Demanding’ isn’t the same as ‘strenuous’. In fact, this will be the easiest challenge you’ll have all summer, so nobody’s going to be puking, which is good because anyone who does will be disqualified."

Seeing that he had everyone’s attention, Chris let the anticipation build for a moment before revealing the challenge: “Whoever can stay awake the longest will win invincibility for their team.”

“So you mean the 20K run and the turkey-eating frenzy were all part of your evil plan to make it harder for us to stay awake?” Noah asked, irritated that he’d been suckered so easily.

“You got it, dude.”

“Have fun at your first elimination ceremony,” Duncan taunted. “I can do three days standing on my head.” With a smirk, the delinquent added, “And my dad said I’d be sorry for all that late-night partying.”

“Yeah, I figured some of you might last a long time,” Chris admitted. “The thing is, we don’t have a long time, so we laced everything in the buffet with a mild sedative.”

If Chris felt the 21 angry glares burning into him, he gave no sign until Bridgette said what everyone was thinking. “Let me get this straight. You’re saying that you drugged us?” Miss All-natural-all-the-time asked indignantly.

“That’s right, bra,” he affirmed. Finally appearing to notice the phalanx of death glares, the host added defensively, “What? We’re on a schedule. Anyway, that’s why we had to put in the ‘no puking’ rule, so that nobody would try to purge before the sleepytime stuff can kick in. Toss your cookies for any reason, and you’re out. Also, that buffet is the only food you’re getting until we have a winner, so if you lose your lunch it won’t be replaced.

“The challenge begins now. Come with me to the fire pit.”

As the campers stood and began to file out, Izzy’s stomach entered full insurrection mode. She had matched Owen almost bite for bite, the difference being that Owen was an obese giant and Izzy was a slim girl of medium height.

“Emergency! Make way! Comin’ through!” the unstable redhead shrieked desperately as she dashed for the door. The others immediately cleared a path, for they could well guess the nature of the emergency and didn’t want to be caught in the blast.

Izzy had barely reached the cabin threshold when she lost her hopeless battle and projectile vomited a stream of buffet components that looked bigger than she was. Most of the other campers—especially those who feared that they, too, had overindulged—had averted or closed their eyes and covered their ears, lest the power of suggestion overwhelm them.

“Crap!” cried Izzy, now on all fours, as she pounded her fist upon the earth in impotent fury. She actually used a far stronger word, but nothing would be gained by revealing it.

“Well, that was quick,” Chris observed with a shake of his head. “And I thought Izzy would be one of the contenders, being such a bundle of energy. But rules are rules. I said ‘no puking’, and I meant no puking.”

Izzy saw one chance. “Can’t you cut me some slack since I won the race?” she pleaded as she rose to her feet.

“You’re kidding, right?” the host answered with a sniff. “But you still have to come to the fire pit with us.”

“Crap!” Izzy cried as she stamped her foot upon the earth in impotent fury, although this time “crap” was the word she actually used.

The campers exited the lodge without further incident, but they hadn’t gotten far before another crisis arose.

“Oh, my gosh,” Katie exclaimed desperately, her breathing ragged and her face drawn and ashen, “I think I’m going to lose it!”

Justin immediately moved to stand before his teammate. Gently cupping Katie’s face in his hands, he looked into her eyes and said, “Stay with me, Katie.”

Suitably distracted by Justin’s beautiful face and heavenly touch, Katie’s face began to return to its normal complexion and her breathing to its normal rhythm as Justin began to lightly stroke her cheeks. He then said in a gentle, honeyed tone, “You can do this. Stay with me. Think…think about what you’d like to do with me.”

Justin was no longer looking into Katie’s eyes, for her eyes were now only half-open as those magic fingers moved from Katie’s cheeks to her scalp and ran lightly through her jet-black hair.

“Oh, wow,” Katie cried softly, too rapt to say anything more articulate.

‘Oh, wow’, indeed, the other girls thought, for none were immune to Justin’s spell.

Cody sidled over to Noah and asked, “Taking notes?”

Noah nodded and said, “Believe it. That’s how it’s done. I’ve read about these techniques, but I’ve never seen them demonstrated live.”

Justin’s fingers moved from Katie’s scalp to her neck, from her neck to her flanks, always stroking from top to bottom, relying partly on distraction and partly on the power of suggestion to convince Katie’s gorge to be content where it was.

The afternoon sun was warm, and Justin had broken a light sweat. He was close enough to Katie that she could smell his manly scent as she closed her eyes and abandoned herself completely to his touch. Her breathing had again become ragged, but not from her forgotten gastric distress.

Justin had moved in a little closer when he began to stroke Katie’s flanks. Forgetting where she was, Katie was now emboldened to lean in, hoping for a kiss. When she did so, though, Justin lightly put a finger to her lips.

“I’m sorry, Katie, but I can’t do that,” he said gently. “Nothing personal, but my heart is already set on someone else. You understand.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” she replied, not even trying to hide her disappointment now that the spell was broken. Placing a hand on her belly, which was now becalmed if still uncomfortably distended, the Thin Twin brightened and said, “Thanks, anyway. I feel a lot better now.”

“Glad I could be of…service,” Justin replied with a wink.

Chris turned to a camera and said, “Ratings gold.”

As the campers reached the fire pit and began their vigil, Sadie asked her BFF, “What was it like with you and Hunkstin? You’ve got to tell me everything!”

“Believe me, I’ll tell you everything,” Katie assured her BFF, “as soon as I can think of a way to describe it. It wasn’t like anything I’ve ever felt before. His ‘someone else’ is so lucky, I can’t even tell you.”

Lindsay, meanwhile, had gone to The Incredible Hunk and, grasping his arm, led him to the edge of the clearing. “Justin, that was really sweet how you kept Katie in the game,” she said admiringly, “especially with the chance that she might puke all over you. And it was even sweeter how you stayed loyal to your ‘someone else’.

“So tell me, is this ‘someone else’ someone I know?” Lindsay cooed.

