Chapter Text
Another day, another challenge won.
Jo gleefully threw the glasses over the platform, grinning. Two wins in a row? It was to be expected, of course, with her exemplary leadership and outstanding athletic prowess, but it was still a great achievement nonetheless. Add it to the long, long list of great achievements in her life.
Hopefully, they’d be able to keep this winning streak-- judging by the other team, that wouldn’t be much of a problem at all:
Lightning had tackled Sam over the edge of the platform, causing them both to fall into the mud below. B was glaring daggers at Dirtboy, who tucked his hands into his pockets and innocently whistled. All the while, Princess Posey went on a tirade about mean hosts while Dawn only half-listened, narrowly dodging the mud flinging from her teammate.
Jo’s team was full of wusses who were all too distracted by their hair or code or whatever-the-hell Mike and Zoey had going on, sure, but at least they weren’t them. If she played her cards right, she’d be able to turn her pawns into viable players to exploit.
Then, when the merge hit, she’d finally be rid of them and take home the million for herself. Then open her massive dream gym. Then make sure she’d never have to be visually assaulted by McLean’s ugly mug again.
Jo dusted herself off, grimacing as the maggot-residue on her fingers stained her sweatpants. She’d probably need to ask Zoey about any washing machines on the island – assuming Chris even provided them with any, but hey, she was feeling optimistic.
She promptly turned to head back to the cabins, before walking right into what felt like a wall. “Ow! What the–?”
“Kitty!”
Oh, yeah. Brick.
The moron had gotten himself hit with a cannonball earlier in the challenge, hadn’t he? He still had that dopey look on his face. Maggot puke dripped from his chin and onto his shirt, coating his army-green with a vivid acid-green that almost made Jo want to throw up herself.
She glanced around. The interns scattered around the site like ants, lifting heavy-looking equipment – or more accurately, dragging – all while being directed by Chef, who was barking orders like he was back on a military base. In all honesty, the state of the island made actual military bases look like pillow forts.
Chris was somehow even worse. “Uh, hello? I need 5 cups of coffee, pronto! And a foot massage! And a face mask!” he yelled as the poor interns scrambled to meet his demands. He seemed particularly pissed, which was to be expected considering how they had nagged him into cutting the first challenge short. Still, it was jarring to see how quickly his grinning TV persona had morphed into his current self.
Jo could’ve left it to one of the interns to take care of Brick. After all, it wasn’t her issue in the slightest; she’d much rather spend her time doing anything else. However, she had already caught the faint whiff of a potential ally, A.K.A. peon, and an opportunity like that was just too good to resist.
“Alright, Captain Klutz!” she barked. “As our team leader, you fall under my responsibility. No funny business, got it?”
Brick merely gave her a blank stare, as if her words had flown right out the other ear – which they most certainly did. It was frustrating, but what else did she expect? She wouldn’t be surprised if he had sustained permanent brain damage. If that was the case, well… she always had Bubble Boy as backup.
Jo reached up and pried off his glasses. If Brick was going to be brain-damaged, he might as well be able to see properly. She took him firmly by the wrist, pulling him towards the end of the platform. “Come on, soldier.”
“Weee!” Brick exclaimed.
She roughly guided him off the obstacle course, starting the quickest trail back to the main camp, which she had oh-so-cleverly memorised from her morning run. All she had to do was head back, bring him to the medical tent– aaand Brick had already fallen over. Amazing.
He giggled, rolling around in the dirt like a weird, smelly, overgrown dog. “Wow… everything’s… moving! Hehe!”
Jo’s eye twitched. “Get up, Dampypants. You look like an idiot. Well, more so than usual.”
Brick stumbled in an effort to stand, before slipping on the mud and faceplanting. It was like watching a baby deer try to walk on ice. “Owie.”
Jo took him by the wrist once more, pulling him up. Jesus, what the hell did he eat?
“Mm’ up, sir!” Brick staggered on the spot before she caught him, placing her hands on his waist. He slowly looked down at her, tilting his head.
