The boat cut through the murky water, and there it was—Camp Wawanakwa. My ticket to fame. I could practically feel the cameras zooming in on my face as I gazed at that ramshackle dock in the distance, knowing millions of viewers were about to meet their new favorite contestant.
Several boats had already arrived ahead of mine. So much for making a grand entrance as the first contestant. I'd planned to stride onto that dock with everyone watching, but apparently fate had other ideas. Still, I wasn't worried. First impressions mattered, sure, but in game impressions? That's where I'd shine.
I adjusted my sunglasses and checked my reflection in the boat's grimy window. Perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect everything. The three designer bags slung over my shoulder didn't even look heavy—I'd practiced that casual pose in the mirror for weeks. When this boat docked, Luther was going to make an entrance they'd replay in the opening credits.
The engine puttered to a stop, and I stepped forward with practiced confidence. This was it. My moment.
I hopped onto the dock like I owned the place, pulling off my sunglasses in one smooth motion. "Luther's here, people." I flashed my million-dollar smile at the small crowd that had already gathered. The goth girl—Gwen, if I remembered the casting sheets correctly—actually looked relieved to see someone normal arrive. Smart girl. She could probably tell quality when she saw it.
I could feel the cameras drinking it all in. My build, my voice, the way my hair caught the light just right. Somewhere out there, viewers were probably already picking their favorites, and I intended to be at the top of every list.
Chris McLean stood near the end of the dock with that signature smirk of his. I walked straight up to him, extending my hand. "Great hair, man. Really works with the whole host vibe you've got going." A little flattery never hurt, especially with someone who controlled the edit.
Chris seemed pleased enough as we shook hands. Good. Keep the host happy, stay in the game longer.
I turned to survey my competition. Beth, DJ, Geoff, Gwen, Lindsay, Heather, and Duncan had already claimed their spots on the dock. Not bad odds—I could work with this group.
Geoff bounced over first, all sunshine and good vibes. "Dude! Welcome to the madness!" He held out his fist, and I bumped it without hesitation. No point making enemies on day one.
"Hey everyone," I said, giving the group a casual wave. "Looking forward to getting to know you all."
Heather was already shooting daggers at someone—looked like Beth was getting the death glare treatment. Interesting. Mental note: Heather's going to be a problem, but not necessarily my problem. Yet.
I drifted over to stand next to Gwen, who seemed like the most sensible person here so far. When I smiled at her, she actually smiled back and whispered, "Thank god someone normal showed up."
See? I had good instincts about people.
A keyboard-carrying kid named Harold practically tumbled off the next boat, took one look at the dilapidated camp, and started geeking out about survival conditions. Even Chris looked uncomfortable with the kid's enthusiasm. I made another mental note: Harold could be useful or annoying, depending on which team I ended up on. The other guys would probably hate him, which meant I could either use that or protect him, depending on what served my strategy better.
Trent arrived next, guitar case in hand and that laid-back musician vibe radiating off him. He spotted Gwen immediately and threw her a wave and a wink.
Nice try, buddy, but I'd already staked my claim on the friendly neighbor approach with her. Still, Gwen's slight reaction told me she wasn't immune to attention. Good to know.
The rest of the contestants filed off their boats in a parade of personalities: Bridgette with her surfboard, Noah with his book and attitude, Leshawna with enough confidence for three people, Ezekiel looking like he'd never seen sunlight, Cody trying way too hard to look cool, Eva practically vibrating with aggression, Owen's infectious laugh carrying across the water before he even stepped off his boat, Justin's obvious model looks, Courtney's uptight perfectionist energy, and Izzy's... well, whatever Izzy was supposed to be.
I worked the crowd like a politician, customizing my greeting for each personality type. Owen got an enthusiastic high-five—the guy clearly responded to energy. Cody got a respectful nod—boost his confidence without threatening his ego. Leshawna earned a fist bump—show respect for her obvious strength. I complimented Courtney on her organization skills, which made her puff up with pride. And I gave Izzy a questioning look because honestly, I wasn't sure what to make of her yet.
These were the ones who mattered, the ones who'd last long enough to actually impact my game. The others I could afford to be pleasant with, but I wasn't going to waste energy on obvious early boots.
Chris clapped his hands, commanding attention. "Welcome to Camp Wawanakwa, campers! This lovely slice of Canadian wilderness will be your home for the next eight weeks." He gestured at the collection of run-down cabins behind him. "The people standing around you right now? They'll either be your cabin mates or your fiercest competition. So get ready, because things are about to get very interesting."
I looked around at my fellow contestants again, calculating. Twenty-two people, eight weeks, one winner. The math was simple enough. Things would get complicated.
But I hadn't come here to abondon ship. I'd come here to win. And if I happened to become America's heartthrob in the process? Well, that was just natural.