Chapter 2: Reality Bites (and So Do Snakes)

A week later—smash cut to me checking in with the production crew, feeling like I’d landed on another planet.

Sunshine, beaches, waves, cacti—everywhere I looked, it was a sensory overload. The air smelled like salt and sunscreen, the sand was so white it hurt my eyes, and the faint buzz of a drone hovered overhead. Crew members were nervously double-checking their gear, and I just stood there, taking it all in.

But when I saw the full lineup of guests, not gonna lie, I was a little shocked.

Of the guys, three were top-tier stars: Harrison Grant, known for his tough-guy roles; Mr. Carter, the so-called genius of the industry; and Tyler Reed, a multi-hyphenate superstar—he sings, dances, and acts. It was like someone had raided a Bachelor casting call and tossed in a wild card—me.

The female side, though, was a different story. The most famous was second-tier actress Savannah Lee. Then there was Bailey Monroe and me—both fresh off talent shows, just out of reality TV bootcamp. She plays the innocent girl, while I… well, I got famous for my scandals and gossip.

If you lined us up, you’d think we were auditioning for three different shows: *America’s Sweetheart*, *The New Girl*, and *That One With All The Drama*.

To amp up the drama, as soon as we arrived, the crew snatched all our luggage and supplies, handing each of us only a special phone and a bottle of water. Welcome to the jungle, folks.

I watched in disbelief as they tossed my designer duffel into a pile like it was just another prop. Even my emergency lip balm was gone. RIP, Chanel. Showbiz, I guess.

“Welcome to Island Survival! This show will be broadcast live. Each of you gets a phone for communication—don’t worry about signal; we’ve set up a temporary base station in the volcano crater. If you’re in danger, you can call for help, and you can also interact with viewers through your phone.” (And, yeah, a base station in a volcano crater is a big deal—guess the network’s got a sense of drama, too.)

A voice boomed from a speaker, sounding way too cheerful for someone about to strand us on a volcanic island. Like, are you auditioning for The Price is Right, or just happy to see us suffer?

“The first challenge is team selection—teams must be male-female pairs. Just like prom, but with less glitter. Please choose your partners!”

The tension was thick enough to cut with a machete. It felt like dodgeball, but with camera crews instead of gym teachers. I could feel the guys sizing us up, and the girls doing the same.

Harrison Grant and Savannah Lee had worked together before, so they quickly paired up. No surprise—they even matched in their khaki outfits, straight out of a TV trope.

Mr. Carter glanced at me, shook his head, and picked Bailey Monroe. He gave me a polite nod, then made a beeline for Bailey, probably hoping for fewer headlines and more harmony. Smart move, professor.

Tyler Reed, since he’s the rookie, let the others choose first, so he ended up with me. Drew the short straw, huh?

He shrugged, a little sheepish, but flashed me a grin. “Guess we’re partners in crime now.”

I glanced at the live comments. Tyler Reed and I were instantly deemed the least promising team—

One played Ophelia, one played Ichabod Crane. Incredible.

Someone even dropped a meme of a sinking ship. The internet is undefeated.

Poor Tyler, his Ichabod was just a role, but Autumn Sinclair is basically the real-life Ophelia. Savage.

No doubt about it, Autumn’s team will finish dead last. If not, I’ll livestream myself eating a keyboard. Go off, king.

I just smiled calmly. Let them talk.

I was tempted to type "Bon appétit" into the chat, but decided to keep my poker face. Maybe next time. Besides, I’m here for the long game.

The agency’s been marketing me as an Ophelia type, but if only they knew—joke’s on them—my real specialty is outdoor survival.

If only they knew how many times I’d rappelled down a canyon or started a fire in the rain. Let them think I’m the weak link. Spoiler: I eat weak links for breakfast.

“Congratulations, everyone’s got a team. Next up, you’ll compete for supply packs.”

The host’s voice was chipper, like we were about to play musical chairs at a six-year-old’s birthday party, not fight for basic necessities. Someone get this guy a reality check.