“This’sa hug?” he mumbled.
Jo’s entire face scrunched up. “What? Eugh, no! I’m helping you up!”
Brick gave a dazed grin, leaning against her even further. “Hug…”
She reminded herself that it wouldn’t be very beneficial to the game if she killed one of her teammates.
Jo quickly moved to support his weight, huffing all the while. It seemed like her current method was ineffective, so she decided to switch tactics.
The jockette spun around, bending her knees to scoop him onto her back. Anyone else would’ve collapsed under the weight, but she was Jo. She could bench-press fifty Bricks in her sleep.
His arms instinctually wrapped around her neck, and she allowed herself just this once to be impressed with his physique. The dude’s got guns, she’ll admit– anyone could tell he was used to hardcore physical training from the firmness of his muscles alone. His legs were also pretty built from what she could feel, but not as much as hers, obviously. Champion sprinter and all that.
Once he was settled on her back, Jo grinned triumphantly. “And we’re off!” she declared, happy to finally get moving.
Her newfound joy soon depleted when Brick opened his mouth again.
“J…Jo!”
Jo’s face melted back into her signature frown. “Yep, that’s my name. Don’t wear it out.”
“Jo… Jo…”
Brick’s unfocused eyes lit up. “Joey!” he cheerfully exclaimed.
Dear god.
She froze in her tracks, almost dropping him. “No. No no. Do not call me that.”
“Joeeeeyyy!”
Just a little bit longer, Jo. You’ve completed a heptathlon before. You can get this moron to the medical tent.
Said moron began to giggle again, kicking his feet. “Joey… I like your name, Joey.”
“That’s not my name.”
“I like your name.”
Jo groaned. She must have seriously underestimated the distance between the obstacle course and the main camp, because their little hike seemed to be taking forever.
During their trek through the forest, Brick began loudly singing what she presumed to be some sort of military cadence, but the words were so slurred she couldn’t decipher any of it. She wasn’t sure whether she was lucky or unlucky to not encounter any mutant bears on the way.
Jo didn’t catch sight of anyone from her team as she trudged onto the camp grounds; they were most likely scrubbing themselves raw with the soap they had won. Good. She didn’t need an audience watching her carry Brick’s garbled solo-act.
Brick whined, “Where’d your cat go? Aww, it was so cute… and green. I like green…”
He buried his face into Jo’s neck, making her yelp. Yeah, she was very happy there was nobody around. His breath tickled her skin and suddenly he was way, way too close for comfort.
“Hey, maybe don’t get any of that gunk on my neck, thanks!” she yelled, tossing him around like a mechanical bull. It only resulted in him latching on tighter, which she might’ve found impressive if she wasn’t the unfortunate victim.
Jo wasn’t a medical expert, but if she were to hit his head with a rock, would he go back to normal? Or would it make his head trauma worse? Those wacky animal cartoons she watched as a kid must've been onto something.
Before she could entertain that thought, the medical tent came into view, like an angel descending from the heavens above. Thank god.
The second she stepped inside, Jo threw Brick onto the nearest bed. He landed with all the grace of an anvil, paired with an ensuing “Oof!”
“You, intern!” she barked at a girl with a ponytail and wide eyes. “This idiot has a concussion. Wrap some bandages around his head, or… whatever you do.”
Without waiting for a response, Jo made a sharp turn and strode back out, the tent flaps flying in the wind behind her. She could deal with Commander Cuckoo later; right now, her hoodie was at the top of her priorities.
She swung open the door to her cabin, letting it slam against the wall as she strode inside.
“Jo, what the hell?” Zoey screamed, almost dropping the book in her hands. “I mean–... Hey, Jo. Could you maybe knock next time? You scared the life out of me.”
Jo promptly ignored her and stripped off her filthy hoodie, tossing it at the foot of her bed. Zoey, ever-so-annoyingly nosey, took in her disheveled appearance and gave her a sheepish smile. "Oh, did you fall in the mud, too? That obstacle course was pretty intense.”
