Somewhere in the South Pacific, where the water is calm and the deep blue sea stretches seamlessly from one horizon to the other, there is a tiny, uncharted island that cannot be found on any map. Lush green forests, white sandy beaches, a ring of cascading waterfalls, and an active volcano at the very heart of the island have made it one of Polynesia's best kept secrets for centuries. Today, as the human population skyrockets past seven billion, the natural glory of Nāmaka’s Island remains untouched, frozen in the hourglass of time.

Which is precisely why Hollywood has decided to turn this paradise into its hottest new reality TV show! Yes, for the past eight months, camera crews have been feverishly installing surveillance equipment and listening devices in every tree, rock, and animal on the island, so that not one square inch is left uncovered.

The rules are simple. Twenty-six strangers have volunteered (trust us on this) to live on a remote island somewhere in the South Pacific and compete in some of the most grueling, disgusting, dangerous, and morally degrading challenges ever imagined. At the end of each day, one unlucky contestant will be voted off the island and can never, EVER return. This will continue until only one cast member remains, the ultimate champion of Nāmaka’s Island. Who will it be?

Who will be…the LAST ONE STANDING?

Team Rabid Monkeys:
Piper, Lydia, Butterfly, Angie, Claudia, Chloe, Mercedes
Travis, Zero, Dizzy, Wendell, Rusty, Alejandro

Team Agitated Kangaroos:
Erica, Naomi, Misra, Penny, Bridgette, Maxine
Roger, Pip, Adam, Dante, Mean Joe, Willie, Luigi


--------------------


In the morning, the guys were surprised to find buttered toast, scrambled eggs, sausage links, two blueberry muffins, and a short glass of orange juice waiting for them outside of their tabletop cabin. Propped up against the plate on which this king’s feast sat was a note:


Morning, sleepyheads!

Went for an early morning jog. Thought I would be nice and make you breakfast today instead of dumping it all over you. Enjoy! Smiley smiley, wink face.

Love,
Piper

P.S. MONKEYS RULE! ;)


“She actually…wrote out ‘smiley smiley, wink face…” Dante said. “You sure she’s not a closet nerd?”

Travis slapped Pip on the back. “Dude, your sister is BOSS. She keeps this up and I might hafta start callin’ her ‘sista’ too.”

The guys climbed onto the plate and began to dig into the mountain of food like ravenous little piggies.

“Gentlemen,” Alejandro said, “I have given our...situation a great deal of reflexión, and I would like to be the first one to bury the hatchet. We have found ourselves caught up in the heat of the moment, fighting each other when we should be amigos in arms against our beautiful female opresores—this morning's feisty angel of mercy notwithstanding, of course. Shall we then bury the hatchet and put last night's incident behind us once and for all?"

Wendell’s face was covered in blueberries as he responded, oh so elegantly, “Okay!”

“Whatever,” Travis said. “The important thing is…did you get any of that ass?”

A wink from Alejandro told him all he needed to know. Maybe more than he wanted to hear. Travis seemed a little upset that he wasn’t the first guy on the island to get laid.

But that’s not the story he’d tell his friends when he got back home.

Meanwhile, Pip remained in the doorway of the cabin. He was the only one not enjoying the delicious meal that had been prepared—and it wasn’t just because he knew his sister better than the rest of them.

“Um, guys, I thought we had come to an agreement yesterday,” he was saying. “We need to vote the WOMEN off, remember? As long as they’re here, we’re all in danger.”

“Dude, your sister made us breakfast,” Travis said. “How we gonna cash in on that if all the bitches are gone?”

The blood rushed to Pip’s face. “Hey! D-don’t call Piper that!”

“What?”

“That word!”

“Bitch?”

“Yes.”

“Ha, ha! You can’t even say it. You’re SUCH a sister’s boy.”

“I am not!”

Sensing the frustration in Pip’s voice, Mean Joe stood on top of one of the muffins and cupped his hands over his mouth. “Hey, Pip! This is me doing your sister!” He pulled down his pants and started doing…things to the muffin. Awful things. Like, I don’t even know.

“Oh, yeah!” he began shouting. “Yeah, Pip’s sister! Yeeeeah!”

“S-she has a name, you know…”

“YEEEEEEEEEAH!”

Luigi and Travis laughed and joined in and…well, this whole thing just got a little weird. So let’s just stop there. Don’t we have some interviews to do or something?


--------------------


Pip: I came here to get away from my usual life, but it’s high school all over again. The bullies, the drama, the ridicule, the getting shrunk down to the size of an insect… This can’t be normal.

Wendell: [wide-eyed] I’ll never look at a muffin the same again…

Piper: A change of heart? I guess you can call it that. I mean, I did put a little something special into their meal. [holds up an unlabeled bottle and shakes it] Oh, relax! The guys can take a joke.


--------------------


“Come on, Adam! Let me in there!” Roger pounded on the bathroom door.

“I’m dropping the Cleveland Browns off at the Super Bowl right now,” the jock snapped. “Get your own room.”

Wendell collapsed to the floor, clutching the seat of his pants. “It burns, it burns!” He began kicking his legs and spinning in a circle, while Rusty scurried towards the stairs and tripped over him.

