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Nichelle can’t sleep.

This doesn’t happen. Ever . Living a life filled with strict schedules can make sleep come so easily, especially when you only have time for about four hours of sleep while practicing, filming, interviews, and photo shoots fill in the rest of the blanks. Nichelle should be enjoying this moment, preparing to rest for however long she pleases without the threat of interruption.

And yet…

With a sigh, she sits up from her bed, lifts her sleep mask, and stares out the window. From her single room, she can spot artificial palm trees and tiled floors highlighted by moonlight. Playa Des Losers isn’t so bad for a place that will soon be filled with people who are, well, losers. Far from the best place she’s ever been to, but good enough to deal with. The food is edible. The weather is comfortable. The staff are nice. It’s a pleasant change in contrast to the main island. 

The night is as quiet as the day here. To be fair, there’s only herself and Axel in the girls’ section of the assigned rooms while Caleb is off on the other side of the building. Not much noise can be made by the first three who didn’t succeed. But seriously, would it kill them to talk or something? It’s so gloomy here. So they lost out on a million. And? They could at least say something. 

Nichelle can’t even get one conversation in. Caleb is still fuming over his “unfair elimination,” even though he puts on a nice face. Judging by the sour looks he throws Nichelle’s way when he thinks she isn’t looking, he must know about Bowie’s persuasion to the rest of the Frogs. What was that about? He can’t even prove she voted against him! The footage didn’t capture her vote in that episode! 

(Even though, well, she did vote against him. Not her fault Bowie made points before the campfire. Caleb looked far too strong of a competitor. It was smart to get rid of him early in the game.)

And Axel is pretty much nonexistent. Even though they’re both assigned rooms in the same hall, Nichelle hasn’t seen much of her. So far, the only time she was around was when Nichelle was dropped off via drone at the resort two days ago. Down Nichelle went, flat on her back onto the dock, and soon, her bags followed, landing just an inch away from her aching body. 

“Stupid drone,” she had grumbled as she forced herself to stand. “Stupid Jerry. Stupid teammates and stupid TV show and stupid bags.” With clenched teeth, she tried to lift all her baggage, but it was too heavy. How did the staff even lift these things when she got on the island? “Ugh, just let me carry you already!”

“You have to lift with your legs,” a passing voice had huffed out. 

Despite the unnecessary amount of attitude, the person had a point. Nichelle bent her legs, lifted, and wow, that was so much easier. She could hardly feel the burn of her arms. 

A brown ponytail swinging with each step. That was all Nichelle got to see when she lifted her head. By the time she had opened her mouth to thank Axel, she was already gone down the path, a mere speck in the distance. 

And then Nichelle hasn’t seen much of Axel since. 

So, yeah. As of now, talking to people is impossible. It’s past midnight at this point, so everyone else is probably sleeping. 

“Wish I had someone to talk to,” she grumbles to herself anyway, as if somebody would answer her prayer. She slides her sleep mask back on, lays her head on her silk pillow, and makes a meaningless wish to hear something other than the sound of crickets chirping. 

As expected, she’s met with silence. 

Lights, bright and blinding. Camera crew, angling their cameras just so. Makeup artists and prop masters weaving through narrowed spaces on and off set, making last minute changes. Kids to her left and right whispering and giggling about who knows what. The director’s booming voice, instructing actors on where to go, how to stand, what to emote. 

It’s pure chaos. 

It feels like home. 

The set of Real Times in Canada is unlike any Nichelle has ever been on. Before, she exited sets as quickly as she entered, filming her lines for commercials with an ease unlike any other seven year old. But now she’s where the real deal is at. An actual recurring show. A “reality show” that has a script—which, strange, but the adults say it’s an inside joke, so it must be fine. 

All she had to do was act as a student. Simple enough. Her few years in public school made playing the part relatively easy. Nod her head to whatever the “teacher” says, raise her hand to answer questions—that sort of thing. 

After finishing another scene, Nichelle stays put on the sidelines, watching everything unfold at one of the nearby benches. She makes sure to hold a smile, just like her mother taught her to—not too forced so it looks genuine, yet not too soft so some confidence can shine through. The other kids continue to whisper to one another, but she knows better than that. Only rookies speak out of turn. 

“You sure are observant, aren’t you?”

Nichelle looks up to see one of the main actresses, her “teacher,” Ms. Lyon. She looks so pretty with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes, just like a lot of the more famous actresses out there. In Nichelle’s opinion, she was one of the most eye-catching, not just for being pretty, but for her acting. (It almost looked like she actually wanted to slap her sister-in-law outside the classroom!)

It takes a while for Nichelle to notice she’s been asked a question. She nods so wildly that the beads in her braids clash against one another. “Mhmm. I have to be ‘cause I’m gonna be just like you when I grow up.”

“Just like me, huh?” Ms. Lyon puts her hands on her hips. “Do you even know any shows I've been on?”

“Nope,” Nichelle admits, “but I don’t gotta know you to know talent. I’ve got tons of talent already, so I’m gonna keep getting more to surpass you.”

A small smirk spread across Ms. Lyon’s, and just like that, Nichelle knows she won her over. “Well, aren’t you a lil’ primadonna.”

“The biggest, bestest, greatest l… ladonna there is.” Nichelle struggles with that new word, but she thinks she’s got it right once she sees the actress's smile grow a few inches.

“You know what? I like you, Ladonna.” 

A nickname! Nichelle’s never had a real nickname before. She’s not sure what a Ladonna is, but she likes the way it sounds next to her first name. Ladonna. Nichelle Ladonna. 

Nichelle sits up straighter and beams. “Thank you, ma’am. Everyone likes me.” Humble, yet confident, just like her parents are teaching her to be. 

“Well then.” After dusting off something from her blue blazer, Ms. Lyon bends down to Nichelle’s level and gives her a warm smile. “Since you’re going to surpass me one day, and since you remind me of, well, me, let me give you some advice. Actress to actress.” 

Adults love giving advice, even when Nichelle didn’t ask for any. Mom always says to listen to everything her coworkers say. “The best actresses follow the words from those who came before her,” her mother would remind her as she made her breakfast or attached beads to the ends of her braids. So Nichelle sits up and prepares to listen. 

Ms. Lyon stares Nichelle directly in her eyes. “Sometimes,” the woman explains quietly, the smile still on her face, “the hardest part about being a great actress is learning how to act even off camera. No matter how successful you are, you’re never truly safe from the cruelty of people’s looks or words.”

Nichelle frowns at that last line. “That doesn’t sound very nice…” 

“It’s not. But it happens. Do you know what to do in those moments?”

“Get your parents to help?”

Ms. Lyon shakes her head. “No. In this world, all you have is you. Nobody else.”

“But Mom and Dad are right over there.” Nichelle points to her parents, who are talking with one of the crew members as usual. Probably about scheduling or more opportunities. Mom looks more into it than Dad, who keeps checking on his work phone. “They always have my back.”

Something passes through Ms. Lyon’s eyes, something Nichelle can’t quite read yet. But it’s gone in a flash, too fast for Nichelle to even begin deciphering.  “I’m sure they do, honey. Just… make sure nothing shakes or breaks you.” Ms. Lyon’s mouth opens, seemingly ready to say more, but then the director is shouting “PLACES!” and she’s standing up again. Before walking away, she squeezes Nichelle’s shoulder gently. “Keep your composure, Ladonna. That’s all I’ve got for you.”

Nichelle Ladonna is keeping her composure, and she is doing well if she might say so herself. She hasn’t felt the urge to check her socials in twenty whole minutes. Twenty! That’s a new record! At this rate, she’ll be able to get through a whole day just fine.

Besides, even if she wanted to, phones are still prohibited on the resort. It’s for the best, she tries to tell herself. What would she even do with a phone? Talk to her agent, who will most likely throw critiques her way per usual? Catch up with mom and hear her barely contained disappointment? Check her social media accounts and see the inevitable hate comments, except they’re quadruple the amount of what she’s used to and more harsh and—

“Nope,” Nichelle says aloud, squeezing her own shoulder for moral support. “We’re not doing this today, brain.” 

The secret to staying positive all the time is to avoid negative thoughts entirely. And the secret to avoiding negative thoughts entirely is method acting. When you play into the whole happy-go-lucky character—the ones whose optimism cannot be beat even when life takes a turn for the worst—it makes going through everything so much easier. 

When she stops to look at her reflection in her room’s mirror after applying her makeup, she looks happy. Pretty. Approachable.

Perfect.

A few minutes later, she strolls into the resort’s “new and improved cafeteria”—Chris’s words, judging by the huge sign with his face outside the entrance—and is met with a surprising sight: both Caleb and Axel present. Caleb sits on one side, head in his hand as he shovels oatmeal in his mouth. Meanwhile, Axel sits at the other side, cracking walnuts with her bare hands (because of course she could easily do that). 

