Reality Gold Page 4

  “What the heck? What is wrong with you?” He stumbled up and headed for the shore, but not before staggering and turning back to scowl at me.

  “Man, was that a mistake. I should have gone for her instead of you.”

  He meant Maddie, who had suffered the same wet fate as me, but unlike me, had already pulled herself together and made it back to the beach.

  For some reason, the camera stayed on me instead of Porter, and that’s when I felt something familiar rise up and wash over me: that feeling of Oh God, I made a huge mistake, the residual hallmark of Riley’s Law.

  I leaned all the way back to dip my head into the water, then lifted my feet to float on my back. I stayed for a minute, maybe more, silently waiting for the cameraman to get bored and leave me alone.

  On the far end of the beach, the helicopter lifted itself into the sky, hovered right above me for a few seconds and then zoomed toward the mainland.

  Well, there went my ride. No turning back now.

  5

  I came out of the water wet and irritable, but I had at least one thing to be grateful for: Deb had been telling the truth when she’d promised the show wasn’t meant to be a survival or deprivation experience. The three open-air tiki huts at the tree line turned out to be part of a fully stocked base camp. Hammocks, board games, cornhole, and even a fire pit would help us pass the time. Strings of tiny Christmas tree lights were wrapped around the posts of each of the huts and some of the palm trees. Because it was daytime they weren’t lit, but their presence indicated that we’d have electricity. Nice.

  I grabbed my zip bag on the way up, relieved to find that everything was still inside.

  Everyone was standing around the edge of the largest hut, which was obviously our dining area. There was a full kitchen, too, hidden from the beach side and nestled between the back of the hut and the woods. I stood off to the side of the group, hoping no one noticed my dripping wet, self-conscious arrival.

  Joaquin was holding court in the middle of the hut, surrounded by bamboo tables and chairs that were arranged in groups underneath brightly colored strings of lanterns. The decor could have been lifted straight from an actual movie set, it was that elaborate. Lots of wood carvings and gold accents and beachy decorations like you’d see in a casual seafood restaurant or a beachside fish taco stand.

  Porter whistled. “Now this is what I call a Snack Bar.”

  Katya, Deb’s assistant, tossed me a beach towel. Green, for Huaca. Maddie had a green one, too. The Sol team members were all wrapped in yellow.

  “Nice of you to join us, Riley,” Joaquin said with a friendly wink.

  The entire group turned to stare. I tried to smile but it was definitely more of a wince.

  “I’m about to show everyone something that we’re all really excited about,” Joaquin said.

  I felt like I was supposed to say something. “Can’t wait,” I tossed out, trying to nail the right level of excitement. Not too much or I’d sound like Taylor, and not too little or I’d seem like Maren. My reaction verged a little closer to Taylor then I’d planned, mostly because I knew what Joaquin was about to show us and I was actually excited.

  Joaquin motioned us to follow him toward the back corner.

  A row of twenty brightly colored electronic tablets were lined up on a small table, against a wall lined with a fishing net and some buoys. The contrast between the glossy metal phones and the casual driftwood fish taco signs reminded me of home, because that same mix of hightech and natural was everywhere in San Francisco. You’d walk into an artisanal, fair-trade, eco-friendly coffee shop, the kind that referred to customers as “guests,” where everything was very stripped-down and earthy, yet you could whip out your high-tech phone to pay with an app.

  “Allow me to introduce you to Silicon Valley’s newest product, the Demon Tablet and Phone,” Joaquin said. “One of the show’s sponsors”—aka my dad—“has generously provided them so that all the players of this show can act as beta testers before the product rolls out nationwide.”

  “I’m down, but what are they?” Murch called out.

  “Picture your phone, taken to the next level. Your phone, with all the features you use, but explicitly tailored for your generation. You’ll never run out of space again. The Demon will hold all your apps, photos, videos—you name it. Whatever you want, you can add to this phone. Come on over and take a look.”