“I’m not as clumsy as you. Sergeant Super Soaker got mud all over me,” Jo grumbled, kicking her runners off. She dragged her luggage out from under the bunk, adding to the collection of scratch marks in the wooden floorboards. “He seems to have a thing for soiling clothes.”
Zoey frowned, her nose wrinkling at the nickname. “Hey, I’m sure it was an accident. Brick seems like a nice guy.”
“Like I care,” she muttered as she dug through her bag. “What’s with the book, anyway? Don’t tell me we have two dweebs on the team.”
Zoey’s cheeks slightly coloured. “I– Well, I was just wri– reading! Uh–”
Jo held up a hand. “Never mind. I don’t care.”
She heard Zoey sigh with relief from behind her. After spending about a day and a half with the redhead, it was safe to say she wasn’t the most annoying person on the island– but she was definitely up there. Maybe it was the constant apologies, the backbone more fragile than her grandma’s, or the sheer dorkiness that irritated Jo to no end. Or the obnoxiously bright-red hair. Yeah, it was probably the hair.
She dumped her fresh clothes on the bed and rested her hands on her hips. “So, where’s that basket full of soap and other junk?”
“I think it’s with Anne-maria,” Zoey answered, turning back to her book. “Though, she’s been in the bathroom for a while.”
Jo’s eyes narrowed into slits. “And how long is ‘a while’?”
Zoey pursed her lips. “Um… about half an hour?”
Ughhhhhhhh.
"What is with girls and taking forever in the bathroom?” Jo groaned, throwing her hands in the air.
“Well, we were all dunked in toxic ocean water…” Zoey tried to reason. “And Anne-maria seems to spend a lot of time on her looks, so...”
Jo pinched the bridge of her nose. Of course she was stuck sharing a cabin with a bunch of prissy girls for the next two weeks. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. She better get back soon before I start using her spray cans to vandalize the Rats’ cabin.”
As if her prayers had been answered, the door burst open again, and in stepped the devil herself.
“How’s my hair lookin’, girls?” Anne-maria asked, flicking her hair as she settled onto her bed. “I used some o’ my own conditioner instead– there’s no way I’m puttin’ any of Chris’ cheap stuff near my poof.”
Zoey gave her a small smile. “It looks…”
“...Great!”
“It looks the exact same.”
Zoey shot Jo a look. She shrugged, grabbing her towel and throwing it over her shoulder. “What? Am I wrong? That thing is practically waterproof. Are you sure the conditioner didn’t just slide right off?”
“Are you sure you even know how to use conditioner? I don’t think a drop of it has ever touched your scalp,” Anne-maria snapped back, rummaging through her bag. “Bleh. None of you’s got a lick of style. Or hygiene, for that matter.”
She wrinkled her nose at Jo, still sweaty and stained with maggot puke.
Jo glared at her. “Wow, gee, if only someone didn’t lock themselves in the bathroom for the past half hour.”
“Hey, I’ll take all the time I need to make sure I’m hot enough for TV,” she rebutted, taking out a brush. “You should really do the same, Sweats.”
Jo was surprised her hairbrush could even penetrate the thick outer layer of hairspray. It seemed rock-hard whenever anything else hit it– something she had figured out from throwing sticks at her hair– but maybe it was less of a solid and more of an Oobleck situation. She’d have to get Cameron on the case later.
Then, she paused. “Wait, you didn’t even use the reward basket? Where is it?”
Anne-maria shrugged. “Still in the showers.”
Jo bolted out the door, making a beeline to the bathroom at a speed that would’ve gotten her straight into the Olympics. She jiggled the handle until it almost broke off. Locked again.
“Are you kidding me?”
Even from outside, Jo could hear the muffled sounds of the shower running and Mike singing in some weirdly deep character voice. Ugh. If only that smack had killed him.