As Justin’s gaze met Lindsay’s, he replied, “I think Your Ultimate Lady Gorgeousness knows the answer to that. Katie’s sweet, but she can’t compete.”

“Yes, I did know,” Lindsay admitted coyly, “but I wanted to hear it from Your Ultimate Lord Hotness. So…any chance you could show me what you did for Katie? I mean, of course I saw it, but I’m sure that’s not the same.”

“Believe me, I’d love to do that for you sometime. Lots of sometimes. But not here, not now,” Justin replied softly.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s relaxing. This challenge is about staying awake, so we don’t want to get too relaxed.”

“Katie didn’t look too relaxed at the end, there,” Lindsay suggested impishly.

“Yeah, she was getting pretty excited,” Justin admitted, “But for this challenge, I’m not sure that’s a good thing, either. It uses up energy. Katie had nothing to lose because she was about to be DQ’ed.”

“Oh, there you are, Lindsay,” Heather said. “I was thinking, we could talk and keep each other awake.” Only now seeming to notice His Gorgeosity, Heather added, “Oh, hi, Justin. Way to take one for the team.”

“Believe me, it…” Justin began, but checked himself. He had been about to admit that he had enjoyed rescuing Katie, but feared that such an admission might alienate Lindsay (which might well have been Heather’s intent) and that was something he couldn’t bear. Justin had naturally had more than his share of girlfriends; but because he insisted on having only one at a time, he was used to seeing girls be catty for his sake. He didn’t like that, but neither did he worry too much about it, as a rule; he merely accepted it as the price of being God’s gift to women. It was different with Lindsay, though, and Justin was determined to do whatever he must to stay in her good graces.

“…it’s important to put the team first,” Justin finished. Nice save, he told himself.

“You can go with Heather, Linds,” Justin assured his crush girl. “I’ll be all right. I have my own plan for the challenge.”

“Cool. See you around,” Lindsay replied. Then, without warning, she wrapped her arms around Justin’s neck and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before going with Heather.

As usual, Trent had sought out Gwen, and suggested that they could more easily stay awake by talking to each other. So it was that they sat upon the ground, and talked and talked and talked. They talked about their hometown friends and the friends they’d made on the island. They talked about historical events and current events. They talked about the arts and popular culture. They talked about hopes and dreams. They talked about the sun and the moon and the stars. They talked, in short, about pretty much every subject under heaven.


 * ‘The time has come,’ the Walrus said,
 * ‘To talk of many things:
 * Of shoes—and ships—and sealing wax—
 * Of cabbages—and kings—
 * Of why the seas are boiling hot—
 * And whether pigs have wings.’

Most of the campers became drowsy over the rest of the warm afternoon, for they had nothing at all to do. The only entertainment options available to them were the society of their fellows, or simple games that they could devise on the spot. For all that, only one camper fell during this time: Owen. He had barely lasted an hour, having virtually eaten himself into a coma at the buffet. He and Izzy had wolfed down so much, in fact, that the producers had been obliged to hastily bring in more food so that everyone else would be able to eat their fill.

When night fell, and there was little to look at save the mesmerizing bonfire, and the sedative began to take hold…that was when campers began to drop like flies.

Surveying the area, Ezekiel noticed that Courtney had begun walking in place. Actually, he thought, that didn’t do it justice. She was virtually jogging in place.

The prairie boy rose from the log he had been sitting on and walked over to the former CIT. He knew that he was in hot water with the Muskies’ girls, and he realized that he would have to redeem himself somehow if he expected to get deep into the game. Courtney seemed as good a place as any to start.

“Hey, Courtney?”

“What is it?” she answered, a bit more shortly than she had intended. Although Courtney believed that Ezekiel was guilty of mere ignorance, not malice—indeed, it was she who had argued that Ezekiel’s sexist remarks weren’t reason enough to vote him off after the first challenge—that didn’t mean she particularly wanted to socialize with him.

“You’re going to wear yourself out if you keep that up, eh?”

“Why? Because I’m a ‘weak, helpless girl’?”

“I didn’t say that,” the Bible boy protested.

“It so happens,” Courtney sniffed before Ezekiel could say anything more, “that I think the best way to stay awake is to keep moving.”

“Sounds good, eh?” her teammate agreed, “But you’re spending a lot more energy at it than you need to. Like I said, you’re going to wear yourself out. Besides, if you exert yourself too much, get the blood really pumping, the sedative will hit you that much harder. Better to take it easy, and take our chances with a gradual effect.”

Courtney didn’t know what response she had expected from the farm boy, but that wasn’t it. Disarmed, she left off her semi-jogging and asked, “So, what would you suggest?”

“Well,” Ezekiel offered, “we could just stroll around and talk, if the other girls haven’t convinced you that I’m the devil incarnate.”

Courtney considered his offer for a few moments, and then accepted.

“Maybe we misjudged Ezekiel,” Courtney would later say in the confessional. “Sure, some of his attitudes are kind of medieval, but he seems to mean well and he does seem to be thinking of the team. With a little re-education—okay, a lot of re-education—he just might make a teammate that we’d actually want to have around.”

As the other campers tried to stay awake in whatever ways seemed best to them, Courtney and Ezekiel strolled sedately around the Muskie side of the campfire site, talking mainly about things that related in some way to the home-schooled lad’s perception of gender roles. It didn’t take Courtney overlong to discover that Zeke (as she had asked, and been granted, leave to call him) had a sharp mind, although that virtue was well camouflaged beneath his unrefined speech and mannerisms.

As they talked, Courtney quickly learned that Ezekiel was not merely parroting doctrine. He had actually given thought to why gender roles in farm country were the way they were, and he had some skill in defending them. Most notably, he had a perfectly good reason, i.e. the biological phenomenon of sexual dimorphism, for his earlier, now infamous, statement that boys were “much stronger and better at sports” than girls.

Courtney, for her part, had taken biology, and so understood the concept of sexual dimorphism; but she hadn’t been joking when she told her teammates that she was going to be a lawyer one day. She was a debater on her school’s speech team, honing the rhetorical skills she would need to succeed as a trial lawyer, and she knew how to acknowledge the reasonableness of an opponent’s point without conceding the point.