“Oh, God!” Rusty cried. “Why is there only one bathroom in this place!?”

Roger and Mean Joe began throwing their weight against the bathroom door, while the others began clutching their stomachs or hopping around in a panicked frenzy. Travis was perhaps the most embarrassing to watch, as he had to clutch his pants just to keep them from falling down every time he picked his feet up off the floor.

Pip watched the madness unfold around him and frowned.

“That’s how Piper’s cooking usually makes me feel too,” he said. “…I probably should’ve warned you.”


--------------------


Alejandro: Ay dios mio! That feisty angel of mercy has thrust a dagger right into my open…heart! Why do I still yearn for her, like a handsomely rugged butterfly yearns for a red-petaled flower!? [clenches fist]

Travis: Forget what I said! That skank ain’t no sista to me.

Pip: I’m sure Piper didn’t really mean to put laxatives in our breakfast. It was just an honest mistake.

Claudia: I don’t care what she told you. [folds arms] It was my idea.


--------------------


Four hours and nineteen bowel movements later, the islanders met Cassandra on the beach. She was fishing off the side of the dock, using Rip’s spare arm as bait and his body as a cushion, while a sea of baby-sized sharks circled the water beneath her feet.

“Oh, good,” she said when she saw them arrive. “You’re all here.” She laid the fishing pole down, rolled Rip’s body into the shark-infested water, and joined the others on the sand. “Well, I’m glad you guys got a lot of practice in, because today is going to be all about running! For this competition, you will be participating in a relay race around the island. There are thirteen legs of the race and each of you will run one leg. All of the legs are carefully marked, so just follow the red flags and you’ll be okay. Well, most of you anyway. The winner will be the first team to make it back to the dock.”

“Um, they have one more girl than us,” Pip pointed out. “Wouldn’t it be more fair if—”

“One more thing! As utterly hilarious as yesterday’s event was, I must ask you girls to stop deliberating sabotaging the guys on the other team. Cheating is actually bad for ratings—weird, I know—so hands off, okay?”
   
“What about feet?” Claudia sneered.

“Oh, that would be perfectly acc…” Cassandra stopped when the camera began to zoom in on her face. “Uh, I mean…no. If you are caught sabotaging a member of the other team, you will be sent back to the beginning of your leg of the race. AS SUCH, I strongly encourage you girls to think before you do something that may cost your team the race.” She tilted her head to the side and smiled innocently. “Everybody clear on the rules?”

They nodded—even if some (or all) of the guys didn’t agree with the rules—and Cassandra got her fishing pole and fished Rip’s arm out of the water. She broke off two fingers and tossed the rest to the sharks.

“We’ll use these as batons,” she said. “Now, the randomizer has already assigned each of you a leg of the race to run…so, unless there are any questions, I’ll teleport you all to your spots now.”

Dante raised his hand to say something and Cassandra zapped them all away.

Come on. You didn’t really want to hear what he had to say anyway.

All but two of the contestants were gone, magically transported to their designated leg of the race, where they would be unable to move until the baton reached their hand. Adam and Mercedes remained on the beach, standing behind a line in the sand that Cassandra carved out with the toe of her sandal.

“This will be the starting line,” she said, and she handed one finger to Mercedes and dropped the other on Adam’s head. “Can we get a sign up to show our viewers at home the position of the racers?”


Leg #1: Mercedes vs. Adam
Leg #2: Angie vs. Erica
Leg #3: Rusty vs. Pip
Leg #4: Travis vs. Maxine
Leg #5: Zero vs. Dante
Leg #6: Wendell vs. Luigi
Leg #7: Lydia vs. Penny
Leg #8: Dizzy vs. Mean Joe
Leg #9: Claudia vs. Misra
Leg #10: Alejandro vs. Naomi
Leg #11: Chloe vs. Willie
Leg #12: Butterfly vs. Roger
Leg #13: Piper vs. Bridgette


Adam peeked out from behind the sign that shot up out of the sand and almost impaled him. He glared at Cassandra, as if expecting an apology or something, but he was getting none of that.

“Make sure you get my good side,” Mercedes said to the camera. She grabbed the lens and began adjusting it, despite the machine’s attempt to move itself.

“…You can begin running now,” Cassandra said, pointing them towards the edge of the beach.

Adam didn’t need to be told twice. After a running start, he took an epic long jump over the starting line went rumbling, bumbling, and stumbling across the beach.

Mercedes let out an “Eep!” and released the camera. She took three steps, stopped on one heel, and planted the other one directly over Adam’s head.

“Hey!” he cried, turning around to see the sun blotted out by the heel over his head. “You heard Cassandra—no stepping on the guys! Isn’t that right, Cass?”

He tried to look at Cassandra, but all he got was a face full of heel and then sand. Mercedes stamped him deep into the sand, but was quickly transported all of three steps back. She stood there smugly, hands on her hips, and mocked Adam as he tried to crawl out of the hole in the ground.

“Oh-em-gee,” she said. “That really set me back. I don’t know how I’ll ever catch up!”

Adam watched her pumps crash down in front of him—and then behind him—as she hurried across the beach, a hundred fingers of hair waving good-bye at him.

