Chris's voice rolled over a montage of last episode's carnage, loud and smug as always.
"Last time on Total Drama Island… our competitors became hunters. And the hunted."
Clips flickered: campers running, paint flying, Courtney screaming, and Duncan dodging wildly.
"Owen's game was way off. And when he finally caught wind of his prey, he totally blew it." A shot of Owen face-planting into the dirt replayed in slow motion. "Unfortunately, that wasn't his only log of pain this match. Seriously, dude—girls don't like being called fat."
Another clip showed Ronnie Anne cracking her knuckles ominously.
"And Cody made a new friend who quickly beat the crap out of him. Can anyone say medivac?" Cody's full body cast flashed on screen as he was rolled away like a sad, burrito-shaped casualty.
"Beth finally put her foot down when a real friend helped her find her confidence," the montage shifted to Beth standing up to Heather. "Lincoln managed to bag the most sought-out deer in the competition, and Ronnie Anne showed Heather who the alpha girl was."
A cut of Ronnie Anne's knee colliding with Heather's stomach played proudly.
"But it wasn't solely Ronnie Anne who showed her might. In a weird and strangely watchable twist, Leshawna, Lindsay, Beth, and Heather turned their paintball guns on each other."
Paint splattered across the screen in chaotic, colorful bursts.
"Last episode was a full-on wrassle for dominance within the females of the Gopher Squad, and in the end, the Gophers were sent to the bonfire."
Gwen dramatically tossed her marshmallow away again—right into Owen's open mouth.
"In the end, however, it was Cody who got the shaft."
Cody rolled off the dock backward and splashed into the lake.
"The Gophers are still the underdogs. Can they bounce back? Or is their goose finally cooked?" Chris paused just long enough for the suspense sting. "Find out tonight on… Total. Drama. Island!"
The opening theme blasted as the camera swooped over Camp Wawanakwa.
_________________________________________________________________________________________
On the male side of the Killer Bass cabin, Lincoln sat on his bunk with a small notepad balanced on his knee. He quietly sketched—absent little doodles filling the margins—until his pencil lingered on one particular drawing: a rough but unmistakable sketch of Ronnie Anne. He paused, adjusted a line, then quickly flipped the page halfway closed, cheeks warming despite being alone.
Well… mostly alone.
Geoff snored loudly from his bunk, one hand scratching his chest in his sleep. Harold was fast asleep, DJ muttered a cheerful "Hello!" to no one in particular, still deep in a dream.
Duncan, however, was very much awake.
He hopped out of bed and dropped to the floor, immediately launching into push-ups. His breathing was controlled and rhythmic—deep breaths in through his nose, steady exhales through his mouth.
Lincoln glanced over from his sketchbook.
"Going for a record today?"
Duncan smirked without stopping.
"Good morning to you too, Grandpa."
He kept going, focused—until his next inhale hit something very wrong.
The smell reached him a half-second later.
Duncan gagged and shot upright onto his feet, recoiling as he realized what had been directly beneath his face. A pair of soiled underwear lay abandoned on the floor.
"Ugh! Oh, that is vile!"
The sudden outburst jolted Geoff and DJ awake. They took one look at the scene—and immediately burst out laughing.
Harold stirred, blinking groggily as Duncan stomped toward him, fury etched across his face.
"Not cool, Harold, man! Not cool!"
Duncan jabbed a finger toward the offending underwear.
Harold squinted at it, then frowned.
"Those aren't mine."
Duncan scoffed.
"Oh, right. Because you never leave your gitch lying around."
"No, I'm not! Gosh!" Harold threw his covers off defensively.
Geoff and DJ climbed out of bed and took positions behind Duncan, arms crossed in solidarity.
"Uh, yeah you are, dude," Geoff said.
"You've got absolutely no proof," Harold insisted.
DJ pointed calmly.
"No one else wears that kind."
"And," Geoff added helpfully, "your mom sewed your name into the label."
That finally made Lincoln step down from his bunk. He raised his hands slightly, easing between them.
"Look, Harold, it's not a big deal," Lincoln said evenly. "But this is all our room. We're just asking you to think about the others here."
Harold hesitated, then sighed. He grabbed his clothes and towel.
"…Okay, Lincoln. I'm going for a shower."
As Harold headed for the door, Duncan called after him.
"Hey! Don't forget to clean the skid maker!"
Harold groaned and disappeared outside.
Duncan turned back to the group, grinning as he looked at DJ and Geoff.
"I think Harold needs to be taught a lesson, boys. Who's with me?"
DJ and Geoff didn't hesitate. The three slapped hands together enthusiastically.
"Yeah!"
Geoff glanced over at Lincoln.
"You want in on this, Link?"
Lincoln immediately raised both hands.
"Leave me out of this."
——————
A few hours later, both teams gathered along the shoreline as Chris stood before them, hands clasped with his usual smug enthusiasm.
"Today's challenge," he announced, "will test your minds, your teamwork, and your skills in the kitchen!"
A collective groan rippled through the campers.
"You'll be cooking a three-course meal and serving it to me for tasting. The winners get a reward. The losers will be sending somebody home." He grinned. "Each team will appoint a head chef to create the theme of the meal and oversee the cooking. But to cook—"
Chris dramatically extended an arm toward the beach.
"—you need ingredients."
Right on cue, a food truck reversed down the shoreline, its tires crunching against the sand. The campers stared as it came to a stop.
Behind the wheel sat a dolphin.
No one spoke.
The dolphin chattered happily, tapping the steering wheel with a fin as if this were the most normal thing in the world.
Ronnie Anne slowly pinched the bridge of her nose.
⸻
CONFESSIONAL – Ronnie Anne
"Hey, Sid? Do a Google search and see if this island was ever used for toxic waste dumping… because that is not normal."
_______
The Killer Bass reached the food truck first, swarming it with the urgency of people who actually wanted to win. Inside were crates of meat, fresh vegetables like tomatoes, stacks of bread, and an impressive selection of cheeses.
Lincoln scanned the contents, eyes lighting up.
"This has the makings of a great Italian meal."
Duncan's face instantly broke into a grin.
"Hello, head chef!"
The rest of the Bass cheered in agreement. Lincoln flushed slightly, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment.
"Thanks, guys. Alright—let's start grabbing."
As the Bass collected what they needed, the Gophers finally arrived at the truck.
Heather pushed forward immediately. "Head chef! Called it!" She shot Beth a sharp look. "Try not to screw up this time, okay?"
Beth clenched her jaw, clearly irritated, while Leshawna and Ronnie Anne flanked her.
"Just ignore her, girl," Leshawna muttered.
Heather, meanwhile, smirked to herself.
———
Heather - CONFESSIONAL
"I had to take the leadership role. Hello—we're on a losing streak. And really, everyone else on this team is completely useless."
———
Back at the truck, the Gophers peered inside. There were still plenty of ingredients left.
Ronnie Anne tilted her head, thinking. "Looking at this, we could do a great barbecue theme."
Several of the Gophers nodded—until Heather cut in sharply.
"Well, I'm the head chef, and we're doing Hawaiian. So shut up and grab those oranges."
Ronnie Anne's expression darkened. She stepped directly into Heather's space.
"You wanna repeat that?"
Heather hesitated, clearly remembering the last time she'd gotten in Ronnie Anne's face. Before things could explode, Beth suddenly spoke up, her voice bright but firm.
"Gophers! I say we put this to a vote. Who do we want as leader?"
She turned and held out her hand toward Ronnie Anne, smiling.