“You have one hour to build a campfire. The first team to light their fire gets Pack No. 1—the best supplies. Pack No. 3 has the least… Time starts now!”

A buzzer sounded, and the adrenaline in the air was real. Suddenly, everyone was scrambling like it was Black Friday at Walmart.

I have to admit, this show is pretty challenging.

The rules were brutal. No hidden snacks, no secret water bottles. Just us, the elements, and whatever we could scrounge up. Welcome to influencer hell.

Without survival skills, you really can’t last.

I watched as Savannah tried to light a fire by rubbing two sticks together, her perfectly manicured nails already chipping. This was going to be fun.

The guests all sprang into action.

I headed into the bushes behind us, gathered some dry leaves and branches, and returned.

I made sure to pick the driest stuff I could find—old palm fronds, brittle twigs, anything that would catch quick. The trick is always in the prep, not the spark.

Harrison Grant was already back, explaining to the camera.

“There are many ways to make fire by friction. The primitive hand-twisting method is useless—it takes at least two hours and barely gets a spark. The bow-drill method is faster, but too complicated. So I’m using the one Bear Grylls uses the most.”

He said it with the kind of confidence only a guy with a six-pack and a Discovery Channel subscription could muster. He even winked at the camera. Classic.

Bear Grylls and Les Stroud—those guys are basically American survival TV royalty. If you’ve ever watched cable at 2 a.m., you know what I mean.

I’d watched their shows growing up, but always thought they played it a little too safe for TV. Sorry, but three meals in nine days? I could never. Give me a real challenge—like finding dinner in the dark, or scaling a cliff with nothing but a shoelace and attitude.

Harrison fashioned a bow from a branch and vine, wound a dry stick in the middle, and braced it against a log. He sawed the bow back and forth, spinning the stick rapidly against the wood.

Sweat was already beading on his forehead, but he kept up the showman routine, explaining every step like we were in a masterclass.

Over at Mr. Carter’s side, he’d found two stones in the woods and was explaining to the camera.

“This is a volcanic island. I found two stones with yellow veins, which I believe contain sulfur. If I keep grinding them together, I should get a spark.”

He looked like a chemistry professor, complete with a running commentary on mineral content. The audience must have been eating it up.

No wonder he’s called the industry’s genius—he’s not even trying the friction method. Science versus muscle—classic reality TV. Gotta love it.

Tyler Reed just stood there, lost. He looked ready to give up—either way, we’d end up with the worst supply pack, so why waste energy? I almost felt bad for him.

I nudged him. “Hey, handsome, go grab some more dry branches. Leave the rest to me.”

I gave him my best trust-me wink, hoping he’d get with the program. He blinked, shrugged, and shuffled off to do as told. Sometimes you just need to be told what to do.

Tyler looked skeptical, but with the camera on him, he started gathering branches like I asked. He shot me a look that said, "If this fails, it’s all on you," but I could see the gears turning—maybe, just maybe, I knew what I was doing.

I turned to the camera and took big gulps of water. I made a show of it—lifting the bottle, taking long, dramatic swigs. If I was going to be cannon fodder, I might as well make it entertaining. MacGyver would be proud.

The live comments immediately exploded—

Don’t you know how precious water is on a survival show? What if they don’t give you more later?

Of course she’s clueless. Why would the show invite this fake innocent?

Relax, she’s just here to be cannon fodder.

I ignored them, finished my water, set the bottle down, and began stomping on it from the bottom. Sometimes you just have to show, not tell.

Crack! The plastic bottle flattened under my foot.

I squeezed it with my hands, molding it into a convex-concave, fish-eye shape, then filled it with seawater at the shore.

The sun was just right—high enough to give me a good beam. I angled the bottle, checking the shape until it focused the light.

Tyler came back with a few branches and saw me adjusting the flattened bottle.

He suddenly lit up. “A magnifying lens to focus sunlight!”

He grinned, a little in awe. “Did you just MacGyver a fire starter out of a water bottle?”

Exactly.