Nichelle looks back and forth between the two. Who should she sit by? Slightly terrifying girl who helped with baggage but is rarely around, or salty guy who might force a conversation and won’t let go of a fair voting session? Hm. Decisions…

Ultimately, Nichelle decides the Axel route is better. 

She grabs her breakfast from the buffet table—a fruit salad and water, tastiest choice in her opinion—and slides in a chair across from Axel. “Hello, Axel,” she says brightly in greeting. 

Axel just grunts in reply. 

“You sleep well?”

Another grunt. Wow, Axel really doesn’t speak much. But she doesn’t have to answer this question. When Nichelle takes a closer look at Axel’s face, she sees slight bags underneath her eyes. The stifled yawn Axel lets out is all the confirmation Nichelle needs. 

Nichelle picks with her fruit a bit, keeping her eyes on Axel. “Yeah, this resort is nice and all, but I’m not getting much sleep either. It’s totally bad for the face.” 

Axel’s eyes narrow at that. Her hands keep moving, cracking each walnut without so much as a flinch of pain. The pieces of shell crumble into one bowl and she tosses the nut in another. 

Nichelle pauses, letting her sentence’s implication sink in. “Not yours, though! Your face looks great. I really like your eyelashes. Like, those are naturally long . I wish mine were like that. Not that I hate mine or anything, but yours are so pretty—”

This time, Axel doesn’t bother with some half committal response. Instead, she grabs her bowl full of cracked walnuts, stands— loudly , mind you, with a dramatic screech of her chair—and marches away as if she hadn’t been spoken to at all. 

Well then. Fine. Whatever. Nichelle tried. 

She eats her food in silence. She gets up, avoids Caleb’s nosy eyes, and walks away in silence. And, unsurprisingly, she spends her entire day in silence. 

The gentle smile on her face sticks, even through her heart isn’t really in it. 

Nichelle looks at the big binder in front of her, the name ‘NICHELLE LADONNA’  embroidered on the cover. The binder is filled with schedules, scripts, and other miscellaneous things her parents need to look over more than herself. She brushes her hands gently on the plastic, eyes shining with wonder. 

She can hardly believe it. Her first lead role at just ten years old. 

She knew she’d get to this point—her parents always say that she’s perfect, and she’s at the age to truly know that she is—but this early on? It’s everything she’s ever wanted and more. This binder, with her new and improved name, holds the key to her future. 

She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t at least a little nervous. Dad says nerves can sometimes be a good thing, though. Makes a person more human. So she embraces her nerves with a wobbly smile.

“Look at that.” Mom comes strolling into the kitchen. Her brown braids are in a messy bun and she’s still in one of her nightgowns. She looks over Nichelle’s shoulder at the binder. “A talented star, right here in our own home.”

Mom smiles wide. But just as quickly, that look of pride is gone and replaced with something Nichelle knows all too well: determination. The narrowed eyes, the slight curl of the lip—it’s as clear as day. 

“But,” Mom adds, taking a seat next to Nichelle, “I know you can do better. Let’s read through your second scene again.”

Nichelle slowly frowns. “I thought we were going out to eat to celebrate?” She had gotten herself ready and everything. 

If Mom looked up, she would have seen how deep Nichelle’s frown was. Instead, Mom’s eyes stay on the big binder, looking at it like it holds all the money in the world. “Priorities, love. You wanna make sure you’re the greatest actress on set, right? Can’t do that without practice. Otherwise, you’ll be all washed up. And you don’t want that, right? Not now, when your career is just getting started!”

Truthfully, Nichelle wants a break. Acting is amazing. She doesn’t hate it at all, and it’s still her dream to be the greatest actress in the world. But… sometimes, it gets tiring to act both on and off set. She likes those small moments where she can just… be, without thinking too hard. 

Sometimes, a small memory flashes back into Nichelle’s mind. An older woman looks down at her with a smile and tells her to keep her composure. But the more Nichelle thinks back on it, the more that smile looks forced. The more Nichelle processes it, the harder it is to follow through. 

Acting is her life. But acting is tough. 

Nichelle’s hand brushes over her name on the binder again. 

And… well. If she gets more opportunities like this, Dad could quit his job and be around more. Mom could be less stressed from balancing home life and Nichelle’s career. They could live in a better home in a better neighborhood. 

They could have it all. 

There’s all the time in the world for eating at her favorite restaurants. For now, she should focus on her craft. Become even better than she is now. Once that’s all secured, she’ll see that all the hard was worth it. 

Maybe. Hopefully. 

“Okay,” Nichelle decides, opening the binder to find the script. “I’ll practice some more.”

Mom’s face brightens and everything feels better again. “That’s my girl. Now c’mon, from the top.”

They take it from the top. Nichelle reads her lines aloud over and over until her throat feels raw and her head feels light. Mom gives her the usual notes, more expression here, less volume there.

They’re so busy, they never step foot out the door that day.

“Not again…” Nichelle groans, pressing the heels of her hands on her eyes. “C’mon girl, just stay asleep.” 

Seriously, this is getting ridiculous. One sleepless night, she could manage. But two in a row? Oh no. Absolutely not. The last time she lost sleep was during her time on the set of Super Cool Ghouls.  It was her worst performance yet. She could barely get a line out without yawning or misspeaking. Luckily, she played a lazy ghost, so it wound up fitting the character in the end. 

But this time, she’s Nichelle Ladonna. The all-rounder action star. The go-getter. The girl who gets enough sleep.

After two minutes of pressing her eyes shut and seeing the same images of her mother on repeat, she realizes that sleep isn’t going to happen. Again. 

Maybe some fresh air would help. With a sigh, Nichelle climbs out of bed to throw on one of her hoodies and slide her feet into some runner shoes. She takes a deep breath in, out, then strolls out of her room, out of the resort, and into the night. 

It would probably be smart to stay within the actual resort. Horror movies aren’t her typical forté—she has a range and she can admit that scary films are just not a part of it. That doesn’t mean she’s oblivious to how horror movies go, though. Even though Playa Des Losers seems safer than that cursed island, this is still a place in Chris McLean’s name. And with Scary Girl as the newest loser, everything could be a threat. 

Then again, maybe she’s overreacting. What does the resort have anyway? A pool, a game-filled lobby, and a spa? So does her house. Whoop-de-doo. Nothing here is frightening.

It’s oddly comforting, walking around at night with nobody else around. It looks like some abandoned film set, random cameras positioned behind artificial palm trees and boulders, lights from inside the resort buildings giving everything a soft glow. Maybe that’s why she lets her mind drift off. Her feet move on autopilot, walking aimlessly as she takes in the scenery. Snack bar. Beautiful plants. Trees. More trees. Even more trees…

Wait. These trees aren’t artificial. 

Nichelle blinks hard, then finds herself in the middle of a forest. She’s had her fair share of forest shoots, but nothing compares to the fear an actual forest brings. The moon’s light does nothing to eliminate the passing shadows from the tall trees. A gust of wind dances through the leaves, leaving goosebumps down her arms. 

An owl hoots suddenly and Nichelle practically jumps clean out of her skin. Nope. Nuh-uh. Time to get the heck up out of here, fast. 

She quickly looks out in the distance and notices the bright lights near the pool. She just has to follow them to get back to the resort, no path needed. No biggie. 

“This was a bad idea,” she mumbles to herself as she begins her brisk walk back, hugging her arms to keep in some warmth. She tries to ignore the sound of snapping twigs and tumbling pebbles. “This was such a bad idea, girl. Your mama taught you better than this. ‘Never head out by yourself at night, Nichelle. Women like us gotta be careful.’ And what did I do? The exact opposite. And now that that Scary Girl is here, she might come and—”

“Shut. Up.”

Nichelle freezes. The voice in the trees is low and scratchy, like a predator ready to hunt their prey. As scary as Scary Girl’s. Her heart beats against her chest as her eyes whip left and right, trying to find the source of the voice. 

“Don’t move.”

Up . Squinting, Nichelle looks into the trees and sees a familiar face. 

Axel looks unfairly gorgeous with her wild hair blowing over her shoulder and her intense brown eyes. Even as she glares daggers in Nichelle’s direction from her position, balancing on a tree’s branch without so much as a tremble, Nichelle can’t help but notice her long eyelashes and the way they brush against her cheeks when she blinks. Her lips curl down a smidge more and her eyebrows push together. 

Nichelle is so distracted that she barely registers the crossbow Axel is holding. Aiming. Firing. 

Wind whips quickly in Nichelle’s ear. She flinches and waits for the inevitable sting. It’s only seconds later that she realizes that she feels no pain. 

“Got it,” she hears Axel say. 