"Ronnie Anne—the girl who kicked butt with the fish during that sucky camping challenge."
Beth raised her hand. Gwen followed. Then Trent. Leshawna. Owen.
Heather's confidence cracked.
Beth then pointed toward Heather, her tone sharp. "Or Heather—the girl who's never helped us win a challenge. Or cooked. Ever."
That earned a smirk from Ronnie Anne—and a shocked, furious glare from Heather.
Only one hand slowly rose for Heather.
Lindsay's.
Heather stared in disbelief as Ronnie Anne crossed her arms, smug.
"And the people have spoken."
Ronnie Anne stepped into the truck, the rest of the Gophers following her lead.
"Owen, grab that rack of ribs. Beth, can you get the pineapple? Leshawna, take the oranges. Gwen and Trent, grab those bags of shrimp."
Heather stood outside, seething.
Then Ronnie Anne turned back.
"Heather. Here."
She tossed a crate of mangoes straight at Heather, knocking her flat onto the sand.
⸻
Heather - CONFESSIONAL
"She."
"Is."
"DEAD."
———
The Bass hauled their ingredients over to their side of the kitchen as Lincoln scanned the list, mentally organizing the chaos.
"Alright," he said. "I'll float and help wherever I'm needed. We've got six people and three courses, so everyone pick a partner."
DJ's hand shot up immediately.
"I know how to make pasta sauce!"
Bridgette grinned.
"And I know how to boil pasta!"
They high-fived enthusiastically.
"Perfect," Lincoln said. "I'll help you two with the lasagna recipe my dad taught me."
Geoff stepped forward.
"Mind if I help them, bro?"
He flashed a grin at Bridgette, who immediately turned red, bashful under his attention.
Lincoln caught the look and smirked.
"Of course. No problem."
Harold stepped forward confidently.
"Katie and I can handle the antipasto. I'm basically a black belt when it comes to cutting cheese."
He dropped into a pseudo–martial arts stance.
The entire Killer Bass team burst out laughing—everyone except Harold.
"Cheese," Duncan repeated, shaking his head in disbelief.
Harold straightened up.
"What?"
Katie stifled a giggle.
"What?!" Harold demanded.
Lincoln tried to keep a straight face.
"Uh… phrasing, dude."
Duncan smirked.
"Well, I guess that leaves dessert duty to you and me."
Courtney recoiled instantly.
"Oh no. No way."
"Sorry, Courtney," Lincoln said apologetically. "Everyone else is spoken for."
Duncan fluttered his eyelashes at her.
Courtney sighed in defeat.
Geoff starts to leave.
"Be right back dudes, gotta use it."
Lincoln watches Geoff leave with a suspicious look.
⸻
Courtney - CONFESSIONAL
"He's completely unmotivated. And he never washes his hands. It's disgusting."
Her tirade continues until the editors fast-forward out of mercy.
"He's delusional."
Playback returns to normal.
"Owning sunglasses does not automatically make you cool."
The editors fast-forward again.
"If you're going to wear sunglasses, at least buy stylish ones."
Normal speed.
"He's such a poser. People like that are so annoying. Honestly, who does that?"
She folds her arms.
"And don't even get me started on his hair."
———————
While Prep work began almost immediately for most in the kitchen, for Geoff it started In the bass's cabin, as he picked up Harold's discarded clothes up with a stick and stuffs them in a laundry bag.
———
At the kitchen the food prep has began.
Geoff snickered quietly from the door giving a thumbs up to DJ as the big guy poured water into a large pot, glancing sideways at Duncan.
DJ looked up. "Uh, where do you want the water, Brid— oops!"
DJ "accidentally" tipped the pot, spilling water straight down the front of Harold's pants as the ginger nerd walked past.
"Aw! Hey!" Harold yelped. "Smooth move, Dorkahontus!"
Geoff put on an innocent face as he walked up behind Harold. "Oh, bummer. Better go change, dude."
Harold stormed out of the kitchen, muttering furiously under his breath.
DJ and Geoff struggled to hold in their laughter.
Lincoln rolled his eyes.
——————
CONFESSIONAL – Lincoln
"I can tell exactly what Duncan and the others are doing. And this is only going to cause problems later. So I'm shutting it down now, before it gets worse."
——————
The Gophers arrived moments later, arms full of ingredients.
Ronnie Anne clapped her hands once to get everyone's attention.
"Okay, since we've got eight people, we're splitting into teams of two for each course, with one person on standby in case we need more ingredients. Who wants appetizers?"
Leshawna stepped forward confidently.
"Girl, let me handle apps. I can make a pineapple chutney that'll knock the socks off the devil himself."
Beth raised her hand. "I can help."
Leshawna grinned and held up her palm. Beth high-fived her.
Ronnie Anne nodded thoughtfully. "That chutney would go great with shrimp tacos. We'll fry the shrimp on the stove."
Leshawna and Beth got to work immediately.
Ronnie Anne turned back to the group. "Who's good with ribs?"
Trent stepped forward with a relaxed smile. "Me. My dad and I grill all the time. I know my way around a rack."
"Perfect," Ronnie Anne said. "You and Gwen are on chipotle ribs. Here's the sauce recipe."
She handed Trent a slip of paper.
"Solid," Trent said, fist-bumping her.
Owen wandered in carrying a bag of oranges.
"So what's my jo—AH!"
He stepped on a loose orange, arms flailing as he wobbled like a seal balancing on a ball.
"Whoa! Whoa—!"
He crashed down, crushing several oranges beneath him.
Ronnie Anne sighed. "Owen, we need more oranges. Head back to the truck. You're our runner—if we need anything, it's you."
Owen pushed himself up. "I'm on it."
He shuffled back out.
Ronnie Anne turned to the last two Gophers.
"Lindsay… Heather."
Her tone was friendly to Lindsay, sharp to Heather.
"You're on dessert. I've got a recipe for a churro cake that'll knock Chris dead."
Lindsay took the paper, eyes lighting up. "Ooo, this actually sounds really good!"
Heather yanked the recipe out of her hands and crumpled it before she throws it to the ground.
————
CONFESSIONAL – Heather
"If that fat-butt freak actually thinks I'm following her stupid recipe. She's got another thing coming."
——————
Lindsay watches Heather began to prep as the blonde picked up the discarded recipe quietly.
———————
Lincoln glanced over as Ronnie Anne confidently directed the Gophers, calling out tasks and organizing ingredients like she'd been doing it her whole life.
He smiled.
"Figured you'd end up head chef, Ronnie Anne."
She turned toward him with a smirk, casually wiping her hands on her shirt.
"My culinary skills are legendary. Guessing you're head chef too, huh?"
Lincoln nodded, rubbing the back of his head.
"Yeah. At least this time it's not kitchen combat, so we're not trying to sabotage each other."
A familiar voice immediately cut in.
"Ex-squeeze me?"
Chris stepped into view, eyes narrowed.
"What was that about kitchen combat?"
Lincoln turned to him.
"When we were kids, Ronnie Anne and I used to compete against each other in cooking challenges. I was sous chef for my dad."
"And I was sous chef for my abuela," Ronnie Anne added. "Why do you care?"
Chris's face twisted into sudden outrage.
"Because Kitchen Combat was my idea!"
Both teams froze.
Chris launched straight into a rant.
"I met this loser named Glazer at a party in Los Angeles and pitched him the concept. He told me it was 'idiotic' and 'an insult to cooking.' Two months later—boom—Kitchen Crapfest is on TV!"