  I didn’t need to. I knew exactly what they were, and I had an ice blue one of my own back home. The Demons were my father’s latest project. I knew they’d be here, which was why I’d gone through all that effort to bring the satellite.

  Joaquin went through the rules: the Demons had to be checked out every morning and returned every night so they could be recharged. Failure to comply by anyone would mean the loss of their use for everyone.

  “You won’t be able to make calls or use any of the apps yet,” Joaquin said, “because while you’re on the island you won’t have access to Wi-Fi.”

  Yeah, that’s what he thought.

  “What’s the point, then?” someone called out.

  “The point, my friend, is the camera feature,” Joaquin said.

  Willa squealed.

  Joaquin nodded knowingly at her. “I knew some of you would appreciate that. The photos and videos you take on the island will be used in actual footage when the show airs, but not only that, when the show is over, these photos can be uploaded to Facebook—”

  “Facebook’s dead,” Murch called out.

  “Fastchat, then.”

  “Snapchat!” Willa corrected him, laughing. “You’re only messing with us, though. You know what they are. And don’t forget Instagram, that’s the best one.”

  “Maybe. Or is it? Everything changes so fast, it might be some new hot thing by the time we’re done filming.”

  “Can I put my fantasy football app on this?” Murch asked.

  “Yes, once the show is over and they are connected with Wi-Fi, any apps can be installed. Those of you who make it through the game without losing your Demon—or your Demon privileges—will be allowed to keep the one assigned to you. Furthermore, the company would like to use footage from this show in their commercials, and if you’re featured, you’ll be compensated accordingly. Certain players may even be invited to serve as brand ambassadors, so treat these phones well, and use them appropriately.”

  Phil, the assistant producer, passed out the Demons with Katya. I took one, pretended to learn how to use it, and then when everyone else was busy playing with their new toys I went to find Deb.

  She was back where the helicopter had landed, sorting a pile of camera equipment.

  “Hey,” she said, leaning in conspiratorially. “Got your Demon, I see. I owe your dad big-time for suggesting them. The footage is going to give the final edit of the show something really different. So how about that treasure news, huh? You’re excited, right?”

  Not what I had expected at all. I thought for sure Deb would pretend she’d never said treasure hunting wasn’t going to be part of the experience.

  “I don’t know about excited,” I said. “Mostly I was . . . surprised. You told me you were filming on Black Rock just to give the show a theme, that the gold itself would never come into it.”

  I watched her for signs of deception or unease, but there were none.

  “That’s what we thought,” Deb said, “but then I sprung for the legal team to do some digging, and it turns out that based on our contract we had a bit more freedom than I was originally told. Treasure hunts aren’t allowed on Black Rock right now per se, but if something was to happen while part of the show, well, it turns out that’s a different story.”

  “You have permission, then? Or you don’t? I’m confused.”

  Deb laughed. “Does it matter? Find it, and let me take care of the details.”

  This wa
s kind of shady. True, I’d technically been planning to look without permission, but that was me, an eighteen-year-old girl on my own. Not a corporate-funded operation. The distinction felt important.

  She looked at me in concern. “I thought you’d be all jacked up. No?”

  Just because looking for the gold was part of the show now didn’t mean I wanted her to know I’d planned to do it anyway. I hedged. “I’ll probably give it a shot, but I mean, what are the odds of me finding it? The treasure has been hidden for hundreds of years. Plenty of qualified people have tried and failed to find it.”

  Deb picked up a small camera and flipped a few buttons, inspecting something before handing it to one of the black-clad men packing up the gear.

  “This one’s good to go,” she told him. To me, she said, “Probably give it a shot? Come on. All those very specific, very treasure-based questions you plagued me with? Deb, will we be near the first marker? How close will we be to the black cliffs? You were going to go for it and try to follow the clues on your own, admit it.”

  I was saved from answering immediately when one of the cameramen carrying a box of gear accidentally backed into Deb.

