Survivor Girl Page 7

  “Just some ideas to get us thinking about tomorrow’s shoot.” Rick sits next to Dad on the couch, wiping his eyes. “Ali, we’re thinking our audience will see you as the unlikely heroine. Scared, unskilled, weak—”

  “Hey!” I interrupt.

  Adam snorts.

  “It’s part of the story line, Ali-Gator, for the story,” Dad says. “How you’ll be portrayed on camera.”

  I roll my eyes teenage-angst style. “I should be myself on reality TV.”

  Rick and Dad and Jake are all looking at each other like I’m an idiot child. “This is reality TV, Alison,” Dad says. “Reality TV is not always about the real reality, but the perception of reality.”

  He slurps his coffee again.

  “Let’s take a look at the notes,” Rick repeats, standing up and clapping his hands. “George, start us off. Page one.”

  Dad puts his coffee down and his face changes to serious Survivor Guy. “Night one. Little sleep with the threat of bears and wolves and swarms of yellow flies.”

  “Jake wakes up,” Jakes announces from where he’s laid out on an overstuffed chair.

  Rick has been intently watching Dad read, like he’s watching an artist at work. “Don’t read the action notes, Jake. Continue, George.”

  “The flies have gotten the best of my boy, Jake, but I’ve collected some midnight mud from the bottom of the lake and concocted this lifesaving salve. No big deal, just the result of years and years of learning to survive in this wild world we live in. It will relieve his swelling and reverse the allergic reaction.”

  Next, it says ALISON AWAKENS, WIDE-EYED, JUMPY FROM THE SOUNDS OF THE SWAMP, HER HAIR BRAIDED. “DADDY! DADDY! I’M SO SCARED! PLEASE SAVE ME FROM THIS DANGEROUS SWAMP!”

  “Is this my line?” I ask. “Do I have to say this?”

  Rick shakes his head. “No. Alison, my dear, this is an unscripted show.” He waves the papers in the air. “Notes. Just suggestions.”

  They’re all looking at me, Dad frozen in a Survivor Guy stare. Do I look that scared and weak and uncoordinated? The actual reality of the situation is that probably my friends won’t be surprised at all when they find out I’m not a Survivor Girl hero. I can barely make it through skill testing in gym. In fact, Harper and I tie for last every single time. Out of the entire grade.

  So, I read the suggested line. But I don’t embrace this scared and weak character. In fact, I pretty much hate her right now.

  Fifteen

  The next morning when I stumble out of the camper, Isabel is standing there with a pink sprinkled doughnut, wearing a purple nightgown with prancing white horses all over it. “For you!”

  “Have you been waiting here all morning?” I say, taking the doughnut, because if I didn’t it would be rude, right?

  “You sleep a lot.”

  Laura, the animal trainer, walks by with a snake around her neck, carrying a plastic bag full of little fish. The camp is bustling with activity as if it’s not just barely past sunrise. There’s a guy cutting wood by the crew trailers, people pushing carts stacked high with equipment, and a line going into the dining tent.

  Dad is at the bank of the lake surrounded by Producer Rick, Medic Claire, Immature Intern Adam, and Camera Lady Bianca. He is struggling, trying to make a homemade fishing hook out of a sharp rock he found. Eventually a prop guy hands him a professionally homemade fishing rod with a rock-ish-looking hook. I turn away. I can’t take any more of the fakeness.

  “Why is your mom there?” I say to Isabel. I mean, I’d probably need a medic on duty if I was trying to fish with a razor-sharp hook made out of jagged rock, but not Dad. I’m pretty sure he at least knows how to fish.

  “She’s always with him.” Isabel licks pink frosting off her pinky finger. “They’re best friends forever.”

  I take a monstrous bite out of my doughnut.

  “Just like I’m going to have a trillion best friends when I go to kindergarten. They don’t even have cameras there, did you know that?”

  I take another bite, my mouth so full I can barely breathe except through my nose.

  “A trillion, trillion, ka-million maybe. And my friends will teach me how to play games and sometimes we’ll fight over the last Lego.” She twirls around. “That’s what kids do, right? Play Legos?”

  I’m still chewing.

  “And I don’t even know what I’m going to be for Halloween yet.”