Lincoln and Ronnie Anne exchanged a look.
"Wait," Ronnie Anne said slowly. "You're saying you came up with Kitchen Combat?"
"Pfft. Yeah, right."
Lincoln opened his mouth to respond, then paused—thinking.
"So… a cooking show where contestants do insane challenges… sabotage each other… and slowly descend into chaos for entertainment…"
Their eyes widened.
"…Oh. Wow. Okay. I'm sorry. Yeah. I can totally see how you came up with that."
Chris nodded sharply, vindicated.
"Thank you."
He folded his arms.
"And that got me thinking. No sabotaging the other team this challenge. Everything needs to be done professionally. Unlike that guy."
Lincoln raised an eyebrow.
"Chris, that guy was fired and blacklisted from television for abusing his crew."
Chris huffed, crossing his arms tighter.
"…Still upset."
Lincoln walks to leave the kitchen.
"Hey be right back I'm heading to the truck."
——————
At the Bass cabin, Harold rummaged frantically through his dresser.
"Shirt.Shirt.Shirt."
He paused.
The only non-shirt item left was a red G-string.
Harold held it up, nodding solemnly.
"Looks like it's your time to shine."
"Might wanna hold off on that, dude."
Harold turned to see Lincoln standing in the doorway.
"What are you doing here?" Harold asked.
Lincoln stepped inside, hands tucked into his pockets.
"Duncan and his cronies are planning to prank you. I'm trying to stop it before it happens."
Harold's hands clenched into fists.
"Gosh! Idiots!!"
Lincoln held up a hand.
"Look, I get why you're mad—but they do have a real grievance."
Harold blinked. "They do?"
"Yeah," Lincoln said evenly. "Why do you leave your dirty clothes all over the floor?"
Harold's shoulders slumped. He sat down on his bed, rubbing the back of his head.
"I don't mean to. I just… suck at laundry."
Lincoln raised an eyebrow but stayed quiet.
"I tried doing my own laundry back home once," Harold continued, mortified. "Used so much detergent the whole house flooded with suds. My mom was furious. After that, I was banned from touching the washing machine."
He stared at the floor, face burning.
Lincoln sat beside him.
"Dude, I can help you."
Harold looked up. "You'd really do that?"
"Yeah," Lincoln said. "I've been doing my own laundry since my oldest sister moved out. I'll teach you."
Harold's eyes lit up.
"Whoa. Thanks, man."
Lincoln bumped his fist against Harold's.
"Of course."
Lincoln stood, then added, "But seriously—keep your eyes open. Duncan's got something planned."
Harold groaned. "Idiots!! Gosh!!"
"They are," Lincoln agreed. "But honestly? Best move is to apologize. Try to get them to back off."
Harold blinked. "Apologize?"
"Yeah," Lincoln said. "Because tell me—would you want Duncan's dirty underwear all over the floor?"
Harold visibly recoiled.
"…Good point."
Lincoln smirked, then crossed the room and grabbed a pair of jeans and a belt from his own dresser.
"Here. Use these for now."
Harold took them, relieved.
"Thanks, dude."
_________________________________________________________________________________________
Owen was taking his job with the utmost importance and vigor—
which mostly meant sprinting back from the truck with two heavy crates of oranges, huffing and puffing like his life depended on it.
Unfortunately, he wasn't watching where he was going.
Owen slammed straight into a tree.
"Owww… that smarts," he groaned, wobbling as he tried to regain his balance.
As he looked up, his stomach dropped.
Hanging directly above him was a massive hornet's nest, swaying ominously from the impact. The surface of it rippled, a low, angry buzzing growing louder by the second.
Then the nest exploded with movement.
Hornets poured out in a furious swarm, descending on Owen with relentless precision.
"Oh! Ah—ow! Ooh—ahhh!" Owen shrieked, flailing wildly as he bolted through the trees, the angry cloud chasing him with terrifying enthusiasm.
——————-
Heather and Lindsay worked side by side on their station, juicing oranges and sorting through macadamia nuts.
Lindsay paused, glancing at the ingredients.
"Um… Ronnie Anne's recipe didn't call for this."
Heather didn't even look up. She rolled her eyes as if the suggestion itself offended her.
"That's because I'm not doing whatever third-rate dessert buffalo butt wants," Heather snapped. "We're making a citrus macadamia upside-down cake flambé. My specialty."
Lindsay hesitated, worry flickering across her face.
"I think we should—"
"Lindsay." Heather cut her off sharply.
Heather stepped closer, invading her space.
"In this alliance, I do the thinking. You do what I say, when I say it. Got it?"
The edge in her voice made Lindsay flinch.
⸻
LINDSAY – CONFESSIONAL
"Okay, so maybe Heather isn't nice all the time… or, like, ever," Lindsay said, forcing a smile.
"But we're BFFFLs—best female friends for life—and we've been close since day one. So I know she doesn't mean to be mean."
⸻
At the appetizer station, Leshawna finished mixing a bowl of chutney while Beth carefully diced pineapple. Nearby, Ronnie Anne cleaned and deveined shrimp with practiced ease.
"Hey, Ronnie," Leshawna said. "Mind taste-testing this?"
Ronnie Anne scooped up a spoonful. The moment it hit her tongue, her eyes widened.
"Oh my god. Leshawna—this is incredible."
Leshawna smirked, clearly pleased.
"Knew it. Man, I wish I could eat this."
She glanced down at the bowl, her expression dimming slightly.
Ronnie Anne noticed immediately.
"What's up?"
Leshawna sighed.
"I'm allergic to pineapple. Used to eat this all the time as a kid, too."
Ronnie Anne nodded.
"Yeah, I've heard of that. Not born with it—just shows up later for no reason."
"Exactly," Leshawna said. "That's why Beth handled the slicing. Thanks again, girl."
Ronnie Anne smiled at Beth.
"Nice work, Beth."
Leshawna bumped fists with her, and Beth beamed at the praise.
Across the kitchen, Lindsay watched the exchange, a small smile forming on her face.
THWACK.
A wooden spoon smacked the top of her head.
"Get. Back. To. Work," Heather barked.
Lindsay sighed and turned back to her station.
This was her best friend… right?
_________________________________________________________________________________________
Back in the kitchen, Geoff leaned over the pot, tasting the sauce with a thoughtful slurp while Bridgette and DJ worked beside him, dicing tomatoes.
Geoff hummed to himself as he wandered past Bridgette, flashing her a flirty grin on his way by.
DJ glanced between them and smirked.
"I think he digs you."
Bridgette felt her cheeks warm and focused a little harder on the cutting board.
"Maybe," she admitted. "He is kinda cute."
DJ's smile widened. He casually strolled over to Geoff, then gave him a not-so-subtle shove in Bridgette's direction.
Geoff stumbled forward, catching himself just beside her.
"You know," he said smoothly, "you look really good when you're cooking dinner."
Bridgette smiled despite herself.
"Kind of like my friend Evan's really hot mom."
The smile vanished instantly.
"Excuse me?" Bridgette snapped.
DJ, who had overheard everything, jumped in fast, hands up in damage-control mode.
"Geoff! Haha—why don't you go grab us some more tomatoes, dude?"
Geoff blinked, then nodded, clearly missing the danger he'd just stepped into.
"Sure thing, bud. Later, Bridge."
As he walked off, DJ turned back to Bridgette, wincing apologetically. Bridgette crossed her arms, still fuming, knife paused mid-chop.