Nichelle turns slowly and sees… an arrow, struck directly on a red target on a tree. The end result is so impeccable and precise, it takes Nichelle a few moments to process that this is somehow not crafted through hours of post-editing. 

It’s at this moment, staring at this arrow that could have maybe struck her, where Nichelle finally finds something to say. 

“Thank you.”

When Nichelle looks up again, she sees that Axel has quite possibly the blankest stare to ever be seen on a living human being. “For?” she asks. 

'For not killing me' would probably be the correct answer, as silly as it is, but Nichelle says something else instead. “For giving me advice about my bags the other day. I didn’t know you were supposed to lift like that.”

“I could tell. Your form was abysmal.” To apparently show off what impeccable form is, Axel hops down from the tree and lands on her feet softly, almost as if she were a feather from a bird’s wing. 

Nichelle almost says she can do that too… then processes that no, she actually can’t. There’d be no point in living in a lie that was broadcasted on live television. “Well sorry I ain’t go to form school,” she says instead, crossing her arms. 

“That’s not a thing.”

“It was an exaggeration.”

“Oh.” Axel pulls the arrow with ease from the tree and checks the tip. “That was an awful exaggeration.”

Years of acting fly out the window, replaced with an anger that cannot be hidden. “Do you say anything other than some form of critique?” Nichelle asks dryly. 

Axel’s reply is so immediate, one would think she planned on saying it at least a week in advance. “Yes. Leave me alone.” 

Nichelle didn’t need to be told twice. “Fine then. I didn’t wanna talk to you anyway.”

(She kind of did, but Axel doesn’t need to know that.)

Nichelle stomps over to the nearest stump that doesn’t look too gross. With a humph, she sinks down and glares at a tree. The bark is as boring as she thought it’d be, but it will have to do. Maybe boredom is the cure to sleep deprivation. 

“What part of ‘leave me alone’ did you not get?” she hears Axel say. 

Oh brother. “Girl, I’m just sitting here.” Nichelle uses her hands to wildly gesture at herself.

“You’re disturbing my concentration.”

“Literally how?”

“By existing in my presence.”

Judging by her defined muscles and permanently ticked jaw, Axel always looks like she’s seconds away from exploding into that type of anger that could probably make a lion cry. But Nichelle isn’t going to budge. She’s cold. She’s tired. She can’t sleep. Honestly, if Axel wants her to go, then she’s gonna have to pick her up and throw her away. 

Nichelle isn’t sure how her face looks, but it must work like a charm because she hears Axel huff then stomp a few feet away. Good. Now they can both exist silently and separately from one another. 

…Once Nichelle is done pretending like the trees and the grass are the most interesting things out here, her traitorous eyes slowly slide over to see what Axel is doing. 

It doesn’t take an expert to know that Axel is amazing when it comes to just about anything combat-wise. There’s this fierce yet concentrated look in her eyes as she shifts a weapon staff from one slightly scarred hand to the other. The staff moves so seamlessly, it’s almost as if it has a mind of its own. Every time she goes to swing at the practice dummy standing just a few feet away, she hits it enough that it almost looks like it’ll fly away. 

Axel’s arms bend then stretch as she goes from one stance to the next. Up, then out. Side, then out again. It looks easy enough for someone like Nichelle to do. 

If Nichelle just puts her arms like this… or maybe like this? No, wait, it should probably look like—

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Nichelle’s arms freeze mid-air. The sight of Axel’s piercing brown eyes on her makes her feel a warmth she’s not used to. 

“Huh?” 

“Your arms. They’re all wrong,” Axel repeats. 

This time, when Axel moves the staff, she slows down her movements. When she hits one pose, she looks at Nichelle expectantly. 

Slowly, Nichelle shifts her arms in a weak attempt to get it right. “Like this…?” she asks, already knowing she failed majorly. 

Axel snorts. “Sure, if you’re trying to get mauled by a zombie hoard.” 

And then Axel steps in front of Nichelle and starts sliding arms and limbs into place. Her hands are rough and calloused, but her movements are subtle and sure, like she’s done this a million times. 

“Hold still,” Axel grumbles. 

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder.”

Nichelle scowls but complies as best as she can. She thinks of her time on set. Hours upon hours of directors and crew members telling her what to do, where to stand, how to make it seem like everything she did was real. 

After, like, a thousand minutes, Axel finally finishes. She takes a step back and stands like some drill sergeant, arms behind her back, spine straight, lips curled into a frown. Her eyes scan Nichelle up and down. 

“Still bad. But better,” Axel ultimately says. She drops her stance, turns on her heel, and heads back to her duffel bag. “I guess you can stay. Just don’t interrupt me.”

Nichelle nods. She would comment on Axel’s “permission” (Nichelle Ladonna does not need permission to be outside, thank you very much), but her mind is stuck on that one word. Better.

She doesn’t know why, but hearing that feels nicer than hearing that she got it right on the first try. 

“I’m smart. I’m pretty. I’m an amazing actress.”  

Nichelle beams once she finishes applying her lipstick. Her mother has been making her say these three things any time she sees her reflection. The power of the tongue is mighty, and what better usage of it than on herself? 

In mirrors, in car windows, even in glasses of water. No matter what, Nichelle takes a small moment to self-reflect on her perfection. It’s done wonders, much more than any other piece of advice she’s ever received. When she looks at her flection, she sees more than her physical self. She sees endless possibilities. She sees the world in her hands. No matter how many times her body trips and stumbles while on and off set, she knows what she is: smart, pretty, and an amazing actress. Everything she’s wanted to be for forever. 

Today’s schedule is fairly simple: meet up with the rest of the cast of ‘ Gorgeous People High’ for a table read. Nichelle loves a good table read. Sitting down with her fellow cast members, seeing how everyone looks as they act, hearing the way they read each line—it’s one of Nichelle’s favorite parts of the whole acting process. 

Once she’s finished with her makeup, she heads out toward the meeting room. ‘Try to be early, but not too early so it looks like you’re at least somewhat fashionably late’ is her go-to motto. 

As expected, the meeting room is only half full. She finds her name card on the table and slips in her seat. She digs in her bag for her essentials—the script, some colored pens, a few highlighters. 

When she picks her head up, she feels two sets of eyes on her from both seats next to her. Their stares seem to intensify the moment she notices them. She recognizes them—her co-stars, acting the parts as her twin best friends. Though their names don’t come to mind, she knows from her mother’s rambles that they’re both up-and-coming actresses as well. 

Better to get on their good side. “Uh. Hi. I’m Nichelle,” she greets with a small wave and an awkward smile. (Nichelle isn’t shy at all. Mom always says the ‘awkward, slightly bashful’ approach goes a long way, though.)

“We know,” the one on her left says with a huge grin. Nichelle has to glance at the name card to know her name is Ashley. 

“We’re huge fans,” the other on her right—Chelsey—adds. “It’s an honor to get to work with you.”

It’s been a few years since Nichelle has been acting in more main roles, but it still feels weird for other actors to not only know her, but look up to her as well. The whole humble newcomer act must be working like a charm. Thankfully, Mom hasn’t steered her wrong yet, even though she’s so much busier after the divorce. 

Nichelle gives the two a quick thanks just as the final people enter into the meeting room. “Okay everyone!” One of the directors claps her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Let’s get started.” 

The introductions and read-through goes by smoothly. Nichelle can see why everyone was picked for their role. Even though most don’t memorize their lines as of yet, they read them with such conviction that you’d think the cameras were already up and rolling. Judging by the director's nods and smiles, the movie is going to be a hit.  

They wrap up the table read earlier than expected. The director gives them their schedules before walking off. Nichelle writes one last note in the margins—her final line needs to be read with way more hope than what she gave here—then closes her packet with a small sigh. 

When she lifts her head, she’s met with huge smiles and wide eyes filled with wonder that are much to close for comfort. Again. 

“Ah!” Nichelle jumps in shock, this time banging her elbow on the marble table. She winces as a wave of pain shoots through her elbow. 

A gasp. “I am so sorry.” With a look of horror covering Chelsey’s face, you’d think she tripped the prime minister of Canada or something. 

“No worries,” Nichelle waves it off, smiling through the pain. “Was just a little slip-up on my part. So, what’s up?” 

“It’s just—” Ashley leans closer, clasping her hands together, eyes sparkling. “You’re so amazing at what you do.”

“So amazing,” her sister agrees with an similar look. 

“Oh. Thank you!” Nichelle already knows this (because, well, duh, she’s an amazing actress), but a thanks goes a long way. “Anything you think I can fix?”

Ashley shakes her head so fast, it looks like it’s getting ready to fly off her shoulders. “Nope, you’re perfect.”

“It’s like you can do everything,” Chelsey agrees. 