“Later, scrub!” she yelled, giggling at how clever she had been.

Adam finally managed to get back on his feet and started running again. He had to weave his way around Mercedes’ footsteps, which were like potholes in the path to him, but he seemed to catch a lucky break. Up ahead, he could see Mercedes slowing down and occasionally stopping to tug on the strap of her pumps. No doubt she wasn’t used to running—certainly not in heels and certainly not on sand. A muscular jock and former high school linebacker like him should have no trouble catching up.

“Dammit, Adam!” Mercedes said, when he almost reached her. “You got sand in my shoe when I stepped on you!” She finally stopped to take off her heel and turned it upside down, shaking out the loose grains of sand.

Adam was about to give her a piece of his mind, but he soon found himself back at the starting line, with an angry Cassandra looking down on him.

“Shame on you,” she said. “Putting sand in a girl’s shoes… Do you have any clue how uncomfortable that is?”

Adam just gawked at her, muttered some curse words, and returned to the race just in time to see Mercedes slip her shoe back onto her foot, giggle, and take off running again. By the time he reached the spot where she had been, she was already passing the baton to Angie.

“Good job, Mercy!” Angie said, grabbing the finger.  The moment she did, the spell was broken from her feet, and she raced into the jungle, following the path of red flags. Like Mercedes, she was one of the shortest girls on the island, but her powerful legs made her a strong runner, and her sneakers were made for traction. All Erica could do was watch her disappear into the treetops while cheering on Adam, who was still wading through the white sand.

“I better not get any blisters from this,” Mercedes muttered, sitting down on a rock and removing her heels a second time.

“Come on, come on!” Erica said. “Gimme, gimme!” Her feet were still locked in place, but she was able to crouch down to get in a position where Adam could hand off the baton.

Adam slowed to a jog and almost a crawl as he lifted the baton over his head. He expected Erica to take it gently. She didn’t. Instead, she grabbed the finger—and him—and broke into an all-out sprint. Only when she was running full speed, hair whipping her face, did she peel open her hand, grab Adam by the head, and flick him into the brush.

“Sorry!” she said, not even looking over her shoulder. “Trying to make up for lost time!” He saw a little bit more of her before his head banged against the dirt and he was out cold. Mercedes quietly slipped back on her heels and walked away, whistling.

Angie was fast, but Erica was faster, and it wasn’t long before Angie was looking over her shoulder in a panic. Through the jungle, they raced, with sweat pouring down their skin and getting in their eyes and Erica inching closer with every passing step. The path they were following soon began winding through the trees and Angie had to take the inside cut to keep from being overtaken. Up ahead, there was a sharp turn around a thick net of brush and stone, and they took it so fast that they didn’t even see the next racers frozen in the middle of the path. Like deer in the headlights, all Rusty and Pip could do was scream as Angie’s orange sneaker crashed down on top of them, squashing them both with a single stomp. She stumbled forward for a few more steps, caught herself on a tree branch, and started gasping for air. She didn’t even warn Erica, who followed in her footsteps by running over the guys and coming to a screeching halt at the next tree.

“I think…we crushed…our teammates…” Angie panted.

Erica nodded, her face redder than the mess they had made of Rusty and Pip, and leaned against the tree. “I guess it’s not considered sabotage if they haven’t started running yet.”

“…You’re fast.”

“So are you.”

Angie smiled and Erica smiled back and they both agreed to keep this incident a secret, as Cassandra appeared out of the thicket and sighed, reviving Rusty and Pip.

“This was a very dangerous place to put the next leg of the race,” she said. “Somebody could’ve gotten hurt. Are you girls okay?”

Angie and Erica nodded. As soon as the guys were fully inflated, though, Erica pushed Angie out of the way and handed the baton to Pip. She then gave him a slight nudge with her heel—okay, more like a kick—and sent him flying forward.

“GO, PIP!” she yelled, and he did as she commanded, if only because he wanted to get the hell away from those shoes.

Angie passed her baton to Rusty, who began studying it intensely, as if looking for zombie DNA.

“Just…run,” she told him. “Or I’ll step on you again.”

He yelped, put the finger under his arm, and started running.  He got maybe six or seven steps before he was bent over, wheezing for breath. He took a long drag on his cigarette, finishing it all at once, and flicked it into the bushes before pronouncing, “Time to get serious! Cheetah style! Sha-sha-sha!”

He then proceeded to light a fresh cigarette and lunged ahead once more. He made it ten more seconds before he was doubled over, coughing and wheezing and sucking smoke as though it was somehow more precious than the oxygen he clearly wasn't getting. This process repeated itself so many times that he probably went through a carton before his leg of the race was over.

Meanwhile, Pip, who was already smaller than the rest of the guys to begin with, was having a terrible time holding onto Rip’s severed finger. Every time he thought he had a good grip, it would slip through his hands and he would have to stop, sigh, and pick it up again. Eventually, he just let it fall to the ground and started started dragging it along behind him.

Travis and Maxine were waiting for them outside of the jungle. When Rusty and Pip came into view, they witnessed what could only be described as a handicapped snail race, with neither competitor making any serious ground.