—————-
Over on the Gophers' side of the kitchen, Trent sprinkled the last of the spices into the bowl and mixed the chipotle marinade thoroughly. He dipped a ladle in, tasted it, and his eyes widened.
"Holy crap," he said. "That's really good. Yo, Ronnie—this sauce is excellent."
Ronnie Anne stepped over and sampled a small taste herself.
"Big time," she nodded. "Nice work, guitar boy."
Trent grinned—just as the kitchen door slammed open.
"It's okay, everyone! I'm back!" Owen announced breathlessly.
He stood there panting, completely covered head to toe in angry red bee stings.
"Owen—!" Trent started.
"Heads up!"
Owen hurled a crate of oranges forward.
Ronnie Anne reacted instantly, tackling Trent out of the way as the crate slammed into the counter where he'd been standing.
For a beat, no one spoke.
Ronnie Anne slowly pushed herself up.
"Trent," she said through clenched teeth, "move your hand."
Trent jolted upright, eyes wide as he realized exactly where his hand had landed.
"I—I so didn't mean to do that! I am so sorry!"
Ronnie Anne stood, brushing herself off and rubbing her hip with a sharp hiss of irritation.
"Never mention it," she snapped—then rounded on Owen.
"But you, fat boy, are pushing it!"
Owen shrank back.
"Were you trying to kill Trent?!"
Ronnie Anne, Gwen, and Trent all glared at Owen in unison.
"Oops," Owen chuckled weakly.
⸻
Ronnie Anne — Confessional
"Owen has been on my last nerve since the camping challenge. Yeah, he's 'Tons of Fun,' but his clueless, reckless behavior has been a major problem for the team. He almost got us mauled by a bear, chased by prehistoric geese, shot at his own teammate and Stunk up our cabin."
She pinched the bridge of her nose.
"I swear, one more screw-up from Owen and he's going on the menu."
_________________________________________________________________________________________
Courtney and Duncan were working dessert duty. Duncan rolled out tart dough with his knuckles while Courtney whisked the filling beside him.
Courtney eyed his hands.
"Careful. Your big paws are going to mush the pastry."
Duncan didn't look up.
"Careful your uptight butt doesn't curdle the custard."
Courtney gave a dry, humorless laugh.
"Oh. Ha. Ha."
The kitchen door swung open and Lincoln stepped in, balancing a crate of fruit against his hip.
"I'm back."
Courtney glanced over, unimpressed.
"About time you showed up, Mr. Head Chef."
She made air quotes. Lincoln stopped, deadpanned.
"Oh, Courtney—your wonderful personality alone could drive any man insane."
Duncan barked out a laugh.
"HA!"
Lincoln sampled the cream filling with a spoon, thoughtful.
"Too bland. Add blueberries, strawberries, or bananas. The fruit'll give it natural sweetness."
He glanced at the counter.
"And—nice work on the pastry, Duncan."
Lincoln moved on. Duncan smirked. Courtney just stared, stunned.
"Oh, hey," Duncan said casually, "you see Harold out there?"
Lincoln nodded toward the door.
"He was right behind me."
That was all it took.
Duncan, DJ, and Geoff immediately leaned toward the doorway, ready.
"Yo."
Harold walked in—and immediately ruined the image. He wore oversized jeans cinched tight with a belt.
Geoff blinked.
"Uh… where'd you get those, dude?"
Harold moved to the counter and resumed slicing cheese.
"Lincoln lent 'em to me."
Duncan's eyes snapped to Lincoln, who calmly diced onions like nothing happened.
⸻
DUNCAN – CONFESSIONAL
"Grandpa just made the biggest mistake of his life. Nobody ruins my prank and walks away without a wedgie."
⸻
Geoff scratched his head.
"That's… actually kinda nice."
Harold nodded.
"Yeah. He's a cool dude."
He hesitated, then took a breath.
"DJ. Geoff. Duncan."
All three turned.
"I wanna apologize for leaving my clothes all over the cabin."
Silence.
"When I was younger, I flooded my house trying to do laundry. My parents wouldn't let me near a washing machine after that. I kinda just… fell into bad habits."
He swallowed.
"So. I'm sorry."
DJ exchanged a look with Geoff.
"Well… if you're serious, man," DJ said, "apology accepted."
"Yeah," Geoff added. "We just wanted the cabin clean, right Duncan?"
Duncan didn't answer. He stared straight at Lincoln, who kept chopping onions and garlic, completely unbothered.
Duncan's jaw tightened. His prank had gone up in flames—and he knew exactly who lit the match.
The door cracked open again.
"Three hours and counting, people!"
Chris vanished as fast as he appeared.
—————-
3 HOURS TIL SERVING
Heather continued cracking the macadamia nuts, grinding them down into a fine powder and mixing them into a bowl with practiced impatience.
Lindsay returned from the fridge, arms full of sour cream and eggs.
Heather barely glanced at them.
"My recipe doesn't call for sour cream, Linds-iot. Where's the buttermilk?"
Lindsay hesitated, then set the items on the counter just as Ronnie Anne approached. One look at the workspace made her stop cold.
Ronnie Anne: "The hell is this?"
She picked up the sliced oranges, then eyed the bowl with growing disbelief.
Ronnie Anne: "The recipe I gave you never called for any of this. Lindsay—what are you doing?"
Lindsay stammered, panic creeping into her voice.
"I—Heather said that we—she said—"
Heather cut her off without even looking at her.
"We decided my recipe was better. So we're doing the flambé. Why don't you take a walk?" She smirked. "Might help slim down that dump truck of yours."
Ronnie Anne's face flushed instantly, her fists clenching as she took a step forward—
Leshawna appeared beside her, placing a firm hand on her arm.
"Nah. Don't let her bait you."
Ronnie Anne forced herself to turn away, stalking back to their counter with Leshawna as she struggled to cool off.
"¡Esa… maldita perra! She is really pushing it!"
Leshawna shot Heather a look sharp enough to cut glass.
"Big time. Somebody's overdue for a reality check."
Across the kitchen, Heather continued working, unfazed.
Lindsay lingered for a moment, clutching the counter. She glanced toward Ronnie Anne—guilt written all over her face—before lowering her eyes and returning to her station.
——————
2 HOURS TIL SERVING
Lincoln carefully layered the lasagna in the baking pan, making sure each level was even—just like his dad had taught him. Pasta, sauce, meat, cheese, then repeat. If he did this right, it would cook evenly and actually taste like something worth serving.
A fist slammed against the counter hard enough to make the utensils jump.
Lincoln looked up. "What do you want?"
Duncan stood across from him, glaring like he'd been waiting for this.
"You wanna explain yourself?"
Lincoln shrugged and went right back to work, spreading the sauce evenly. "I'm laying the foundation for my dad's lasagna—Lynn-sagna. Gotta keep the layers balanced so it cooks right."
"That's not what I'm talking about," Duncan snapped. "I mean you screwing with my prank on crusty underwear over there."
He jabbed a thumb toward Harold, who shot him a sharp look in return.
Lincoln finally turned fully toward Duncan, expression flat. "Because it was better for the team. Like it or not, we're teammates. He apologized, it's done. So what's the problem?"
Duncan's mouth curled into a grin that promised trouble. "Oh, there's gonna be a problem. I had plans for that dork, and now they're all in flames."
"Poor you," Lincoln said dryly. "Find something better to do."
He paused, then added, "And give Harold his pants back."
Lincoln turned back to the lasagna as Duncan stalked off.
"Better idea."
Duncan slammed his hand down on his counter, triggering a jury-rigged catapult made from cooking utensils. Eggs launched across the kitchen—but Lincoln ducked without even looking.