  I wipe my mouth on my arm, watching Isabel’s mom untangle part of the fishing line and hand it to my dad. “Well,” I say. “Sometimes it’s not nice to have best friends because then everyone else feels left out.” Claire reaches up and smooths my dad’s hair and I almost choke. “Actually, sometimes it’s super mean and disgusting.”

  Isabel just looks at me, shielding her eyes from the sun. And then she grabs my hand. “C’mon.” She pulls me to the edge of the lake as I stuff the last of the doughnut in my mouth.

  Adam is busy hooking a flailing swamp muskie to the fake homemade fishing line when Isabel and I walk up. “Ali-Gator!” Dad says, and squeezes us into a hug. Isabel smells like candy ChapStick and little-kid nail polish, and when I finally get out of the huddle of death, there’s frosting on my elbow.

  Adam hands Dad his homemade fishing rod he didn’t make with the fish on it that he didn’t catch. The muskie is snapping and flopping.

  “Breakfast!” Dad points to the fish, and then looks past us to the dining tent. “No, actually, what’s for breakfast today?”

  “Doughnuts!” Isabel shrieks.

  I notice Adam and Rick talking and looking in my direction. I stand straighter, smoothing my shirt down and pushing my wild hair out of my face. I’ve just discovered a spot of crusty pink frosting on my cheek when they come walking up to me.

  “The alligator scene,” Rick says. “We need to get that nailed down ASAP.” He folds his arms, a finger to his lips. “Or—hey, George! What if we took that scene in a different direction? Like, Alison falls into the bog or something. Would that feel more natural to you, Alison?” Rick is pacing, back and forth, tapping his head.

  Dad joins him. “And I save her?”

  “Yes!” Rick snaps his fingers. “Yes! Hero dad comes along and wrestles the alligator into submission and rescues his daughter from the mud pit. That would be amazing!” Dad and Rick congratulate each other on their new genius idea.

  “No,” I interrupt. “No way. I want to be the hero.” I may not be the world’s best tree climber, but in real life I’m not the kind of girl that needs to be rescued all the time.

  Dad smiles big, nodding his head. “My girl, the hero. I like it.”

  Rick is tapping his head again. “So, no mud-pit alligator rescue?” He sighs.

  “You’re making me out to be all weak and scared all the time. It’s not fair,” I add.

  Adam is smirking. At least, I think he’s smirking. He just always looks like a jerk.

  “Okay.” Rick’s eyes are closed. “No mud-pit rescue, girl saves herself from man-eating alligator . . .” He’s mumbling to himself. “. . . leaps over . . . tree . . .” He opens his eyes. “That still plays well into the unlikely hero story. Also, girl power. Our audience will love it. Brilliant! Great idea, Ali.”

  I ignore the unlikely hero part. “Thanks,” I say, and Dad kisses my forehead.

  “Okay, son, take Ali to the scene location and see if you can give her some tree-climbing tips, okay?” Rick claps Adam on the back.

  We watch Rick walk away and then Adam kind of saunters off, like this is the worst assignment in the history of assignments.

  “Why does he always call you son?” I ask, following him to the back of the set, where the animals are already awake in their cages, all except for the mountain lion, who has a single sleepy paw sticking out of her dog house.

  “None of your business,” Adam says, jumping into a golf cart and rolling it out of the parking spot.

  “Hey! Wait!” It’s not like I want to go anywhere with him, but what ch
oice do I really have?

  Adam halts the cart and looks at me. “Bus is leaving.” And then he takes off again, but there is no way I’m chasing after him, because this girl doesn’t chase after boys. Except maybe Justin Barbara that time he stole my limited-edition pumpkin pie ChapStick right out of my hands.

  Adam stops the cart and my brain knows as soon as I start walking in his direction he’ll take off. But apparently my legs don’t get the message because they start walking, and just when I’m about to grab on and heft myself into the seat, he punches the accelerator.

  “That’s it!” I start walking back to the lake. “I’m telling Dad and then he’ll fire you as intern.”

  He does a U-turn, rolling the golf cart alongside of me. “Fine. You’re no fun. Get in.”

  “I’m still telling him.” I keep walking, my arms crossed. “Why are you such a jerk, anyway? Probably every kid in America would pay a bajillion dollars to be Survivor Guy’s intern.”

