Chapter 35 – Fourth Challenge (Part 4)
The atmosphere on stage was electric—the Bass team was buzzing with energy. Campers moved around, rehearsing their acts for the upcoming talent show.
Geoff was perfecting his skateboard tricks, DJ was practicing his ribbon dance, and Courtney was tuning her violin with absolute focus.
Everything seemed to flow smoothly, until a group of boys decided it was time to add an extra challenge to the rehearsal.
Owen, Tyler, and Harold, still hyped about the competition, gathered near Bridgette, exchanging mischievous glances.
"Hey, Bridgette! You said you could hold a handstand for twenty minutes—but is that really true?" Owen asked with a wide grin.
Bridgette raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms confidently.
"Of course it's true," she replied with certainty.
Tyler stepped forward, the thrill of the challenge gleaming in his eyes.
"Then do it now. Full twenty minutes," he said, with a daring tone.
Bridgette exhaled with amusement before stretching her arms.
"Alright, boys. Just hope you don't get bored watching me the whole time," she said with a light smile.
Without wasting time, she positioned herself and, with a firm motion, pushed upward, landing perfectly balanced on her hands.
The group watched with interest, and although they initially saw it as a fun test, they soon realized Bridgette was holding the pose with impressive stability.
Owen whistled in admiration.
"Wow, how do you make it look so easy?" Owen asked, genuinely amazed.
Harold adjusted his glasses and nodded slowly.
"This is… shocking," Harold murmured, analyzing her technique.
While the boys watched Bridgette, Courtney remained completely immersed in her violin practice.
Her fingers moved precisely across the strings, her focus absolute on every note she played.
But then, without warning, disaster struck.
Bridgette, trying to adjust her balance slightly, moved one hand backward.
She didn't notice the loose rope behind her—the one holding a heavy lamp suspended from the ceiling.
With a small, unintentional tug, the rope tightened more than it should have.
And within seconds…
The lamp fell.
The sound of the impact echoed through the cabin.
But the worst part wasn't the lamp hitting the floor—it was what ended up crushed beneath it.
Courtney's violin.
The instrument she had tuned so carefully, the one she had been practicing with nonstop.
Destroyed.
Courtney, realizing what had happened, felt the air catch in her chest before her eyes widened in horror.
The cabin fell silent for a moment.
And then…
Courtney let out a broken sound, as if she couldn't fully process it.
Her eyes filled with tears before her emotions exploded.
"My violin!" she cried, her voice trembling between fury and pain.
Bridgette, who had fallen to the ground from the sudden movement, quickly turned toward Courtney, her face reflecting panic.
"Courtney, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—" she began urgently.
But Courtney wasn't listening.
She stood up quickly, her gaze burning with anger, frustration pouring out with every word.
"How could you?!" she shouted, unable to hold back. "It was the only thing I truly cared about in this competition—and now it's ruined!"
Bridgette stood up fast, her hands raised in a gesture of genuine apology.
"It was an accident, I swear!" she said, desperate.
Courtney clenched her fists, exhaling sharply, trying to control her breath.
But her eyes remained full of tears, and every time she looked at the remains of her violin, her rage surged again.
The tension in the cabin was heavy. No one knew what to say.
Bridgette could only look at Courtney, hoping her apologies would mean something.
The campers gathered on the benches in front of the stage, excitement building with every passing second.
The air was thick with anticipation, filled with whispers and bets on who would deliver the best performance.
Suddenly, the amphitheater lights turned on, illuminating the stage and signaling the start of the event.
The curtain rose, revealing the unmistakable silhouette of Chris McLean, who appeared with a wide smile and his signature over-the-top energy.
Gripping the microphone firmly, he raised a hand to capture everyone's attention.
"Welcome, campers and viewers, to a night of pure spectacle!" Chris exclaimed, making a dramatic gesture with his arms.
The participants reacted in different ways—some excited, others nervous, and a few sizing up their rivals strategically.
Chris kept talking, relishing his moment in the spotlight.
"Tonight, six of our brave competitors will put their talents to the test in a show judged by an industry expert…"
Suddenly, a trumpet sound blared through the speakers, creating a dramatic pause before the big reveal.
Chris smiled slyly before pointing toward the judges' area.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the iron judge, former DJ and absolute master of hip hop… Chef Hatchet!"
The lights shifted, spotlighting the imposing Chef Hatchet seated at the judge's table, arms crossed and expression stern.
A horn sounded as Chef slammed the table forcefully to assert his presence.
"I expect real talent tonight!" Chef growled, his deep voice adding an extra dose of tension.
