“Do you think I’ll look good?” Ashley said. “On-screen. Do you think I’ll come across well?”

“You’re kidding, right? They couldn’t make you look bad if they tried.”

“Maybe. You never know how they edit these things. Maybe they’ll take my three worst moments and make it look like that’s all I am. Or show the times when I’m resting, so it looks like I don’t do anything at all. They could make anyone look bad, if they wanted. For the whole world. Even if they promise they won’t.”

“Who promised?”

“I just mean in general.”

“They’d be missing out,” said Mara. “The audience wants someone to root for. Who else is it gonna be, out here? They’d be idiots not to make you the star.”

Ashley squeezed her hand at the word star.

“Seriously,” said Mara, leaning into the warmth. “I think you’re better than you realize. You’re learning fast. You don’t complain. Even though it sucks to be out here. That’s what nobody realizes, how much it sucks. Everything hurts all the time. But you can’t tell on the screen. So if you complain at all, these people on their couches at home get to feel superior, like you’re weaker than they are. Or like you’re ungrateful for the opportunity, so obviously you don’t deserve it. They want to see people crack, and they want to feel good about themselves, because they’re stuck at their shitty jobs and we’re their entertainment. But they have no idea what it’s like. They have no idea what’s not shown. Have you thought about that? Let’s say the season has eight episodes, and they’re each forty minutes long. But they’re out here filming us twenty-four seven for six weeks. That’s—” Mara tried to calculate in her head, but hunger made her brain slow. “That’s like half a percent of our time here that anyone ever sees. One minute out of every two hundred. You know?”

The number was probably wrong. She’d made it up. But Ashley didn’t correct her.

“Or,” said Mara. “Or!” Now she was on a roll. “Or these people at home, they think the wrong thing sucks. Like they think the problem is bears, when really it’s just itching every second for weeks, and never sleeping more than an hour at a time, and never being the right temperature, and having scrapes and bites and holes all over your skin. That’s what we see at the survival school every day. People realize it’s not worth the discomfort. Everyone complains. We all do. But you don’t.”

“I’m dizzy,” said Ashley. “All the time. And we’re barely halfway done.”

“You’re no dizzier than the rest of us. You’re doing great. You really are. And it’s going to get easier soon, you’ll see. We’re all weak right now.”

“You’re not.”

“I am. I just don’t show it much.”

Mara couldn’t tell if Ashley believed her. The mist had faded from the lake, and she worried that Kyle and Bullfrog would come down before they pulled out the fish. She wanted the moment of triumph to be hers and Ashley’s alone.