Brad acted like he couldn’t hear the vitriol around him. He grabbed Cherish’s hand roughly and both briskly walked off the dance floor.
“Homophobe!” someone shouted.
Jamir’s friends pushed through the dispersing crowd, and he pulled away from James. Everyone began asking Jamir what happened, and as he detailed the short encounter, James faded away into the crowd. The moment was lost with Jamir. It was just another experience on the island tainted by someone with too much fame and too little common sense.
Back at the dorm, James fumed. He should never have come to the island. When the invitation arrived, he jumped at the opportunity, only giving it enough thought to realize that he couldn’t afford the tent alone and none of his friends, aside from Steve, got the exclusive invite. It made James feel special, like there was still something offered that was fresh and relevant and that people wanted, like he somehow earned his spot on the guestlist when equals in his field hadn’t worked hard enough to get the same reward. Now, alone on the island, he felt like a fool. Nothing earned him a place there. It was just luck, and bad luck at that.
Then, a thought occurred to him. A rumor started on his platform became real. Maybe there wasn’t a coverup happening on the island, but something bigger than that? And what if it was something that he could take advantage of?
He opened Instagram and rearranged himself so that the phone didn’t cast a shadow across his face.
“Have you ever been enjoying yourself somewhere and think, ‘man, I’m glad Brad King isn’t here?’ That’s what I was just thinking,” he said it with a bit of bitterness that could come off as sarcasm in case anyone came to roast him, although he figured this corner of the internet might offer more sympathy than others. He added the caption “grateful” and tagged the Island Xperience and hit POST.
Ediespenttheafternoonon one of the quieter beaches, first in the sun getting her glow on, and later in the shade reading a book on a towel. She and Rose sent each other some selfies when they first settled into their activities (Rose was taking a Bahamian Quadrille dance class), but she hadn’t heard from her since. As it neared dinner time, Rose called.
“Where are you?” Rose asked.
“I’m still on the beach, where areyou?”
“Did you not get my last text? I told you to join me!”
Edie pulled the phone away from her face and tapped to her messages. “I didn’t get anything from you. Join you where?”
“Oh no, I must’ve not hit send. I’m at the Temple of Silence!”
Edie pressed the phone back to her ear. “The what?”
“The Temple of Silence. That art installation we went to yesterday, the one that mists you with caffeine and you can’t hear anything outside.”
Edie nearly dropped the phone. The open book on her knee slid off as the feeling fled from her limbs.
“Are you putting me on?” her mouth was full of vowels and incapable of enunciation which only thickened her accent.
“What? Of course not.”
“That—that temple isn’t real. I made it up this morning at yoga, don’t you remember? It’s not real. It’s a joke I made up for those crystal fiends.”
Edie stood and looked around her for a sign of Rose hiding behind a tree or for proof she was being filmed for some sort of skit or prank, but the couple on the beach weren’t paying her any attention and there were no other signs that it was a joke.
“What are you talking about? We came here yesterday, and you loved it. I thought that’s why you were telling everyone at yoga about it. I don’t get what part of that is a joke. Honestly, I was surprised that I didn’t find you here …” Rose kept talking, but Edie could barely hear.
She frantically tapped around on the screen to pull up a photo album. After the selfies she took while sitting on that very beach, including shots of the ocean and the trees in the background, she found selfies with Rose and the instructor from yoga, posed but still looking casual. Scrolling past pictures of a hibiscus flower-adorned drink next to bacon and eggs from multiple angles, photos from last night’s show with a barely distinguishable Bad Bunny and dozens of blurry selfies, she found dark photos that could have been of her or Rose or anyone under pink stage lights. All that made sense.
Rose isn’t just forgetting. She’s remembering things that didn’t happen,she thought.
Then she found the series of photos that made her heart skip a beat and the world spun. They were selfies and full body shots and some of just Rose in a room lit by red and blue LEDs. The walls appeared blank under the mixed lilac but textured like the inside of a sound studio. Rose and Edie stood together in the outfits they wore to the show: Rose in a gold minidress whose folds caught the light of the room, and Edie in a matching yellow festival set with high-waisted shorts and an asymmetrical top. Both of them gazed upon the camera with indifference, and their skin had a dewy glow from the misters.
“Edie? Edie? Are you still there?” Rose’s voice asked from the earpiece. The phone slipped out of Edie's hand and into the sand, muffling Rose’s tinny voice.
I didn’t even make a post about it; I just started a fake rumor about it, Edie thought.
Then another thought came to her, one that somehow felt even more terrifying and unsettling.
James was wrong. Whatever is happening is much worse.
Cassidymarchedtothestage and summoned as much confidence as she could muster to approach the first person with a lanyard and a black t-shirt that read CREW across the back. The last conversation with James still burned in her memory, and when the crewmember turned around, it felt counterintuitive to harden her features and hide behind her huge sunglasses to make a demand.
“I need to speak with the talent coordinator immediately.”
