“I’m Niko,” a woman with a wolf cut said, going next. She waved a hand and smiled. “I work in LA as a celebrity hairstylist. The most famous client I’ve worked with is Sandra Bullock, but I unfortunately can’t tell you any secrets because I’m bound by an NDA.”
“I love Sandra,” said a woman with cropped auburn hair. Valerie had spotted a burn curling up the side of her neck, pink and shiny beneath the sun. “My name’s Hallie and I’m a firefighter with Portland Fire and Rescue.” Then she touched her neck with her fingertips. “Got this baby two weeks into the job. Apartment fire. Don’t worry, I’ve gotten a lot better at putting fires out. Unfortunately for all of us, not so much at starting them.”
There were a few laughs.
Right then, a gull swept low over their heads before it banked toward the cliffs. Nearly every head followed to where it settled on the twisted branches of a wind-bent olive tree growing out of the rocks. Every head turned except Adrienne’s. She was still staring at Valerie.
Valerie shrugged off the chill and opened her mouth to introduce herself. But then a woman with shaggy black hair wearing a faded Wishbone Ash T-shirt beat her to it.
“I’m Stevie,” she said, “I am a student at UCLA majoring in film studies.” She kicked a pebble with her Doc Martens. Valerie wondered how she’d swum to shore with those because theywere basically blocks of concrete weights strapped to her feet. “I also play the drums in a band calledThe Tampons,and last spring we toured the East Coast.”
Valerie’s mother believed that absolutely every word in the English language could be used to make up the name of a band. It appeared that she was correct.
“Safiya,” a woman with blonde hair cut to her shoulders said. “I’m twenty-nine and from Colorado. I work for a nonprofit that helps women get out of abusive relationships.”
“That’s good work you do,” Eden said. Then, in the same no-nonsense manner as before, she clapped her hands. “Now that’s everyone, should we get started on the shelter?”
It was obvious she was taking the reins, and Valerie was glad for it. Someone had to do it. Although that someone usually never made it to the final Sending. For some reason, leaders never won. It was anOutlast Herfact.
At Eden’s command, everyone scattered momentarily, then grouped together in their pairs. Almost everyone.
Valerie watched Adrienne walk down to the beach. When she reached the water’s edge where the waves frothed around her feet, she shrugged off her shorts and tossed them over her shoulder onto the sand. Against Valerie’s will, she found her eyes tracing the impossibly long, golden line of Adrienne’s legs. Then her gaze moved up, following the curve of her spine to her perfectly symmetrical shoulder blades.
“You’re going to have to watch out for her,” Eden said, stepping up beside Valerie. She folded her arms across her chest. The flowers tattooed on her forearms were joined by somewhat accurate anatomical sketches of a beautifully rendered clavicle, the delicate bones of a hand, and the chambers of a heart shaded in fine black ink.
“I can already tell she’s trouble.”
Valerie nodded, tearing her eyes from the shoreline with surprising difficulty. The way Adrienne had just dove under the waves and emerged, only to flick her hair back like she was in a slow-motion shampoo commercial, had woken up something between Valerie’s legs she would prefer to keep sleeping. Besides, Eden was right. Adrienne was trouble. And worst of all, she might just be the reason Valerie would get voted out of this game.
Chapter Six
Adrienne had watched enoughOutlast Herto know that camp always sorted itself into something that resembled a hierarchy. At the top of the food chain were the providers. These were the women who knew how to handle an axe, who gathered dry driftwood and sun-bleached twigs, and the ones who built the shelter from the ground up. They were always moving, fixing, always trying to make the place marginally more livable for everyone.
Adrienne highly respected the providers.
But she was not one of them.
Then, below them, were the social players. The listeners, the mediators. The women who remembered birthdays, allergies, kids’ names, and everyone’s favorite restaurant order because they asked the questions, paid attention, and acted as if they genuinely cared.
Adrienne would rather smear a dollar-store lipstick tester directly onto her lips than listen to someone recount their daughter’s third Ms. Rachel-themed birthday party. Did that mean she didn’t have a social game of her own? Definitely not.
And then came the floaters. The perfectly pleasant but mostly forgettable wallpaper contestants who got barely any airtime. These women never made it to the top, and for good reason. They were unmemorable. Adrienne couldn’t remember any of the floaters’ names in any of the previous seasons because they didn’t matter.
Then, last, at the very bottom of theOutlast Herpyramid, were the liabilities. The women who did absolutely nothingto help around camp, who complained about eating rice and beans, and who pulled a face every time they were tasked with water bottle duty. The women whose names became attached to phrases like easy vote and dead weight. Some would say Adrienne fell within this bracket, but in fact, she was sitting comfortably above all of them, occupying a tier entirely on her own.
She may not have the skills or the drive to build a shelter. She could think of several better things to do than getting splinters in her fingers. And she might not collect firewood, or even volunteer to fill up everyone’s water bottles. But she was watching. And listening. Her ears were on the ground, so to speak, and her eyes were constantly tracking everyone around her.
For example, she knew that Eden had already snuck off with Hallie to an old stone outcrop half-hidden by salt-stunted shrubs and discussed forming an alliance with Safiya and her pair, Carmen, though neither of them trusted Carmen. Poker players had poker faces. She’d also watched Niko whisper into Sienna’s ear this morning and overheard her mention Isla’s name. Then, just a few minutes ago, right before Adrienne had meandered to the beach to lounge on the sand, she’d spotted Hallie and Stevie sneaking into the brush with Niko, and as far as Adrienne could tell, they were trying to get in with Isla and Eden.
Adrienne had knowledge. And in her opinion, that meant she held all the power.
Smiling at her own cleverness, Adrienne stretched her arms far over her head until she could feel the pleasant pull of her stomach muscles. She didn’t have to open her eyes to know her ribs were poking out like the slats of a fan or that her skin was looking all dewy and glowing after she’d spent the morning exfoliating using handfuls of coarse golden sand she’d managedto find only in the surf. By the end of these four weeks, she was going to look more ripped than Demi Moore inG.I. Jane.
A shadow suddenly blocked her sun. Heat dropped off her cheekbones like a curtain falling, and that pleasant orange glare behind her eyelids vanished to darkness.
Then a voice said, “You can at least pretend to help out around here.”
Adrienne opened one eye, but only because she recognized the voice. Anyone else and she would’ve pretended she was in a deep sleep until they wandered away.