The praise is enough to ease the pain in Nichelle's elbow. This is what she’s always wanted from others—recognition of her talents. After years and years of obsessing over every script she’s received, practicing thousands of lines before bed, and thinking about each of her roles, she’s finally in the position she’s dreamed about her whole life.

She’s the perfect actress.  

“Of course I can do everything,” Nichelle says happily, believing her every word. 

Nichelle silently watches on her stump as Axel moves from one activity to the next. This has been happening for a while now. When Nichelle can’t sleep for long, she wanders out of her room and into the night to somehow find Axel in the same spot. It’s interesting, watching the way Axel’s body moves during each of her exercises. Sometimes, Nichelle can’t help but mimic. Every time, Axel gets up to fix Nichelle’s posture. They don’t speak to each other much. Just a, “Your arms are too stiff” here and a, “Am I doing it right now?” there. 

(Nichelle never does it exactly right in the end, but that doesn’t stop her from asking it anyway, just to fill in the silence.)

The forest isn’t so scary with Axel around, partially because Axel is… well, Axel, and could probably fight three bears without breaking a sweat. But it’s also kind of beautiful and peaceful if you really look at it. The shadows from trees create beautiful shapes on the forest ground. The way the leaves sway in the wind is almost hypnotic. Sometimes, a raccoon or squirrel will run in the distance, carrying out their own lives without a care in the world. 

In other circumstances, a fan could only dream of this moment with Nichelle: complete privacy with enough time to ask as many questions or dish out as many compliments as they could. But Axel carries on as if Nichelle isn’t special at all. Which… is not as offensive as Nichelle thought it’d be. It’s almost comforting. 

“You’ve got no idea who I am, do you?” Nichelle finds herself asking aloud. It’s her first time initiating a conversation, and it’s hard to predict how it’ll turn out. Doesn’t hurt to try, though. 

Axel stops lifting weights momentarily to look back at Nichelle. She’s sweaty and slightly flushed, but in a way that somehow doesn’t look bad at all. With the moon acting as a spotlight, she looks like an action star getting ready for a final fight. 

“You’re Nichelle Ladonna,” Axel says matter-of-factly, resuming her lifting. “You say your own name at least once every night to motivate yourself.”

“No, I do not!”

Axel gives her a look that says something like, yes, you really do. And… okay, maybe Nichelle does. There’s just something so powerful about talking to herself in third-person. Sue her. 

Nichelle rolls her eyes. “Whatever. That’s not what I meant, anyway. You didn’t know about me before the island. You haven’t watched any of my movies, have you?”

It’s easy to spot those who’ve never seen Nichelle Ladonna in a movie. Most people have their tells. Eyes that refuse to leave her; mouths that either grin or sneer at the mere mention of her; the overall stiffness of their bodies when they’re near her. But Axel looks at her like she looks at everybody else: plainly, as if she’s bored or uninterested. 

Axel shrugs, proving Nichelle right. “I don’t know a lot of actors or actresses. Movies aren’t my thing.”

Nichelle is so used to people having some sort of impression on her based on who they see on a TV screen. Her fame is like a second skin, overtaking every piece of her. To not be recognized… Surprisingly, it’s such an immense relief. 

“I think there’s a comfort movie for everyone,” Nichelle argues. 

“Eh.” Axel shrugs again. “I’m too busy preparing for our inevitable demise.”

“There’s tons of movies that go into that, though.” 

Axel raises an eyebrow. “Like?”

Nichelle perks up. Is Axel initiating for the conversation to go further? This never happens. It’s like a once in a lifetime chance. 

(Wow. Now Nichelle feels like a desperate fan.)

She taps her nails on her chin as she thinks. “I was in this one movie, Uprising of the Dead. Small part. It was supposed to be a zombie horror-comedy, but it was much more comedic than anything else.” She rests her elbows on her thighs and places her head into her hands, barely able to contain a smile. “Every time I killed a zombie, they’d turn to sparkly dust that drifted off into the sunset.” 

Axel’s face scrunches as if she's caught a whiff of the worst smell imaginable. “Sounds awful.”

“It was so awful. But it surprisingly got a cult following. Everyone loves it for some reason.” 

“Probably the sparkles,” Axel deadpans. 

It was totally the sparkles, but Nichelle did not appreciate how Axel said that. “Why don’t you sound excited over sparkles?”

“Because I’m not. They’re not so great.” 

Nichelle gasps and places a hand over her heart. “Why don’t you like sparkles?!” 

Axel places her weights back in her bag and counts on her fingers after each point she makes. “Too shiny—”

“That’s the best part!” 

“Too ugly—”

“Your opinion is wrong, but okay.”

“And too distracting.” 

Nichelle scoffs. “Are distractions really a bad thing?”

“Yes. They’re how you get mauled in an apocalypse.” Axel says matter-of-factly.

“Okay, fair. But if the apocalypse happens—”

“When the apocalypse happens,” Axel corrects.

Nichelle rolls her eyes yet decides to humor Axel. “When the apocalypse happens, we’ll be in a bleak, boring world, and there might not be anything we can do about it other than survive. Is it really the worst thing to just, I dunno, have a lil' something that takes your mind off it while it’s not happening?” 

“Yes,” Axel answers so quickly, Nichelle almost laughs. Almost. 

Nichelle crosses her arms. “Can you think about it before answering?”

Axel presses her lips together in thought. “Maybe when you get your poses right,” she concludes. 

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Axel easily shifts into one of her poses, one knee lunged forward, upper body straight, hands balled into fists. She holds it for a few moments, then looks at Nichelle. “Now you try. C’mon.”

Nichelle stands up. “Fine.” It’s worth a shot even though she’ll probably mess up again. Using every single brain cell she has, she concentrates on the way Axel is positioned. Then she slowly tries to match everything. Lunged legs. Perfect posture. Balled fists. She even places her thumbs outside the fist this time, a detail she always fails to remember. 

“Like this?” Nichelle asks like usual, feeling more awkward than hopeful. It’s only a matter of time before Axel fixes everything again. 

But Axel just stands there. For the first time, she doesn’t take a single step over to help. She looks up at Nichelle’s face, then down at Nichelle’s feet. Up again. Down again. Even tilts her head to the side. Finally, she just nods and quietly comments, “Huh. Not bad, Ladonna.”

It takes a while for the words to register in Nichelle’s mind. “Wait, really?!” she asks, shocked. 

Axel doesn’t answer, already fully absorbed in her next workout: pull ups using a tree’s thick branch. Nichelle knows that any further talking on Axel's part is not happening tonight. But Nichelle can’t bring herself to feel down about it. She had a full conversation. A full conversation! With Axel! Who also said she’s “not bad!” 

Nichelle can’t help but grin. She really can do everything. 

“Okay, cut! She can’t do it. Let’s bring out the stunt double.”

Nichelle can’t believe what she’s hearing. The words are foreign to her. ‘Can’t’ hasn’t been in her vocabulary since, well, forever. Nichelle Ladonna can do it all. It’s practically her whole personality. Her entire brand. 

Except now, apparently. 

There, on the floor of the tall building the crew has rented out, Nichelle’s body feels like its sinking below. Her breath grows heavier as almost everyone around her prepares for the stunt double. 

Then Mom rushes over. She’s always running on set, even though she’s not allowed. But if there’s one thing Nichelle has learned throughout her years in the acting business, status is a huge thing in Hollywood. Nobody would dare kick Nichelle Ladonna’s legal guardian off the film set, not when she’s the one who helps her daughter’s superb acting abilities. 

“Yes she can! Look, she’s gonna try again.” Mom crouches down and looks Nichelle in the eye. “C’mon baby, take it from the top.” 

Nichelle nods shakily. They’ve taken it from the top for the past half an hour, and nothing much has changed. She still can’t make even half of the jump required for the scene, even with the cables attached to her. This is the type of move that needs to be done accurately; otherwise, the editing team will have absolutely no way to make it seem like she’s jumping over a cliff.  

Before Nichelle could take her place again, one of the directors holds her back and shakes his head. “Look ma’am,” he says to Mom, “we’ve been trying for a few weeks and she’s nowhere near nailing the part. We need to continue filming, stat. We can’t afford to be behind schedule.”

The other director nods her head. “It’s okay. Most actresses can’t do their own stunts, anyway.”

Mom places her hands on Nichelle’s shoulders, and it suddenly feels like the weight of the entire world rests there. “Nichelle Ladonna is not like every other actress,” Mom says with full confidence. “She’s better.” 

That’s right. Nichelle Ladonna is better. The best, even. Because that’s what everyone has been telling her her whole life. They can’t just switch up out of nowhere. That’s not fair. She’s only fourteen. This is her prime. 

The two directors somehow convince Mom to talk on the sidelines. Nichelle watches as they get into a heated discussion. Mom’s arms slowly go from frantic to subdued. Her face shifts from anger to understanding. And then Mom is completely still, only nodding when it looks like one of the director’s throws out a suggestion. 