Courtney acknowledged that boys, in general, were stronger than girls. This was a readily observable fact, and there was nothing to be gained by trying to deny it. In turn, Courtney was able to convince Ezekiel that there would always be exceptional individuals like Eva. Courtney was not willing to concede that boys were inherently better at sports than girls, but that was another battle for another time.

When Ezekiel suggested that boys’ and girls’ intellects were suited to different pursuits, Courtney acknowledged that girls were not as likely as boys to be attracted to the sciences, for example; but she pointed out that lack of interest was not the same as lack of aptitude, and questioned whether he might be confusing the two. Courtney further questioned whether the well-documented gender gap in such fields was really a matter of predisposition or of cultural expectations. Ezekiel, for his part, offered arguments such as the fact that boys, on the whole, are known to have better spatial perception skills than girls, whereas girls tend to have better language skills. Girls were certainly inclined to talk more than boys, he observed.

From time to time, their debate would grow heated, and their voices would begin to rise. Each time, one of these teammates would notice and warn the other; for although it was one thing for their teammates to overhear and more easily stay awake thereby, it would not do to offer the same benefit to the Eagles on the other side of the campfire.

The two Muskies did more than just debate. They also talked of what life was like in their hometowns, and Courtney used this “compare and contrast” discussion to instruct Ezekiel on how to profitably conduct himself with girls who were more cosmopolitan than the farmers’ daughters he was used to dealing with.


 * Heed my words, Loddfafnir, listen to my counsel;
 * You’ll be better off if you believe me;
 * Follow my advice, and you’ll fare well:
 * If you have faith in a friend of yours,
 * Go to find him often;
 * Brushwood and grass will soon grow
 * On a road no travelers take.
 * Heed my words, Loddfafnir, listen to my counsel;
 * You’ll be better off if you believe me;
 * Follow my advice, and you’ll fare well:
 * Always be faithful, never be the first
 * To fail a friendship;
 * Grief consumes the heart that must take care
 * To keep itself concealed.
 * Heed my words, Loddfafnir, listen to my counsel;
 * You’ll be better off if you believe me;
 * Follow my advice, and you’ll fare well:
 * If you are wise, you’ll exchange no words
 * With fools you find on your way.
 * If a man’s no good, he will never give you
 * Your rightful reward;
 * A worthy man will help you win
 * Favor and fame.
 * True bonds are formed where men keep faith
 * And don’t hide their hearts.
 * Anything is better than a breach of friendship—
 * A real friend will say what you’d rather not hear.
 * Heed my words, Loddfafnir, listen to my counsel;
 * You’ll be better off if you believe me;
 * Follow my advice, and you’ll fare well:
 * If you want to win a woman’s friendship
 * And be in her good graces,
 * Make fair promises and fulfill them—
 * Who tires of treasure if he gets it?
 * Heed my words, Loddfafnir, listen to my counsel;
 * You’ll be better off if you believe me;
 * Follow my advice, and you’ll fare well:
 * Don’t mock a guest, and never make fun
 * Of a man you meet on the road!
 * Those already arrived are often unable
 * To tell a newcomer’s kin;
 * You’ll never find a man without a fault
 * Or one so evil he’s no use at all. 
 * The sayings of the High One heard in her hall
 * Are helpful to sons of men, harmful to giants.
 * Hail to the speaker, hail the one she taught!
 * They’re lucky who have the lore,
 * Happy if they heed it!
 * You’ll never find a man without a fault
 * Or one so evil he’s no use at all. 
 * The sayings of the High One heard in her hall
 * Are helpful to sons of men, harmful to giants.
 * Hail to the speaker, hail the one she taught!
 * They’re lucky who have the lore,
 * Happy if they heed it!
 * Happy if they heed it!

Alliance
As Courtney and Ezekiel continued their “nature vs. nurture” colloquium, Heather scanned the campsite to see how her teammates were doing. Gwen and Trent were chatting softly, not in the furtive tones of secrecy but in that soft, gentle tone that signals strong attraction. The first hookup of the summer, Heather mused.'' Guitar Boy could do better. Oh, well, there’s no accounting for taste.''

Cody and Noah had been sitting together, presumably talking about whatever nerd boys like to talk about. Nuclear physics, maybe, or perhaps girls who were hopelessly out of their league. No matter, because they weren’t talking anymore. Noah looked like he wouldn’t be in the running for long, and Cody was already down.

Owen was snoring loudly. LeShawna had almost fallen early, as well, but Heather had noticed and had talked with her a while under the false guise of friendship. They parted company after a time, but their conversation was apparently just what LeShawna needed. The homegirl had rallied, and now seemed to be going strong.

Justin stood at the edge of the firelight, facing away from the camp. He and Lindsay would have been the first hookup, if their reaction to each other at the Gathering was any indication, but Heather had no intention of allowing that. Heather had a plan, one that could be damaged if Lindsay and Justin were allowed to finish falling in lust, so the dragon girl had been doing her best to keep Lindsay occupied. Heather had been able to do this subtly thus far, but could see the time coming where she would have to interfere more directly. With Justin apparently preferring to be alone with his thoughts for this challenge, Lindsay was sticking close to Heather for the nonce. The two fashionistas had been talking about…well, fashion, mostly. And cosmetics. And hair care.

Katie and Sadie’s chatter had dried up, and they were starting to nod gently. Suddenly, Sadie shook her head as if to clear it, then prodded her BFF into alertness. The Bobbsey Twins had managed to keep each other in the running so far, but appeared to be fighting a losing battle.

Heather decided that it was time to make her move, whilst the clones were still lucid.

“Lindsay,” Heather said, “I have an idea. Go get Katie and Sadie for me.”

“Sure, Helen.”

“It’s Heather.”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

Heather gritted her teeth as she summoned the willpower to not facepalm in front of Lindsay, but managed to keep her voice mild. “Just go get them.”