The campers swallowed hard.
Impressing a judge like him wouldn't be easy.
Chris, meanwhile, was enjoying the show before the show.
"Remember, the team with the weakest performance will send one of its members straight home tonight," Chris said playfully. "So give it your all on stage."
The crowd murmured, some exchanging nervous glances.
The competition was about to begin.
And no one wanted to be the first to fail.
The amphitheater lights focused on the stage as the campers waited for the first performance of the night.
DJ, the sole representative of the Bass team in this round, stepped confidently to center stage, holding a red ribbon that fluttered slightly in the breeze.
From their seats, Geoff and Courtney watched with anticipation. Though they were part of the team, all the pressure now rested on DJ.
Chris, enjoying the moment, raised the microphone with an entertained smile.
"And we begin with the Bass team, who tonight are betting everything on DJ and his spectacular ribbon dance!" he announced with energy.
Chef Hatchet stared at the camper with a neutral expression, arms crossed, saying nothing.
The audience waited.
The silence lasted a few seconds—until the music began.
From the very first movement, DJ made it clear he wasn't improvising.
The ribbon floated gently through the air, each spin creating clean shapes that glided with the rhythm of the music.
His steps were firm, controlled, his body moving with a precision that completely contrasted with his size and strength.
But that was the beauty of the act.
DJ made the dance look light, the ribbon moving as if it had a life of its own.
Every movement was confident, without hesitation, his arms tracing curves in the air that seemed to draw invisible patterns.
The audience began to react—some nodding in surprise, others murmuring about the unexpected skill.
Courtney watched closely, recognizing the perfection of his technique.
Geoff, from his seat, smiled proudly.
DJ spun in place, the ribbon forming a bright spiral before extending into a perfect line.
It was a display of control and elegance, the music marking each step with precision.
But then…
DJ moved into his final sequence—a series of quick spins meant to end with a dramatic flourish.
But in the momentum, the ribbon tangled slightly around his arm.
He tried to fix the mistake discreetly, but the knot tightened.
With another step, the ribbon wrapped around his wrist, restricting his movement just before the finale.
DJ, staying calm, made one last attempt to free the fabric—but it didn't work.
When the music ended, he held his final pose… though the ribbon was still tangled in his hand.
The audience responded with a mix of applause and laughter.
Chris, never missing a chance, jumped in with his classic sarcasm.
"A tight finish for DJ—literally," he joked, grinning wide.
Chef Hatchet tapped the table before raising his scorecard.
5 out of 10.
DJ exhaled with a bittersweet smile. He had delivered a great performance, but the mistake at the end had cost him points.
Courtney leaned in and gave him a pat on the back.
"That was really good," she said sincerely.
Geoff nodded enthusiastically.
"Yeah, man, seriously—you crushed it!" Geoff added with excitement.
DJ smiled, feeling the support of his team despite the score.
The competition continued.
And now it was the Gophers' turn.
The amphitheater lights refocused on the stage, marking the start of the second performance of the night.
Chris, enjoying the moment, grabbed the microphone with energy before announcing the next contestant.
"Ladies and gentlemen, it's time for the Gophers!" he exclaimed with enthusiasm. "And we're starting with a musical number that promises strong emotions. Please welcome Trent!"
Applause echoed as Trent walked confidently to center stage, holding his guitar firmly.
He settled onto the bench he had placed for his performance, adjusted the microphone, and gently ran his fingers across the strings, testing the sound before beginning.
The atmosphere grew calmer, the audience expectant.
And then, with one last deep breath, Trent began to play.
The first notes flowed smoothly, the melody light yet captivating.
His voice rang clear through the amphitheater—relaxed, but full of intention.
The lyrics began to unfold, the words reflecting a sincerity that was impossible to ignore.
"Everyone says there's only summer
But I think that's not in vain"
The audience listened attentively, some gently nodding to the rhythm of the guitar.
"Fun is swimming toward the Sun
It'll be just the two of us
Nothing to do, just be"
The atmosphere shifted.
There was something in the way Trent sang that made the song feel more personal.
And then came the key moment.
"You should hear what I have to say
I'd wait for you just for a kiss"
The final words landed with noticeable weight.
And as if synchronized without planning, the campers slowly turned their gaze toward Gwen.
She felt each of those looks like spotlights aimed directly at her.
Her expression tightened for a second.
But in truth, she was only worried about one thing.
Cody.
Unable to help herself, she looked at him, trying to decipher if the song had triggered any reaction.
But to her surprise, Cody just looked amused.