Nichelle’s blood runs cold at the sight. 

“Mom’s gonna agree,” she whispers to herself. “She’s gonna make me get a stunt double.”

The world comes crashing down around her. Everything she’s ever done, all she’s ever fought for, feels like nothing. If she can’t do this one thing, then that would make her… ordinary. Not special in the slightest. Something her mother raised her not to be.

How could she ever accept an outcome like that? 

Nichelle hears footsteps nearby. Sees the familiar heeled shoes of her agent. Looks up from the concrete ground to see her agent, smiling at her, as if everything is alright when it isn’t. 

“It’s okay, honey,” her agent says softly, using that voice they put on when they’re trying to calm her down. “We’ll make sure your stunt double shows the absolute best of your abilities. Your fans won’t even notice the difference.” They bend and give Nichelle a pat on the shoulder that’s probably meant to be comforting, but has an icy, iron-like feel to it instead. “Sooner or later, you won’t be able to tell the difference either.”

Axel makes it all look so easy. When she moves in between trees, there are no stumbles, no mistakes. When she aims at a tiny target with her crossbow, she always hits the mark spot-on. Her hands are steady. Her eyes stay focused. She’s like a beautifully unstoppable warrior. Everything Nichelle could never be, no matter how hard she tries. 

It's enough to make envy take root.

“How’d you get so strong, anyway?” Nichelle forces herself to ask, preferring conversation over dealing with things she can’t change. 

“Constant training since I could walk,” Axel answers simply.

“Oh.”

Axel marches to the tree and begins to pull out the arrows, shoving them back into their holder bag. There are a few moments of silence before she speaks again. “I’ve got four younger brothers who always try to one-up me. That’s most of the training nowadays, to be honest.”

“Four brothers? And all younger?”

“Unfortunately.” Once all the arrows are back where they belong, Axel takes a bowl of walnuts out of her bag and takes a seat next to Nichelle on a nearby stump. Her arm momentarily brushes against Nichelle’s every time she grabs a walnut, slipping them into her mouth in between sentences. “I have a twin, but he’s twelve hours and forty-six minutes younger than me, and it shows.”

Nichelle cringes. She couldn’t imagine having any siblings, much less four of them. “And I thought having one Jerry was bad enough.”

“Jerry?”

Right. Axel wasn’t in the competition during Nichelle’s failure. Judging by the confused look on her face, she probably didn’t even bother to watch the episode. Thank goodness . One more person seeing the lowest point of Nichelle’s life? No thanks. 

“My stunt double,” Nichelle explains, ignoring the sour taste in her mouth at the mere mention of that man. “I thought I could, I dunno, bring out my inner Jerry during the third challenge, but that obstacle course was not it.  And Jerry’s just… really good at the action stuff. He does all the cool things for me on screen.” 

More like he does everything for her, period. It started off small. Jerry just had to take over all the dangerous stunts, make her look like she’s as cool and talented as she acts. Then it became something more. Jerry will take her place out in public where the paparazzi’s cameras can’t see the differences, he’ll take PR pictures with other physically active celebrities in yogurt shops, he’ll even cross streets for her while doing some random back flip—all for the sake of great photo-ops and fan approval. 

“Nichelle Ladonna is a brand,” her agent always said. “We have to make sure you always look like you’re on top of everything twenty-four seven. Jerry will take care of everything you can’t so you can focus more on your acting.”

It wasn’t hard to manage, really. For a lot of actors, it’s a dream come true: she got paid to say some lines from a script and looked pretty while someone else did all the hard, strenuous parts. And best of all, everyone thought that she could do it all. She got all the credit. 

It was so easy to act like she could do everything Jerry could. Somewhere down the line, she actually started believing her abilities were much more than they really were. But then the third challenge of Total Drama had to come around and open her eyes to the truth. For the first time in her life, her best wasn’t enough. It wasn’t even close to good. 

It was… pathetic. 

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. Nichelle pushes her thoughts aside and changes the subject before her brain dives any deeper into unnecessary self-pity. “Are your brothers like you?”

Axel scoffs. “Absolutely not. They’re spoiled and loud and have no sense of direction whatsoever. Wouldn’t be able to tell a zombie from a corporate office worker.” 

“I mean, to be fair, I wouldn’t either,” Nichelle says. “A nine-to-five seems apocalyptic. Not even coffee can cure the corporate office worker virus.”

That one makes Axel laugh. It’s strange to hear her low chuckle, but not in a bad way. That sound paired with the tiny hint of a smile on Axel’s face sends heat to Nichelle’s face, even in the cold of the night.

“Okay, fair. But,” Axel continues, more into her rant, “because they’re boys, they’re always trying to show they’re stronger than me. They make these dumb plans to ‘overthrow me.’ They keep trying even though they never win.”

“Are you sure they’re not like you?” Nichelle asks, thoughtfully tapping a finger to her chin. “‘Cause refusing to quit sounds like an Axel trait to me.”

“Yeah, but it’s different when I do it because I’m better than them.”

Oh gosh, Axel really is an eldest sister. It’s kind of cute seeing her pout about all of this. It’s only natural for Nichelle to push her buttons some more. “Well yeah, no doubt, but that doesn’t negate the fact that they got it from you, making them similar to you.”

Axel fakes a gag. “Ew. No. I'd rather eat Chef's food than be compared to them.” She crosses her arms the moment she catches sight of Nichelle’s face. “And now you’re smiling? Stop making fun of me.”

Nichelle shakes her head. “I’m not making fun of you. Well, not anymore. This is the most you’ve ever spoken to me.” She glances to the side as her body warms again. Her voice quiets a little, the next words she speaks sending all types of nerves through her body. “I like hearing you speak. It’s nice. Seriously.”

From the corner of her eye, she sees Axel blink hard, clearly taken aback. Her voice is quiet as well, a strange occurrence. “Yeah. Well. You’re not the worst company.” The soft voice is only temporary the moment she sees Nichelle’s face again. “Why is the smile growing now?” she growls out.

“Because you complimented me.” Nichelle has to press her hands to her cheeks to try and cool them down, and even then, they’re still warm. She focuses on teasing again instead. Anything to get away from whatever scary feeling was growing in her gut. “It’s really sweet of you. Did you get that from your brothers or something?”

Axel smacks her teeth. She looks like she’s seconds away from dumping the rest of her walnuts in Nichelle’s hair. “Ugh , why do all actresses act the same?” 

“I thought you said you didn’t know any actresses.”

“I know you. Unfortunately.”

“Doesn’t seem very unfortunate to me considering you just said you like my company.”

Axel rolls her eyes so hard, it’s a surprise they don’t get stuck up there. But she doesn’t deny it either. 

A win enough. 

The lights are so blinding.

“Today we’re here with the one, the only, Nichelle Ladonna!” she hears a voice call out into the audience. What’s the host’s name again? What show is she even on? She honestly can’t remember. Everything in her booked schedule blends into complete obscurity. 

A silhouette from the other side of the stage leans on his desk. Somehow, she can tell he’s smiling. “Can I just say you look absolutely stunning today, Ms. Ladonna?” 

Nichelle feels a smile form on her face. “Oh , you shouldn’t have!” she says, waving her hand modestly. It’s like a routine. Modesty has always been the best policy in this business. 

“So. Let’s talk about your latest role in Gator Galaxy.” The host folds his hand over his huge desk. “When you put that alligator in a headlock near the swamp, I was on the edge of my seat.”

“Filming that was wild. The gator was a total sweetheart, though. Me and him are, like, besties. He actually let me meet his kids and everything.” Nichelle says the lie so easily now. It’s almost like it’s true. In a way, it is true, as long as she keeps putting her heart into every word. Anything she thinks can be true.

Her smile widens as she makes out some members of the crowd leaning forward in their seats, eating up her every word. This is what the people want: an actress who oozes confidence and humbleness in equal measure as she talks about all the action done on set. Who is she to deny them a good show? 

She answers every question with ease, mixing in truths and lies. The audience laughs or gasps right when she expects them to. The host asks questions she can spot from miles away. By the time they’re wrapping up, Nichelle feels like she’s on top of the world. 

“Before we end," the host says, "I’ve heard from the grapevine that a certain show is getting a reboot and you’re going to be in it. We want all the deets.”

The audience ooo's in interest. Nichelle can practically visualize how much her name will trend once the news on Total Drama is revealed to the world.

“Well I can’t say much yet. You know contracts are a girl’s biggest enemy.” Nichelle makes sure to look into the camera, flashing a big, bright smile to the world. “But just know that you all won’t want to miss it. I’m in it to win it.”

“Why are you always up at this time?” Axel asks during another late night. The days keep passing, more people arrive at Playa Des Losers, and the two of them have not missed a night with each other yet. It’s grown into a nice habit, even through the lack of sleep. 