  He grunts, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like you’re the nicest person in the world. Why are you so mean to Isabel? This is her life. Moving from wilderness set to wilderness set. All the time.” He waves toward all the tents and trailers and Survivor Guy equipment everywhere. There must have been a bit of rain overnight, because everything is a little muddy, including my hiking boots. And the heat mixing with the smell of doughnuts and swamp isn’t the greatest. “She doesn’t even know what a Barbie is. I asked her.”

  “Barbies are overrated.” I flick a gnat off my arm.

  “Come on. Just get in,” Adam says.

  I don’t even look at him.

  “I’m going to tell your dad that you volunteered for the live-snake-eating scene. Live. Snake. In your belly.” He licks his lips.

  “He won’t believe you,” I say, but the truth is Dad barely even knows me lately. And maybe he’d do anything for ratings. For the money. Forget about me, his own daughter.

  “They’re getting desperate for volunteers.” He tries pulling in front of me, but I swerve around him. “They want to introduce your character with a bang, don’t forget. Wabam! Snake-eating girl. That’s network-worthy if you ask me.”

  I stop. “Let’s just get this over with.” I climb into the golf cart, but I sit in the back, teetering on one of the jump seats that’s half taken up by a giant cardboard box.

  “Careful, there are snapping turtles in there.”

  But when I peek inside, I see they’re just made of plastic.

  Sixteen

  When we park on the fire road, I don’t even let the golf cart stop before I jump out and barrel into the woods, leaving Adam trying to catch up. I’ve collected all of my frustrations in my body and pushed them deep into my muscles. Dad and his new BFF. Little annoying kids. Camerawomen and interns. Lies. Lies. Lies. Who even has a BFF when you’re like fifty years old?

  I get to the clearing and the tree is dead ahead, branchless, centered in front of a bog and impossible to climb. I take off running, because with so much angst I’m going to soar over that mud pit like it doesn’t even exist. Soar, I tell you. I’m two strides away and my legs are strong and ready. I leap. I soar. Then I cannonball into the middle of the bog, dousing myself in brown swamp water. My muscles spasm and I limp out, ignoring Adam’s tittering.

  He stands at the edge of the mud pit and jumps it easy as pie. No running starts. No angsty muscles. He is the king of gazelles.

  “Ladies first,” he says, pointing to the tree.

  “Oh, I insist.” I extend my muddy arm like a fancy model on a game show. “You first.”

  He springs into action, wrapping his legs and arms around the tree and shimmying halfway up, then dropping back down in front of me. “Easy.”

  I cross my arms and spin away from him.

  “What are you so angry about anyway? Just admit you can’t do it and we can move on.”

  I push him out of the way and march to the tree. “Aren’t you supposed to be teaching me?”

  “Just wrap yourself around the trunk and boost yourself up. Simple.”

  I stare at the tree. And I hate it. I hate the rushy-throbby-heartbeat feeling like I’m in gym class trying to climb the rock wall. It takes me half the period to get to the top while everyone else flies up, effortless.

  Adam sighs. “Let me see your muscles.” He pokes me in the arm, where—let’s be honest—I don’t have any muscles.

  “Ow!”

  “Yeah, no, you can’t do it.” He squeezes my weak bicep, mystified, like it’s some wonder of the world.

  “Hey!” I put my hands on my hips, getting in his face. “I can do anything.”

  “Not really.” Adam shrugs his shoulders like he’s not insulting me to my face. “If you don’t do the work, you can’t do just anything.” He flexes his bicep. “Wabam! I lift weights every day. Even on Christmas.”

  “There’s more to life than working out, you know.” I put one foot on the side of the tree, digging in with my hiking boot, ready to boost myself up.

  “Parents always tell their kids they can do anything. But actually it’s not true. You can’t just wake up one day and . . .” I tune out his braggy voice and try to hoist myself up enough to get my other foot on the tree.

  “. . . people don’t climb Mount Everest or win the Nobel Peace Prize without a ton of . . .”

  And I’m up. A little bit. Shaky and muscles burning, but I’m at least an inch off the ground.

  “. . . your dad could totally do the real Survivor Guy thing in the real wild and stuff. Except it’s too hard. Too much work. So, he takes a shortcut . . .”