“Pick up the pace, smokestack!” Travis screamed at Rusty. “Gawd, whiteys can’t run fo’ shit.”

Rusty wheezed and fell to his knees, about twenty feet away from Travis. Pip, on the other hand, was already in arms-reach of Maxine, who plucked the finger out of his hands, turned around, and let out a fart in Travis’ direction. Then she started slowly lumbering up the volcano, where the next leg of the journey took place.

“Fuckin’ disgustin’,” Travis said, wafting his hand in front of his face. Then he turned back to Rusty and continued  to shout encouraging racist epithets until Rusty managed to crawl far enough forward that he could roll the finger to Travis. When he did, he finally face-planted in the dirt.

Maxine continued a slow but steady jog up the mountainside. She occasionally glanced behind her to see if Travis had caught up, but he was nowhere in sight. She grinned to herself. The walking heart attack had probably collapsed before handing off the baton. The race was in her pocket now.

Or maybe…something else was…

Travis made himself comfortable and tried to pretend he was in Piper’s skirt, or maybe Claudia’s, or Mercedes’. Yeah, Mercedes…  He put his hands behind his head and noticed he was lying in something gooey and brown. He slowly brought his hands over his face and grimaced.

“I sure hope that’s chocolate,” he muttered.

Maxine reached the top of the volcano without any sight of Travis. She marched over to Dante, scratched her armpit with the severed finger, and handed it over to him.

“Uh…thanks…” he said. He took it, somehow begrudgingly, and held it at a distance. “Um…didn’t this used to be longer?”

“I got hungry on my way up.”

He couldn’t tell by her blank expression whether she was serious or not. But, being that she still looked hungry, he decided to start running anyway.

“This could spell disaster,” Zero muttered, scanning the path Maxine had just followed with a strange electronic visor over his one eye. “No sign yet of my predecessor on any spectrum, visible or otherwise.” He turned to Maxine, as if he actually expected her to care enough to answer him, and screamed.  "Gah! The horror! It's over nine thousaaaand! SCOUTER OFF!"  He tore it from his face just in time to prevent having his retina permanently burned out.

It was around that time that Travis climbed out of Maxine’s pocket and tossed the baton to Zero.

“Catch, bro!” he said.

Zero caught the finger, spun on his heels, and gave an epic pose with one hand on his hip and the other giving a peace sign in the air. Behind him, the volcano bubbled and burst into a fireworks show.

“Jolly cooperation!” he cheered.

Maxine stared at them, dumbfounded, and could only utter a mere “wat” at the absurdity of it all.

Zero lowered his arm until it was parallel with the ground and began making motor sounds with his lips as he started running around the rim of the volcano. His legs were little more than a blur beneath his waist.

“Hax!” Dante yelled as Zero glitched his way to the front of the race and began zipping down the volcano, striking a pose on every rock he passed. One time he was standing on his hand. Another time he was in a seated position, holding his fist against his forehead. Another time he was stretched out like a French model in the need of painting.

That was probably the most disturbing one.

Dante ran through a mystery cube that was in the middle of the path. A glowing box appeared above his head and then out popped a green turtle shell.

“The hell…?” he said, staring at the object that had suddenly appeared in his hands. Then, shrugging, he threw it at Zero, watching it bounce off the rocks and sail down the side of the mountain.

Dante ran through another mystery cube and got a banana peel.

“Now you’re going to get it,” he said, tossing the fruit wrapper in Zero’s path.

“You suck at hacks!” Zero shouted, easily sidestepping the obstacle. He was almost to the end of the leg of the race. Dante had only one more row of mystery cubes. He pushed through it, watching the spinning box appear over his head, and prayed for the best.

It was a lightning bolt.

A cloud appeared over Zero’s head, as well as Dante’s—and the next two racers, Wendell and Luigi—and a lightning bolt shocked them, shrinking them all to less than an inch. The batons shrunk as well.

Zero shook off the attack and passed his baton to Wendell, who started running across the now ridiculously large path which rounded the base of the volcano. He was so small that he looked like a fat moving pebble to the cameras that were strapped to the birds in treetops.

“EVERYBODY LOOK OUT—I’M TINY AND I’M RUNNING!” Wendell screamed happily, flailing his arms about. Even at his size, his two ounce bulk allowed him to plow through anything in his way.

Meanwhile, Luigi was throwing a fit at Dante, who had just gotten taken out by his own green shell. Dante staggered towards him, still dazed and shrunk, and passed off the baton.

“You’re as useless as you look,” Luigi said, putting his long, lanky legs to work and starting after Wendell. Their leg of the race took more than twice as long as any of the legs yet, with Wendell slightly outrunning Luigi, despite their (even moreso) miniature size.

They were so small, in fact, that Lydia didn’t even notice Wendell reach her. He began pounding on her purple Ugg boots with the tip of Rip’s finger, but her eyes were glued to the sky and the soft melody she was humming drowned out his usually husky voice.

Penny watched the awkward attempts of Wendell trying to get Lydia’s attention and finally gave in, tapping Lydia on the shoulder.

“Huh…?” Lydia broke out of her trance. “Oh, hi, Penny. What’s up?”

Penny pointed down.