When you have no firestarter, using a convex lens to focus sunlight is the fastest way to make fire. Years ago, there was a news story about kids starting a forest fire by leaving half-full water bottles in the woods—the same principle. Gotta love American DIY culture.

I focused the sunlight into the smallest possible point and held steady. The smell of burning leaves tickled my nose. I kept my hand steady, ignoring the sweat trickling down my neck.

Within a minute, the plastic was hot to the touch. Five minutes later, the dry leaves started to smoke. When a spark appeared, I placed another leaf on top and gently blew on it.

Whoosh! A red flame shot up, setting the leaves ablaze.

I glanced at the stunned Tyler. “Hey, you can add the branches, right? The rest is up to you.”

He snapped out of it and scrambled to pile on the twigs, his earlier doubts forgotten. I caught the camera zooming in on his amazed face.

I dusted myself off and looked at the other teams. Harrison had taken off his shirt, showing off his muscles, and under Savannah’s encouragement, he was bow-drilling with the intensity of a gym rat. He was dripping sweat, but Savannah was cheering him on like a cheerleader at homecoming. The camera loved it.

Mr. Carter was sweating buckets, grinding his two stones together and muttering, “Why isn’t there a spark? This doesn’t make sense.” He looked so frustrated I almost wanted to offer him a cheat sheet. Science is great, but sometimes you just need a little sunlight and luck.

The live comments were going wild—

Whoever said they’d eat a keyboard on livestream, come out now.

Autumn must be cheating. Sorry, I underestimated her.

After watching the whole process, I think her Ophelia persona was just an act.

I could almost hear the collective gasp as the internet realized, wait—maybe she’s not all smoke and mirrors after all.

An hour later, all three teams had fires going. We finished first, Harrison second, Mr. Carter third. The crew gave us a little golf clap, and Tyler looked like he’d just won the lottery. I just grinned, feeling a little smug.

Mr. Carter was the most frustrated, slapping his forehead. “I was so focused on chemistry, I forgot about optics in physics.” He laughed it off, but I could tell he was already plotting his comeback.

Tyler and I happily claimed the No. 1 supply pack. We high-fived, and I could see the envy in the other teams’ eyes. Winning felt good, even if it was just for a pile of gear.

No food, but lots of tools: a lighter, a fruit knife, a telescopic fishing rod, a pack of ten tissue packets, a pair of stockings, and a palm-sized medical kit.

I ran my hands over the supplies, mentally ticking off survival hacks. Stockings for filters, tissues for tinder, fishing rod for dinner—this was a jackpot.

Seeing there was no water, I picked up my crushed plastic bottle, poured out the seawater, and reshaped it.

Tyler looked a little pained. He bit his lip, glancing at his own nearly empty bottle.

“I’ll split my water with you.”

I thought for a moment. Since fresh water would be hard to come by, I nodded. “Just give me a third.”

He handed it over without a word, and I made a show of measuring it out. Sharing water is serious business out here.

The camera zoomed in on us sharing water. The live comments kept spamming “shipping them!” Someone even started a hashtag: #TeamAutumnTyler. The internet ships faster than Amazon Prime.

Later, I checked out the other teams’ supplies. Harrison’s team had a medical kit, a utility knife, and a big pack of sanitary pads. Mr. Carter’s team had a medical kit and a roll of garbage bags.

I asked the director, “Can we trade supplies?”

The director replied, “Trading is encouraged.” He gave me a wink, probably hoping for some drama. I was more interested in survival than showmanship.

I swapped four packets of tissues with Harrison for four pads, and another four packets with Mr. Carter for eight black garbage bags.

Bailey asked, “Did you get your period?”

I shook my head and smiled. “Pads and garbage bags are survival essentials.”

She looked skeptical, but I caught her tucking a pad into her pocket just in case. Gotta be prepared.

Now everyone had tissues and was happy—celebrities always need to wipe their faces. I watched as Savannah dabbed her forehead, grateful to have something other than her sleeve. Hollywood priorities, even in the wild. Bless.