The Last One by Alexandra Oliva Read Free Book Online

your way to a series of control points, and ultimately to a box containing a wrapped package. Do not open the package.” He smiles and runs his gaze along the line of contestants, then sticks his thumbs into his front pockets, assuming a laid-back stance that implies he knows something the contestants do not, which, of course, he does. It is his privilege to know many things they do not. “Find your colors and take your places.”
    Waitress already has the compass in her hand, as do two others: Tracker and Zoo. Zoo didn’t need to use her compass to reach the gathering point, but she removed it from her pack the moment taping began anyway. She smiled as she did so, and she smiled as she walked with it unnecessarily in her hand, heading a few degrees right of north—following the footpath she was told would take her to the first Challenge. She is still smiling as she looks again to the spot of paint she noticed first thing—baby blue. It is this easy smile that endears her so to her coworkers and students at the wildlife sanctuary and rehabilitation center where she works—not a zoo, but close enough. It is this easy smile that the producers suspect will endear her to viewers.

    Zoo sees her stick. Her pace quickens; she’s almost skipping. She took an orienteering class a few months ago. She knows to “put red in the shed,” and to “plug in” the compass to her chest. She knows to count her first step as “and” and her second step as “one.” She thinks it will be fun to put her knowledge to use. For now, this experience is a lark. She hurries to collect her instructions from a plastic bag beside the light blue stick.
    A lanky young white man with wavy auburn hair cuts across Zoo’s path. “Excuse me,” says Cheerleader Boy in a snarky tone that betrays his unease. He hates the wilderness, hates that the color of the bandana he has tucked into his shirt like a pocket square is pink. He applied for the show on a dare from his squad’s flyer, who, really, should be the one here—she’s the bravest person he knows. Cheerleader Boy didn’t expect to be selected and accepted the offer for lack of a better way to occupy the summer between his sophomore and junior years of college—and because how could he reject a chance to win one million dollars, even a minuscule chance? By the time he realized taping wouldn’t start until mid-August and he would have to take a semester off from school, he was already committed.
    The creators of the show all agree that the hostile tone with which Cheerleader Boy spoke to the most upbeat of the contestants is the perfect introduction to the character they’ve assigned him: the effeminate male so far out of his element he’s more caricature than man. Confronted, the off-site producer will argue that they simply followed the story provided by this opening shot. Circular reasoning. They chose the shot, they chose the moment, this flash of one of the many facets of this young man’s self. He could have been many things—scared, helpful, inquisitive—but instead he’s a jerk.
    Settling into place at an orange stick not far from Cheerleader Boy is Biology, who wears her bandana as a headband with the knot above her ear. Biology is gay too—see, it’s fair, they’ll say: You’re allowed to root for her. But Biology, who teaches seventh-grade life science in a small public school, is the least threatening style of lesbian: a shapely, feminine one who holds her sexuality close. Her dark, spiraling hair is long, her light brown skin moisturized. She wears dresses to work as often as not, and tasteful makeup always. If a straight man were to imagine her with another woman, he would likely imagine himself there too.

    Air Force steps up to a dark blue marker between Biology and Cheerleader Boy. He looks Biology up and down and then watches as Cheerleader Boy sighs and tries to shake his nerves from his fingertips. It’s been years since the repeal of “Don’t ask, don’t