“Huh? What’s th…A BUG!” Lydia screamed and tried to move, but her feet were still locked in place. She swayed one way and then the other, but eventually lost her balance and fell, landing on her butt directly behind Wendell.

“Are you okay?” Penny asked. She intended the question for Wendell, who had almost been crushed, but it was Lydia who began nodding feverishly.

“I’m fine…” Lydia said slowly. She put her hands out to her sides to steady herself and started to rise. As she did, though, she accidentally brushed the finger, causing her feet to pop loose. Her legs sprung forward, her full weight came down, and Wendell was buried in an avalanche of skirt.

“Well, that was embarrassing,” Lydia said, standing up and brushing herself off. “Please don’t tell anybody how much of a klutz I am.” She took the finger—which had returned to its normal size—and began looking around. “That’s strange. The baton is here, but no sign of Wendell. Do you think the bug scared him off?”

Penny opened her mouth to speak, but changed her mind.

“I saw him run that way,” she said, pointing to where the next leg of the race took place. “You should go after him and thank him for delivering that finger.”

“I will do that! Thank you, Penny.”

And, with that, Lydia took off running, leaving Penny behind to hate on herself for being such a good and honest person.

She folded her arms across her chest and waited impatiently for Luigi to appear. When he did, he wasn’t running at all. In fact, he was walking slowly, edging closer and closer to Penny, as if he was trying to be invisible or something.

“…I can see you, you know,” Penny said, looking right at him. He probably would have known she had been watching him the whole time, but his eyes were somewhere else completely. Penny tugged on the edge of her skirt to try to cover herself up, but she couldn’t bring her legs any closer together, and that brought a big, slimy grin to Luigi’s face.

 “You’re stuck there until I give you the baton…aren’t you?” he asked. He stopped just outside of Penny’s arm-length, dropped the baton, and began to nibble on his fingertips. “Oh, this is too good…”

“You don’t want to do this,” Penny said. Most girls would probably be creeped out right now. Actually, most guys would too. But Penny just sounded ticked.  “We’re in the middle of a race here.”

Luigi inched a little closer and took a whiff of the air, trying to get a scent of Penny’s perfume.

“…Okay,” Penny said, giving her best friendly-but-you’re-about-to-get-my-boot-up-your-ass smile. “Why don’t you bring that baton over here and we'll forget this whole incident ever took place?”

When Luigi didn’t give any indication of moving, Penny reached into her back pocket, pulled out some string, and began to tie it into a lasso. Luigi was too busy perving to even notice. By the time she had the knot made and was crouching down, he barely had time to grab the baton and take off towards the brush. Not that it would have mattered. With a flick of her wrist, Penny easily snared them both and brought the two disgusting, pale, green objects dangling over her eyes.  She slipped the finger out of the loop, pocketed it, and tightened the string around Luigi's waist. Then she wrapped the other end around a tree branch and batted Luigi so hard that he began spinning around in circles until he puked. By then, Penny was long gone.

She was fast—very fact, in fact—but the only person waiting for her at the next handoff was Mean Joe, and he had nothing encouraging to say.

“Ey yo, how'da heck are we losin' dis thing!?” he shouted. “It better not be ‘cause’a you, Daisy Duke. Honest to God, none'a you dames are dressed for a race at all!”

Penny stuffed the baton into his shirt and then punted him into the jungle.

“Goal,” Penny said sarcastically as he flew between two trees and collided with another.

Mean Joe landed on the ground and spit out dirt, blood, and a few teeth that were rotting anyway, and tried to find the nearest red flag.

“Now where’d dat freak I got paired up wit’ get off ta?” he mumbled aloud. He took a step forward and heard a twig snap behind him. He spun around and saw a shadow rush by. It came around again—this time, from the other side—and he whirled around to face it.

But there was nothing there.

“I know dat’s you, freak!” he yelled, shaking his fist in the air.

“Who? Me?” Dizzy’s head poked out from a toadstool on the ground. “Couldn’t be.” He disappeared and reappeared on the treetops over Mean Joe’s head. “Could it? I don’t know.” He disappeared again and reappeared behind Mean Joe. “What do you think?”

“I think I’ma deck you one,” Mean Joe said, throwing a blind punch. But, of course, Dizzy was no longer behind him.

Just then, Mean Joe felt something moving in his shirt, as the baton shifted and Dizzy poked his head out of the collar of the shirt and tweaked Joe on the nose. Then Dizzy burst into laughter, jumped out of the shirt, and raced into the thicket on all fours like some kind of crazed animal.

Mean Joe chased after him, but spent the entire leg of the race getting mocked, as Dizzy continued to appear and reappear—first behind him and then ahead of him—until Mean Joe was so confused that he had to sit down and rest his head.

“CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPTREE!”

“Huh?” Mean Joe turned around just in time to see Dizzy wallop him across the head with a small branch.

“Epic stop, epic stop!” Dizzy snickered, hopping around in circles and then hopping away as quickly as he could. “Fat man can’t catch me.”

“Would you stop fooling around and just bring me the baton!?” Claudia snapped from where she and Misra were waiting. “Not everything has to be a big production.”