Fine, then. She could wait. She was a great waiter. Not the restaurant kind, but she’d probably be great at that, too. She was great at anything and everything.
… Except for existing outside without her hoodie, apparently.
“Mike, hurry the fuck up or so help me!”
Luckily, she was also great at rushing people.
By the time Jo had finished washing up, it was 4 in the afternoon. Then, it was 5, and she had already run out of things to do: she’d rinsed her clothes in the lake and hung them up to dry (washing machine was a no go), ran 3 laps around the island, and fought off several mutant deer on said run.
She decided to check on Brick, since it beat watching Freckles slink around Flashy’s one-man basketball game like a creep as he ranted about his team losing twice. Sucks to suck.
Jo slipped into the medical tent, taking notice of the now-bandaged boy on the same bed. Noting the lack of interns or other contestants, she stole a small stool from the corner of the room and settled beside him.
“Still passed out, huh?” she smugly remarked. No problem. It only gave her more time to think.
Jo crossed her arms, silently observing her surroundings. The medical tent was only showcased a few times in the show, so she had barely paid attention to it at all. It wasn’t like there was anything to note, though; parts of the tent had clearly been torn and shoddily sewn back together, there were assortments of tools piled on a few tables and a few half-empty IV bags strewn about. She just hoped she wouldn’t have to see it again any time soon. Though, judging by how Chris was running things this season, her chances were slim.
It was only then that the thought finally struck her: she was in the medical tent on Total Drama. One of the biggest reality TV shows in the history of ever. Holy shit.
She felt herself grin. It was a testament to how far she’d come: from dealing with snotty kids trying to push her off the monkey bars, to guys who threw tantrums whenever she bested them in a sport, to contestants in a competition to win a million freaking dollars. All those playtimes she skipped to train really paid off, huh?
Jo looked down at Brick, unable to suppress her smile. This was the guy she was going to beat into the ground and walk away from, carrying a briefcase full of money. And she was going to love every second of it.
Just then, the shadow of a big, burly man fell onto her rival and– holy fucking shit Chef was massive in person. Of course Jo had already seen him earlier that day, but her mind had been too busy sussing out her teammates’ weaknesses to really take it in. She’d admired the firm muscles on Brick before, but this was something else.
He fixed her with a look. “You. You’re the manly-looking one.”
Ouch.
Her eyes narrowed. “Shouldn’t you know my name by now?”
“I do.”
Double-ouch.
He set a cup of water on the table and replaced the ice packs on Brick’s face. For the first time since stepping onto the island, Jo found herself unsure of what to say. Neither of them really needed to introduce themselves, and she hated small talk.
Awkwardness was not something she was used to feeling. Then again, it wasn’t everyday she was competing on an infamous TV show and meeting celebrities.
Ask about his training routine, said the helpful voice in her head. Imagine if you had muscles like those. You’d be unstoppable.
The voice was right, she would be unstoppable. And she’d look awesome. Thank you, voice.
As Jo opened her mouth, however, Chef grabbed a stool and settled down on the other side of the bed. He glowered holes into her like she was the reason he was bald and working for an egomaniacal TV host who underpays him.
Sweat dripped down the back of her neck as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Was he expecting something? Was he trying to blow her up with his mind? What the hell was she supposed to do?
Then, Chef reached down to grab something…
…And dumped a stack of papers onto Brick.
“How are you doing this so easily? Your hands are the size of freaking Alaska!”
Chef grinned, setting down his eleventh paper crane. “It’d do you good to stop treating the origami like some kinda play-doh,” he commented, pointing out the crumpled sheets of paper scattered across Jo’s side of the bed. Well, technically Brick’s bed, but it was basically hers as long as he was out of commission.
“Not my fault it’s so frail,” she complained, struggling to neatly fold a corner. She massaged the edge a little too firmly, causing the paper to completely tear through. Jo immediately crumpled it into another ball and tossed it away, landing near Brick’s head. “Ugh! You’re telling me people enjoy this crap?”