Nichelle’s eyebrow lifts. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Axel looks Nichelle up and down before turning to her weights. “Don’t girls like you need their ‘beauty sleep’ or whatever?”

“My beauty is a twenty-four hour kind of phenomenon. No sleep needed.” Nichelle doesn’t take Axel’s scoff to heart. “‘Sides, I run on four hours of sleep most days anyway. Filming just one scene can take hours, and practice outside of filming takes up the rest. My body’s used to it.”

“I don’t sleep much either. My whole family is filled with a bunch of insomniacs.” Axel alternates her arms as she lifts, her eyes laser focused somewhere just beyond Nichelle’s shoulder. “Sometimes when my brothers aren’t being too annoying but have too much energy, we sneak out the house to go to the richer neighborhood a few blocks away and play knicky knicky nine door. Haven’t been caught yet.” 

Nichelle can’t hide the shock on her face. That’s such a… well, such a normal teenager sort of thing to do, at least from what Nichelle has seen in shows and movies. It’s hard to imagine Axel taking part, with her brothers no less, yet slightly endearing. 

Like always, Axel catches sight of Nichelle’s face. “What? Knicky knicky nine door is perfect training material. Stop smiling and judging me!” Her voice pitches higher at the end, a little squeak escaping her lips. 

Nichelle quickly shakes her head. “No, no, I’m not judging, honest. I just… thought you’d never do something like that ‘cause you lived deep in the woods or something.” 

“I wish I lived in the woods,” Axel sighs. “I go on expeditions when my dad lets me. He usually wants me to look after my brothers in the boring suburbs, though.”

“Is that why you’re on Total Drama? Because it’s, like, some expedition in a way?”

“Somewhat. I wanna escape my brothers for a bit. I wanna escape the suburbs even more. I wanna make a million bucks most of all.” Axel does one more lift, then lets her arms sink slowly with a sigh. “Why are you here?”

“I…” Nichelle starts, then stops. 

Why is she here? So many other contestants have better, more respectable reasons to compete in a show like this. Even simply wanting money is fair. But all Nichelle saw was a typical contract from her agent, already signed by herself and her mother. Another opportunity to be added to her Pedia page.

“More fame, I guess,” she finds herself admitting quietly. It’s technically the correct answer. Nichelle Ladonna is always looking for a way for her image to grow.

Sucks it had to grow like this, though. 

Nichelle waits for it. The moment she’s called selfish or ridiculous. Her fingers curl and grab at her pajama pants, the metaphorical clock ticking along with the sounds of crickets and owls. 

“Huh. Okay,” Axel says instead with a shrug. Then she turns on her heel and heads to her duffel bag. 

If Axel turned away from digging into her bag, she would see a shocked look on Nichelle’s face for the second time that night. Where’s the negative feedback? The look disgust? The, “Of course you’re like this”? 

Why isn’t Axel judging her like everyone else does?

Completely oblivious, Axel turns back around, weapon staff in her hand. “Wanna try this today?” she asks. 

That gets Nichelle out of her head. “Huh?”

“The staff. Wanna try?” Axel asks again. 

Axel doesn’t seem like the type of person who shares. She treats her weapons like they’re her babies. Sometimes, Nichelle catches her carefully placing them in a specific order in that large duffel bag, a look of intense concentration in her eyes. 

Nichelle almost says yes, almost believes she could be an expert at using a weapon staff. But it’s one thing to mimic some poses; it’s another to actually do something. That’s Jerry’s job, not hers. She knows her place. Her agent made that very clear. 

“No thank you.” 

Axel’s eyes narrow. “You’re staring like you want to, though.”

Even though she shouldn’t, Nichelle does. But even though there’s this one part of her brain that is convinced she’d be able to do it easily, there’s this newly formed, more rational part that’s telling her she can’t. She knows she’ll fail at it, just like she fails at just about anything that’s too physical. What’s the point in trying? 

The key to staying positive is to avoid negative thoughts. And that weapon staff would bring one too many for her to handle. 

“Nah, I’m good,” Nichelle insists. “Can’t go messin’ up my skin with sweat after my skin care regime, ya know?”

The look on Axel’s face is dubious at best. “Sweat only messes with the skin if it dries and you don’t clean it. Showers aren’t scarce here. You know that because you always smell like buttercream.” She crosses her arms. “Besides, you don’t even sweat at all.”

Nichelle blinks in surprise. That’s true. She never sweats. It’s a genetic thing for her, thanks to her Dad’s side. “How do you know that?”

“You’re a very hard person to miss.” 

“Do I reel you in that much?”

It’s either a trick of the moonlight or Axel’s cheeks are red. “You’re deflecting, Ladonna.” 

Also correct. Nichelle forces a charismatic smile on her face, the one that’s made her win just about every debate. “Look, Axel. I know my skin, and it flares up too easily. So I’ll pass. It’s alright girl, seriously.” 

Axel lets out such a long sigh, Nichelle can’t help but feel like she read a line wrong. Her voice comes out colder than it has in a long time. “Whatever. Suit yourself.”

Before Nichelle could even think about taking her words back, Axel marches away, the deep frown on her face a clear sign that they won’t be talking for the rest of the night. 

“And, cut!” 

The tension in Nichelle’s body loosens slightly as she drops character. Acting like a cocky, quirky teenager in a movie film titled Fight-or-Flight Attendant can admittedly be fun at times due to the sheer ridiculousness of the plot. But man, having to say the same lines over and over with a huge fan blowing wind in her face is exhausting.

The director waves her over. She jumps out of the plane prop and makes her way to him. At this point, every director looks and sounds the exact same: blank faced with plain voices. “Alright, Nichelle," the director says, "that should be a wrap. We’ll call you back if we need anything else.” 

Nichelle knows they won’t be needing her any longer. She has no idea why they even bother pretending that they’ll call her back for something else. Still, she smiles and nods and gives a quiet, “thank you.” 

The director has already turned his attention back to his clipboard, because of course he has. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she begins her walk to her trailer, happy to have some downtime for herself after hours of filming. 

“Jerry, you’re up man!” she hears the director call. 

Jerry. The absolute bane of Nichelle’s existence. When he walks to his place with that braided wig and bright smile, everyone in the room perks up. He laughs at a passing joke and the whole crew laughs with him as if he's that funny.

Since Nichelle can’t do it all, her team decides on the next best thing: fake it so she can make it. This is for the best, they claimed. Good press equals more fame. And that’s what she’s always wanted, right? To be known? Jerry is her best option. 

Mom signed the consent forms with no hesitation, and Nichelle had followed suit because her mother never steers her in the wrong direction. And it’s been the best decision career-wise. Ever since Jerry took over the stunts, her fame has been growing. She’s the main topic anytime her name is even uttered near a journalist. 

Nichelle wants to move but her legs stay in place. She wants to look away but her eyes stay glued onto Jerry. She watches as he flips across the set, flashing a smile here and a cocky laugh there even though they'll be edited out. Everyone’s eating it up, leaning forward just so they can see him more clearly as he fights ninjas. 

It might have been minutes or hours Nichelle spent just staring. Either way, when she comes to, Jerry’s wrapping up his final scene. When he hears the final end signal, he lets out a hearty, relieved laugh.

“Great work, Jerry,” the director compliments with much more enthusiasm than he gave Nichelle. 

“Thanks, sir. And thanks everyone!” Jerry makes sure to look at everyone on set. Every crew member. Every actor. Even her. “I wouldn’t be able to do what I do without all of you.”

That gets Nichelle’s legs moving. She calmly walks to her personal trailer. Slowly opens and closes the door. Makes sure her mother isn’t around. Walks away from the door and grabs the nearest throw pillow off of one of the couches.

And then she screams into the pillow.

It does nothing to help. It never does. When she lifts her head, throat burning, it’s almost like it never happened. The anger is a constant bubble of heat, circling around her entire body. 

“Great work, Jerry,” Nichelle says in a mock tone. Her voice drops drastically as she kicks off her uncomfortable heels and throws the pillow back on the couch. “You did so well, Jerry. You’re the greatest person to hit this set, Jerry. Jerry this, Jerry that.” 

Nichelle was great once, when her cheeks were chubbier and her mind didn’t know any better. But now she was… what? Some stand-in? A prop? Someone who didn’t even deserve a simple, ‘Great job, Nichelle!’ every once in a while? 

It’s so annoying.

And so humiliating. 

When Nichelle looks into a nearby mirror, all she sees is a stranger staring back. Someone pathetic. Someone sad. 

Someone… who needs to be back on set. Stat. Mom always tells her to stay on set with a smile, even when they don’t need her. Look approachable at all times. Take notes when she can. Play into the perfect actress so much that she essentially becomes the perfect actress.