Dizzy appeared on Claudia’s shoulder and held out the baton. But the moment she tried to take it, he disappeared and laughed, reappearing on her other shoulder.

“Epic stop!” he cried.

She reached for the baton again, but he once again switched shoulders.

Finally, heaving an irritated sigh, Claudia reached up and slapped both of her shoulders at the same time. Dizzy tried his disappearing act—only to be met with Claudia’s palm coming down on him like a hammer of flesh. He was snuffed out in an instant and she grabbed the baton and brushed him off.

“Later,” she said to Misra, starting down the path towards the next racers.

Misra frowned and looked at Mean Joe.

“You are doing very good!” she said, clapping her hands while he huffed and puffed just to keep moving at a sluggish pace. It made one wonder how a man who was so in love with sports could be so utterly out of shape. “Just a little farther.”

Mean Joe’s shirt was drenched with sweat as he reached Misra and lifted the finger over his head.

“You…take…finger!” he said, speaking very slowly and very loudly. “FING-ER. See?” He used the finger to point in the direction of Claudia. “You…run…thataway. Real fast. Fast! Got it? RUUUUUUN. Picture you’re bein’ chased by…uh…I dunno…an elephant or whatever they got in your country. DO…YOU…UNDERSTAND?”

“…There is no need to yell,” Misra said quietly, taking the baton. “I have been speaking English for five years.”

“Aright, whatever. Stop yammerin' already. Damn brown people, always got sumthin'a say 'bout everythin’ even when no one can undastand 'em.” He panted some more and plopped down on the ground, dismissing her with a wave of his fat, sweaty hand. “Just get movin' aready. Whaddya standin' around for? You tryin'a get a tan or somethin'?  Lemme tell you, it ain't happenin'. Huhu!” He tried to mumble his words, thinking she still wouldn’t understand, but she wasn’t dumb. She ran away with tears in her eyes.

The next leg of the race took Claudia and Misra around the outskirts of the jungle. Claudia jogged at a reasonable pace—enough to keep her lead, but not so much that she would actually sweat—while Misra cried all the way up until she reached Naomi. By then, Claudia had already passed the baton to Alejandro, who was out of sight.

“Misra!” Naomi cried, as Misra finished running, removed her thin-rimmed glasses, and began to dry her eyes. “What’s wrong!?”

“N-nothing…” Misra said, choking on her own tears. “Please, take the baton. I have cost our team enough.”

“No! You did great, Misra!”

Misra tried to smile, but her eyes were still puffy and bloodshot.

“I’m going to finish my leg of the race and then I’m going to come back here,” Naomi said gently. “Will you be okay until then?”

“Yes. Yes…I think so…”

“Good. I won’t be long. These men are slower than insects, aren’t they?” She smiled and Misra smiled back and let out a small giggle.

Alejandro was far enough ahead that he didn’t notice Misra crying, or he might have stopped to comfort her. Instead, he was too busy admiring himself in the mirror as he ran, giving little thought to the girls over his shoulder and the growing image of Naomi coming closer and closer and closer until she had overtaken him.

“Objects in the rear view mirror may be closer than they appear—heehee!” Naomi shouted at him as she rounded the next corner and kicked up dirt in his face.

Still, he didn’t notice.

Naomi passed the baton to Willie, who carried it back into the jungle, down a steep and winding path. Meanwhile, Chloe was forced to wait for Alejandro, who every now and then would bump into a tree or fall into a hole because he wasn’t looking where he was going. Even then, he almost ran right past her.

“Ah, señorita!” he said, when Chloe picked the finger—and him—up. “I have brought you a gift of love. Let this finger sever the rift that—”

Chloe dropped him into her back pocket, patted it twice, and started down the jungle path.

 “This time, you’re all mine…” she whispered, listening to his muffled cries of affection.

She wasn’t the fastest runner, but she was quick, and her big leather boots sounded like a stampede of cattle coming up on Willie. He had to dive off the path just to keep from being run over. As he did, he rolled into the brush and went somersaulting down a steep hillside, losing sight of the red flags.

Butterfly and Roger were waiting at the bottom of the hill.

“We have the lead,” Chloe told Butterfly, shoving the finger into her hand. She spun Butterfly around and pushed her forward. “Don’t blow it now, sunshine.”

Butterfly squealed and took off running. She got maybe two or three steps before she slipped out of her sandal and landed face-first on the ground. She got back up, slipped on her Rapunzel-length hair, and fell again.

“There you are!” Roger said, as Willie came rolling towards him, battered and bruised from the long fall. “Pick yourself up, you maggot fucker. You’re making a disgrace of yourself, your team, and—most importantly—me!”

“Just take it,” Willie said, handing off the baton.

Of all the guys, Roger may have been in the best shape, and he broke into an all-out sprint that had him catching up to Butterfly, racing over her body, and leaping off her head before she even stood back up. When she did, she saw the G.I. Jerk land in front of her and chased after him, holding up her hair to keep from tripping again.

The path they were on led to a ravine, with the only way across being a log that stretched from one end to the other. Waiting for them on the opposite end of the ravine were Piper and Bridgette—the anchors of the race and the two most athletic girls on either team.