“You kids are too impatient for your own good,” Chef said, taking a new piece of paper from the pile. Oh, that’s rich coming from him.
“Origami isn’t just about the end result. You gotta take your time, focus on every move you make, because the tiniest misstep can—”
“Mimimimimimi,” she mocked, moving her failed crane like some kind of deformed puppet. “That’s you.”
Chef’s eye twitched. “Really hope you stay long enough for the cooking challenge…”
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” He began to collect some of the scraps lying around. “But listen, kid: If you keep rushing through the process, you’ll never get to truly appreciate it. And you’ll just keep tearing the paper ‘till there’s none left.”
Jo scoffed, grabbing another sheet to start anew. “I never took you for an origami guy. Why are you even here?”
“What, you don’t think I have hobbies outside of the show?” he replied gruffly. “If you really wanna know, I usually come here to get away from Chris’ complainin’. You maggots just happened to be here.”
“Fair enough,” Jo said, already tearing through the paper for the fun of it. She snickered. “So, what even are these? Official documents?”
“Yes.”
Jo’s eyes widened. She did a double take, looking between the torn, crumpled papers around the bed and Chef’s stone-faced expression. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nah, Chris wanted me to get rid of these. Expired contracts, old paperwork, evidence that could be held against him in court, all that jazz.”
She sighed, grateful she had been tearing up McLean’s stuff rather than anything important. Instead of trying to fold a stupid bird again, she opted for the simple, superior, actually flyable option: A plane.
“You know, you’re actually pretty mellow in real life,” she hummed. “Is it like a TV persona thing, or…?”
“That can change in a second,” he growled.
“Oh. Noted.”
She gave him a sheepish smile, which he returned with a scowl. Good trade.
Suddenly, a burst of static interrupted their peace.
“Yo, Chef? Gonna need your help with this one. Could you also grab me another coffee? Thanksss.”
Chef grumbled, taking out his walkie-talkie and grunting out an “On it.”
He stood up, walking towards the opening. He looked back for a moment, his eyes somehow both searching and looking right through her.
“I meant what I said before, kid. I’ve been working on this show long enough to know,” he said, his voice stern and expression solemn. “The kids who come and go only for the money have always left with less than they started with. You’ve got a good head on those shoulders; don’t get wrapped up in your own– OW!”
“Whoops,” Jo plainly said, already making a second airplane to throw at him.
Chef glared swords at her, grumbling about ungrateful teenagers and problem children as he rubbed his eye. He made sure to stomp on the first plane on the way out.
I wonder what that was all about. Oh well.
It was then that her peon began stirring from all the commotion.
Jo was surprised he was already waking up after tanking a hit like that. She had previously assumed the bones in his face had fractured and left him in a coma, but apparently he wasn’t named Brick for nothing. Maybe his parents had dropped him as a baby and saw how durable he was.
“Rise and shine, Sleeping Bricky,” she said, putting on her sweetest, most condescending voice.
Brick groaned, gripping his forehead. He immediately retracted his hand when he felt a cold, slimy substance coat his fingers. “What the…?”
He slowly pushed himself up, causing the ice packs and a few paper cranes to fall. Brick then took notice of the origami crime-scene displayed across his bed, and his look of unadulterated confusion almost made her laugh. “What is all this?”
Jo waved him off, grinning. “Never mind that, that’s not important. Are you feeling better after your little playdate with the cannonballs?”
Brick rubbed his bandaged head and winced. “Is that why it feels like someone planted a grenade in my skull?”
“Probably. It could just be a mild headache from that dumbass code they chipped in your brain.”
Brick’s grimace quickly turned into an unamused look. To say it was fun to rile him up would be a severe understatement; especially when she had figured out exactly how to get under his skin.
When Jo first met the cadet, she thought he seemed alright, albeit kind of a doofus, but she respected anyone who put obvious work into their physique. Then, he had cemented himself as a complete doofus when he wailed for help like a baby instead of cutting the totem pole down.