Lindsay went over to the Bobbsey Twins and began to converse with them. After a solid 20 minutes of nonstop chatter, Lindsay finally remembered why she had gone to see the clones, and brought them to Heather.

“Hey, Heather, what’s up?” Katie asked.

“I’ve been thinking,” Heather began. “In these elimination games, there’s safety in numbers, and I’ve watched a lot of these games, so I know how the strategies work. If you guys join Lindsay and me, we should be able to cruise all the way to the Final Four, as long as our team does decently in the challenges.”

“What if someone else makes an alliance, too?” Sadie asked.

“That’s not likely to happen for a while. Remember, none of us were expecting to be here in the first place,” Heather pointed out. The Bobbsey Twins nodded and rolled their eyes at this.

“So, there probably won’t be much strategizing going on for a while. We’ve got a chance to take control of this game if we act now,” the dragon girl continued.

“Gee, Heather, I don’t know,” Katie protested. Isn’t it kind of underhanded to be plotting our own teammates’ demise?”

“I know, right?” Sadie seconded. “It’s not like we’ll get to vote off any of the Muskies.”

“That’s why no one will see it coming if we act now,” The Girl Who Would Be Queen explained. “By the time people get wise, it’ll be too late. Don’t get me wrong; I get the ‘one for all and all for one’ bit. It sounds great in theory, but in practice it’s shortsighted. Let everyone else be shortsighted and wait until the merge to start making alliances, and we’ll have the advantage.

“Besides, the other team looks more athletic than ours. That hasn’t hurt us yet, but it still could. If we start sucking at the challenges, we’ll have to ‘plot our own teammates’ demise’ anyway. Would you rather decide who goes, or have it decided for you in a way that you might not like? That’s why we have to do this now, so we can be safe.”

Katie and Sadie found this argument persuasive, and it wasn’t long before they agreed to join forces with Heather. Only then did the queen bee, seemingly as an afterthought, formally ask Lindsay if she wanted to join. The uberbimbo agreed with the unthinking enthusiasm of a puppy.

“Now, remember,” Heather admonished her new posse, “Don’t go around telling people that you’re in an alliance. They’ll figure it out sooner or later, but advertising it won’t get us anything.”

Katie, Sadie and Lindsay dutifully pledged that they would not.

“One more thing,” Heather said, “I should be the captain of our alliance, since I’m the one with the genre knowledge and the strategic skills to get us through.”

Katie, Sadie and Lindsay agreed to this as well, for the queen bee’s sales pitch had given them no reason to doubt her.

“Final Four, here we come!” Heather declared.

Katie, Sadie and Lindsay swept their captain up in a group hug and squealed in delight. Heather would have covered her ears, but her arms were pinned at her sides, so she could do nothing but endure the sonic daggers in her brain as best she might.

Heather later recorded a confessional spot, which the finished episode placed immediately after the scene where she forged her alliance. “I can’t actually take my three stooges all the way to the Final Four,” she admitted. “Tweedledum and Tweedledumber will probably back each other no matter what, so it would be too dangerous to have them both in the Final Four with me, and it would be suicidal to have them in the Final Three. One of them will have to go before then. Probably Fatty Lumpkin, since she’s out of place in my little clique. After all, I’m hot and fashionable, Lindsay’s hot and fashionable, and Katie can be made hot and fashionable. But, we’ll see.

“Note to self,” Heather added as she winced and rubbed her temples, “Never do anything that will make all three of them happy at once!”

Cody had been an early casualty in the Awake-a-thon. He had initially planned to sit with Gwen, but Trent had beaten him too her, and the science geek had begun to sense that he had no chance with the Goth in any situation where Trent was around. Admitting defeat, Cody had sat with Noah, and they had talked, mostly about the girls in camp, until the science geek lost his battle to stay awake.

Having slept for a time, Cody was now awakened by someone nibbling on his ear. Not only that, this unidentified campmate appeared to be spooning him. Cody at first entertained the thought that perhaps Gwen was having her way with him. That fantasy crashed and burned when the nibbler spoke softly…in a male voice!

In a fluidly athletic move that no one in camp—least of all Cody himself—would have thought him capable of, the science geek was on his feet in a flash, spinning around and instinctively assuming a defensive crouch. On the ground before him, right next to the spot where Cody had been sleeping, was Noah.

Previously lying on his side, the bookworm was now propped up on one elbow, his head raised and his eyes half-open. Looking toward Cody, he said:

“Wha—?“

Then Noah sank back to the ground, his eyes closed, and he began to snore.

Cody relaxed. Noah, it seemed, was “guilty but not responsible”. He had clearly been dreaming.


 * Why does my lady eye me circumspectly—
 * With piercing glance, as though she would dissect me?
 * I swear by heaven, and may God’s truth protect me,
 * I shun that vice of which she may suspect me.
 * The sky will flood to harvest corn and wine,
 * The air engender tangled elm and vine,
 * The sea throw game to huntsmen from the brine—
 * Before the sins of Sodom count as mine.
 * Before the sins of Sodom count as mine.

Satisfied that he would not have to defend his honor, Cody now recalled what the sleeping Noah had whispered into his ear. A name had been on the bookworm’s lips—a girl’s name. Not just any girl’s name, though, but the name of a girl on the island. A common name, to be sure, so it wasn’t clear whether he had been dreaming about one of their campmates or someone in his hometown, or perhaps some celebrity.

Cody resolved to find out, if he could. Noah was not known to be crushing on anyone in camp. If he was doing so secretly, that might be a useful thing to know.

As the sky on the eastern horizon began to lighten, heralding the approach of a new day, eight Eagles and six Muskies had succumbed, but the Eagles had started with a one-player advantage. The fallen included all three of Heather’s new allies, which the queen bee found irritating but neither surprising nor disturbing. Heather had recruited Lindsay and the clones because she thought she could dominate them, not because she thought they would be especially strong in the challenges. In any case, Heather was still feeling reasonably good about the outcome, despite the weakness of her vassals, for who would have blamed her for failing to anticipate what none could have foreseen?