The eggs sailed past him and splattered on the Gophers' side instead.
Owen yelped as one smacked him square in the face.
Lincoln straightened, brushing his hands together. "Amateur hour. I saw you set that up an hour ago, Mohawk. Step your game up."
Duncan glared at him, irritation flashing in his eyes—followed by something else.
Interest.
For the first time, Duncan realized he might've found someone who could actually keep up with him with his pranks, and that motivated him.
———-
1 1/2 HOURS TIL SERVING
Lindsay stood in front of the finished flambé, her head tilted slightly to one side as she studied it. The cake sat there stubbornly, unchanged, refusing to do what it was apparently supposed to do.
Weird.
Ronnie Anne stepped up beside her, eyes immediately locking onto the unlit dessert.
"Hey, Lindsay," she asked casually, nodding toward the counter. "Where's Heather?"
Lindsay didn't take her eyes off the cake. "She went to the bathroom and told me to finish it. I used the flambé starter, but it won't… you know… flambé."
Ronnie Anne leaned in and examined the dessert more closely. She already had a pretty good idea what the problem was, but instead of pointing it out, she straightened and shrugged.
"Have Heather take a look at it," she said. Then her tone shifted, softer, more sincere. "But, Lindsay… I wanted to say something. I'm not blaming you for not making the churro cake."
That finally made Lindsay look up.
Ronnie Anne continued, steady and calm. "I know Heather just decided to do her own thing and dragged you along. I'm not mad at you."
Lindsay's shoulders sank. "I… I appreciate that."
She sighed deeply, the tension in her voice spilling out all at once. "Heather just decides stuff and… I don't know. I can't really talk back to her."
Ronnie Anne placed a hand gently on Lindsay's shoulder. "Hey. If you ever need to talk, I'm here. You don't have to put up with Heather or how she treats you. You've got friends here, Lindsay."
Lindsay smiled—small, hesitant, but real. Ronnie Anne returned it without hesitation.
Then the kitchen door slammed open.
Heather marched back inside, her glare snapping immediately to Ronnie Anne before shifting to the untouched dessert.
"What's wrong?"
Lindsay glanced at Ronnie Anne, who answered with a subtle nod and a smirk.
"I, uh… I used all the flambé starter," Lindsay said carefully. "But it won't flambé."
Heather stared at her. "Nothing happened when you lit it?"
"Ohhh," Lindsay said, realization dawning far too late.
Heather pinched the bridge of her nose, already exhausted. She reached for a lighter and stepped directly in front of the cake.
"Pay attention, girls," she snapped. "This is how you flambé. Step one: pour the flambé liquid—which you somehow managed. Step two: light it."
She flicked the lighter and touched the flame to the cake.
FWOOOOM—KRAK!
The dessert erupted in a sudden burst of fire, heat blasting outward with a sharp crack that sent everyone recoiling instinctively.
When the smoke cleared, Heather stood frozen in place.
Her face was completely blackened with soot.
Ronnie Anne clamped a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking as she fought not to laugh.
Heather grabbed a reflective pan from the counter and stared at her reflection.
Her eyebrows were gone.
Completely gone.
She let out a shrill scream. "MY EYEBROWS! OWEN!"
Owen perked up instantly. "Is it finally lunchtime?"
"No!" Heather screeched. "Go get my makeup bag from the cabin!"
Owen hesitated, wincing as memories of buzzing wings and sharp stings resurfaced. "But… the bees."
Heather slowly raised the skillet she was holding.
"NOW!!!"
Owen gulped. "On it!"
Leshawna walked over, having witnessed the entire disaster from start to finish. "As funny as that was—and it was hilarious—we still need a dessert to serve. We gotta figure something out."
Heather crossed her arms tightly, scowling. "Well, evidently I need new eyebrows. But we don't always get what we want, do we? Ugh! I swear, I'm surrounded by morons."
Leshawna's eyes hardened.
Someone was officially on her last nerve.
——————
Leshawna - CONFESSIONAL
"Oh, that is it. Someone's gotta teach this girl a little respect."
——————-
Ronnie Anne - CONFESSIONAL
"HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!"
Ronnie Anne had completely lost it in laughter.
She was doubled over laughing, tears streaming down her face as she struggled to breathe. "¡OH DIOS MISERICORDIOSO! I can't— I can't breathe! Her eyebrows are gone! GONE!"
She kicked her feet wildly as laughter took over.
"OH MY GOD, I'M GONNA—"
She had accidentally knocking the camera askew.
The feed cut out.
——————
Outside the Gophers' cabin, Owen carefully moved forward. Some unseen evil force had manifested overnight—today, a brand-new hornet's nest had appeared on the Gophers' side of the cabin. The insects buzzed angrily as he passed beneath it.
Owen gulped with fear as he continued walking, only to accidentally kick several loose bottles near the trash. The glass rattled loudly against each other.
Owen froze, bracing himself for the swarm to attack. Luckily, the hornets remained calm.
"Hah… heh… hah."
Relieved, Owen took another step without looking—and immediately stepped on a rake. Unfortunately, this wasn't a cartoon. Instead of harmlessly smacking him in the face, the rake's teeth pierced straight into his foot.
"AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"
Owen fell backward, but his bad luck wasn't finished. The hornet nest shook loose from above and dropped directly onto him.
"Oh, come on!"
⸻
Minutes later, Owen staggered back toward the kitchen, clutching Heather's makeup bag like it was the most important object in the world. His entire body was now covered in even more hornet welts, swollen and blotchy, puffed up like a marshmallow left too long in a microwave. His eyes were half-lidded, his steps uneven, and every movement looked like it required intense concentration.
Of course, Heather didn't notice——or more likely, didn't care. Her attention locked immediately onto the bag.
"Don't just stand there. Give it!"
Owen swayed on his feet like a log floating in water, the venom clearly scrambling whatever thoughts he had left.
"Purple gerbil fish bag…"
He had absolutely no idea what planet he was on.
His knees buckled. Owen collapsed forward, and the sudden impact sent the makeup bag flying out of his hand and into the air, spinning end over end.
Heather braced herself, arms snapping up as she prepared to catch it.
Instead, Leshawna slammed into her from the side and snatched the bag cleanly out of the air.
"Hey!"
Heather lunged for it, fingers grasping at nothing, but Leshawna was already turning and hurling the bag across the kitchen.
"Beth!"
Heather shouted after it.
"Gimme!"
Beth caught the bag against her chest, barely having time to process what was happening before instinct kicked in and she tossed it again.
"Ronnie!"
Ronnie Anne caught the bag just as Heather grabbed at her arm.
"Give that to me, you useless fat butt—Ow!"
Heather's insult was cut off mid-sentence when Ronnie Anne drove her hip hard into Heather's thigh, the move sharp and deliberate, like something straight out of a roller derby match. Heather stumbled back with a yelp.
"Lindsay!"
Ronnie Anne hurled the bag toward Lindsay, who caught it cleanly with both hands. Ronnie Anne flashed her a quick thumbs-up before Leshawna shouted from across the room.
"In the fridge!"
Leshawna yanked open the massive meat freezer, cold air billowing out as she held the door wide. Lindsay hesitated for half a second.
Heather snapped her fingers sharply, eyes squeezed shut, hand fully outstretched—completely convinced the bag was about to be returned to her.
Lindsay looked down at the bag.
Then she looked at Heather.
A mischievous smile spread across her face as she casually tossed the makeup bag over her shoulder and straight into the freezer.