No tension, no discomfort, no shock. Just a light chuckle, as if he found the situation entertaining.
Gwen blinked, unsure whether to feel relieved or annoyed.
Trent, unaware of the exchanged glances, finished his song with one final strum before looking up at the judge.
Chef Hatchet tapped the table with one hand before raising his scorecard.
7 out of 10.
Trent smiled faintly, satisfied with the score.
Chris, as always, took the opportunity to add his commentary.
"A solid number, Trent—but maybe we could call it… a little too personal."
The audience laughed, some still glancing sideways at Gwen, who simply exhaled with frustration before looking away.
The competition continued.
The amphitheater lights flickered slightly, signaling that the next act was about to begin.
Chris appeared once again at center stage, his smile even wider than before—clearly excited for what was coming next.
"And now, it's the Bass team again!" he exclaimed, making an exaggerated gesture with his arms. "But this time, they're bringing us a unique number that might leave us speechless… for better or worse."
Courtney, seated on the bench with the rest of the team, pressed her lips nervously.
Bridgette, the final representative of the Bass team in the talent competition, was preparing backstage, trying to calm herself.
The weight of the performance rested entirely on her. After DJ's ribbon dance mishap, her act was the only chance the Bass team had to improve their score.
And that made her more nervous than usual.
Bridgette took a deep breath, trying to focus.
But the problem wasn't just the pressure.
It was the fact that, minutes before the show, she had eaten too much.
She thought it would help her keep her energy up—but now her stomach felt more unsettled than it should.
Still, she tried to ignore the sensation and stepped onto the stage when Chris introduced her.
The lights focused on her, and the audience watched with curiosity.
From the bench, Courtney looked on with a mix of hope and fear.
Bridgette positioned herself at center stage and, with a precise motion, pushed herself into a perfect handstand.
The audience murmured with interest.
Maybe this would work.
But then—the disaster began.
Just seconds into her pose, Bridgette felt an unpleasant pressure in her stomach.
She tried to ignore it. Tried to stay calm.
But she couldn't.
And without warning… she vomited.
The liquid hit the stage directly, splashing across the floor in a worrying spread.
Chris, still in the presentation zone, raised an eyebrow in surprise as the audience reacted with a mix of screams and laughter.
But the worst was yet to come.
Bridgette tried to move to regain her balance, but the stage surface was slippery from the mess.
Her hands slid across the floor, and before she could correct her posture, she completely lost control.
Her body fell forward—straight toward the edge of the stage.
And directly into Cody's path.
The audience watched with anticipation as Bridgette tilted dangerously toward him.
And before she could hit the ground, Cody reacted quickly, stretching out his arms and catching her just in time.
The way he held her—with his arms beneath her and his head slightly tilted—made her look like a rescued princess in the middle of a fairy tale.
Except it wasn't a fairy tale.
And she was covered in vomit.
The silence lasted a second.
Then, another shout broke the scene.
Lindsay, who had been watching from the bench with a mix of disbelief and growing anger, stood up abruptly.
"Bridgette, throw up on your own boyfriend!" she shouted, her expression indignant.
The comment stirred several reactions in the group—but none more than Gwen.
She raised her eyebrows in annoyance, turning slightly toward Lindsay, her mind quickly processing the words.
Her own boyfriend?
What was Lindsay talking about?
The question hung in the air for a moment, but before anyone could respond or ask, Chef Hatchet intervened.
He slammed his table hard before raising his scorecard.
3 out of 10.
Bridgette, still in Cody's arms, closed her eyes in a mix of shame and horror.
Courtney, from the bench, covered her face with one hand, feeling like all the Bass team's efforts had just collapsed completely.
Chris, who had been watching with amusement, finally tiptoed toward the disaster on stage.
He looked at the stains on the floor, the general mess, and with a mocking tone, spoke again into the microphone.
"Well, folks, we need an immediate cleanup in aisle 1… 2… 4… 5… 6…" he said, emphasizing each number with a dramatic pause.
The audience burst into laughter as the production team rushed in to clean up the mess.
The competition continued.
But Bridgette wouldn't forget this anytime soon.
Confessional – Bridgette
The camera focused on Bridgette, her arms crossed, her expression reflecting a mix of resignation and mortification.
"God, I messed up on national television."
She sighed heavily before shaking her head.
"Not only did I ruin the performance—I sprayed half the camp with vomit."
She paused before exhaling again.
"And then… then I fell on Cody, like it was some romantic scene, but it was actually a complete disaster."
She looked to the side, worried.
"Now I don't know how he's going to see me after this… and not just him—everyone."