Owen, you see, had a particular fondness for baked beans with maple syrup; and when he spotted that dish in the buffet spread, he had assaulted it with abandon. The man-mountain had an inefficient digestive system under the best of conditions; and with his gut full of beans, you could almost have run a car on the gas he generated.

This dish also had the curious effect of predisposing Owen to sleepwalking. So it was now, as the gregarious goliath rose to his feet and strolled away from the campfire. As it happened, his path took him past the place where Gwen and Trent were keeping each other awake.

The Goth and the axboy were still conversing on whatever topics struck their fancy. They were already sensing a real bond between them, and Trent was starting to wonder whether it was too soon to ask Gwen out on a date. As they chatted about increasingly personal matters, they took little notice of Owen. That would be their downfall, for as the man-mountain passed them, he expelled a cloud of Baked Bean Byproduct.

Under normal circumstances, Gwen and Trent would have found this development revolting, nothing more. These were not normal circumstances, however, for their sleep deprivation and the sedative had weakened them more than they knew. Furthermore, Owen’s fart on this occasion was unusual in that it was nearly silent, belying its toxicity, so the budding couple had no warning. In short, both were overcome and slumped to the ground. The challenge rules did not distinguish between sleep and gas-induced unconsciousness, so Gwen and her would-be beau were “out” in more ways than one.

At first, Heather had eavesdropped on Gwen and Trent—just to help her stay awake, she told herself—but had found their conversation largely uninteresting, so she had stopped monitoring it lest listening in start to do her more harm than good. She was close enough that she could hear the Goth and the axboy talking, but far enough away that she had to listen intently to understand what they were saying, so their conversation became white noise.

When Gwen and Trent abruptly stopped generating “white noise”, Heather’s attention snapped back to them. She turned just in time to see the luckless pair keel over as Owen walked by. Moments later, Heather flinched and wrinkled her nose in distaste as Owen’s bean residue reached her. It packed a punch even at this distance, and the dragon girl had a nasty feeling that she knew what had happened to her teammates.

With Gwen and Trent down, things were suddenly looking bad for the Eagles. Four Muskies were still awake: Courtney, Duncan, Eva, and Ezekiel. For the Eagles to pull this one out, Heather would somehow have to outlast them all. Alone.

No, Heather realized, she was not alone, after all. Justin was still awake, facing away from the others, standing stock-still at the edge of the firelight. Come to think of it, The Incredible Hunk hadn’t so much as moved a muscle in some time.

Just then, a light breeze arose. As this zephyr swept fresh, clean air over the camp, Heather could hear Gwen and Trent beginning to revive. She gave this development little heed, though, for another event commanded her attention. Before the horrified queen bee’s eyes, Justin silently toppled over. He had been literally asleep on his feet.

Now, Heather was truly alone.

The hour was growing late, so Brett’s mother left off her tale, and suggested that he prepare for bed.

(Don't forget the polls on the talk page) .

Prologue Notes

 * Brett is named after the author's closest friend. The character was originally named Brendan, for no special reason.
 * Naming the revived show Total Drama Island:the Next Generation is a reference to the 1987 revival of Star Trek as Star Trek: the Next Generation.
 * Christin McLean was created by Sunshineandravioli. Used with permission.

