Ravi doesn’t go further into his theory, and I don’t push to learn more. We eat lunch in the large, room-sized catering tent where we and the rest of the production crew eat all our meals, joking around like everything is normal, and then we finish the rest of our segments. I wedge in a workout before dinner to clear my mind and hopefully tire me out enough so I can sleep through the night.
But despite how much I try to shake it, I can’t stop worrying that somehow Ravi was right. What if the producers did have a say in who won and who lost? If so, even though I’ve done so well, would they pick me to be the loser?
I know some reality television can be pretty fake, but those are the shows where people with big personalities get paid to act out outrageous situations. On Warrior Zone, the drama comes from how the warriors perform. We aren’t acting. It’s exciting because no one knows what will happen ahead of time. It’s why people love watching sports. It would be a waste to rig Warrior Zone . . . wouldn’t it?
I am not a loser, I am not a loser, I repeat to myself over and over as I fall asleep.
***
When I wake up the next morning, the mantra is stuck in my head. Today is the first day of the finals. I need to focus. I need to believe in myself. I need to believe that I am not a loser.
By ten o’clock, I am back on the sound stage, or “in the zone” as we say on the show. I’m getting ready in the start zone, pulling on my helmet and safety harness. Ravi and Paul are nearby, doing the same.
The start zone is a plain hallway that ends at a pair of swinging doors. On the other side of the doors is the obstacle course. Each course’s theme is inspired by a different type of ancient warrior. I have no idea what kind of warrior theme I am about to face because we aren’t allowed to see the course before we run it. It’s always a surprise, which forces us to figure out how to pass each obstacle in the moment. All I know is that today’s course will be harder than the Viking course—each one is harder than the one before.
Because I came in first place on the last round, I’ll go last. Even though I had the highest score in semifinals, our points reset at the beginning of the finals. So right now, Ravi, Paul, and I are tied with zero points—anyone could win.
Each course is made up of three obstacles. The contestant that makes it the farthest through the course, in the fastest time, gets first place in the round and receives three hundred points. Second place receives two hundred. Third place receives one hundred. I hope to come in first this round, but if for some reason I don’t, it’s okay. I will have three more courses to run before they add up our points and decide who becomes the Ultimate Warrior.
Paul is up first. A horn signals him to begin and he pushes through the swinging doors. Ravi and I wait in silence. I do a few push-ups, and Ravi stretches his hamstrings. We’re expecting to wait a few minutes, but after only seconds we hear another signal chime.
“Your turn, Ravi,” a set hand calls out. Ravi and I look at each other, confused for the same reason. That was really quick. Too quick. Either Paul finished insanely fast or he didn’t make it far at all.
I slap Ravi on the back, wishing him luck. The start horn blasts and Ravi pushes through the doors.
I jump around to shake out my nerves and get my blood flowing. Then, I still myself and start to count my breaths. One . . . two . . . three—
That’s as far as I get before the set hand interrupts me. “Fiona, you’re up.”
“Already? It’s only been one minute,” I say to him, alarmed.
“I know,” he says with a shrug. “Good luck.”
My breathing picks up. My heart pounds. To say I’m nervous would be wrong. I’m terrified. But when the horn blasts, my mind quiets and I take off, through the doors, into complete darkness.
I can hear the crowd off to the side cheering my name. I can hear the announcer mumbling, but can’t make out what he’s saying. Is he whispering? I can hear my footsteps on the rubber floor. But I can’t see anything.
I stop walking. What if I accidentally step off the course and disqualify myself? Is that why Paul and Ravi finished so quickly? I kneel down and begin feeling the ground in all directions. I run my hands forward about a foot and suddenly my fingers touch air. The ground comes to an end. If I’d taken one more step, I’d have fallen off that edge into whatever lies below.
Now that I know which way not to go, I start searching for the way I should go. I feel up and behind me. There’s nothing except the doors I came through. I feel my way back to the ground’s edge and reach a little bit beyond, first with my arm, then with my leg, sticking it out over the edge. Maybe, just maybe . . . Yes! There’s a wall! But it’s two feet on the other side of the gap. There must be some way to get over there.
I use my leg to scan side to side along the wall. It’s pretty wide. Suddenly, my foot runs into something sticking out from the wall. It’s long enough for me to touch it with my hands. Instantly I can tell what it is. A sword hilt. I pull on the hilt and sure enough something long and heavy slides out. I can’t see it, but I can definitely feel the sword in my hand. What the heck do I do now? As if it heard me, a dim, green light shines from the top of the wall. The light blinks like a beacon, calling me up toward it. But how? With this sword?
