3. Max

3MAX

Islands give me the creeps. Private ones especially. Something about it strikes me as completely delusional—the idea that people fantasize about being miles from the nearest hospital as a way of, you know, relaxing.

Still, I can’t say it isn’t incredible to look at. As Tilly leads us through the doors and onto the back patio, I pull out my camera and capture it: beach all around, water as far as I can see. Without the house to orient us, it would be hard to know which way is which. Nothing but sand, trees, and rocky dips down to the sea, which stretches all the way to the horizon.

Maybe it’s the New Yorker in me, but I don’t trust it. All this space makes me claustrophobic, like the endless water and sky makes the island even smaller than it is. Cramped. This is the kind of place where you say and do wild things just to fill it up, the kind that separates truth from lies like a sieve.

Lucky for me, I’ve got a camera to catch whatever falls through the cracks.

“That view, right?” Tilly muses, cupping her hand over her eyes as she looks out at the water. “Really takes your breath away.”

Zane nods thoughtfully, like he’s looking at a painting. “The ocean is so powerful, man.”

I’m pretty sure we’re looking at a sea, but I won’t be a jerk about semantics. No matter what you call it, Zane has a point. I think of what Kira said earlier about Jaws and Titanic. We were joking, but there’s something uniquely terrifying about huge bodies of water.

“We’re pretty far out from the mainland, right?” I ask, trying not to sound too freaked out by the idea.

“Fifteen miles,” Kira answers. I turn to look at her, but she avoids my gaze, moving like she’s going to tuck a strand of light-brown hair behind her ear even though it’s already in a short ponytail. “Right?”

“Fifteen miles,” Tilly repeats, nodding to the right. “Come on. We’ll loop around this way.”

As we follow Tilly, I glance at Kira again. I’m not really a workout-video kind of guy—Elody made that pretty clear earlier with her comment about my arms—so I haven’t paid much attention to Kira Lyons since she was on that dance show that my sister used to watch. From the episodes I caught, I remember Kira being good—incredible, honestly, and not just for a twelve-year-old—but she never seemed to get the attention. That was always reserved for McKayleigh and her stage mom to end all stage moms. Now, Kira still has that cute, big-eyed thing about her, but hardened somehow, straight posture and tight shoulders. She also can’t be taller than, like, five foot two, but there’s something intimidating about her. Maybe it’s the fact that she could probably kick my ass if she wanted to.

“Here we are.” Tilly stops at the front terrace. “Back where we started.”

She gestures widely at the beach in the distance, where one of the boats that brought us here still bobs in the water. The other must’ve left when we were moving in. Waves crash against the shore, which might be an issue for audio, but I’ll worry about that once I know where I’m even going with this. That’s the best part of what I do: following an impulse, chipping away until the story comes through like a statue from a block of marble. And with ten influencers trapped on an island without their phones, a story is bound to be here. A good one. I already couldn’t believe my luck when I first got on the boat and Logan was there—so when the three other most controversial members of the Bounce House showed up on the dock, it was like I hit the jackpot.

I’ve heard rumors about crazy shit going down at their parties, from the probably true (a minor lawsuit when fireworks singed a model’s famously insured hair) to the definitely embellished (wannabe TikTokers getting so lost in the winding mansion halls that they’re never seen or heard from again). And now, with all the drama around Logan leaving, it’s like this documentary is being handed to me all garnished on a silver platter.

Still, I can’t shake the weird feeling I’ve had since we docked, like something’s off. Panning up to the house, I realize what it is: the cameras. More of them, security-style ones mounted on the roof, angled down toward us. And look, I know—as a YouTuber, I probably shouldn’t be so creeped out, but that’s the thing. The only camera I ever get in front of is my own.

“You guys are welcome to use the pool whenever you want,” Tilly says, bringing my attention back to the terrace. “The pool house, too, although there’s not much in there.”

I pan to the small cottage on the left of the pool, the saltwater blue reflecting in its shut doors.

“But really, make yourselves at home. We want things to feel as organic and fun as possible. Just a bunch of cool creators hanging out on a private island!” Tilly smiles and glances down at her phone. A worried line creases her forehead.