So that’s what she’ll do. Because that’s all she knows. 

She takes a deep breath in, then releases. She grabs the doorknob. Places a smile on her face. Pushes away all doubt and replaces it with the protective wall she’s built for herself, the one that shows she can do everything so long as she says it. 

Nichelle walks out feeling like absolutely nothing at all. 

Nichelle wakes up feeling like absolutely nothing at all.  

The night greets her again. Crickets chirp. Lights buzz. Air vents whir. 

Her body feels heavier than usual. 

She clutches her hands. Numb. 

Distantly, in her mind, she thinks of the forest. Tall trees. Walnuts. Long eyelashes and intricate piercings. 

Her body feels too heavy to think further. She’s stuck to the covers. 

She doesn’t go out that night. 

Or the next night after that. 

And so on. 

It’s become more lively at Playa Des Losers now that the competition is at its final four. And it’s all nice. There’s something comforting about being near others who lost the game. 

Damien’s been watching the previous Total Drama seasons so he can prepare for next time, his sloppy, illegible notes taking over the coffee table in the lobby. Those two hockey guys are bandaged and walk around limping with slowly fading scars, but they bring life to every room they enter with simple smiles. Zee keeps trying to break his record on how many soda cans he can stack every day (one hundred and three so far, somehow). And even though the mere sight of so much as MK’s beanie makes Nichelle’s blood boil, she can’t help but feel slightly satisfied every time MK is visibly annoyed by Ripper or Chase. 

But Nichelle still feels off overall. Like her body isn’t fully there, even when she’s laughing and talking with the others whenever they bother to make conversation. Maybe from the lack of sleep. It’s getting harder to get through every day. 

Somehow, every day has been moving as quickly as a short film. Start. Finish. Repeat. Start. Finish. Repeat.

Nichelle cannot wait to get off this resort.

After another day as painfully similar as the last, Nichelle slips on her bonnet, slides under her covers, and prepares for another sleepless night. Just as she’s about to slip on her sleep mask, someone bangs on her door. Like, full-on bangs, loud enough to wake both sides of the sleeping dorms. 

In other circumstances, Nichelle wouldn’t care about all the noise. Emma—one of her neighbors—is never in her room, always opting to stay with Chase (poor girl). MK—across the hall—can suffer. But they placed that one Scary Girl as her other neighbor, and that little freak is one that should not be messed with at any time of day, especially at night where she thrives with her scares. 

Another bang on the door sends Nichelle’s edge brush and lip glosses to the floor. Maybe it’s a trick of the wind, but Nichelle swears she hears a horror soundtrack play in the background, and that can not be good. 

“I’m comin’, dang!” Nichelle quickly slips out of bed and whips the door open, but the anger fades when she sees who’s there. “Axel?” she asks quietly.

Over the past few days, Nichelle has learned that Axel has a R.I.F.—or, a Resting Indifferent Face. It’s just her default look. But right now, she’s looking at Nichelle as if she stole her bag of weapons. There’s a fire in her eyes that doesn’t look like it can be doused. 

Instead of explaining why in the world she’s banging on Nichelle’s door way past midnight, Axel grabs Nichelle’s wrist and basically drags her out of her room. Nichelle barely manages to shut her door using the tips of her fingers to pull it shut. She almost shouts in protest, but that overly dark look on Axel’s face has Nichelle biting her tongue. 

She lets Axel drag her out into the cold of the night, down the tiled floors, to their usual meeting spot somewhere in the midst of the woods just beyond the resort. Once they reach their usual spot, Axel finally speaks. 

“What’s with you?” 

It takes everything in Nichelle to not stare into an imaginary camera and ask it, ‘what the heck?’ Because seriously, what the heck? “What’s with me?! Girl, I know you of all people are not asking that after dragging me out here unprompted.”

“It’s not unprompted.”

“Last time I checked, that knock ain’t come with a warning.” 

“Your disappearance didn’t come with a warning, either.” 

Nichelle backs off a bit because Axel’s right. These past few days, Nichelle didn’t explain anything, leaving Axel in the dark. But it’s not like she’s been avoiding Axel. Or, at least, not consciously. When she wasn’t in her room, she was around the others in the dining hall or lobby. It’s not her fault Axel doesn’t spend time around the others. 

“I didn’t want to bother you?” Nichelle tries, hoping this conversation can wrap up. 

“You’re not a bother. If you were, I would say it.” Axel crosses her arms. “Now let’s try being truthful this time.” 

Axel can be really astute for someone who looks so uninterested almost all the time. 

Nichelle can’t even look in Axel’s direction, instead settling for her feet. “I don’t know…”

An inhale, then a sigh. Axel’s voice turns down a few notches, turning soft. “You’re different. Even now, you’re… not… as bright. It’s weird. I don’t like it.” Then the softness is replaced with an edge Nichelle’s never heard from Axel before. “Aren’t you going to ask me a dumb question or rave about sparkles or something ?”

Reading in between the lines is something every performer has to learn, not only to fully tap into their own character, but to also tap into every character they have a relationship with. Nichelle has spent so many hours dissecting every script she receives, annotating in between margins, highlighting every hint of foreshadowing she comes across. She sees familiar details in the stiffness of Axel’s shoulders, the quivering of Axel’s fists, the firm frown on Axel’s face. 

Axel is angry… and genuinely worried. 

Realization crashes into Nichelle like a wave. The lack of judgement, the continued conversations in the middle of the night, this moment right now—it’s because Axel cares. The why doesn’t really as much as the feeling of being cared for itself.

Nichelle’s never had a true friend who cares before.

It’s somehow the nicest yet most overwhelming feeling in the world. 

Acting has always been relatively easy. It doesn’t take much, just a change of voice here and a shift of face there. At this point in the game, nobody questions Nichelle Ladonna. What she says sounds like the truth, so it is. 

Except she’s not really feeling like she can do that right now. She can’t even manage a smile. 

Maybe Nichelle was avoiding Axel. Because this feeling in her gut—this warm, still feeling that sticks even with all the dread—makes her want to tell her everything. And that’s never been a thing for her. 

Nichelle hugs her arms. “I just haven’t been feeling the greatest. That’s all.” There. That’s the simple, ugly truth. Good enough. 

“Why?”

Okay, so that was not good enough, apparently. 

All Nichelle can do is shrug. That answer must not bode well with Axel because she smacks her teeth and shakes her head. She turns on her heel and begins strolling off. Maybe to walk away from this whole thing. Pretend it didn’t happen. 

Nichelle wouldn’t blame her. 

Once Axel reaches her duffel bag, she points to a spot that’s mostly clear from trees and stumps. “Stand over there. Shoulders back. Head straight.”

“For what?” Nichelle asks, exasperated. 

“Just listen to me.”

Nichelle huffs but follows instructions. She hears Axel slide something in front of her, then feels her slide something in her hands. She doesn’t need to look down to know what it is. Her hands shake as she tries to get used to the feel of the weapon staff while Axel sets up the practice dummy. It’s lighter than she imagined, almost as light as the props she’s been told to hold in between action shots. 

“Okay. Your hands should go here and here.” Axel’s warm hands overlap Nichelle’s to lead her in the proper holding position. It sends that familiar fluttery feeling to Nichelle's gut. “Feet go out from one another, not too far so your hips stay aligned. Then bend just a little.” Once Axel is satisfied at Nichelle’s pose, she points at the dummy. “Now. Hit it.”

“But—” Nichelle begins to argue. 

“Hit. It.”

Axel isn’t asking, she’s telling. Demanding, really, with eyes as hard as steel and a scowl that would send anybody running. 

Just get it over with . With a shaky breath, Nichelle lifts the staff and taps the dummy’s shoulder. It only shifts slightly. “There, did it. Now I’mma just head on back—”

“How do you do that?” Axel asks. Her voice is strangely calm, and that’s strangely terrifying. “Hold in that much anger?”

Nichelle’s face grows warm, despite the cold. “I’m not angry, though.”

“No. You are. I can see it in you.” 

Axel bends down and takes out another weapon staff from her bag. She slides beside Nichelle. Her stance looks perfect. Effortless. Of course it does. 

Axel’s eyes don’t leave the dummy. “It’s hard not to notice you. I hate that I always notice you.” 

Axel strikes down hard. The dummy sways, but stands upright in the end.

“I hate those looks you give me when you think I can’t see, the ones where your stupid pretty smile doesn’t look like your actual pretty smile.”

Axel strikes down again.

“I hate that I can’t stop thinking about you. I hate knowing you’re a distraction and still wanting you around anyway.”

And again. 

“I hate that you won’t just say what’s really on your mind for once.”

Axel lifts up her staff again, glaring holes into the dummy. Aims. And—

“I hate how strong you are.”