  I glare at him and he throws his hands up. “No offense. I mean, it’s totally what everyone does.”

  I stumble off the tree, just barely missing the mud pit again, my entire body pulsing. “He could be the real type of Survivor Guy if he wanted.”

  “I literally just said that. Were you even listening?”

  “Well, in case you’re interested, my dad has such a big crew and stuff for safety.” I shake my head at him. “So he can always be there for me.”

  “Dads say those things all the time and they’re always full of—”

  “Not my dad. Nope. He’s all about family.” My belly burns because with only half the family home all the time, it’s like a puzzle missing pieces. And once you lose a piece to a puzzle, it’s worthless. It’s barely even a puzzle anymore.

  “Your dad is just like my dad. He doesn’t care about family.” Adam breaks a stick in half. “He just cares about ratings. That’s why they’re such a good team.”

  “Team?” I say, and then it dawns on me. “Rick? The producer? That’s your dad?”

  There’s a rustling in the thick brush bordering the clearing we’re in and Adam and I freeze and stare at each other.

  Snake? Swamp rodent?

  Leaves crunching. Branches snapping.

  Bear? Panther?

  I swing around, looking for a place to hide, wishing I had a can of Survive-A-Bear. Adam grabs for me, but I hightail it for a tree in the denser part of the woods, the rustling getting closer and louder. There are a lot of branches on this one and I climb. The first branch cracks off under my weight but I manage to pull myself onto a thicker, higher branch, where I stay, one leg dangling. Awkwardly.

  Two kids pop out of the woods. One of them screams when she sees me, the other one blinks behind his bug helmet. I nearly lose my balance and fall.

  “Snakes live in these trees, you know,” the girl says, shading her eyes and coming over to stand at the base of mine. “Are you with Kids on Adventure?”

  “What?” My muscles are seizing up. “No.” I look for Adam and find him shimmying down from the branchless tree by the bog like he’s a superhero or something.

  “You’re just here by yourself?” the boy asks, but then he sees Adam and bounces into a ninja stance.

  “Relax, he’s with me.” I nod toward Adam. “I wouldn’t say he’s the nicest guy in the world, but . . .”

 
; “Adam.” He thrusts a hand in the bug helmet boy’s direction and they shake.

  “Theo. And this is Ronnie.” Ronnie takes a bow.

  They’re not seeing me at my best angle, my butt hanging out over the tree branch. I try to leap down but my foot is actually stuck. Fabulous.

  “You should get down,” Theo says.

  “Just doing some research,” I reply.

  My other leg is tingling now and I try to let it slide a bit down the trunk, except I’ve lost all muscle control and can’t stop it from skidding all the way to the ground. So now I’m standing on one foot with the other wedged into the crook of the branch and I’m in excruciating pain since I’m not the most flexible person in the world.

  “Are you okay?” Ronnie pulls my stuck foot out of my shoe and I flop back into the moist dirt, but I’m up before either of them come at me with concerned faces again. They mostly just look confused—except for Jerk Adam . . . who looks delighted.

  “Wait.” Theo takes a step back. “Are you?” He glances at his friend like he’s asking her something telepathically. Harper and I can do that. I telepathically communicate to her my ice cream order while I hold our seats at Dilly’s every time.

  “Survivor Guy’s daughter from the Pop-Tarts picture!” they say in unison.

  They’re talking about that picture of Dad and me in the celebrity magazine. Eating Pop-Tarts by the lake. “That was like a year ago.” I wipe my muddy hands on my shorts, because there’s no point in trying to look clean anymore.

  They’re jumping up and down and Ronnie is clapping. “I can’t believe this!” she says. “We love that show!”

  “Wait, are you guys taping here?” Theo looks around like he half expects Dad to jump out of a tree. In reality, he’s probably moved on to breakfast by now, eating a jelly doughnut and sipping a cappuccino.

  “Shut up!” Ronnie yells. “Our counselors said someone’s filming in the swamp, but they didn’t say it was Survivor Guy! Like, the actual Survivor Guy?” She looks like she’s about to faint, or at least dunk herself by accident into the puddle she’s teetering over.

  “He’s back at camp.” I motion in the general direction of the set.