  “Hey, Lou, watch it. Hasn’t enough equipment been trashed so far?”

  I could have laughed and said okay, you got me. Maybe the old me would’ve done that, but now I kept whatever I could to myself, especially when there was a bit of sketch to it. She really hadn’t known about that loophole? Seemed like a big enough deal to have investigated right away. I wasn’t buying it.

  “Plus, you brought the map with you,” Deb pointed out.

  I’d forgotten she’d seen my copy of the treasure map in my bag during the contraband search.

  “Old times’ sake,” I said quickly. “I wanted to see the places I’d been to last time, but I knew I’d never remember where we’d been without the map.”

  She threw up her hands. “Okay, okay. But give it a shot. Maybe you picked up some clues when you were here before.”

  I had. That was the thing. I had the biggest clue of all: I knew where the treasure was likely hidden. The X, so to speak. In fact, I’d even been at the site of the X—although I hadn’t known it at the time.

  The trip to Black Rock two years ago had come about at the last minute after an SOS call from Miles. He’d been searching on Black Rock for nearly a year and he’d almost run out of money. He urgently needed more, he told my father, because he’d found something important: a collapsed cave system, hidden from view, in exactly the right area. Funding treasure hunts was my father’s side passion, and after hearing the words important and hidden he canceled our family trip to Paris and hauled me and my mother to Black Rock Island.

  It wasn’t quite the resort-style vacation I was used to—this was pure camping. Partially constructed tents, threadbare sleeping bags, and no bathrooms. I understood the lack of basic amenities once we spent a few days with Miles. My fun, prank-loving godfather who used to blow into town for a day or two and enthrall us with tales of his adventures before disappearing on a new quest had been replaced with someone serious and grim. He’d become skeletally, creepily thin, and he didn’t want to think or talk of anything other than the gold. Even changing out of his wrinkled cargo shorts and stained Grateful Dead T-shirt was apparently too much of a time suck, because he wore that same outfit the entire time I was there.

  Get more funding. Expand the search. Renew the permit. Find the gold. Those things were whispered and discussed so much that I expected to hear them churning from the crash of the waves and whispered in the rustle of the palm trees.

  The professional search team had quit before we arrived, which meant saw only Miles and a handful of people who were paid by the hour. Miles had a girlfriend, too, but I barely saw her—she was the one tasked with renewing the permit. She spent nearly all her time on the mainland haggling with government officials.

  I went to the site on a number of occasions, but it wasn’t interesting enough to hold my attention for more than an hour at a time. Dirty, dusty caves can only compete with a perfect white sand beach for so long, but I was there, at what would turn out to be the X, on our last day.

  “You need to abandon this project,” I’d heard my father tell Miles. I was nearby, using string to mark off the areas that Miles had searched and found lacking. It was hot, boring work and I was glad for the distraction. “This was always meant to be a vanity project to raise your profile,” my father continued, “but you’ve taken it way too far. Even if you find the gold, at this point the payoff you’d get from any public attention is far less than everything you’ve sunk into it.”

  Miles was despondent. “A little more time to let Lady Luck find us,” he’d begged, but my father was adamant. The dig—and Miles himself—had deteriorated beyond redemption.

  “Gold fever has him in its grip,” my father explained as we flew home. “At this point, he’d sell his soul to find this treasure. The greatest favor I can do for him right now is to stop enabling him.”

  I wasn’t sure about that, but I did agree that Miles was certainly suffering from something. Miles had somehow come to believe that he was engaged in a struggle with the island itself, and releasing the gold from the depths of its hiding place was his sworn duty. I’d begun to suspect that his girlfriend was off the island so much because she preferred dealing with governmental red tape than listening to him bang on about the gold all the time.

  Even so, it bothered me the way my father had cut off his friend so easily.