But hey, it fell down in the end. Plus, he kept up with her and matched her fierce competitiveness, and that was enough for Jo to deem him the most tolerable person on the island.
“I’m in the first-aid station, I’m assuming?” Brick asked, scanning his surroundings.
“Yep. Thanks to yours truly.”
Jo gave him an overdramatic bow, which was slightly difficult since she was sitting down.
He turned to her in surprise. “You carried me all the way here? Really?”
“What can I say?” she shrugged, trying to sound casual. “I couldn’t just leave my half-conscious teammate to fend for himself in the wilderness. Especially one as valuable as yourself.”
Brick’s eyes shone and he instantly straightened his posture, like she had replenished the little self-esteem he had left with just a few words. He smiled brightly, giving her a firm salute. She kind of liked it when he did that.
“I am deeply grateful for your care, ma’am! Consider me in your debt.”
Damn straight he was. Jo cracked a smile and gave him a half-hearted salute of her own, but on the inside she was preening herself. “No problem, soldier.”
Now that she was sure she could fall back on Brick if the time came, Jo could focus on other matters. Like her game plan. And winning the million. And building her dream gym. And banning Chris McLame from said gym. And–
“Is that a plane?”
Jo looked down, remembering the object in hand.
“I don’t know, is it?” she answered dryly.
She aimed and threw the plane out the tent opening, watching as it sailed through the air and landed several metres before a bush.
Then, the bush rustled, and out hopped a small, hairless rabbit. It glanced around innocently for a few moments, before unhinging its jaw like some sort of alien-nightmare-creature-from-hell and swallowing the plane whole. The rabbit then disappeared back into the foliage, as if nothing had taken place.
Damn. She liked that plane.
“Impressive,” Brick said after a moment, grinning. “However, I’ve been perfecting the craft of paper airplanes since the age of four. Let me show you how an expert does it…”
He grabbed one of the few non-crumpled papers left, sticking his tongue out as his large hands worked with a gentleness that surprised her.
“This,” he proudly presented his finished plane, “is a 5th generation Su-57. Note the sharp aerodynamic form and the extra fins for stability.”
Jo was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to shove him into a locker.
Brick closed one eye as he took aim. He drew his hand back before swiftly flicking it forward, sending it flying out of the tent opening. It glided smoothly, dropping just a few feet further than hers.
Oh, it’s on.
“That was pretty cool, I’ll admit,” she said, nodding. “But I hope you know that it was a practice run. Don’t wet yourself yet, Drippy Drawers, I’m just getting serious.”
Jo snatched up pieces of paper from the pile, Brick soon following with the same level of aggression. She caught his challenging glare out of the corner of her eye and felt her body ignite with a familiar competitive spirit. She’d won several triathlons, dozens of athletic championships and hockey tournaments for her school– she’d be damned if she let Brick win this.
Planes whizzed out of the tent, soaring through the air before littering the floor. Some had managed to survive the mutant wildlife, while others weren’t so lucky. Jo had soon lost track of who was in the lead, too caught up in making overcomplicated designs that stopped making sense a while ago. It seemed like Brick was in the same boat. Or plane.
She hit him square in the face with a paper ball.
“Now that’s aerodynamic,” she snorted, finding nothing but humour in the way Brick’s eyes scrunched up and lips set in a tight frown.
He glared at her. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly crumpled up the plane he was in the middle of folding. Then, he launched it at her– a declaration of war.
Crumpled up papers poured over the bed and surrounding floor. With no spare sheets left, they resorted to reusing the balls they had already made, attacking each other over and over with all the might they had left. Jo had retreated to the bed across from him, finding the longer distance between them much better for throwing.
She pelted him rather hard with a ball.
“Ow! What the–? Why did that hurt?” Brick whined, rubbing his shoulder.
Jo snickered, drawing her arm back and flexing it. “Champion shot putter of 7 years, Brickhouse. There’s a lot of power packed into this baby.”