Roger reached the log first, racing into the hollowed-out opening and following the light to the other side. He ran through muck and grime and ants the size of housecats to him, but nothing would slow him down. That is, until Butterfly climbed onto the log and it began to shake, causing him to lose his balance and fall into a pool of slime. Wiping it off, he crawled the rest of the way on his hands and knees, and he handed the baton to Bridgette before Butterfly was halfway across.

“See you at the finish line,” Bridgette said to Piper, racing off towards the beach at breakneck speeds. With the last leg of the race being the longest, there was still a chance for Piper to catch up. She put her hands to her mouth and began cheering on Butterfly, who was desperately trying to keep her balance on the log.

“Come oooon, Butterfly!” Piper cheered. She waved her imaginary pom-poms in the air. “GIMME A ‘B’! GIMME A ‘U’! GIMME A ‘T’! GIMME ANOTHER ‘T’! GI—”

“Ha!” Roger said. “You can stop it right there, sister. That spells it all for this hippie shitsack.”

Piper ignored him and continued on with her cheer. While she did that, Roger crawled back onto the log—this time, on top of it—and moved towards Butterfly, who was almost to the other side.

“Oh, that's right, buttfly—don't make any fucking effort to get to the other side of the fucking obstacle,” he taunted her. “If your unshaven hippie goddess wanted you over there, she would have miracled your ass across by now, wouldn't she? Give it up already! Just quit, you slimy fucking walrus-looking piece of shit! Get the fuck off of my obstacle! Get the fuck down off of my obstacle! NOW! MOVE IT!”

Butterfly inched forward a little more, but stopped when she got to Roger. She nervously tried to step around him, but the log wasn’t wide enough to permit that and began to creak. She planted her heel back behind her and continued standing there, looking for a way around the belligerent toy soldier.

“What’s wrong with you!?” Roger barked. “I’m only one man! Can’t you get around me!?”

“I don’t…I don’t want to hurt you,” she said softly. “You’re one of Nature’s creatures.”

“The FUCK? Turn your rainbow candy ass around and go home! You don’t belong here!” He raced towards her feet and began jumping around, causing her to shriek and hop around fanatically.

It was around this time that some of the other racers were making their way to the finish line to watch the end of the race. Finding themselves log-jammed behind Butterfly's dilemma, though, they could only watch from the far side of the ravine.

“What are you DOING!?” Chloe screamed. Her voice caused all the birds in the trees to scatter. “PIPER IS RIGHT THERE! Give her the baton!”

“I-I-I can’t…” Butterfly stammered. “There’s a man standing in my way.”

“He’s the size of a New York cockroach! JUST STEP ON HIM!”

“I’m not a murderer…”

“NO, BUT I AM.” Chloe placed her heel on the log. “STEP ON HIM OR I’LL MURDER YOU.”

“It’s okay, Butterfly!” Piper chipped in. “Just step on him. He won’t really die!”

Butterfly shook her head and began to back up. Step by step, she edged closer to Chloe, who had now mounted the log and was plodding towards her. The thunderous booms of her boots shut down Roger's foul tirade as he sprawled on the log to avoid being tossed over the edge.

“If I have to pick you up and carry you across, so help me…” Chloe grumbled as she stepped up and placed her hands on Butterfly's shoulders. “Grow a spine already and get your ass in gear! We are LOSING!” And, with that, she gave Butterfly a hard shove forward. Unfortunately, this only served to knock the uncoordinated hippie right off her feet. Butterfly landed on top of Roger, smashing him flat beneath her, and then rolled off the log, careening into the deep ravine below.

The others let out a serious of “Oohs!” and “Ows!” as she hit every branch, tree, and rock on her way down.

“Way to go, Chloe,” Travis muttered.

“I’m not the one who was fooling around the whole time,” Chloe snapped.

It took Butterfly a few minutes to climb out of the ravine, now standing on the other side. She walked up to Piper, with her hair covered in twigs and leaves and dirt, and handed off the baton. Then she adjusted her blouse, brushing the remains of the broken army man off, and took a seat in the grass to meditate away all the negativity the day had brought her.

Piper didn’t waste a moment. She sprinted towards the beach as fast as she could. She was a natural runner and probably could have closed the gap with a little more time. Unfortunately for her and her team, though, Bridgette had already crossed the finish line and was leaning against the docks to catch her breath.  Piper finished the race at full speed and joined Bridgette, congratulating her on winning.

Cassandra, meanwhile, was seated in a lounge chair on the beach, sipping a cold glass of lemonade. She waited for the others to arrive. When they did, she looked at them—all covered in sweat, blood, bruises, dirt, and tears—and finished her drink with a refreshing sigh.

“Isn’t it so much better when we actually follow the rules?” she asked.

The islanders collapsed in the sand from exhaustion.


--------------------


Travis: We LOST? How did we LOSE? After all that cheating I did to ensure we’d win…

Mercedes: It’s not, like, MY fault. *I* had the lead. *I* didn’t do anything wrong.

Rusty: [raises a finger to say something and faints again] …

Lydia: Has anybody seen Wendell?

Wendell: [still stuck to Lydia’s skirt] I dunno why Chloe had to be so mean. Butterfly was only doing what she thought was right!