It takes Nichelle a bit to realize that she was the one who said that, not Axel. She opens her mouth to say something else to salvage the moment, an apology maybe, but Axel beats her to it. 

“Good. What else do you hate?” Axel points at the dummy. “Try hitting it this time.”

Don’t do it . Nichelle does it anyway. Her swing misses tremendously, but the exertion of her body feels… nice. 

Instead of judging her awful form, Axel says, “You have to say something you hate.”

“Your eyelashes,” Nichelle says without thinking. “They’re really pretty.” 

“My…” Axel’s grip on her staff tightens, her shoulders reaching her red ears. “Why?” she squeaks out. 

This time, when Nichelle takes her next attempt at hitting the dummy, she says something at the same time. “I hate that you deflected my compliment with a question instead of accepting it.” She misses again. It feels relieving again. 

It’s quiet for a few moments, Axel’s face more scarlet than Nichelle has ever seen. Then, she stiffly turns to the dummy again, takes aim, and as she hits it, admits, “I hate that I doubt every compliment you give me.”

Axel’s voice wobbles as she admits this, but she says it loudly, loud enough for her voice to echo in the space around them. She bites at her bottom lip. For a split second, her grip around her weapon staff slips, causing his to slide closer to the ground. 

It’s complete vulnerability, something the two aren't used to. It’s the scariest thing. It’s everything. 

They take turns. Axel says something she hates—her brothers’ consistent doubt in her skills, the way her father always puts her in charge even when she’s exhausted, her nosy neighbors—then strikes perfectly. Nichelle’s brain focuses more on her job. The all-day filming that definitely breaks a child law or two. Directors’ disregard for her. Fake co-stars who only get to know her to uplift their fame. 

“I hate that I haven’t slept well in years,” Nichelle adds before swinging again. Another miss. But each swing is cathartic. It burns her arms, but she pushes through. 

Axel growls. “I hate these stupid challenges that got me kicked off.” Her aim at the dummy’s head connects harder than anything has tonight. 

“Yeah! Screw pirates!” 

“And screw obstacle courses.”

“And screw this show.” Nichelle swings twice for that one. Misses twice, too. Feels twice as good despite her failure. “Ugh, I hate that this show filmed me at my worst.”

Something different takes over Nichelle’s body. She steps a bit closer, eyes now laser focused on the dummy. She can now understand why Axel wanted her to do this so much. When she looks at the dummy, she sees everything she hates. Everything she wants to fight against. 

When Nichelle speaks again, her mouth is completely unfiltered, her heart taking over rather than her mind for once. 

“I hate knowing I’m amazing at what I do and realizing how hard I’ve worked—how hard I still work—and somehow, I feel like I’m nothing. I hate Jerry. I hate hating Jerry because he’s so nice and talented and didn’t do anything wrong to me. And I hate that braided wig. How can’t anybody tell that ain’t me on the screen?! The wig is always slanted more to the right! ” 

This time, when Nichelle strikes down, it finally lands. She plants her feet deep into the dirt and uses all the energy in her arms to push, push, push , until the dummy practically hits the ground before springing back up in its original position. 

She doesn’t realize she’s crying until the staff falls from her hands onto the dirt ground below. 

Crying without a cue in sight never feels right. It’s like she’s back where she was in episode three, crying like a baby on the ground at the unfairness of it all. Her face feels much too warm. Slowly, she feels for something to grab. Feels the sharp bark of a tree behind her. Sinks down and sits, ignoring how gross the ground is.

She watches through blurry eyes as Axel makes her way over and takes a seat next to her. “If it makes you feel better,” Axel says, her voice soft again, “I don’t know how anybody could mistake you for Jerry. I think your braids favor the left side.”

Nichelle lets out a strange mixture of a sob and a laugh. “They do not.”

“You’re smiling.”

“I am not.” 

But she is. Nichelle can feel her smile on her face, wobbly, yet still there. It persists even as she wipes at her face with her shirt’s sleeves like a windshield wiper in a relentless storm. 

To Axel’s credit, she doesn’t walk away or pretend like this whole thing isn't happening. She just quietly watches as Nichelle composes herself, blank faced as usual. Again with no judgment. 

“I’m guessing you’re not good with tears?” Nichelle asks, trying her best to ignore how nasally and scratchy her voice comes out. 

“Absolutely not. My oldest brother is a huge cry baby. I just stare at him without blinking until he stops and demands that I stop.” A small smirk spreads on Axel’s lips. “He calls me a creep every time.”

Nichelle’s laugh comes out weak. “Well, luckily I’m all cried out.” And drained. Her yawn is enough to make her eyes water again. 

Axel stands, then reaches a hand for Nichelle to grab. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed before you rest your pretty head on sticks and dirt.”

Sticks and dirt would be absolutely awful for the braids and beads, so Nichelle takes Axel’s hand and lets her take the lead. Turns out, it’s much nicer to walk in perfect sync while holding Axel’s warm hand compared to being dragged by the wrist. The handhold is light, almost as if she’s expecting for Nichelle to pull away at any point. 

Little does Axel know how much it’s grounding Nichelle in this moment. 

“Thanks,” Nichelle mumbles after a few minutes of silence. “I’m not used to feeling like this. Nichelle Ladonna is supposed to be this person who can do anything, and it’s hard accepting that she—I can’t. I keep having these flashbacks to all these moments that have made me, and they make me feel so empty. And now I just… don’t really know who I am anymore.” 

Axel hums and nods. She doesn’t say she gets it, because she probably doesn’t. Axel moves in a way Nichelle wishes she could: with that real type of confidence that shows when you’re being your authentic self at all times. 

Axel’s grip on her hand tightens just so. “Thank you, too.”

Nichelle blinks in shock. “For what?”

“The compliment. From earlier.” Axel’s eyes lift to the sky as she seemingly thinks about her next words. “I don’t… get those often. Or maybe I do? I don’t know. I’m just—I have trouble accepting them. They make me.. overwhelmed. And I don’t do well when I’m overwhelmed. I get mad, and then I get mad that I'm mad.”

Nichelle nods in understanding. She doesn’t say she gets it, because she knows she doesn’t. Compliments are her everything. Probably not a good thing considering where she’s at now, but it’s still a big part of her.

“I can start a compliment campaign for you,” Nichelle offers. “To make it easier.”

Axel narrows her eyes, continuing to look ahead. “What the hell would that even consist of?”

“Ten compliments per day.”

“Don’t push it, Ladonna.”

“One compliment a day?” Nichelle tries. 

“Too much.”

“One compliment a week?”

“Still too much.”

“You’re impossible.”

Axel looks the most proud she's ever looked in Nichelle’s presence. “Thank you. I’ll consider that your biyearly compliment.”

“Biyearly compliment ?!” Nichelle scoffs. “Even if I were to accept that ridiculous time frame, that was not a compliment.”

“Counts to me.” 

“Why are all survivalists like this?” Nichelle asks dryly. 

She hears Axel laugh—this one loud enough to send an owl flying out of a tree and out in the distance—and the sound is almost worth going through the banter. 

Instead of breaking their handhold, Axel uses her other hand to dig in her pocket and pulls out a device. She hands it to Nichelle. “This is yours.”

Nichelle raises an eyebrow as she turns it over and over in her hand. “A walkie talkie?”

Axel nods. “When you feel bad, report to me. Got it?”

It’s not a promise to make Nichelle’s problems magically disappear. But it’s nice to have someone who’s willing to listen. Nichelle can’t remember the last time someone actually wanted to listen to what she has to say. 

Nichelle presses the button on the side of the walkie talkie, and the device creaks to life. “Thanks.”

“Thanks, thanks, thanks," both devices echo loud enough to carry through the trees. 

Axel’s eyes narrow. She digs in her pocket and retrieves another walkie talkie. Her finger slowly curls over the button. “It’s for emergencies only. Over.” Over, over, over…

“This is an emergency, Axel. What if I forgot to say thanks?” Thanks, thanks, thanks…

“We are right next to each other, and you need to end each sentence with ‘over.’ Over.” Over, over, over…

“And you’re still using the walkie talkie despite that fact. Over.” Over, over, over…

This time, Axel does not use the walkie talkie. “Whatever.”

“You’re smiling.”

“I am not.” 

But she is. Axel’s smile is a small, stubborn thing, restrained by what is probably years of finding her annoying brothers just a tad bit funny at times. It fits her nicely, akin to the sun peaking through the clouds after a particularly dim day. 

It’s the type of smile that sticks with Nichelle, warming her all over, even as they eventually break their handhold and go their separate ways toward their rooms. 

When Nichelle places her new walkie talkie near her nightstand, climbs into her bed, closes her eyes, and eventually falls asleep, she doesn’t dream of anything at all, just total darkness.

The simple blank slate is a comfort she never knew existed.