First Night Notes

 * The invocation that begins the interior story also begins The Kalevala (as compiled by Elias Lonnrot and translated by Francis Peabody Magoun, Jr.), which is usually described as the Finnish national epic but is really more a collection of traditional songs arranged into something resembling a continuous story. In the modified version presented here, which first appeared in the author’s Featured User interview for the September 2010 newsletter, TDI character and place names replace the original mythic Finnish names.
 * A “clew” is a ball of string, yarn, etc.
 * The opening chapter is expected to be the story's longest (almost 12,000 words including the invocation) because the contestant introductions are written as if the reader has never heard of Total Drama Island. The subheadings (the use of which is consistent with the 1,001 Nights model) are provided for the benefit of readers who have difficulty getting through a very long chapter in one sitting.
 * When Total Drama Island (then called Camp TV) was in development, the show’s original premise (alluded to by Harold upon his arrival and Lindsay in the first challenge) was that the contestants had been duped into believing that they were finalists in a national talent search. This reimagining retains that original conceit.
 * Most of the longer contestant introductions expand on the canon version, but are otherwise similar.
 * The phrase, “of little note nor long remembered” is a reference to The Gettysburg Address. The pertinent line is, “The world will little note nor long remember what we do here today…”
 * Signing a contract in blood is a traditional part of the procedure for selling one’s soul to the devil. Gwen suspects that she has died and gone to Hell.
 * Because the Storyteller is Canadian, she uses metric units of measure.
 * An “evil twin” is a device that cybercriminals set up near a Wi-Fi hot spot to intercept Internet traffic, usually for the purpose of stealing passwords or personal information.
 * Harold is introduced with the full genealogy typical of medieval Icelandic sagas, befitting his status as the canon franchise’s master of arcane lore. These genealogies were actually useful to the sagas’ original audiences. Since most major figures of the sagas were real, well-documented people, with some few appearing in multiple sagas, contemporary audiences could recognize family characteristics from these genealogies, deduce character from the quality (or lack thereof) of the pedigree, and fit the person into a known historical context.
 * “The Great War” was the original name of World War I.
 * Owen is bigger in this story than in the original. The canon Owen weighs 296 pounds (134 kg) and appears to be about 6 feet tall (180 cm). The Storyteller, however describes him as being at least 2 meters (6’7”) tall. To keep him suitably fat with that extra height, this Owen weighs 396 pounds (180 kg).
 * The Bobbsey Twins were the protagonists of a series of children’s books written between 1904 and 1979. Despite their physical differences (for they were fraternal twins) they were basically duplicates of each other.
 * “Katie” is a traditional diminutive of “Kathleen”, and “Sadie” is a traditional diminutive of “Sarah”. How do people get to “Sadie” from “Sarah”? Probably the same way they get to “Peggy” from “Margaret”.
 * The "Cody's self-image" picture is actually that of Gabe Patterson, a contestant in Lilac's competition story, Total Drama Island: For Your Entertainment. Used with permission.
 * The description of Lindsay as “Cytherean” is a reference to the Greek goddess Aphrodite. The Goddess of Sex (as she was known to the ancient Greeks; it was the Romans who shifted her portfolio to romantic love) was often called “the Cytherean” because she was believed to have risen from the sea near Cytherea (modern Cyprus).
 * The canon version also has Chris describing Ezekiel’s parents as “freaky prairie people”. The author interprets this phrase as code for “Bible thumpers”, especially since “Ezekiel” is itself a Biblical name. This story’s characterization of Ezekiel does not include the canon version’s social ineptness because the author regards that aspect of the “home schooled” stereotype as unworthy of perpetuation, so religiosity replaces social ineptness as an aspect of Ezekiel’s archetype. (He’s still a sexist, though.)
 * Lindsay and Sadie’s reaction to Ezekiel is a reference to their canon phobia toward bad haircuts, which this reimagining retains.
 * Ezekiel’s remark, “guh-dunge” in reaction to Tyler’s crash is a reference to the comic strip, B.C., by the late Johnny Hart. In that strip, “gdunge” is the onomatopoeia word for a collision. Given B.C.’s increasingly religious content in Hart’s later years, it seems like a comic strip that Ezekiel’s bible-thumping family might be attracted to.
 * The moniker “Red Jock” for Tyler is a play on “Red Jack”, another name for Jack the Ripper.
 * The Sunshine reference is a last-minute addition. Sunshine was originally scheduled to "debut" about midway through the team phase.
 * The line Noah speaks to Lindsay is a famous quote from Christopher Marlowe’s play, The Tragicall History of the Life and Death of Doctor Faustus (commonly rendered as simply Doctor Faustus).
 * Skipping over repetitive content with phrases such as, “but nothing would be gained by repeating it here” is a staple device in The 1,001 Nights.
 * LeShawna is a francophone (i.e. a person whose first language is French) because a scene in a later episode requires that one of the campers be from Montreal. LeShawna was chosen because her name, while not actually French, at least sounds French.
 * Chris’ description of Trent as the troupe’s “wandering minstrel” is a reference to the song, "A Wandering Minstrel, I" from the Gilbert &amp; Sullivan operetta, The Mikado. This song is also Trent’s theme song in the author’s compilation, Total Drama Island, by Gilbert and Sullivan.
 * “Musico” is the Italian word for “musician”.
 * In the canon version, Courtney was the only contestant whom Chris helped off the boat. So it is here.
 * The initial composition of the teams is the same as in the canon. The contestants are called to each team in alphabetical order.
 * The team names have been changed because the author never liked the name, “Killer Bass” and didn’t want to change one team name without changing the other.
 * The canon states that all the contestants are 16 years old, but in this version they have all just finished their sophomore year of high school. This is similar, but allows for 15-year-olds with summer birthdays (i.e. Sadie). The canon actually alludes to this with the revelation that Katie has a driver’s license and Sadie doesn’t.
 * Each chapter ends with a cliffhanger instead of an elimination ceremony, ala The 1001 Nights.

Second Night Notes

 * Noah’s assurance that Lindsay “won’t have to stay in the underworld year round” because she hasn’t finished her pomegranate is a reference to the Greco-Roman myth of Hades and Persephone (Pluto and Proserpine to the Romans), which explained the origin of the seasons.
 * A “captive audience” is a clientele that comes to the business’ location for some purpose other than to patronize the business. In this case, the campers have come to Camp Wawanakwa to compete in an elimination game, not to patronize the Tuck Shoppe, so the campers are a captive audience for the Tuck Shoppe. Restaurants located in airports or shopping malls are good examples of businesses that cater to captive audiences.
 * Animal byproducts are things like intestines, hooves, and other leftovers from the butchering process that aren’t valuable enough to have markets of their own. Chef Hatchet’s use of that term, instead of “meat”, is a subtle way of messing with the minds of those campers who understand the distinction.
 * The author is not familiar with Canadian law on the subject, but U.S. law does indeed state that dog food must be fit for human consumption.
 * The description of Izzy’s sloppy Joe as “convulsing once” after she stabbed it suggests that it was probably just the reaction any inanimate object would have to a brief, violent external force. (Of course, probably isn’t the same as definitely…)
 * The part of the Eva-LeShawna scene that made it into the finished episode is quoted verbatim from the canon, although the scene was moved from the serving line to after the meal.
 * Duncan’s knife-fighting background is based on a young man whom the author met doing day labor many years ago.
 * Through most of the story, Brett’s interaction with his mother somewhat parallels the interaction between King Shahryar and his wife Shahrazad (Scheherezade) in The 1001 Nights.
 * Notwithstanding the reasons the Storyteller gives, the dramatic reasons for her to refer to herself in the third person are (a) because the interior story isn’t really about her, and there are many scenes where the Storyteller isn’t present; (b) to make it easier for the reader to distinguish the frame story from the interior story; and (c) to keep the reader in suspense for a time as to the Storyteller’s identity.
 * Although The 1,001 Nights is a prose work, many of the component tales contain a significant amount of verse. To somewhat duplicate this feel, this reimagining includes a number of (mostly famous) poems that fit the mood or events in the places where they appear. Most of these poems are in the public domain, but some are recent enough to be copyrighted. In these cases, the author believes, but cannot guarantee, that inclusion of these verses constitutes “fair use”.
 * The red pullover shirts the interns wear is a reference to the original Star Trek series. Captain Kirk’s security personnel wore similar shirts, and had roughly the same life expectancy as TDI interns.
 * As a unit of measure, a “click” is slang for a kilometer.
 * Tyler is postulated as a star sprinter because, although the canon TDI tended to depict Tyler as utterly incompetent, the author’s take is that he has to actually be good at something if he is not to come across as totally deluded. Certain canon references (most notably his audition tape, wherein he easily jumped high enough to dunk a basketball, only to knuckle it off the rim) suggest that his only real flaw is poor coordination. (It’s not giving away too much to note that this becomes a plot point in a later chapter.) In this reimagining, therefore, Tyler is a star sprinter because…well, because how much coordination does it take to run in a straight line? It also explains the tracksuit.
 * The “alliter-off” alliteration scene was originally much shorter, and with only Noah speaking. A scene in TDIwriter’s story, Total Drama: Pacific Island (specifically, the “shirt-off”, a pec-flexing duel between two ripped male characters) inspired the author to expand Noah’s alliteration line into a duel scene of sorts. Chris was originally the second “duelist”, but Izzy was given the role instead because it was a more natural fit for her (although Chris still gets involved).
 * The sharks’ reaction (or lack thereof) to Courtney refers to an ancient lawyer joke, the gist of which is that sharks recognize lawyers as kindred spirits and so will not harm them.