“Okay, no offense,” Elody says. “But can we wrap this up? It’s, like, a million degrees.”

“Of course.” Tilly shoves her phone back in her pocket. “Let’s head back inside and meet in the living room. There’s a few quick things I want to discuss.”

As the group starts moving back to the house, I do another quick sweep, landing on Zane. He glares at me over his tattooed shoulder, and I lower my camera. I’m not a Zane Rivers fan—I mean, the guy’s most-watched TikTok is a thirst trap featuring a zucchini that I genuinely believe is now entitled to financial compensation—but I should cool it with the filming if I’m ever going to get any of the Bounce House to talk to me on the record.

As I zip my camera into my bag, someone materializes at my side like a ghost.

“Jesus, Aaron.”

“I wasn’t kidding earlier,” he says, jabbing his freckly chin at my camera bag. “I’m not giving you consent to use my face in whatever garbage this is.”

“Weird.” I push my glasses up my nose. “A few months ago, you were pretty persistent about being on my channel.” Watching his scowl get deeper, I shrug. “Look, we’re gonna be here for a few weeks. If you’re still sitting on that story, I’m all ears.”

Aaron stares at me for a few seconds, and then looks away, squinting in the sunlight. “Thanks, but no thanks. That story needs more than a kid using Mommy and Daddy’s connections to get ahead.”

My jaw tightens. Sure, my parents are both in the industry, but neither of them has documentary connections. My mom produces rom-coms and my dad does a late-night talk show. It’s not like either of them called up eight hundred thousand friends and forced them to subscribe to my channel. It’s not like they did the work for me, the hours of research and filming and editing.

But I let it go. For one thing, I’m pretty sure the big, top-secret story that Aaron wanted to collab on a few months ago doesn’t actually exist. He was promising dirt on some unnamed Hollywood agent, but I’ve seen the rest of his channel. All the videos have titles like “The Dark Truth About Your Favorite TV Shows” and “How Timothee Chalamet Stole My Career,” except all Aaron ever does is make vague suggestions cut off by ads for acne cream or online therapy. Aaron Tyler Banks needs a win a lot more than I do right now. So, I let him have it.

When we make it back inside, everyone’s already gathered up in the living room. Aaron speeds to the only open chair left, and I sigh, settling for the floor.

“All right, listen up for a sec,” Tilly announces. She takes a careful breath. “So, there’s a bit of a situation. Due to some unforeseen weather, the production team’s flights were canceled.”

“The weather?” I glance out the windows at the perfectly sunny sky. My vision isn’t the best, but the lack of storm clouds is pretty hard to miss.

Tilly nods. “The storm isn’t supposed to get here until tonight, but it’s looking bad, especially near the airport. Our team was able to book another flight out, but unfortunately…” She steels herself with another breath, and then speeds through the rest. “They won’t be able to get here until tomorrow morning.”

Okay, I don’t love where this is going, especially since we’re so far from the nearest signs of civilization.

“Hang on,” McKayleigh starts. “Now, I’d never try to tell anyone they’re doing their job wrong, but I’m a little confused. Shouldn’t the crew have gotten out here before we did?”

“To put it in less Southern-belle terms,” Aaron adds snarkily, “this is totally unprofessional. I’ve been on sets my whole life, and this has never happened.”

“Were you on a TV show or something?” Logan asks, feigning surprise.

Aaron’s ever-present scowl somehow reaches a new level, and I’ve got to admit, I enjoy it.

“I know it’s not ideal,” Tilly says, “but it’s the situation. And…” She swallows. “They need me to come back to the mainland. Tonight.”

“Wait, tonight?” Corinne repeats. “Like, you want us to stay here alone?”

“There are some urgent things they need me to handle, so … unfortunately, yes.”

“Dude.” Cole grins, leaning back on the couch with his hands behind his head. “This is totally where the horror movie starts.”

“Is this, like … legal, though?” Graham asks. “Just leaving us here?”

Elody rolls her eyes. “It’s not like we need a babysitter, babe.”