"Oops."
Heather's eyes flew open.
"Ahhh!"
She charged forward without thinking, barreling straight into the open freezer after it.
The door slammed shut.
Leshawna closed it.
Outside, the four girls stood listening as Heather immediately began pounding furiously against the metal door, her muffled voice echoing through the kitchen.
"Hey! You can't do this, I'm the team leader!"
Lindsay shifted nervously, clutching her hands together as the banging continued.
"Do you think Heather's really mad at us?"
"Probably," Ronnie Anne said flatly, "but who cares."
Heather slammed against the metal door hard enough to leave a visible dent.
"I will destroy you!"
"Yeah," Leshawna said with a shrug. "She'll get over it. Girl needs to learn how to chill."
————
45 MINUTES TIL SERVING
Duncan poured the custard into the pastry shells with casual confidence, tilting the bowl with one hand as he worked. Courtney hovered inches behind him, arms crossed tight against her chest, eyes narrowed as she monitored every single pour like a hawk.
"You're such a slob. They all have to have the same amount of custard."
Duncan didn't even look back. He rolled his eyes and kept pouring, deliberately slow, deliberately uneven, just to get under her skin.
"Oh, relax. They're fine. You know, you'd be a lot more fun without that pole up your butt."
Courtney stiffened immediately, her jaw tightening as she shot him an icy glare that could've curdled the custard on its own.
"I'm like, the most easygoing person I know!"
Duncan finally glanced at her, a crooked grin spreading across his face. He snickered, clearly entertained by the claim.
"Oh yeah. You're totally laid back."
Courtney gasped.
Before Duncan could react, she grabbed the bowl of cream with both hands and dumped it straight over his head. Thick custard splashed down his hair, slid over his face, and dripped off his chin onto the counter in slow, gooey streams.
She giggled.
⸻
Duncan – CONFESSIONAL
"Man, that girl creases me. I dig that in a chick."
⸻
Courtney – CONFESSIONAL
"Duncan and me? Right. As if. I'm so sure. Not in a million years. Please. When pigs fly."
A voice echoed from outside the confessional, impatient and loud.
Leshawna – outside the CONFESSIONAL
" Yo! You still busy protesting in there or can someone else have a turn?"
———
Courtney rolled her eyes toward the camera.
⸻
Courtney – CONFESSIONAL
"Like I was saying, not gonna happen."
———
30 MINUTES TIL SERVING
The Gophers stood clustered around the counter, all eyes fixed on the remains of their dessert like it was a crime scene. The air smelled faintly of burnt sugar and regret.
Ronnie Anne rubbed her face with both hands, dragging her palms down slowly as if that might magically fix the situation.
"Apps and entrée are great, but this… oh god, this is bad."
She leaned in closer, peering down at the charred flambé with growing dread, tilting her head as if searching for some miracle angle.
"Maybe if we scraped off the burnt crust, it could—"
Leshawna reached out and barely touched the surface.
The flambé collapsed instantly, disintegrating into powdery crumbs.
Ronnie Anne stared at what was left, shoulders sagging.
"Yeah… we're screwed. Damn you, Heather."
The words had barely left her mouth when the oven timer went off with a sharp beep.
Lindsay flinched and hurried over, already pulling on oven mitts. Her posture was tight, her expression apologetic before anyone even looked her way.
"Don't be mad."
She slid the oven door open and carefully pulled out a tray, setting it down on the counter.
Ronnie Anne froze—and then inhaled sharply.
She knew that smell instantly.
"Holy— Lindsay… you did the churro cake?"
Lindsay nudged the tray forward. Inside sat a brownie pan filled with a light-brown cake, perfectly risen, the top dusted generously with cinnamon sugar.
"I know, I'm sorry," Lindsay rushed out. "Heather told me not to think and cook her recipe, b-but I thought— maybe—"
She didn't get to finish.
Ronnie Anne grabbed her by the shoulders, eyes lighting up like fireworks.
"Lindsay, you beautiful genius!!"
Lindsay went completely still.
"What?"
She stared at Ronnie Anne, stunned, like she wasn't sure she'd heard correctly.
"Girl, you are the greatest!!"
Leshawna laughed and wrapped Lindsay in a tight hug.
"I am?"
"Because you saved us," Beth said excitedly. "Now we can win this!!"
Beth beamed at her, and finally—slowly—Lindsay's uncertainty melted into a shy, genuine smile.
⸻
Lindsay – CONFESSIONAL
"Heather told me that I should just do what she told me and not think for myself… but maybe I should… maybe…"
————
Inside the main lodge, Chris sat at the center of a long table draped in a crisp white cloth, hands folded as if he were presiding over a fine-dining establishment rather than a summer camp mess hall. The space had been cleared and rearranged, transforming the lodge into something that almost passed for elegant.
Lincoln stepped forward first, setting a tall candlestick carefully in the middle of the table. He struck a match and lit it, the flame flickering softly and casting a warm glow across the surface.
"Your meal shall be brought out in a minute, sir~."
A moment later, Ronnie Anne approached from the opposite side, carrying a colorful vase filled with bright flowers. She placed it beside the candle, the splash of color instantly lifting the mood and giving the table a lively, celebratory feel—perfect for a fiesta.
"Your delicioso festín~ shall be out in a moment."
Chris's grin widened as he looked between the two team captains, clearly pleased by the effort.
"Point to each team for ambience."
Bass: 1
Gophers: 1
Beth hurried up next, glancing around as if to make sure no one stopped her. She gently set her small tiki idol on the edge of the table, just near the Gophers' side, and gave it a hopeful pat.
"Little extra luck never hurt."
She quickly retreated, leaving the idol behind. The camera lingered on the carved figure, its hollow eyes staring out as the firelight flickered across its surface—an unsettling contrast to the otherwise cheerful setup.
The cursed idol sat silently on the table. Watching.
——-
In the kitchen, Ronnie Anne carefully gathered the appetizers—shrimp tacos arranged neatly beside Leshawna's pineapple chutney, the scent of grilled shrimp and sweet fruit still lingering in the air. She adjusted the platter in her hands, making sure nothing spilled before turning to Leshawna.
"Leshawna guard the food, don't be afraid to break out the wooden spoon."
Leshawna let out a low chuckle, rolling her shoulders as she positioned herself between the counter and the rest of the kitchen, clearly taking the assignment seriously.
"Oh believe me I will."
She leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed, projecting an unmistakable don't-test-me energy. For dramatic effect—and intimidation—she began slowly filing her nails, the faint scrape filling the otherwise busy kitchen.
Behind her, Owen cautiously popped his head up from behind the counter. His eyes locked onto a lonely rib sitting just within reach. Inch by inch, he stretched his hand forward, fingers trembling with temptation.
"Don't even try it."
Leshawna didn't turn around. She didn't have to. Her voice alone was enough.
Owen froze mid-reach, eyes wide. A beat passed. Then, without a word, he bolted out of the kitchen, retreating like a frightened animal.
Leshawna smirked and went right back to guarding the food.
———
This was the appetizer round.
Ronnie Anne stepped forward confidently, setting down the platter of shrimp tacos beside a bowl of glossy pineapple chutney. The tortillas were lightly charred, the shrimp perfectly seared, steam still curling faintly from the fillings as the sweet-savory aroma drifted across the judging area.
Chris leaned in, clearly intrigued.
"Tacos. Always a treat."
He picked one up, inspecting it briefly before taking a bite. The crunch of the shell echoed softly—and then his eyes widened in genuine surprise.