Lydia: [spins around] I swear, I keep hearing his voice… Hey! Get that camera away from my butt. [sits down] What’s wrong with you?

Wendell: MMMPHMPPPHHH!!!

Chloe: I don’t care what the others say. I did my part. You know who’s getting my vote.

Butterfly: I hope Roger is okay…

Roger: STUPID CLUMSY BITCH!

Luigi: Um, guys…? I’m still up in this tree. [still dangling] Hello? …Anybody…?


--------------------


“Well, it’s that time again,” Cassandra said, at the ceremony that night. “You’ve all watched the tape of the race. (I know how painful and embarrassing that was for some of you, but this is a live TV show.) Now it’s time for the Rabid Monkeys to vote one of their remaining members off the island. Who will it be this time?”

“BUTTERFLY,” Chloe coughed, rather loudly, and Butterfly shot her an angry glare.

Meanwhile, the guys on the Rabid Monkeys were huddled in a small circle.

“Then we’re all in agreement,” Rusty said, rubbing his paws together. “We’ll vote a woman off this time!” They put their hands together in the middle of the circle and cheered, causing the girls sitting around them to raise a couple eyebrows.

The girls, however, had no intention of voting one of their own off. Well, except for Butterfly and Chloe, who each casted a vote for the other. But the other five girls didn’t hesitate to write down Rusty’s name. Angie even scribbled his name down multiple times on both sides of the slip of paper, but Cassandra insisted it still only counted as one vote.

Angie was not happy.

Of course, the men weren’t surprised by this at all. They had already anticipated how the girls would vote; five for Rusty, one for Butterfly, one for Chloe. That’s why they all agreed to vote for the same woman.

Cassandra began tallying the results.

“Well, that’s five votes for Rusty,” she said aloud, as if she could read their minds. “And seven votes fooor…”

The guys leaned forward. The girls did too.

“…Chloe.”

The guys cheered.

“What the hell!?” Chloe jumped to her feet. “Which of you betrayed me?” She stared down each of the girls—all of whom who looked away quickly—and finally her eyes landed on the small circle of guys at her feet. “Was it you, assholes? Too busy worrying about a few scrapes and bruises to see you just ‘saved’ the biggest sandbag on our team?”

None of the guys said a word. They were bound by honor to stick to the plan and admit nothing, no matter the consequences.

It only took five seconds to break Rusty.

“…They made me do it,” he cried, bolting from the circle. “Every man for himself!”

Chloe stamped him out with a flying leap and then proceeded to do the same to Dizzy, Travis, Zero, and Wendell. “How’s that working out? You feel safer now!?” She continued stomping on the men on her team. When she reached Alejandro, though, she stopped with her heel just above his head. Then, heaving a sigh of frustration, she slammed the boot down next to him. “…Et tu, Al?”

He beamed his biggest, brownest eyes up at her. “Corazón, please understand...”

She didn't even let him get started. “...Go screw yourself. I can’t believe I let you in my pants.” She smeared him across the rocky ground along with his comrades. “I hope you all enjoy your Little Miss Sunshine.” She stepped closer to the mouth of the volcano, where Cassandra was waiting for her, and folded her arms across her chest, flipping the bird with both hands. “See you all in hell, losers.” She leaned back and dropped into the volcano headfirst.

“Like a BOSS,” Dante said.

Cassandra watched her disappear into the pool of magma. “Well…I guess that’s one way of doing it. What a drama queen.” She shrugged and tossed Chloe’s idol into the volcano.

“NOOOOOOO, CHLOE!” Adam shouted. He ran towards the spot where she had jumped off and fell his knees. “WHY!? Why couldn’t you take Travis instead?”


--------------------


Angie: What were the guys thinking…? Chloe was one of our best runners.

Mercedes: Um, so, like, I’m thinking the guys’ brains shrunk with the rest of their bodies.

Rusty: It wasn’t my idea, I swear! Gaaaah!

Zero: I know Butterfly was probably the weaker link of the two, but we’re looking out for our own survival here.

Dizzy: EPIC STOP!

Butterfly: I’m very grateful for my teammates giving me another chance. I will overcome my fears and make them proud!

Travis: [comes up behind Butterfly] Boo!

Butterfly: Ack! [stamps Travis out]


--------------------


The islanders continued with their dinner and noisy conversation, but they began to clear the campsite long before midnight. The day’s relay race had left them all tired and weary. Eventually, only Mean Joe was left, still eating like the pig he was.

“Yeah, I still got it,” he said to himself, wiping the barbeque sauce from his hands onto his faded green jersey. He got up to refill his plate, but was stopped by a rubbery black wall that crashed down in front of him.

“…I heard what you said to Misra,” came a voice from above, and he craned his neck to look up at one angry, very pissed off Naomi.

“Uh...hey, yeah, about that...” he started. “You see, I was just tryin'a give the girl a little, you know, motivation. Girls need that from time to time, eh? ‘Specially that one.  She's so damn quiet, you wouldn't know she existed if you didn't step on 'er toes once in a while. Huhu!"

When Naomi was finished with him, he had to wipe a lot more than sauce from his clothes.