“Some of us, maybe,” Corinne mutters, giving Cole a look.

Tilly ignores their quips, forging ahead in classic PA fashion. “I understand the concerns, but I’ll be back first thing in the morning. The whole team will.”

“What do we do if something happens?” Kira’s standing behind the couch, bouncing on her heels like she might take off at any second. She glances at McKayleigh, and I start to wonder if there’s something more than their old TV rivalry going on there. Just as it crosses my mind, Kira catches me watching her, and I look away, feeling weirdly like I’m back in tenth grade and handing a bouncer my McLovin-level-bad fake ID. Normally, I’m good at reading people, but there’s something about Kira that I can’t pin down. One second, she seems nervous and shy, but the next, I’m pretty sure she can see into my soul.

“Rest assured, you guys will be totally safe here,” Tilly says. “There’s a first-aid kit in the closet, but if there’s an emergency, I’ll be leaving a phone behind, so don’t hesitate to call. The cell service is pretty reliable, even this far out from the mainland.”

Tilly reaches into her bag and takes one out. As she plugs it into the wall with a charger, I relax. It seems like everyone else does, too. At least we’ll have some sort of connection to the real world.

When no one argues, Tilly sighs, looking just as relieved as we are.

“Think of it this way,” she says. “Tonight’s a chance for you guys to do what you came for—you know, unplug, get to know each other for real. And now, you get to do it without a whole camera crew in the way.”

Right, what we came for. Looking around at this group, I can’t say that unplugging is anyone’s primary goal here.

“What time do we start shooting tomorrow?” McKayleigh asks. She glances up at a camera on the wall, fixing her hair and proving my point: supposedly, we’re all here to get away from our phones, but this is a cast of influencers. They may act annoyed at my filming, but none of them would be here if it weren’t for the cameras.

Well, maybe notall of them, I think, looking at Kira. For someone who grew up on reality TV, she seems about as uncomfortable with the cameras as I am.

“We’re aiming to have everyone here and ready by eight,” Tilly says. “And don’t worry about food. We’re fully stocked. Plus, we have a catered dinner for tonight, courtesy of our Sponsor.”

She sweeps a hand toward the kitchen, where an array of covered trays sits on the counter.

“There’s vegan options, right?” Zane asks. “Also, my manager should have mentioned, but I can’t do nuts either. I have this—”

“We get it,” Aaron grumbles, waving a hand at Zane’s head. “The man-bun is pretty much a blaring ‘I have annoying dietary restrictions’ alarm.”

Zane doesn’t respond, but judging from his expression, I have a feeling the comeback brewing in his head is something along the lines of At least I have enough hair to put in a bun, asshole.

“Yes, of course,” Tilly says. “We’ve taken all dietary restrictions into account. And as an added bonus…” She gives a mischievous smile. “Our Sponsor has thrown in a fully stocked bar.”

“Noice!” Cole shouts.

“Now we’re talking, babe,” Elody says.

Tilly relaxes. “The legal drinking age is a bit fuzzy on international waters. But please, please, please be careful.”

I’m pretty sure careful is the exact opposite of what production wants. Reality TV thrives on getting their casts as drunk as possible. Still, this isn’t the worst thing. A private island, alcohol, and no supervision … maybe I’ll be able to get some ideas for this doc.

Tilly’s phone chimes, and she checks it.

“I should start heading out,” she says, looking back up at us. “Thanks so much for understanding. We’ll be back on track tomorrow, and I’m only a phone call away. Okay?”

“Okay,” Elody says, when no one else will. She’s lounging on the couch, legs stretched out on the coffee table like she owns the place, shorts riding dangerously high up her thighs. She catches my stare and grins, catlike. “We’re big kids, right?”

My face gets hot, which makes her smile even more. Jesus, Max. Pull it together. Forget tenth grade—it’s like I’m back in middle school, probably because Elody reminds me of all the girls I used to be too scared to even look at back then. I turn away from her and focus on the rest of the group, which, for the first time, has completely run out of arguments.

“Okay, then.” Tilly clasps her hands like she’s praying. “This is where I leave you.”