Third Night Notes

 * The description of Harold as “Mr. Beanpole” is a reference to Rowan Atkinson’s title character in the British sitcom, Mr. Bean.
 * “Six nights a week and twice on Sundays” is a traditional theater schedule.
 * “By Jiminy” is a corruption of an oath originally invoking Castor and Pollux, the Gemini twins.
 * Cody’s line, “Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated” quotes the two major catchphrases of the Star Trek universe’s hive-minded villain race, the Borg. Cody is aware of this.
 * The idea of having Katie and Sadie tickle Chris into submission was inspired in part by the author’s wife, who is also exceptionally skilled at tickle torture. In any case, tickling is the method of physical assault that seems to the author to be most in keeping with Katie and Sadie’s childlike natures.
 * The Sadie/Beth team switch resolves a continuity lapse in the original. When Sadie’s turn came in the canon version, Chris announced that the Bass had 8 successful dives and 2 chickens. That should have left only Sadie, but Izzy was still on the cliff, so the Bass actually had 7 successful dives at that point. This reimagining treats Chris’ count as correct—the canon version treated the visual as correct—so Izzy has already dived and is therefore not available to trade places with Katie.
 * The verse in the scene where the Eagles are trying to get Beth to chicken out comes from the “Entrance of the Police” scene in the Gilbert & Sullivan operetta, The Pirates of Penzance.
 * Alejandro is (presumably) older in this reimagining than in the original. Most of the interns are college-aged, although a few are older, and this version of Alejandro is 19 or 20 years old. He was 16 when he competed in Camp TV.
 * Alejandro’s description of the Camp TV diving cliff as being 20 meters high is an estimate based on the old Camp TV trailer. Most of what Alejandro says about his gameplay—not least of which is that he looked like a Villain Stu—lampshades his portrayal in the canon Total Drama World Tour.
 * Alejandro’s near-gaffe of being “able to charm the pants off the ladies” is a reference to his introduction the canon TDWT, where Chris described him as having “an amazing ability to charm the pants off of most species (which suggests even more exotic possibilities to the dirty mind). Alejandro being the son of a diplomat is likewise a canonical element.
 * Slapping one or both of a person’s cheeks with an empty glove is a traditional (or Hollywood traditional, at any rate) method of challenging that person to a duel.
 * The Storyteller’s description of Ezekiel as a “sexist warthog boy” is a play on “male chauvinist pig”, a catchphrase of the Women’s Liberation movement of the 1960s. Replacing “pig” with “warthog” carries the added implication that Ezekiel’s complexion might not be the best.
 * Eva’s line, “I find this lack of faith disturbing”, is a direct quotation from the original Star Wars movie. The line was originally Darth Vader’s, spoken as he was telekinetically choking some admiral at a staff meeting.
 * Adamant (usually called adamantium in modern fantasy literature, adjective form “adamantine”) is a fictional metal as hard as diamond. Adamant was first described in Jonathan Swift’s novel, Gulliver’s Travels, although the word was in use as a descriptive term much earlier. Adamant supposedly doesn’t exist today because it was so widely used by ancient civilizations that all the world’s reserves have been exhausted.
 * Describing Eva as “the steel maiden” is a play on “iron maiden”, a medieval torture device.
 * The poem in the “Ezekiel puts his foot in it” scene is a partial quotation of “The Female of the Species” by Rudyard Kipling.
 * Eva calling Ezekiel a “trilobite” (a small, long-extinct sea creature that predates the dinosaurs and had a body that appears to consist of three lobes) refers both to Zeke’s primitive (in Eva’s eyes) attitudes and to his religious beliefs (i.e. the Trinity—Father, Son and Holy Spirit).
 * Eva originally threatened to throw Ezekiel to the sharks. “Throw” was changed to “dropkick” as a nod to Ezekiel’s LTDI theme song, “Drop Kick Me, Jesus, Through the Goalposts of Life”.
 * At the risk of belaboring the obvious, Duncan’s line, “You’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto” is a reference to the 1939 film, The Wizard of Oz.
 * The B.C. character called “Fat Broad” is depicted as being not particularly attractive, but she’s powerfully built and swings a mean club. She has a hair-trigger temper and is particularly sensitive to real or perceived digs at her weight.
 * “Grand Pooh-bah” was the lodge leader’s title in the 1960s animated TV series, The Flintstones. That title, in turn, was a reference to a character named Pooh-bah (described as “The Lord High Everything Else”), in the Gilbert & Sullivan operetta, The Mikado.
 * Gwen’s description of Heather as a self-appointed “Queen of Hearts” is a reference to the character of that title in Lewis Carroll’s novel, Alice In Wonderland. The Queen of Hearts is best known for solving any problem, great or small, by shouting, “Off with his head!” The implication is that Gwen does not expect Heather to be a wise or benevolent leader.
 * Although there is some variation in the listings, the Five Simple Machines, from which the more complex machines are derived, are:
 * Wheel and axle
 * Pulley
 * Lever
 * Inclined plane (including the wedge, which is sometimes listed separately); and
 * Screw (which is sometimes subsumed under the inclined plane)


 * The nickname “Fatal Fishies” is not only a play on “Killer Muskies”, but is also what the author and his wife like to call the Discovery Channel Series, The Deadliest Catch.
 * Duncan’s claim that Heather had propositioned him is a reference to their exchange during the contestant introductions, when Heather told Duncan to “get bent”. Of course, Duncan knows perfectly well that Heather did not actually proposition him.
 * Chris’ description of the competition venue as the “Isle Of Tears” is a play on “The Vale of Tears” (a.k.a. “The Vale of Sorrow”), which is a traditional poetic metaphor for mortal existence. Chris is playing up the symbolic death that elimination represents.