"Muy delicioso."
Without hesitation, Chris scooped up a generous spoonful of the chutney and piled it onto the taco, the bright yellow sauce dripping slightly over his fingers as he took another bite, this one even bigger than the last.
"And this chutney—double delicioso. Easy fifteen points for the Gophers."
The Gophers exploded into cheers, clapping, shouting, and bouncing in place as Harold and Katie hurried forward with their antipasto platter, clearly riding the momentum.
Harold straightened his posture and gestured dramatically to the dish.
"Anti-pasta for the drama masta… get it?"
Chris stared at him, completely unimpressed.
Then, with a shrug, he reached for the antipasto anyway, sampling the cheeses and cured meats with deliberate focus.
"Your joke failed, but your antipasto passed the testo." He continued chewing, nodding slightly before letting out a satisfied slurp. "On a scale of one to ten—twelve."
Harold and Katie immediately high-fived, grinning ear to ear as the compliment landed.
Chris clapped his hands together once, resetting the energy.
"So that's sixteen points for the Gophers and thirteen for the Bass. Can they make up the three-point difference in entrées?"
Bass: 13
Gophers: 16
——-
Chris clapped his hands together, grinning as he addressed both teams.
"Let's begin the battle of the entrees. How will the Gophers respond?"
The kitchen doors swung open.
Leshawna emerged first, dragging Owen by the ear with one hand while balancing a plate of short ribs in the other. Her grip was firm, her expression deadly serious.
"Boy! What did I tell you?!"
"Ow! I said sorry!" Owen yelped, stumbling to keep up.
Leshawna shoved him forward toward the rest of the Gophers before stepping up to the table and handing the plate to Chris.
Ronnie Anne's head snapped toward Owen instantly, her glare sharp enough to cut glass.
"What did you do?!"
Owen froze under the collective stare.
"I leave to grab some water for one second," Leshawna continued, arms crossed now, "and he ate half of the ribs! These are all that's left."
Owen shifted awkwardly, eyes darting around.
"I mean… I left… a little of… the—"
Ronnie Anne's glare intensified.
Owen visibly shrank back.
Chris chuckled, clearly enjoying the chaos.
"Talk about Kitchen Nightmares, huh?"
He shrugged and took a bite of the ribs Owen hadn't managed to eat.
Chris chewed thoughtfully.
Then smiled.
"But these ribs are heavenly. Easy ten points for the Gophers."
The Gophers erupted into cheers as Owen exhaled in relief.
That was when Lincoln stepped forward, carrying a large pan of lasagna.
He paused mid-step, glancing at Ronnie Anne.
"Huh? You didn't do Rosa's tamales?"
The question snapped Ronnie Anne out of her lingering anger.
She blinked, then answered honestly.
"We didn't have any corn husks, so we couldn't do them… is that—"
Her voice trailed off as she recognized the dish in Lincoln's hands.
Lincoln smirked and slid a slice onto Chris's plate.
"My father's specialty," he said proudly. "The Lynn-sagna. His most famous dish."
Chris eyed the plate skeptically.
"Let's see if it lives up."
He took a forkful.
His eyes widened.
Chris slowly lowered the fork, searching for the right words.
"This… is the greatest lasagna I've ever eaten in my life. Fifteen points."
Lincoln pumped his fist as the Killer Bass exploded with cheers.
He stepped back and high-fived Bridgette and DJ.
"You two killed it."
"All three of us killed it, dude," Bridgette corrected with a grin. "We couldn't have done it without you."
"Ditto, dude," DJ added.
Lincoln blushed at the praise just as Chris reclaimed everyone's attention.
"The Killer Bass jump ahead by two points," Chris announced. "Can they clinch this victory with dessert, or will the Gophers make a comeback?"
Bass: 28
Gophers: 26
———
Courtney and Duncan stepped forward together, carefully setting their tarts down in front of Chris. Courtney stood rigid beside Duncan, hands clasped tight, barely breathing as Chris sampled the dessert.
Chris chewed thoughtfully.
Once he finished, he simply shrugged.
"Ehhhh, six, you should have added some berries or fruit or something."
Courtney's shoulders visibly sank. Her eyes drooped with immediate disappointment as Duncan reached out and gave her back an awkward, reassuring pat.
They turned and walked back toward their team. Courtney folded her arms around herself, staring down at the floor, looking like she was fighting back tears. Several of the Bass glanced at her with concern.
"Courtney, are you ok?" Lincoln asked gently.
Courtney didn't answer.
She didn't even look at him.
She just stared at the ground and let out a quiet sigh.
Chris cleared his throat loudly, pulling attention back to the table.
"The Bass have thirty-four, so the Gophers need all ten points just to tie it up. Gophers, your desserts please."
Lindsay stepped forward, carrying the churro cake. The light-brown cake had been cut into neat squares, dusted with cinnamon sugar, looking soft and inviting like a tray of brownies fresh from a bakery.
Chris eyed the table.
"Where's the other one?"
The Gophers exchanged confused looks.
"We only have the churro cake," Ronnie Anne said.
Chris wagged his finger.
"Sorry campers, no playing the odds. I know you did two dessert items, so they both need to be served."
Ronnie Anne grimaced. The rest of the Gophers mirrored her expression. Beth glanced at Ronnie Anne for confirmation. Ronnie Anne hesitated, then shrugged and nodded.
Beth disappeared briefly—then returned, hesitantly holding Heather's flambé.
What remained was nothing more than a brittle pile of burnt dust.
Chris stared.
"… I… That… Wow. I don't have anything to say…"
He picked up one of the churro cake squares and took a bite.
His eyes went wide.
Then—shockingly—tears welled up and spilled down his face. Not tears of pain or disgust.
Tears of pure joy.
"This… is the greatest… no, this is the most delicious thing… I will ever eat in my entire life."
Lindsay froze, stunned.
The Gophers erupted into cheers as Ronnie Anne pulled Lindsay into a side hug.
Chris wiped his face and gestured to the other dish.
"Now for… this."
He stabbed into the burnt flambé, lifting a charred chunk onto his fork. He hesitated, grimaced, then reluctantly ate it.
Immediately, he began choking.
"Oh, that's not good," Leshawna muttered.
"This is gonna suck," Ronnie Anne added.
Chris gagged violently.
"Hang on, there!"
Owen rushed forward, hoisting Chris up and immediately performing the Heimlich maneuver. A compact ball of burnt cake shot out of Chris's mouth and hit the table.
Owen pumped his fist triumphantly as Chris gasped for air.
"Hah! Yes! Got it!" Owen chuckled.
Beth stared at the expelled lump with horror.
"Ewww."
Chris picked it up, squinting at it.
"What the heck is this?"
"It's Heather's recipe!" Lindsay gasped. "Oh, my gosh! She's still in the fridge!"
Chris raised an eyebrow, looking slowly around at the Gophers.
"What?" Leshawna said flatly. "Girl was making everyone trip."
"Being on a team with her is enough to make a pacifist homicidal," Ronnie Anne added.
Chris chuckled.
"Oh, I hear that."
That amusement vanished instantly as Heather appeared.
Owen gasped dramatically.
"Oh, the horror!"
Heather's skin was frozen blue. Her eyebrows were crudely drawn on, uneven and shaky.
Ronnie Anne bit her knuckle, fighting laughter.
"You guys are s-s-s-so dead! Is it over?" Heather snapped.
"Just about," Chris said. "Gophers, I want to say if you had only done these churro cakes, you would have scored an amazing eighteen points and would have won."