As my eyes adjust, I can see another sword hilt on my right. My heart sinks—I realize what I have to do. I take a few steps back then take a huge leap to the second sword. I grab it tight with my right hand. My legs dangle, with nothing on the slick wall to hold onto. I bring the first sword up and stab it hard into the wall above me. It sinks into to what feels like thick foam, giving me a secure hold. I put my weight on the left sword and repeat the same thing with the right sword. Pulling it out of the wall and stabbing it into the wall above me. I pull up and do this again. Stab, pull up, stab, pull up, climbing my way to the top. I’m six feet from the blinking light. I can finally see the top of the wall. But my palms are sweating, my arms are shaking, and my muscles are screaming in protest. I fight to pull up on the sword, but my body gives out. My hands let go and I fall.
Before I can scream, I land on a soft bed of nets. I did terribly, I think. I didn’t even make it over the first obstacle. All I can do is hope Ravi and Paul did worse.
I make my way off the nets and onto my feet. As usual, a swarm of cameras surround me. Someone behind them asks, “Tough fall, Fiona. How do you feel?” I’m saved from answering by a set hand. “Fiona, a producer wants to see you. Follow me, please.”
I follow him off the sound stage, into a hallway, and up the stairs. The entire time, I’m wondering why a producer would possibly need to see me. Have I done something wrong? We come into a booth filled with video equipment. Men and women scroll through yesterday’s interview footage of me, Ravi, and Paul. This must be where they edit the show for broadcast.
“Well done against the Ninja, Fiona.” A woman in jeans and a T-shirt appears beside me with a bottle of water. Her name is Sarah and she is one of the producers of Warrior Zone. She and her coworkers run every part of the show. They design all the courses and create all the scoring and timing rules. They even came up with yesterday’s interview questions. Even though this is a reality show, the producers make most of it up. Everything except who wins, of course.
“Ninja? Is that what that was? I couldn’t really tell,” I say, eyeing the water.
“Please, take it. Hydrate.” Sarah hands me the bottle. I’ve met Sarah once before, when Ravi and I showed up for quarterfinals, lost and nervous. She showed us where to sign in and wished us luck. I remember thinking she seemed cool, but I haven’t seen her since. Why does she want to see me now?
“Thank you,” I say before swallowing half the bottle.
“You placed first again, by the way.”
I nearly spit the water out. “What?” I splutter. “I didn’t even make it to the top of the first obstacle!”
“No one did. But you made it the farthest.”
“But Paul is a climber. I thought for sure he scaled that wall faster than I could.”
“I’m sure he would have if he managed to find the wall before falling off the edge. Same with Ravi. You were the only one to figure it out.”
I shake my head, baffled. I was not expecting this at all.
“There won’t be a ceremony until scores from all four of the finals courses are calculated,” Sarah continues. “Anything could happen on the next three.”
“Of course.”
She looks at me, her smile faltering. “Have a seat, please.” The editors leave the room and Sarah and I take their seats. “As you know, ratings are extremely important to any television show. The more viewers we have, the more popular and beloved our show, the longer we can stay on the air. As producers, we have to make sure the viewers get something they’ll never forget. I’d like to tell you about our plan for this year.”
“Your plan?” I ask, growing uneasy. “Isn’t the plan to see who wins and then award them?”
Sarah cocks her head to the side and frowns. “I wish it were that simple. See, odds are that you are going to win the next three courses and leave the boys in the dust. The problem with that is we can’t have four episodes where the same thing happens. Why will people want to watch something so predictable? They won’t. They’ll turn off their televisions, and we will have a problem.” Sarah smiles at me sweetly, as if she’s just explained something simple.
I shake my head, trying to understand. “So you’re saying you have a problem because you think I might do well?”
“Of course not, Fiona. We think you’re amazing. But here’s the thing. It would be a better story, give us better ratings, if Paul were to be the Ultimate Warrior. If you win, no one will be surprised. But everyone will be surprised if Paul, the underdog, currently in last place, comes from behind for the win. And, as you know, Paul has been recovering from serious injuries. Seeing his rehabilitation take him to the top will warm everyone’s hearts. They’ll remember this season for years to come.”
I stare at Sarah, horrified. “Is this a joke?”
Sarah sighs, then her face brightens. “You will of course be paid.”
“For what?”
“For losing.”
“You mean if I lose?” I ask, still a bit unsure where she’s going with this.
Sarah’s face droops back into a frown. She sighs again. “I know this is hard, but you have to understand what I’m saying. We need you to pretend to lose. To fall, slow down, struggle—whatever it takes. We will coach you through where and how to do this to create maximum drama. In exchange you will be paid ten thousand dollars for each course you lose and twenty thousand for the final course. You will make even more than you would have as the winner.”
“But that’s cheating,” I spit, jumping to my feet. My face is hot with anger. “I came on this show because I wanted a fair shot. Now you’re telling me the game is rigged?”
Sarah stands and lays a calming hand on my shoulder. “Fiona, the game isn’t rigged. This is all part of the game, a very fair game. It’s just that you’re only now learning the rules.”
I can feel tears forming in my eyes against my will. Sarah sees them. “I’m really sorry, Fiona.” She pulls me in for a hug. “You’re still going to have fun. You’re still going to be a winner, just in a different way. I promise.”