Fourth Night Notes

 * The “last marshmallow” poem is a partial quotation from the 13th Century Latin poem, “Dies Irae” ("Day of Wrath", i.e. Judgment Day). Translation by William Josiah Irons.
 * The vote totals were:
 * Beth: 4 (Duncan, Eva, Ezekiel, Tyler)
 * Tyler: 3 (Courtney, D.J., Geoff)
 * Ezekiel: 2 (Beth, Bridgette)
 * D.J.: 1 (Izzy)
 * Beth, Tyler and Ezekiel voted as they did because they knew they were at risk and were seeking to save themselves.


 * Somnus (Hypnos to the Greeks) is the Greco/Roman god of sleep.
 * Lindsay having “bikinis for every conceivable occasion” is a reference to her canon audition tape, wherein she claims to have “a bikini for every season, even the ones not listed on the calendar.”
 * Brynhild is one of the Valkyries of Norse/Germanic mythology. She is better known by her German name, Brunhilde, but Brynhild is used here because it’s closer to “Bridgette”. (The Old Norse name was "Brynhildr", because proper names in that language always ended with an "r", which typically morphed into an "a" or an "e" in other languages. Nowadays, the trailing "r" is usually dropped.)
 * The relative positions of the camp and the diving cliff are reversed from the canon. Although continuity meant little where the island’s layout and topography were concerned, the canon episode “Are We There, Yeti?” indicated that the camp is on the island’s northern shore. The diving cliff, on the viewer’s right-hand side when approaching the camp from the lake, would therefore have been on the western shore. In this reimagining, the diving cliff remains in the west, but the camp is on the southern shore (which, considering Canada’s climate, seems a much more likely place for it), thereby placing the cliff on the viewer’s left when approaching the camp from the lake.
 * Bridgette’s dream was a late addition, inspired by Sunshine’s Third Night feedback. In pertinent part, Sunshine said that she half-expected Harold to turn up later, complaining about how he had been left for dead in the lake. The dream sequence has the added virtue of giving Bridgette her first big scene.
 * This chapter was almost split due to its great length (over 12,000 words including the verses) and the presence of a good cliffhanger point about 5800 words in. Indeed, the chapter would have been split if the story wasn't currently going so long between updates, in which case the cliffhanger would have been the point where Bridgette persuades Geoff to investigate the cliff-face nook with her during the 20K run. The talk page's cliffhanger poll question would have been, "Will Bridgette and Geoff find Harold?", with the possible answers being "Yes", "No", and "(Sprink option) They'd better not. I don't want to see this become the Psychic Hotline!"
 * LeShawna’s line, “Must...control…Fist of Death” line is Alice’s catchphrase in the comic strip, Dilbert.
 * Gwen’s suggestion that Heather is used to vomiting is a veiled accusation that Heather is bulimic.
 * The verse in the Gwen/Trent scene is a partial quotation of the Lewis Carroll poem, “The Walrus and the Carpenter”. This poem appears in Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There (more commonly rendered as simply, Through the Looking-Glass), where it is described as the longest poem in Tweedledum and Tweedledee’s repertoire.
 * The verses in the Courtney/Ezekiel scene are a partial quotation of “The Lay of Loddfafnir” and the final stanza of its parent poem, “Sayings of the High One” from The Elder Edda, a collection of Viking poetry. In this quotation, the pronouns in the final stanza have been changed from masculine to feminine to make clear that Courtney is the one doing the instructing. (“The High One” of the title is actually the Norse god, Odin.) Translation by Patricia Terry.
 * The description of Heather as “The Girl Who Would Be Queen” is a reference to the Rudyard Kipling novella, “The Man Who Would Be King”.
 * “Fatty Lumpkin” is the name of Tom Bombadil’s pony in The Lord of the Rings, although Heather doesn’t know that.
 * The verses in the Cody/Noah scene are a partial quotation of a poem from The Carmina Burana (“Songs of Beuern”, a Benedictine monastery in Bavaria), described as “the last great outpouring of medieval poets who spoke Latin as fluently as their native tongues.” In the poem quoted, a scholar studying abroad defends himself against his girlfriend’s accusation of homosexuality. Translation by David Parlett.
 * Owen’s sleepwalking differs from the canon version in that he remains fully clothed.
 * Justin’s tactics in this version differ from the canon in that he did not go so far as to paint false eyes on his face, and in fact may not have been cheating at all. In any case, this is a cartoonish element in that, in real life, a person who fell asleep whilst standing would quickly collapse.

Appendix B: Character Theme Songs
Bridgette: "Simple Gifts" by Joseph Brackett Jr. thumb|250px|right|Bridgette's theme

Courtney: "When I Was a Lad" by Allan Sherman


 * The tune is from the Gilbert & Sullivan song of the same name in H.M.S. Pinafore, but the lyrics are original.

thumb|250px|right|Courtney's theme

Ezekiel: "Dropkick Me, Jesus, Through the Goalposts of Life" by Bobby Bare thumb|250px|right|Ezekiel's theme

Geoff: "Ghost Riders in the Sky" by Stan Jones thumb|250px|right|Geoff's theme

Harold: "Valhalla" leitmotif from The Ring of the Nibelungen opera tetralogy (sometimes described as "the world's first miniseries), by Richard Wagner (instrumental) thumb|250px|right|Harold's theme

Katie & Sadie: "Friendship" by Cole Porter (from DuBarry Was a Lady) thumb|250px|right|Katie & Sadie's theme

Owen: "Baby Elephant Walk" by Henry Mancini (instrumental) thumb|250px|right|Owen's theme

.