He lifted the churro cake tray—then pointed to the flambé.
"But since you also did this flambé—a disgusting excuse for food—it gave your dessert score negative seventeen points."
The Gophers stared in disbelief as Ronnie Anne slowly turned toward Heather.
"So the Bass win thirty-four to twenty-nine," Chris concluded, "and it's mostly 'cause I almost died."
"Great! That's just great!" Heather screamed. "Why do we keep losing, people?!"
Owen, Lindsay, and Beth shrank back.
"We lost because you refused to just do the recipe!" Ronnie Anne shot back. "If you didn't do that stupid flambé we would have won!"
"Don't start with me!" Heather snapped. "I was head chef! You stole it from me! And by the way, we would have won if we did my recipes! But nope, you had to be the one in control!"
Ronnie Anne lunged—but Leshawna and Gwen grabbed her.
Heather wasn't done.
"Oh, and FYI, if you got that butt from your grandma's cooking, she has to be as fat as she is a moron for thinking this is cooking."
Silence fell.
Then Leshawna and Gwen exchanged a look—and released Ronnie Anne.
She pounced like a jaguar, slamming Heather into the table.
"¡¡¡¡BLEEP MALDITA DE MIERDA, TE VOY A ARRANCAR LA BLEEP CABEZA!!!!"
Chris leapt back, thrilled.
"THIS IS GOLD!!!"
Chef stormed in, yanking Ronnie Anne away.
"STAND DOWN, SOLDIER!! KILL HEATHER OUT OF MY KITCHEN!!"
Heather stumbled back, accidentally grabbing the tiki idol.
"What's this?"
Beth stepped forward nervously.
"My good luck charm… I brought it back as a souvenir. You know, from the other island."
Every face went pale.
"Boney Island?" Chris said gravely. "The deadliest island in Muskoka? The one I specifically said not to take anything from or you'll be cursed?"
Beth stared at the idol in terror.
"Yeah… I didn't know! I'll put it back!"
She bolted out of the lodge.
Chris clapped again.
"Okay! Killer Bass lead with eight members to the Gophers' soon-to-be seven! Winners get a five-star dinner under the stars!"
The Bass cheered wildly.
Duncan scooped Courtney up, spinning her as she laughed.
"Okay! Put me down!" she shouted, laughing—then, annoyed, "Put me down!"
The Gophers deflated.
Owen frowned.
"Wait—if we're cursed, how come our food wasn't affected?"
"That's true," Lindsay said. "Everything Ronnie Anne did was great."
"And she protected me from getting knocked out," Trent added.
All eyes turned to Ronnie Anne.
She blinked—then touched the necklace around her neck.
"Wait a minute."
Gwen stepped closer.
"Cool hamsa necklace, Ronnie."
"A what-sa?" Trent asked.
"Hamsa," Gwen explained. "It's a symbol used to ward off evil or demons. You're a walking good luck charm."
Ronnie Anne chuckled as Lindsay hugged her tightly.
"Bad luck is, like, so scary."
Ronnie Anne sighed, rubbing Lindsay's back as the chaos finally settled.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
After everything finally died down and the Killer Bass departed for their five-star dinner, the remaining Gophers—minus Heather, Beth, and Lindsay—gathered outside the cabin. The air felt tense but oddly calmer now that the chaos of the challenge was over.
Leshawna crossed her arms, shaking her head.
"I don't know about y'all, but Heather has got to go."
"Amen to that," Ronnie Anne agreed without hesitation.
Owen scratched his cheek, frowning.
"Yeah, but Beth cursed us with that wooden tiki doll thingy."
Leshawna waved a dismissive hand toward the sky.
"Mm, true. Dear curse, please hit Heather next. And if possible, hit her upside the head!"
Ronnie Anne snorted.
"Pretty sure losing Heather would be good luck."
⸻
Inside the Gopher cabin, Heather sat on the steps, letting the warmth of the sun thaw her out as her skin gradually returned to its normal color. She adjusted her crudely drawn eyebrows in a small hand mirror, scowling at her reflection.
"You know, Lindsay," she said casually, not even looking up, "I could convince the team to vote you off tonight. You were a major traitor teaming up with Grande-Butt."
Lindsay opened her mouth to speak, but Heather silenced her by placing a finger firmly over her lips.
"But you did let me out of the fridge," Heather continued smugly. "So I'll give you one more chance if you vote with me tonight. There, see? All better. Oh, and if you ever team up with Leshawna or Ronnie Anne against me again, I'll cut off all your hair while you're sleeping."
Lindsay gasped and clutched her hair protectively, eyes wide with fear. Heather leaned back, clearly pleased with herself.
⸻
Heather – CONFESSIONAL
"Today's vote was really hard, but only because there were so many annoying people to choose from."
⸻
Lindsay – CONFESSIONAL
"I can't believe we locked her in the fridge! That was so cool! She's not going to see this, is she?"
⸻
Heather – CONFESSIONAL
"Leshawna is a royal pain in the butt. Ronnie Anne is a rageaholic control freak. And Owen completely screwed up everything for us."
⸻
Lindsay – CONFESSIONAL
"Her eyebrows look so bad! I'd kinda like to vote Heather off, but…"
⸻
Ronnie Anne – CONFESSIONAL
Ronnie Anne stared straight into the camera, jaw tight.
"Heather, I will not be happy until that perra absoluta is off the island."
⸻
Heather – CONFESSIONAL
"I vote for Beth."
⸻
Owen – CONFESSIONAL
"Beth."
He burped afterward.
⸻
Gwen – CONFESSIONAL
Gwen spoke plainly.
"Beth."
———
Trent – CONFESSIONAL
Trent hesitated before answering.
"Owen. I mean…the dude tried to throw a crate at me…"
⸻
Chris stood before the campfire, marshmallows in hand, savoring the tension.
"I've got eight Gophers sitting in front of me tonight. But only seven fluffy bits of sweet safety in my hands. So good luck. When I call your name, come up and get your marshmallow."
The names came one by one.
"Ronnie Anne. Leshawna. Owen. Gwen. Trent. Lindsay."
Only two campers remained.
"Heather. Beth. It's down to you. Whoever doesn't get this last marshmallow must immediately walk The Dock of Shame and leave on the Boat of Losers. Forever."
[dramatic music]
Chris paused for effect before announcing,
"The final marshmallow goes to… Heather."
Heather smirked and pointed toward the dock.
"You heard him. Boat of Losers, that-a-way. That really was stupid of you to take that doll from the island."
Beth glared at her, stepping forward with resolve.
"Yeah it was, but the dumbest thing I did was believing you were a good person. You're a loser, Heather, and I'm looking forward to seeing your flat butt lose."
Heather scowled as Beth turned away, walking straight to Leshawna and Ronnie Anne and hugging them both tightly.
"Seeya, girl," Leshawna said warmly.
"See you after the show, Beth," Ronnie Anne added.
Beth smiled, then headed down the Dock of Shame and boarded the Boat of Losers.
Chris clasped his hands together.
"That's it for tonight. And you might wanna burn some sage to get rid of any lingering curse vibes."
"Cool," Leshawna said. "Will Chef give us some sage?"
"Nope," Chris replied. "So good luck with that."
The Gophers exchanged uneasy looks until Owen spoke up hopefully.
"Hey, Ronnie got anymore necklaces?"
Ronnie Anne shook her head.
The hopeful expressions on her teammates' faces vanished just as quickly as they had appeared.