  He’d waved off my concerns. “In the end it’s all economics,” he’d said. I guess that’s why he made the big bucks—every investment, no matter what or who was involved, was made according to a strict cost-benefit analysis. Miles had become a liability. He’d made the mistake of slipping too far into the loss column of my father’s affection.

  It was something I’d come to experience for myself, and it made me regret that back then I hadn’t fought harder for Miles. Taking over his search now would be a way to make things right, for Miles and for me.

  “By the way,” I said to Deb, trying to keep it light. “Let’s say I do remember some of Miles’s tips and I find the treasure. You said there’s a money prize. That means I don’t keep the gold, right?”

  “Nope. Any discovery becomes the property of the show. All of that is laid out in the forms you signed.” There had been reams of forms to sign. Interesting that this one had been slipped in without any notice or explanation. “Now go join the group,” Deb told me. “Phil’s starting the grand tour. I’ve got to finish a few things and then I’ll meet up with all of you in a minute.”

  Flanking the main dining hut were two smaller thatched huts, one for Sol and one for Huaca. They were essentially team clubhouses, and they were decked out similarly to the dining hut in full beach-loving regalia. Once we stepped behind them, though, the frills disappeared to reveal a clearing scattered with some basic buildings that hadn’t been tiki-fied at all.

  “No filming will occur back here,” Phil announced. There was a shed for equipment storage, boys’ and girls’ bathrooms (showers and toilets, thank God!), and a small medical cabin so austere that Porter took one look and immediately dubbed it the Quack Shack.

  “Best not to get sick,” he advised the rest of us, and I silently agreed.

  The bunkhouses were divided by gender, not team.

  “I’ll bet it’s because some of us are underage. Can’t have the unsupervised teenagers hooking up,” Willa guessed.

  We split up by gender to inspect our respective cabins. Deb joined us for the girls-only tour while Phil took the boys. Our cabin was as stark as you could get, and if the huts on the beach were meant to represent a tourist’s dream, this was definitely closer to an orphanage. One tiny window and no decorations at all, only our show-provided duffel bags piled against the wall on one side and a row of bunk beds on the other. There were also
ten small safes, stationed two per bunk at the base of each set. These weren’t from my dad, but they had a techy vibe to them that suggested they were most likely from one of the start-up companies he worked with.

  “I call a top bunk!” Maddie called out, running to the far set of beds and climbing on the top.

  “She’s so cute,” Willa said, in a sweetish tone that was hard to pin down as condescending but was probably meant to be. “And so is this! I never went to summer camp, so now it’s my chance. Just us girls, playing with each other’s hair and having pillow fights every night.”

  “Yeah, I’m a no on the hair thing,” Maren said. I wasn’t surprised to see she was the first one at the duffel bags. She was already going through her own.

  “Hey,” she said to Deb. “You guys took my Dropkick Murphys T-shirt. If my Gov Ball shirt is gone I’m going to be pissed.”

  “We told you no brand names,” Deb reminded her.

  “I thought you’d just blur them out.”

  “That’s what we’ll be doing with your slogan T-shirts, yes, but brand names are off-limits. It was a simple instruction.”

  “Slogan T-shirts? You mean like this?” Maren held up a gray T-shirt that read Cool story, bro. Now make me a sandwich.

  “Nice,” Willa said. This time her sarcasm was evident. Taylor, Alex, and Chloe were standing right behind her, barely even attempting to hide the fact that they were waiting for Willa to choose her bed before they picked their own.

  Whatever. I wasn’t going to be picky. The one underneath Maddie looked fine to me. No one raced me for it.

  Deb went into the rules. No boys, lights out at eleven, and there would be a rotation of chaperones staying nearby in the Quack Shack to make sure we complied. “And Maren, for continuity’s sake we’re going to need you in the same clothes you were wearing on the helicopter.”

  I hadn’t even noticed, but Maren was in the process of taking off her shirt. She was wearing a bathing suit. I wondered again why she hadn’t jumped; she had obviously been prepared.