Groom Wars

19. The First Challenge

 I rubbed my eyes and yawned, missing the feeling of a pillow beneath my head.

Dear reader, my fellow contestants and I had arrived at the location of our first challenge. Tall trees shrouded the clearing where the buses, participants, and staff gathered.

Aside from the lovely expanse of wild trees, bushes, and ferns, there was nothing to tell us the intimate details of our first challenge. Grey clouds darkened the sky. Every once in a while, a flickering ray of sunlight pierced the dark veil and painted the edges of the leaves and the tops of vehicles gold.

In this strange setting, I reckoned I needed to keep an eye on my opponents. Study them. As I stood between two buses, I crouched, lowering myself to roughly half of my adversaries' heights, disappearing from the perception of all except a cameraman that had deemed me an intriguing creature to analyze. I watched men measure their competitors, guessing others' strengths and weaknesses. I watched them flirt and try to get others to lower their guards by humbly downplaying their abilities and lying. Sweet whispers as thick honey flowed from many lips.

"You have an amazing build."

"So do you."

"What gel did you use for your hair? It looks great, man."

"How many deadlifts can you do? Should be at least fifty unbroken, right?"

"What's your max weight for overhead squats?"

"Dude, you're a beast."

"Bro, I swear to God, if they're judging us on looks alone, you will win."

I glanced at the man who received the compliment. Square face. Brown eyes. His brown hair was swept back. He was tall and broad-shouldered. He might be a strong five, almost a six, but Leandro had claimed the spot of the best-looking guy in my heart. When compared to him, all other beauties paled.

Having completed my study, I stood and glanced at my reflection in the tinted windows of a bus nearby and noticed that my hair was squashed near the back. I combed it with my fingers till it was something that could pass as presentable. The surrounding players were anxious. Few could stay still.

Cameras moved through the crowd like slender minnows, strobing as they swam upstream. A soft sound reached my ears, like a motor. It grew stronger as if it were approaching my head. I felt a change in the air currents around me; wind whipped my clothes, skin, and hair. Raising my head, I spotted a man dangling from a helicopter by a rope. He passed harmlessly over us, and when he was low enough, dropped to the ground. My heart paused for a moment, taken by surprise. A loud cheer went up through the ranks of men close to the front of the gathering and my heart resumed.

Perhaps that meant he had landed safely.

Director Chen, a small pot-bellied man with porcelain skin, quieted us and arranged us around the daredevil in a semi-circle. As I was one of the shorter players, one of Chen's assistants placed me in the front row. I espied the intruder. He was tall and tan, dressed in a camouflage outfit. A ponytail protruded through the hole at the back of a baseball cap; wind whipped strands about. A smile warmed his face and made him seem approachable.

Behind him, gusts of air made the branches and trees dip and sway as the helicopter rose its elevation and flew north. The man flashed two rows of perfectly straight and white teeth. I wondered if he, like me, had been stuck with braces as a tween or if his teeth were naturally straight.

The stranger said, "Good evening, everyone; how are we doing today?" He didn't speak like a normal person. He spoke like one of those guys at a concert or performance who belted out words with energy I couldn't fathom where it had come from.