Brick hit her bicep with the same ball she had just thrown.
“Hey!”
The war raged on. Jo’s chest had already hurt a lot from laughing, but Brick sounded like he was dying. Not figuratively; like, he was actually gasping for air, and she had to stop a few times to make sure he wasn’t going to pass out. Did he have asthma or something?
Eventually, the fight screeched to a halt.
“I… can’t reach any more paper.”
Brick sat there with a dumb little pout, arms dropping to his sides. All the paper had either fallen off his bed, or had been thrown to her side of the room. He looked absolutely pathetic, like a dog pleading for food scraps at the dinner table.
There was only one ball left in her hand. She could’ve claimed victory, struck the final blow, and left it at that. She really could've.
But Jo was always a sucker for dogs.
“Catch.”
She tossed the ball over to him, watching his big, dark eyes light up. Brick blinked, looking between her and the paper ball. His pout melted away into a grin.
He wound his arm back, aimed and–
It hit Chef in the jaw.
Brick’s entire face dropped in pure horror, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing in the world that could’ve suppressed the laugh that burst out of Jo.
Chef’s stony glare only made it worse. And then came Brick’s scrambled apologies.
“Out!” Chef barked at her. “And clean up your damn mess! I do not want to see a single scrap of paper on that grass, do you understand?”
As much as Jo hated being told what to do, she was having too much fun to feel any sort of annoyance. She gave him a shoddy salute. “Aye aye, Captain!”
He swatted her as she ducked and ran out, still cackling. Was it even worth picking up litter with the current state of the island? Who knows. It wasn’t like she was actually going to do it, anyway.
“Woah. Someone finally got that stick outta their flat ass,” Anne-maria remarked as Jo entered the cabin.
“Excuse me?”
“Hey, Jo! You’re looking better,” Zoey said, running a brush through her hair. Both girls had changed into their pyjamas and were settling into their beds. “Where have you been? We missed you at dinner.”
Jo shrugged. “Went to go bother Brick in the medical tent.”
“Oh, how is he? Is he okay?” Zoey asked with worry. “I heard he got hit pretty bad earlier.”
Zoey was so sincere it disgusted her.
Jo’s expression shifted into one of sorrow. “He… He’s not doing too great. That cannonball did a lot of permanent damage to his frontal lobe…”
“What?” Zoey cried, her brush snagging on a knot.
“Relax, Raggedy Ann, I’m messing with you,” Jo yawned. “He’s fine.”
That level of blind trust could make Red a major liability. On the upside, that meant she was easy to emotionally manipulate. She had been getting chummy with Lanky, hadn’t she? It was a miracle they weren’t glued to the face yet.
Zoey sighed with relief, and that was the end of it.
The day they arrived at their cabins, Jo had immediately snatched one of the top bunks. Was it childish? Maybe, but she liked the feeling of being above everything else.
Jo climbed into her bunk and stretched. Her training regime usually consisted of working out late into the night and waking up at the crack of dawn, but she didn’t feel like dealing with any of their whining. Early bedtime it was.
The mattress was rock hard, like someone had slapped a bed sheet over a block of cement and called it a day. She wasn’t some spineless wimp who needed silk sheets and foot massages, but seriously? They couldn’t even get semi-comfortable beds? Whatever; she’d already slept on it once, she could do it again. Even if it kept her up for hours.
Even if being kept up led her thoughts back to Brick.
Not in that way– she had only met him yesterday, for crying out loud– but he was actually pretty cool. He didn’t insult her when she beat him in that race on the beach, he admitted to wetting himself to score a point for their team, and he wasn’t put off by her competitive drive. In fact, he had the same drive himself; Jo couldn’t remember the last time anyone gave 100% of that energy back.
It was nice, even if he was a dork sometimes. Of course, she was still cutting him off as soon as she had siphoned all his usefulness– but if the opportunity never came, he wasn’t the worst person to be in the finale with.
Maybe she could get used to having a rival.