She placed a hand on her face before murmuring.
"Maybe I should just go back to working at the surf shop… far away from cameras… and talent shows."
The shot cut just as Bridgette rested her head on the table in frustration.
After the disaster on stage, the camp was in motion.
Campers scattered—some looking for water, others changing clothes—while the cleaning crew tried to restore the amphitheater from the mess Bridgette had left behind.
The night wasn't over yet, but the impact of what had happened was far from fading.
Bridgette, feeling the weight of her embarrassment, had left the main area and taken refuge in the confessional booth.
She didn't have many options.
It was that—or face everyone's stares.
With her arms crossed and her head resting against the wall, she let out a long sigh before speaking.
Confessional – Bridgette
The camera focused on her face, exhaustion reflected in her eyes.
"This was officially the worst moment of my life," she said, her voice heavy with resignation.
She sighed and shook her head.
"I didn't just fail the competition. I didn't just look like a total idiot. No. I literally vomited on half the camp," she continued, frustrated.
She placed a hand on her face before murmuring.
"Owen, Noah, Sadie, Katie… they'll probably never look at me the same again."
She let out a bitter laugh.
"And then there's Cody… of course I had to fall on him. Like this couldn't get any worse."
Her lips tightened slightly.
"I'm going to be the 'vomit girl' on national TV. Maybe I should just go back to the surf shop… far from cameras, far from shows, far from everything."
She ended with another sigh, resting her head against the confessional wall, trying to convince herself she could forget what had happened.
But then, a sound pulled her out of her private moment.
A soft knock on the booth door.
Bridgette looked up, frowning slightly in discomfort.
Who could it be?
She opened the door slowly.
And there was Cody.
Cody stood in front of her, wearing his usual relaxed expression and a light smile.
Bridgette felt a pang of discomfort in her chest.
After all, he had been in the worst possible spot when everything happened.
But Cody didn't seem upset.
Just… curious.
"Hiding?" he asked casually.
Bridgette crossed her arms before letting out a sigh.
"Trying to process the fact that I'll probably be trending online for all the wrong reasons," she replied with a hint of sarcasm.
Cody let out a soft laugh.
"Look, if it's any consolation—it was a great show," he said with a playful expression.
Bridgette narrowed her eyes in disbelief.
"A show? Cody, I sprayed half the camp with vomit!" she exclaimed, still clearly uncomfortable.
Cody shrugged.
"Yeah, but at least it was memorable. How many talent acts get everyone screaming at the same time?"
Bridgette blinked, surprised by his perspective.
She let out a soft laugh, despite herself.
"I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse," she admitted.
Cody leaned casually against the booth wall.
"You know what's the worst part?" he asked lightly.
Bridgette looked at him, waiting for his answer.
"You caught me like it was a romantic movie scene. And then Lindsay decided it was my fault."
Bridgette remembered the exact moment—how Lindsay had stood up furiously, shouting about vomiting on 'her own boyfriend.'
The image was so absurd she couldn't help but laugh.
For a moment, the tension in her chest seemed to ease.
"Yeah… I don't know what was worse—my fall or her reaction," Bridgette admitted.
Cody nodded with a smile.
"Honestly, I've lost track of how many extra problems land on me out of nowhere," he said reflectively.
Bridgette raised an eyebrow.
"Maybe literally. Because I landed on you."
Cody laughed before nodding.
"Exactly."
For a second, the mood between them felt lighter.
Bridgette stopped thinking about the disaster. Stopped thinking about the stares, the shame.
She was just there—with Cody—laughing about something that, hours earlier, had felt like a complete nightmare.
And then, without warning, she did it.
She leaned in slightly, her lips brushing Cody's in a brief but firm kiss.
Cody, for a moment, didn't react.
When Bridgette pulled away, her face showed surprise—but before he could say anything, she turned quickly and walked away from the booth without looking back.
Cody watched her go, feeling a mix of confusion and slight dizziness.
He blinked a few times before letting out a sigh.
Confessional – Cody
The camera focused on him, still wearing the expression of someone trying to figure out what just happened.
He let out a soft laugh before shaking his head.
"I don't know why my problems never stop showing up."
He looked off to the side, thoughtful.
"An unexpected kiss. Lindsay yelling. Bridgette vomiting on half the camp. Gwen probably drawing her own conclusions…"
He exhaled with resignation before laughing again.
"Sometimes I think it'd be easier if I could just disappear for a week," Cody said.
The shot cut just as Cody rested his head against the wall, letting out another sigh.
The competition wasn't over yet.
And the problems kept piling up.